The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 50

                 

"Talk about meth labs? You think that's what it was, right?" I say.

"It couldn't be anything else," Sam says.

"Agreed," I say.

Sam brushes hair from her face. Sends a chill down my spine. There's something about when women do that. Hell, I shouldn't even notice right now. We're talking about a meth lab. But I can't help it.

The thought of us digging through more meth lab trash is disgusting. But there's a certain appeal to it.

"I suppose I could say we shouldn't fuck around with meth. That methies are beneath the cow shit on my shoe," I say. "I suppose I could say I wanted work, but not like this. That it's a perfect time to take off and never look back."

Sam stares out at the oil rig. It's flanked by windmills. Big ones. They're everywhere. Clawing at the horizon.

Funny thing about those windmills. States pass all these clean energy mandates. Then they don't want the windmills breaking up their view. So they build windmills in North Dakota. Then complain about birds dying from them. Funny how that works.

"You suppose you want to work on one of those instead?" she says. She points at the oil rig. Damn, I can smell it from here. Then she points at the water truck. "Or those?"

"Not really. You grow up in a state this flat, you need something with edges. With color. With action," I say. "I'm not sure I mind this one bit. Because I get the feeling we won't be trash pickers for long. What about you?"

Sam shrugs.

"I don't have a problem with it. Money's money. You think every company out here is legit? Les is just being honest about things," she says.

There's a swell of panic in my sternum. My fingers automatically pluck an eyelash out. The panic disappears. Better.

"What did you just do?" Sam says. "Are you pulling out your eyelashes?"

"What? No. I just, I don't know. I wasn't even thinking to do that," I say.

"Come here. Let me look at you," Sam says.

She cradles my face in her hands. Points it so it meets hers. There's that rushing feeling in my sternum again. Only this one isn't panic.

"There's a bald spot in your eyelashes," she says.

A quick glance in the mirror confirms it.

"Huh. I guess there is," I say.

"Stop doing that. It looks weird," Sam says. Releases my face.

It is weird. But it's also a habit.

I run a finger over the bald spot. The tender skin responds to my touch. Pulls at my finger with an electric tug. Like it craves to be scraped raw.

Holy shit. Where are these feelings coming from?

I run my nail quick across the skin. Just want to see what happens.

My gut squirms in place from the pain. Then it relaxes. The drop in tension brings a wave of relief. It feels good. Pleasurable.

I snap out of the experiment. Sam is giving me a look.

"OK, weirdo, you can play with your eyelashes later. Do you want to stay at the Man Camp or not?" she says.

"I think you do," I say.

"You think right. I've bounced around enough. I want to save up some money. Figure things out," Sam says. "The meth thing, I'll just find a way to avoid it."

Yeah. Figure things out. Save up some money. Cave in a few noses along the way. I could use that.

"Cool. But we need to keep our guard up. Be ready to leave if shit gets seriously," I say.

"You mean, if shit gets serious," Sam says.

Man, I'm losing it.

"Yeah. If shit gets serious," I say. "Seriously."

"Seriously?" Sam says. Laughs.

"Seriously," I say and smile.

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