The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 66

                 

"What the hell were you thinking?" I say.

A salty pot of canned soup steams between us. We huddle around the small kitchen table of our RV.

"Money. That's what," Sam says.

"It's just money. What about you being safe? Doesn't seem like you to volunteer like that. Is there something else going on here? Something that makes you want to work with Les like that?" I say.

"Nothing in particular. I just, I don't know," Sam says. Gnaws on a fingernail. "It seems like a way we could make a lot of money really fast."

The way she says "we" makes me shiver. My folks argued about money. A lot. Used "we" like it was standing in the next room. The detachment always made me nervous. Things felt so much more unpredictable.

My folks never had a great relationship in the first place. Seemed distant these past couple years. Mary, my mother, would leave for days at a time. Come back. They'd make up. Over and over again.

I'd moved out well before that last argument. It was so bad people in Betrug were talking about it. Might've even made the paper. Small towns are like that.

I heard about it at the bar in Betrug. Killing time and myself. Collecting odd jobs. The inevitable gossip that came with both.

The bar.

Joe.

Joe came into the bar. Had a job for me to do. What happened then?

Joe's dead.

The epiphany strangles my pulse. I'm not even sure how I know it. But I do.

"Joe's dead," I say to Sam.

"What? We're not talking about Joe," she says.

"Joe's dead. He had a job for me. But he's dead now," I say. "I just remembered this now."

Sam stares at me through the ribbons of cooling soup. Her hand plays with the raccoon jewelry around her neck. Rubs it hard. Has been all night. Like she's trying to squeeze the luck out of it.

"OK. Great. Can we get back to talking seriously about this?" Sam says.

That word. Seriously.

Kind of like the way she says "we." It fuses something together in my mind.

Joe's dead. Seriously.

Seriously, Joe's dead.

Then I think back to those other words from today. Are they related, too? I add Joe to the list.

Seriously.

Shotgun.

Joe's dead.

Grain bin.

Oh, and shadow people, too. Although that could just be me losing my fucking mind.

"Hello? I'm talking to you," Sam says. Snaps her fingers.

"Yeah. The money," I say.

"That's what I'm saying. Make some fast cash. Move out before winter gets bad. The quicker the better," Sam says. "Seems like the fastest way to make money is us going to that rig."

"Is that why you didn't give Les those pills? To make tomorrow more bearable?" I say.

I can't blame her for doing that. It's no wonder why that woman in handcuffs had them.

"Exactly. Wake me up when this is all over," Sam says. "I'll lay low. Hopefully the workers won't even know I'm there."

I wonder if Sam will get hooked. Only happens to certain people. If she's one of them, we may never get out of this Man Camp.

"You sure about the pills?" I say.

"Do you not trust me with them?" Sam says.

"I'm sorry. I just...," I say. Trail off.

"What?" Sam says.

Out with it already. Just put it on the table.

"I care about you," I say.

Been thinking that for some time now. Yeah, she's an out-stater. But she's also not full of shit. Not like the hypocrites in Betrug.

Sam's expression changes. Her eyes crease along the edges.

"I care about you, too," she says.

Her hand slips over mine. Rubs her thumb on my wrist.

Our moment is interrupted by a knock at the door. I open up to see a box on the ground. Bring it inside.

There's a map to the oil rig. Directions scribbled on notepaper. Several baggies of dope. A Smith & Wesson Model 60 revolver, a snubbie. A pocket holster. Two boxes of .38 Special ammunition. A five-round speed loader. A tight bundle of cash. One folded paper bag.

"What in the bag?" Sam says.

I tip it out onto the table.

Condoms.

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