little crank whore. And he could do it, too. No doubt about it—if they gave him half a chance, Lloyd could pull it off. In Stone County, Lloyd could get away with just about anything. In Stone County, Lloyd Lawrence was boss.
By the time they got back to Reeds Spring, Darrell and Mary had decided to break and run. If they stayed in Stone County, anywhere in the vicinity, they’d be sitting ducks. They loaded the car with clothes, guns, and traveling gear and put Mary’s dogs in the backseat. Darrell went out to the shed and grabbed four pounds of powdered meth that Lloyd had lovingly wrapped in eight clear plastic bags. This was finished product, the stuff that Darrell had helped Lloyd cook the previous week or two. He reckoned it had to be worth at least fifty grand on the street—maybe twice that much. For good measure he grabbed two sixteen-ounce Pepsi and two sixteen-ounce Mountain Dew bottles containing P2P, the brown liquid substance that’s used in the manufacture of meth. Somewhere down the line, maybe, he’d be able to sell this stuff and kiss the life of poverty goodbye. He shoved everything into a backpack and tossed it in the car.
Darrell was buzzing now, still disoriented but no longer feelinglike he’d swallowed a live grenade. It was time to move. He didn’t want to leave by his front road, in case Lloyd and some of his boys were keeping watch, so he had Mary drive the Dodge through the brush out back while he walked ahead clearing a path for it with his machete. Once they hit pavement they made their way over to Keystone Ridge Road, the old fire tower road up by Reeds Spring Junction. They drove down it a short stretch, and then Darrell walked into the woods and hid the backpack with Lloyd’s drugs in the crook of a tree. The stuff was too hot to handle. He’d come back for it later.
It was dark now. They were running but they still didn’t know exactly where to. They only had fifty bucks in cash and the gas gauge was near empty. Needing someplace where they could cool off and get their bearings, maybe catch a little sleep, they made their way up U.S. 160 and over to Ponce de Leon, a crestfallen little town once famous locally for its medicinal springs. They spent the night in Ponce, the Dodge parked out of sight beside an old barn.
The next morning Mary couldn’t believe it. Darrell had taken some of that bad gummy crank with him, and it looked like he’d been into it again. He was flying, sky-high. The damn stuff had almost killed him yet he couldn’t keep his snout out of the trough. Crazy—just too crazy.
The next couple of days were nothing but crazy. Darrell was confused and manic. He had them running around in circles. He wanted to cross over into Arkansas but he picked a dirt road down by the state line south of Hollister that had gotten muddied by the early-winter rains. He had to jack the car up and push it forward a dozen times or more before they finally got back onto a paved road. Giving up on Arkansas, they headed north and west with the idea of hitting Kansas and then working their way across to Colorado. They hit Kansas but then Darrell insisted on turning around and going back to Missouri so he could deal with Lloyd. Why wait for Lloyd to come after them, he argued. This would just be playing into Lloyd’s hands. Get the jump on him now and settle things once and for all.
Mary tried talking him out of it. It would be foolish going afterLloyd, she insisted. They had to forget about Lloyd right now and flee the area, try to get something positive started with their own life. Somewhere around Springfield she finally got through to him and they headed west again.
But Darrell, still sampling that bad crank, couldn’t get Lloyd out of his head. The more he played it through, the angrier he got. Lloyd had figured him for a patsy, a flunky, someone he could count on to hang around and take his crap and do his dirty work. But Lloyd had figured it wrong. Maybe Joe Dean and
By the time they got back to Reeds Spring, Darrell and Mary had decided to break and run. If they stayed in Stone County, anywhere in the vicinity, they’d be sitting ducks. They loaded the car with clothes, guns, and traveling gear and put Mary’s dogs in the backseat. Darrell went out to the shed and grabbed four pounds of powdered meth that Lloyd had lovingly wrapped in eight clear plastic bags. This was finished product, the stuff that Darrell had helped Lloyd cook the previous week or two. He reckoned it had to be worth at least fifty grand on the street—maybe twice that much. For good measure he grabbed two sixteen-ounce Pepsi and two sixteen-ounce Mountain Dew bottles containing P2P, the brown liquid substance that’s used in the manufacture of meth. Somewhere down the line, maybe, he’d be able to sell this stuff and kiss the life of poverty goodbye. He shoved everything into a backpack and tossed it in the car.
Darrell was buzzing now, still disoriented but no longer feelinglike he’d swallowed a live grenade. It was time to move. He didn’t want to leave by his front road, in case Lloyd and some of his boys were keeping watch, so he had Mary drive the Dodge through the brush out back while he walked ahead clearing a path for it with his machete. Once they hit pavement they made their way over to Keystone Ridge Road, the old fire tower road up by Reeds Spring Junction. They drove down it a short stretch, and then Darrell walked into the woods and hid the backpack with Lloyd’s drugs in the crook of a tree. The stuff was too hot to handle. He’d come back for it later.
It was dark now. They were running but they still didn’t know exactly where to. They only had fifty bucks in cash and the gas gauge was near empty. Needing someplace where they could cool off and get their bearings, maybe catch a little sleep, they made their way up U.S. 160 and over to Ponce de Leon, a crestfallen little town once famous locally for its medicinal springs. They spent the night in Ponce, the Dodge parked out of sight beside an old barn.
The next morning Mary couldn’t believe it. Darrell had taken some of that bad gummy crank with him, and it looked like he’d been into it again. He was flying, sky-high. The damn stuff had almost killed him yet he couldn’t keep his snout out of the trough. Crazy—just too crazy.
The next couple of days were nothing but crazy. Darrell was confused and manic. He had them running around in circles. He wanted to cross over into Arkansas but he picked a dirt road down by the state line south of Hollister that had gotten muddied by the early-winter rains. He had to jack the car up and push it forward a dozen times or more before they finally got back onto a paved road. Giving up on Arkansas, they headed north and west with the idea of hitting Kansas and then working their way across to Colorado. They hit Kansas but then Darrell insisted on turning around and going back to Missouri so he could deal with Lloyd. Why wait for Lloyd to come after them, he argued. This would just be playing into Lloyd’s hands. Get the jump on him now and settle things once and for all.
Mary tried talking him out of it. It would be foolish going afterLloyd, she insisted. They had to forget about Lloyd right now and flee the area, try to get something positive started with their own life. Somewhere around Springfield she finally got through to him and they headed west again.
But Darrell, still sampling that bad crank, couldn’t get Lloyd out of his head. The more he played it through, the angrier he got. Lloyd had figured him for a patsy, a flunky, someone he could count on to hang around and take his crap and do his dirty work. But Lloyd had figured it wrong. Maybe Joe Dean and
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