that cost. He wondered what kind of asshole would pay for something like that.
The same kind of asshole that could supply him with what he needed.
The samekind of asshole Cooper had traded his sanity to keep his family safe from.
He slipped the card back into his pocket, walked over to the phone, and dialed. It rang twice before a husky female voice answered. Not at all what he expected an asshole to sound like. More like a vampy late-night deejay spinning those terrible disco records.
“Wilcombe Exports. How can I help you?” The woman’svoice dripped with enough honey, Gareth almost asked for a meeting with her instead of her boss. He centered himself and spit a string of tobacco juice into a coffee-can spittoon. “I need to speak with Mr. Wilcombe.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Go ahead.”
There was a long pause on the line before the woman’s voice finally said, “Sir?”
Gareth spit again. “Look, honey, my name’sGareth Burroughs. I got this card from a fella named James Cartwright. You might know him as Jimbo or you might not. Why don’t you go ahead and put your boss on the phone.”
“Please hold the line, Mr. Burroughs,” the woman said without losing a bit of her late-night sizzle. Gareth listened to a few seconds of David Bowie crooning “Starman” on the line and looked at the phone like it had justmutated into a dead fish. He guessed that’s what folks like Wilcombe were passing off for music in the sunny state of Florida. He held the phone a few inches from his ear until the line picked back up.
“Mr. Burroughs?”
“Yep.”
“Oscar Wilcombe here.” His voice was nasally and monotone. This was the voice Gareth expected. Weak. Fancy. Entitled. He already missed talking to the female.“Mr. Cartwright said you might be calling.”
“He did, did he?”
“How can I help you, Mr. Burroughs?”
Gareth also took the man’s voice as foreign, but clearly he’d been stateside long enough to make his accent barely noticeable.
Probably Cubano,
he thought.
Florida is full of them Cubanos.
“I wanted to let you know I’ll be down your way in a few days. Was hoping to bend your ear onsome business.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” There was the sound of the phone being muffled, and Gareth thought he could make out another voice besides Wilcombe’s—a man’s voice. Although Jimbo had already taken him from the room, he felt his father’s stare across the table from him, and the faint clicking of his fingernail on the wood.
“This family doesn’t need anything from anybody.”
Heshook it off. It was the only idea on the table, and he wasn’t his father.
“You still there, Wilcombe?”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Burroughs. Three days’ time works well for me. I can assume you’ll be bringing something along to make the trip worthwhile for everyone involved?”
“If that means the quote I got from Cartwright, then I reckon it would be a good assumption.”
“Outstanding. When youarrive in Jacksonville, call this number and Julie will make all the arrangements.”
“Julie, right.”
Wilcombe might have said something else, but Gareth hung up.
3.
Three days later, Gareth, Val, and Jimbo checked in to a roadside motel off the interstate in Jacksonville. Gareth called the number on the card from the room phone and got the address for the meet from Julie. Jimbotucked a camo duffel bag containing thirty grand under one of the room’s twin-size beds and sat down.
“Jimbo, you stay,” Gareth said. “Don’t leave that money alone for a second, and put a hole through anybody that tries to get through but us. Even if you know them.”
Jimbo tapped the hand cannon under his shirt. “I got this, brother.”
One hour later Val and Gareth pulled the truck upin front of a bar with three dressed-down Harleys parked in front. The bikes were all black—no ornate silver-trimmed saddlebags or flashy paint jobs—just three squat beasts hitched like horses to a post outside a
The same kind of asshole that could supply him with what he needed.
The samekind of asshole Cooper had traded his sanity to keep his family safe from.
He slipped the card back into his pocket, walked over to the phone, and dialed. It rang twice before a husky female voice answered. Not at all what he expected an asshole to sound like. More like a vampy late-night deejay spinning those terrible disco records.
“Wilcombe Exports. How can I help you?” The woman’svoice dripped with enough honey, Gareth almost asked for a meeting with her instead of her boss. He centered himself and spit a string of tobacco juice into a coffee-can spittoon. “I need to speak with Mr. Wilcombe.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Go ahead.”
There was a long pause on the line before the woman’s voice finally said, “Sir?”
Gareth spit again. “Look, honey, my name’sGareth Burroughs. I got this card from a fella named James Cartwright. You might know him as Jimbo or you might not. Why don’t you go ahead and put your boss on the phone.”
“Please hold the line, Mr. Burroughs,” the woman said without losing a bit of her late-night sizzle. Gareth listened to a few seconds of David Bowie crooning “Starman” on the line and looked at the phone like it had justmutated into a dead fish. He guessed that’s what folks like Wilcombe were passing off for music in the sunny state of Florida. He held the phone a few inches from his ear until the line picked back up.
“Mr. Burroughs?”
“Yep.”
“Oscar Wilcombe here.” His voice was nasally and monotone. This was the voice Gareth expected. Weak. Fancy. Entitled. He already missed talking to the female.“Mr. Cartwright said you might be calling.”
“He did, did he?”
“How can I help you, Mr. Burroughs?”
Gareth also took the man’s voice as foreign, but clearly he’d been stateside long enough to make his accent barely noticeable.
Probably Cubano,
he thought.
Florida is full of them Cubanos.
“I wanted to let you know I’ll be down your way in a few days. Was hoping to bend your ear onsome business.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” There was the sound of the phone being muffled, and Gareth thought he could make out another voice besides Wilcombe’s—a man’s voice. Although Jimbo had already taken him from the room, he felt his father’s stare across the table from him, and the faint clicking of his fingernail on the wood.
“This family doesn’t need anything from anybody.”
Heshook it off. It was the only idea on the table, and he wasn’t his father.
“You still there, Wilcombe?”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Burroughs. Three days’ time works well for me. I can assume you’ll be bringing something along to make the trip worthwhile for everyone involved?”
“If that means the quote I got from Cartwright, then I reckon it would be a good assumption.”
“Outstanding. When youarrive in Jacksonville, call this number and Julie will make all the arrangements.”
“Julie, right.”
Wilcombe might have said something else, but Gareth hung up.
3.
Three days later, Gareth, Val, and Jimbo checked in to a roadside motel off the interstate in Jacksonville. Gareth called the number on the card from the room phone and got the address for the meet from Julie. Jimbotucked a camo duffel bag containing thirty grand under one of the room’s twin-size beds and sat down.
“Jimbo, you stay,” Gareth said. “Don’t leave that money alone for a second, and put a hole through anybody that tries to get through but us. Even if you know them.”
Jimbo tapped the hand cannon under his shirt. “I got this, brother.”
One hour later Val and Gareth pulled the truck upin front of a bar with three dressed-down Harleys parked in front. The bikes were all black—no ornate silver-trimmed saddlebags or flashy paint jobs—just three squat beasts hitched like horses to a post outside a
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