Don't Cry for Me (16 page)

Seeing Lonnie made them antsy. He was a hard taskmaster, but they wanted to keep their jobs. When he opened the briefcase, the sight of all that cash put a smile on their faces. When he began to dole it out, their smiles got even wider.

As soon as he was finished, he eyed them carefully. This was make or break time.

“So, we’ve been in operation a bit over a week now. I have a proposition to offer you, but it involves being willing and able to keep your mouth shut. You’ll get double the money you’re getting now and work in two shifts. Some of you at night, the rest of you during the day.”

The men shifted nervously. They knew Lonnie Farrell’s reputation, and they’d all talked among themselves more than once about him being on the up-and-up. But double the money was hard to turn down.

They looked at each other, then back at Lonnie, waiting to see what he said, but he wasn’t talking—just watching them.

Finally one of them spoke up.

“Doing what?”

“If you’re interested, tell me now. If you want no part of this, you’re welcome to stay on the day shift in the mushroom nursery for the same money and no hard feelings. But know this. If you repeat one word of what I’m telling you, remember…I know where you live. Do you understand me?”

Buell’s heart was hammering so hard he could barely breathe. He felt guilty for getting these men into this and, at the same time, excited about the prospect of more money.

Then the same man spoke again.

“Double pay you said? That would make us drawin’ a hundred dollars a day.”

Lonnie smiled. “A hundred dollars a day cash money.”

He could see them calculating…five hundred dollars a week, which was good money up here. Lonnie needed loyalty, and money bought silence better than anything else he’d ever tried.

“I need a decision now. The men who want in on the big money, stand by Buell. The rest of you stay where you are.”

A few seconds passed, and then, one by one, every one of them walked toward Buell.

“Perfect,” Lonnie said, and then smiled. “Follow me.”

Although they were surprised when he headed across the cavern in the opposite direction, they followed. And when they turned a corner and saw Lonnie unlocking a heavy metal door, they knew in the pits of their stomachs there was no turning back.

One of the chemists was standing beside a long metal folding table, but there were a dozen more scattered around the room, with folding chairs and small scales at every one. Expensive lab equipment only added to the overall incongruity of a room like this existing inside a mountain. The white jumpsuits draped across the back of every chair and stacks of disposable face masks hinted at drugs, but he had yet to say the magic word.

What sealed the deal was the large plastic-wrapped package the chemist was holding. He pierced it with a knife and poured a small mound of white powder into his hand.

“Gentlemen, what that man is holding is a brick of pure Mexican cocaine. The purpose of this lab is to cut it and bag it for distribution. The chemists will be doing the cutting to insure that the product we put out is high quality. No crap. I want repeat customers. The surest way to get that is a reliable product. Your job will be on the weighing and bagging side.”

Their eyes widened and their mouths dropped.

Lonnie took in their reactions, which ranged from shock to fear. Now was the time to make sure they still wanted in.

“If this isn’t what you want, the other deal still holds. You can go straight back to the nursery and no hard feelings. I’ll still need help in there anyway, so at one time or another, you’ll all rotate in and out. But your silence is not an option. It is what will keep you and your family alive. Do we understand each other?”

They nodded without speaking.

“Anyone want out?”

Four men held up their hands.

Lonnie was disappointed he didn’t have a clean sweep, but he still had a good crew.

“Come on up. No hard feelings,” he said, and smiled as he shook their hands. “You four head back to the nursery. You’ll come to work every morning like you’ve been doing, and go home the same time every evening at the same pay.”

They ducked their heads and scurried out, looking back every few seconds just to make sure there was no gun at their backs.

Lonnie turned to the others. “Pay attention to the man,” he said, pointing to the chemist. “He’s going to show you what to do. Buell, divide up the men into two shifts. Take names of who’ll be on days and who’ll be on nights. After a month, if need be, we’ll rotate. But if those hours suit you men and you want to stay on that schedule, you’re welcome to keep it.”

Buell nodded, still unable to meet the men’s gazes. “I’ll go get a pad and a pen. Be right back,” he said, and scurried out.

He was so pissed he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t above breaking a law now and then, but this was serious business. People got killed doing this. He had Portia and the kids to think of. They could never suspect what was going on. He thought of the big speech he’d given Marvin when he’d turned thirteen about staying away from drugs. Hell. What a hypocrite he was turning out to be.

Goddamn Gertie and Goddamn Lonnie. It was her fault for birthing Lonnie, and Lonnie’s fault for turning into such a bastard.

He grabbed the pad of paper and a pen, and headed back into the lab. The sooner he got this over with, the better.

Lonnie stayed until the men had been divided into two crews, then added one more warning.

“Just so you know, don’t try to steal from me. If you think you can sneak any of this out for your own personal use, you have another think coming. You will notice that those jumpsuits have no pockets. What you don’t know, but what I’m telling you now, is that every one of you will strip at the main door when you come on shift and put on the uniform. You will take it off when you leave and put your own clothes back on. At no time will you be allowed near these tables unless you’re properly dressed for work. Do you understand why?”

“So no one can sneak drugs out in a pocket,” Buell muttered.

Lonnie frowned. He sensed attitude in Buell, which he would deal with later.

“That’s correct. Basically I’m just removing temptation. You will all thank me later.” He looked around the room, meeting each man’s eyes.

“Gentlemen, I leave you to your lessons. If we work together, all of us will get wealthy. If you renege on our deal, someone will die. Do we understand each other?”

They nodded.

He wasn’t satisfied. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” he said.

They all answered quickly and loudly. He smiled. “Perfect. Thank you for your understanding.”

Then he pointed at Buell. “Walk with me to the chopper.”

Buell followed Lonnie out and then all the way back to the office before Lonnie stopped.

“Spit it out. Say what’s on your mind, and say it now.”

“I don’t like being made a fool,” Buell said.

Lonnie frowned. “How have I done that?”

“You lied to me just as much as you lied to them. We was all tricked, and now we’re caught up in something maybe we wished hadn’t happened.”

Lonnie was startled. He never would have imagined that Buell, fat-ass slob that he was, had an ounce of morality in him.

“You want out?”

Buell shrugged. “There’s no way I can quit now without Portia or Gertie being suspicious, which is exactly what can’t happen, but I got kids, and I don’t want any one of them hooked on no damn drugs.”

“Then you have an even bigger reason to make sure this stays a secret, don’t you?”

Buell turned red in the face.

“Look, Buell, you’re not thinking this through,” Lonnie said. “None of this is being distributed for sale around here. It’s all going out of state to the big cities. There are pipelines for this stuff running from the East Coast to the West Coast—from Mexico to Canada. I just want my share of the billions of dollars being made in the industry, that’s all.”

Buell frowned. He hadn’t thought of it that way. He still didn’t like being tricked, but this made him feel better.

“I guess.”

Lonnie clapped him on the back. “And I apologize, brother. I should have explained. Feel free to reassure the men if any of them say anything to you. Otherwise, rest assured that I will slit their damn throats if they talk.”

Gorge rose in the back of Buell’s throat. Lonnie was still smiling, even as he made the threat. Buell couldn’t manage anything but a nod.

“Make sure the crews stay on task. The first load of coke is coming in tonight, so I want the men to start cutting it right away. Another chopper’s coming in less than forty-eight hours to take it north for distribution.”

Buell was startled. “How much do we have to get done?”

“All of it. So make sure it’s finished. We’re not talking about six-dollars-a-pound mushrooms anymore. We’re talking about millions of dollars in just a few months. Understand?”

Buell was sick to his stomach. His little side business had been shady, but this was over the top—deadly, and there was no going back.

“Yeah. I understand plenty.”

Lonnie frowned. “Just because you’re married to my sister, you don’t get a free pass. I can just as easily make her a widow if the need arises.”

Buell’s gut knotted. “The need ain’t gonna arise.”

“Good. Then we understand each other. Now you better hurry back. Make sure you find out what they’re supposed to be doing. Part of your job will be to keep them from slacking. I’ll be in touch. Tell Mama and Portia I said hello.”

He walked back to the waiting chopper. Even after they’d lifted off, he never looked back.

Buell watched him leave, thinking to himself that if the chopper happened to crash, all his troubles would be over.

Fifteen

A
storm was brewing.

Quinn looked up into the building clouds overhead and knew the rain was going to wash out the trail of the poacher he’d been tracking, not to mention that he would be soaked before he got out of the high country.

After a solid week of following up on leads that went nowhere, his boss had pulled the extra rangers off the trail to attend to other duties, leaving Quinn to do the best he could on his own. He was worn-out and frustrated that he had yet to set eyes on the man. Except for a fleeting glimpse of someone on the opposite ridge four days ago, he might as well have been trailing a ghost.

After a solid week of hide-and-seek, the only means of identification he had on the poacher was a nick in the heel of the man’s left boot. He’d found the same print at a number of the kill sites. It wasn’t much, and even that was about to turn into mud.

Thunder rumbled above him. He started downhill toward where he’d parked, moving at an easy jog, wanting to get off the mountain before he got caught by the storm.

A big buck suddenly leaped out of the trees and across his line of vision before disappearing into the bushes below.

“He knows it’s time to get to shelter,” Quinn said, then pulled his rain gear out of his backpack and dropped the bright yellow poncho over his head just as the first drops of rain began to fall. The rain was cold, and when the wind began to rise, it felt even colder.

He thought of Mariah, thankful that at least she was safe and warm inside the cabin, and wished he could call her. But there wasn’t any cell reception on this side of the mountain, and certainly not in this storm. He knew she would be all right. He just wished he could assure her that he was, too.

Then the rain began to fall in earnest, hammering at the poncho like bullets. He ducked his head against the wind and kept moving.

Nearly an hour later he was driving around the curve by the old Foley mine when a Mountain Mushrooms delivery truck came out of the driveway and headed down the road in front of him. It was the color of new grass, with mushrooms painted all over it.

Quinn couldn’t help it. He found it hard to believe that Lonnie Farrell would be involved in any honest business venture.

* * *

Mariah was on her daily trek up through the forest. It was something she did now on a regular basis, though she had yet to go past the banks of the small creek, even while the path she took led farther up the mountain. The exercise was good for her leg, and hiking helped pass the time. She hadn’t told Quinn or anyone else what she was doing and didn’t plan to, not until she was confident that she wouldn’t screw up again.

She was on her way home, about four hundred yards above the cabin, when she realized the wind had changed. Without a clear view of the sky, she’d had no idea that a storm was blowing in. The last time one had come through here she’d freaked out. But at least that time she’d been safe inside the cabin. If she flipped again up here, there was no telling where she would wind up. She hadn’t tried to run since the day she was wounded, but if she was ever going to give it a try, now would be a good time.

She shifted the rifle from her shoulder, checked to make sure the safety was on, then increased her stride. The muscles in her right thigh were stiff, but there wasn’t much pain. The wind was whipping the branches now, and the sound coming through the trees was like a high-pitched whine. It was scary, but at the same time it made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t felt for a very long time.

She shifted her stride to a jog just to see if the leg would hold her, and it did. Thunder rumbled. The storm wasn’t far off. She gripped the rifle a little tighter and tried to move faster, but her leg refused to cooperate, forcing her to run at a lopsided pace.

By the time she came out of the trees into the meadow, the storm was nearly on top of her. With less than a hundred yards between her and safety, she forced her leg to behave as she broke into an all-out run, desperate to get out of the open meadow and away from the oncoming lightning.

Rain was pelting her body, stinging, blurring her vision. When her foot hit the first step, she went up on her hands and feet, then grabbed the back door and leaped inside just as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky.

She switched on lights as she went, shaking from the adrenaline and the chill of the rain, but she was smiling, too. She’d done it. She’d actually run without falling, and without a huge amount of pain.

She stripped off her clothes, dropped them in the washer, then grabbed a big towel from the bathroom and began drying off.

Thunder rumbled, rattling the windows. Lightning flashed, shattering the air with its electrical force. The skin on her body began to tingle, then tighten, like she was trying to crawl out.

Boom!

It sounded too much like bombs exploding. She reached for the edge of the counter, gripping it tight with both hands.

“That was thunder. That was thunder,” she repeated, struggling to stay anchored to sanity.

She ran for the remote and turned on the television. Because of the storm, the reception kept flickering in and out, which was too much like what was happening in her head, so she turned it off.

The elation she’d felt only moments earlier had turned into a heart-pounding fear that she would lose her sense of self.

She was pacing from the kitchen through the living room and back again, talking just to hear her voice, giving herself orders, because following orders was what she knew how to do.

“Do something. Focus, focus, focus on something. On what? What to do? What to do?”

She had skipped eating at noon to head into the forest.

“Food. Make food. Peanut butter. I like peanut butter. And jelly. Get the bread.”

Boom! Crack!

Thunder and lightning—repetitive noise, bright flashes of light—turned the interior of the cabin into a dance floor beneath a disco ball.

She got out the bread with shaking hands, and smeared peanut butter across one slice and jelly on another before slapping them together. She ate standing up, moving from window to window, watching for Quinn while night came to Rebel Ridge.

* * *

The heater was on in his truck, but Quinn couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t remember ever being this cold. Despite the poncho he’d been wearing, everything he had on was soaked and sticking to his skin. The headlights bounced as he drove across a pothole in the road, reminding him to tap the brakes. The last thing he needed was to drive off into a ditch.

He was worried sick about Mariah. He’d tried twice without success to get a call through, even though he knew it was futile. When he finally reached the turnoff leading to the cabin, he was miserable in body and spirit. He was driving too fast now, anxious to get within seeing distance of home. The last curve was just ahead. All he had to do was get past it.

When he saw the cabin ablaze with lights, relief washed through him so swiftly he wanted to cry. This had to be a good sign. He parked within a foot of the steps and jumped out on the run, dashing through the rain for the door.

It suddenly swung inward, leaving Mariah silhouetted in the doorway. He could see the worry on her face, but she was smiling.

“You’re home!” she cried, and fell into his arms the minute he was inside.

Quinn caught her to him. “I’m filthy and cold, and I’m getting you all wet.”

She cupped his face and began kissing him, on his cheeks, on his lips, laughing through tears.

“Just a minute, honey,” he said, and began shedding his clothes.

She gasped when she saw what condition he was in and hurried away to go get some dry towels. It never occurred to Quinn that she was running until she ran back.

“Mariah! Baby! You’re running!”

“I know,” she said, thrusting a handful of towels at him, then gathering up what he’d taken off.

She dumped his clothes into the washer with her own sodden things, and then started it up. When she turned around, he was behind her.

“You can’t take a shower while there’s lightning. If it hits the house, you could be electrocuted. Water conducts electricity.”

He nodded. “It’s okay. I know. Getting dry is good enough for now.”

“You need something hot. We have soup.”

Thankful that there was something she could do, she opened a couple of cans and poured them into a pan to heat.

Quinn felt like an old man as he went up the stairs to the loft for dry clothes. Every muscle in his body ached, along with most of his joints. But the clean socks and dry sweats began warming him up. When he came back down, she thrust a cup of soup in his hands and handed him a spoon to scoop out the bits of vegetables.

He took it eagerly. “This is good.”

“There’s more if you want it.”

“Did you eat yet?”

“A peanut butter sandwich. I’m fine.”

“Make me one of those and I’ll share the soup.”

Happy to be able to help him for a change, she began to put the sandwich together.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“I was too high up on the mountain when I saw the storm coming in. I couldn’t get down in time to beat it.”

“Still no sign of the poacher?”

“Actually, I did find new sign, but thanks to this damned weather, it’ll all be gone.”

“Do you have to keep hunting him?”

Quinn nodded. “What he did led to a man’s death. What if it had been me? Wouldn’t you want him found?”

Her shoulders slumped. “Yes. I was just thinking about you, and for a moment I forgot about why you’re doing this.”

“Sometimes I’d like to forget about it myself. It feels like trying to find a ghost.”

She shoved the sandwich across the counter toward him. Still sipping his soup, he sat down on the bar stool.

Mariah poured a cup of soup for herself and then sat down beside him.

They ate in comfortable silence, and once again she was struck by how easy it was to be with him.

* * *

Gertie Farrell cursed as she ran a wet mop across her kitchen floor. By the time Buell had come in from work and the kids had come in from their chores, they’d tracked mud all over the place. Portia was finishing their supper, but Gertie couldn’t abide filth and was determined to clean all this up before a bite of food crossed her lips.

“Just look at this mess,” she said, dipping her sponge mop into the bucket for a rinse.

Portia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “That’s what happens when it rains, Mama. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it.”

“They could wipe their feet,” Gertie insisted. “You oughta be teaching them to wipe their damn feet!”

Portia turned away. It did no good to talk to her mama when she was in one of her moods. Still, the least she could do was carry Buell’s muddy boots out to the utility room. Maybe a little “out of sight, out of mind” would calm her mama’s ire.

She picked up the boots, then stopped and stared at the odd print left on the floor. Frowning, she turned the left boot over and saw where a wedge-shaped notch had been cut out of the heel. She sighed. Buell didn’t take care of his things any better than he took care of himself. These boots weren’t much more than two months old and he’d already messed up one of them.

Gertie came right behind her, mopping and muttering.

Portia knew her mama was upset because Lonnie hadn’t come back since that first visit. She had blamed all of them for their bad behavior and had been cleaning like a madwoman ever since. She seemed bent on changing something, and since she couldn’t make her family into the mannerly people that she wanted, she seemed determined to make the house perfect instead.

Portia sighed. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

The next day dawned with a clear sky and a promise of afternoon heat. Quinn was loading up the Jeep for a trek back to the high country, making sure he had sufficient water and energy bars along with his gear.

Mariah was poking through a cabinet in the utility room and came out carrying a container full of packets of seeds.

“Hey, what are you going to do with these?”

He stopped to see what she was carrying, then scratched his head in surprise as he poked through the packets.

“Honestly, I have no idea where they came from.”

She flipped through them, separating food from flower, then spread them out on the counter.

“You could make a garden,” she said. “You have green beans and radishes, and these are beet seeds. I like beets. Do you like beets?”

Quinn heard the excitement in her voice. “Yeah, I like just about all kinds of vegetables. Are you interested?”

Her eyes widened. “You mean do I want to do it? Yes, I would like to. I actually know how. One of my foster families grew everything we ate. I lived there almost three years, and learned how to do planting, hoeing and harvesting. The only thing she wouldn’t let us kids do was cook what we grew—yet another reason why I never learned to cook.”