Rachel's Rebellion (Moss Bayou) (6 page)

Wyatt
shrugged Gabe’s hold off. He shook his head.

“You don’t
see you are in up to your ass here.”

“None of
your business.”

“Gabe, as a
friend,” Wyatt raised a hand to stop Gabe from speaking, “not as a cop
partnering with you, I have to say I’m worried about safety here.”

“Under
control.”

“Your
safety. Also, if she can be connected to you, her safety as well. Read that
fucking clue?”

The meeting,
for lack of a better word, was off the beaten path, but that was the point. Not
particularly excited about the location, he pushed the thought aside as he
gingerly made his way across the soggy field to what remained of an old barn.
The previous week had seen its share of rain and the ground beneath his eight
hundred dollar loafers wanted to swallow him with each careful step. The fine
Italian leather ruined a bit more with each wary step he took. His finely
tailored suit clung to his body like a heavy sack thanks to the humid
conditions. He thought about loosening his silk tie but changed his mind. He
didn’t want Denny Dennis to see him with any weakness. Even a less than perfect
tie. He hadn’t built himself or his position and power on poor habits. That
included how he dressed. Even his wardrobe for the golf course was always
finely pressed. Image was important. If only his son had understood that
lesson. Too late now.

He wiped the
sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief as his son filled his thoughts.
Thinking of his son was a weakness he didn’t want but couldn’t stop. His son was
gone now, thanks to his own hand. Suicide hadn’t been expected, but then
neither had he expected crazy. His son had hidden so many secrets. He stepped
over a rotten log and made his way into the barn. Yes, his son had hidden a lot
of secrets, but then he had secrets of his own. The biggest secret of all was
responsible for his current business venture.

Standing
just inside of what remained of the old barn, he listened. The only sound he
heard was the call of a bird. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. He cast an eye
around him. The dirt floor was damp and clumped rather than dusty. A product of
rain and humidity, no doubt. It was curious to him that half of the old barn
still stood, despite powerful hurricanes. Maybe, it remained because it held
more secrets than he did. He had to smile at that thought. Denny liked meeting
in this old barn. He swore it was long forgotten. For a brief moment, the place
had been filled with cops, crime scene tape securing it from anyone other than
investigators. But, now that the Till kid’s death was fading into the immediate
past, the place was abandoned and forgotten once more.

Anthony
Till’s death, unlike Henry Simpson’s, hadn’t been an easy decision. The kid had
really done nothing to warrant the bullet to his head. It was his older sister
Tamra who needed the discipline and since her position as a dispatcher was
necessary, her family was the best incentive. As he brushed a bit of dust off
of his sleeve, he knew Anthony’s death was on Tamra’s head, not his. She should
have followed orders. He could not tolerate disobedience, especially now. He
had come too far, since falling like a rock thanks to his son’s suicide. His
power was back on top and the dwindling bank accounts he had thought his son
career would fill, were adding up again. Yes, heroin and women were very
lucrative, not to mention that little gambling side venture, and it all added
up very fast. Now, if he could just keep his wife from spending it faster than
he could bring it in.

As he waited
for Denny’s arrival, his eyes searched the edge of the property. His car, sat
parked with engine running, along a clump of trees and his driver standing at
the ready near its hood. He laughed to himself. Moose, his driver was probably
standing outside to get away from Tabitha. She had a way of grating on one’s
nerves, but she was great in the sack. She was the best of his girls. At
twenty-four, she was more than willing to bend over and take it as long as the
cash rolled in. He thought about her young mouth on him as the car drove them
to this location. God, he was getting hard again. He had a miracle pill to
thank for that. Who would have thought a sixty-five year old dick would stand
at attention so easily. He reached down and felt himself, unable to stop the
smile that crossed his face. Then he quickly removed his hand. Even in the
shadows of the dilapidated barn, he had an image to uphold. His image must
always exude fine family values. It’s what kept him out of the eye of any
curious cop. It was also the one thing his wife demanded. He was always a fine
upstanding business man with a lovely wife and family to others in Moss Bayou.

Denny’s
truck pulled up alongside his car. Luckily, the dark tint kept him from seeing
inside. The man might have a problem with Tabitha half-dressed and waiting for
her next taking. After all, what man didn’t have a problem with a sister being
fucked just for fucking’s sake? He reached down and rearranged his hardness.
Soon, he would have Tabitha Dennis again and feel like a million bucks. For
now, he thought of his wife. That shrunk him down to nothing. Her idea of sex
was to endure an anniversary quickie. A quick missionary in and out and she
rolled over. Claimed at sixty, she was done with the dirty aspects of marriage.

“You’re
late,” he told Denny.

“Sorry, Mr.
P.”

“Give me the
latest updates. I have an important meeting.”

“Russ
Patterson gave me a heads up,” Denny began. “Still no one trying to join our
party but Russ seems to think it could happen any day. Travis Haynes over at
the sheriff’s office hasn’t been able to come up with much. The whole task
force thing is really hush-hush.”

“We can’t
afford any fuck ups right now. With that major shipment coming in, we have to
be prepared.”

“On it.”
Denny reached for a cigarette, looked his way, and then changed his mind. “Mr.
P. with T-Bob having to be away, I’d like to recruit some help before the
shipment arrives.”

“Anyone in
mind?”

“Yes. I
think I’d like to bring Deke and Wylie into this side of the business.”

“What do we
know about them?”

“Both are
loners. Both follow orders damn well. Neither seems to have a problem keeping
his mouth shut.”

“They’ve
only been around a short time,” he told Denny. “Not sure I like that.”

He looked at
his now ruined Italian loafers. “Tell you what. Why don’t we give them a couple
of tests? Could prove enlightening.”

“Tests?”

“Take care
of Tyler Devlin’s late bill. They can help Mullet.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Denny?
Today is Tyler Devlin’s day of reckoning.”

Denny shook
his square head once and began the trek back to his truck. He watched the
stocky man casually walk away, not caring about mud or puddles. He wanted Denny
Dennis gone before he made his way back to his car. Back to the back seat with
Tabitha waiting for him. He cast an eye around him once more. Nothing but dust,
old crates, and some long forgotten bales of hay. A dusty old tarp covered
something, but he had no inclination to find out what was under it. Still, an
idea formed. An idea that he couldn’t believe appealed to him so greatly. The
miracle pill was working, Tabitha was handy, and the world wouldn’t know his
wife didn’t care. He looked back toward Denny’s location and found the man
getting into his truck. He heard the engine start. As Denny backed away, Moose
turned toward the old barn. Giving a nod to Moose, he pointed to the car and
watched as the big African-American man opened the back door, leaned inside and
then stepped back. Tabitha came into view. Her tits popping out of the skin
tight orange top she wore. Her short white skirt, slit on one side, creased
tightly around her as she made her way toward him.

He looked
behind him at the bales of hay. That would do just fine. The stiletto heels she
wore weren’t made for walking in mud, but she seemed to figure it out. As her
steps brought her closer, he signaled Moose once more and watched as the big
man got into the driver’s seat. Good. He backed away from the barn’s opening
and placed himself beside the bales of hay. Unbuttoning his coat and unzipping
his pants, he revealed his hardness. He stood there as she entered the barn and
felt a surge of blood go south as her eyes found his erect penis.

“I see what
you need, Baby.”

“I need you
to take care of this,” he said as he fondled himself. “Start with that hot
mouth of yours.”

“What about
Russ Patterson?” She gave him a look and then reached for his penis and did a
little fondling of her own.

“You can
take care of him as expected. Later.”

“I’m
supposed to be with him in an hour. That’s what you set up.”

“Tabitha,
Patterson can have you when I’m done. He knows the rules concerning sampling
the stock.”

“You’re the
boss,” she said, touching herself as she maneuvered the tight skirt to her
waist.

Tabitha
didn’t believe in panties. That was okay with him, he thought as he fisted a
hand in her dark hair and shoved her head down. He would be Mr. Family again
when she was done.

**********

He waited.
Sitting behind his desk, he tapped his thick fingers along the desk’s worn
surface. In about five minutes everyone would be here and they could begin this
little meeting. For some reason he couldn’t explain to himself, Denny felt at
odds. Okay, he had an inkling but without proof, he could hardly kick Mr. P’s
fancy ass. His brain told him the barely there feminine outline behind Mr. P’s
car window tint was important. His gut told him it was Tabitha. The girl was
wild, and in his estimation a sex maniac. But she was still his baby sister. He
had hoped to get her interested in Deke Johnson or even Wylie. At least that
would allow him to keep an eye on her. Things about Tabitha had been bothering
him for a while now. Most important was where the hell was she getting her
money? He thought about what he’d seen at the old barn earlier. Yes, his gut
told him it was Tabitha.

At the sound
of the office door opening, Denny watched as Mullet entered the room followed
by Deke and Wylie. He wished T-Bob weren’t in hiding. He could use him now. But
Mr. P. wanted T-Bob out of sight and out of mind until after this shipment was
handled. So, T-Bob’s part in this was limited. His eyes went to Deke and Wylie.
Neither fit the descriptions, vague as they were, of the believed undercover
cops Travis Haynes had managed to give him. He figured both would be an asset
to the operation and CajunLand Adventures. Both had done well, so far. But Mr.
P along with the ever hoity-toity Mrs. P, owned CajunLand Adventures. They
called the shots. So, as Mr. P wanted, Deke and Wylie were going to be put to a
test.

“Men, we
have a job straight from Mr. P.”

“What’s
that, Denny?” Mullet, all of five feet seven, puffed out his skinny chest.

“Time to
collect from Tyler Devlin,” Denny told the men. “Tonight. Let’s say around
midnight.”

“Any
collection plans, if he doesn’t pay?” Wylie sat casually in the lone chair on
the other side of his desk. His uniform of the day was a wild Hawaiian-style
shirt left unbuttoned over a white T-shirt and finished with a pair of jeans so
faded, they were almost the same color as the T-shirt. The wardrobe put with
his long, sandy brown hair, overgrown stubble and generally lazy appearance fit
in just right here at Bank Shots.

“No cash
means his ass,” Denny finally answered. “Mullet, Deke and Wylie will join you
in your collection efforts. Mr. P wants Tyler Devlin to get a lesson but not
dead.”

“I’ve got a
foot long piece of copper wiring wrapped in some black tape,” Mullet said with
a grin as he moved his three long bangs back across his balding head.

“That’ll do
some damage,” Deke commented.

“Good,”
Denny said. “I want damage. Let him take a while to mull things over while he’s
getting the money.”

“I say this
whole deal is strange,” Deke mumbled.

“What do you
mean?”

“Denny,
Tyler Devlin went from party meth user to buying up quantities of heroin in a
New York minute. Seems strange.”

“Deke’s
right,” Wylie hitched a thumb in Deke’s direction. “Does seem a bit strange.
Could he be doing some private dealing?”

Denny looked
from Wylie to Deke and then he glanced in Mullet’s direction in time to catch
the shrug of his shoulders.

“Mr. P wants
the Tyler Devlin problem dealt with. Maybe he will be forthcoming as you teach
him a lesson. See if he wants to make a confession.”

“Well, just
call me Father Mullet.”

Rachel knew
Phillip had seen her sending a quick text. She knew she wasn’t very good at
subterfuge but, being the friend he was, he said nothing and continued to
unpack the glassware. As she waited for a reply to her text, she unpacked the
next box waiting for attention. A casserole dish, two baking pans, some candles,
a curling iron, one towel, a shower curtain, and a couple of boxes of macaroni
and cheese found themselves sitting on the tiny countertop.