Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 (9 page)

“After that we’ll see. No promises.”

“I’m used to the
no promises
parameters with you, blondie.”

What the hell? Was that a shot at our relationship?

Before I demanded an explanation, Jackal said, “Big Mike’s ready for you.” He fl ipped locks, swung the door 88

open and waited.

Martinez said, “Hang on,” and pushed away from the wall.

I scrambled away before he could grab me. Th e

second that man put his hands on me I’d forget why it wasn’t the best idea on the planet for him to put his hands on me.

Talk about pathetic.

“If this is about lunch, forget it. I’ve only got thirty minutes left to learn how to make a proper whiskey sour.”

Martinez didn’t even try to argue.

M M M

I’d actually told Martinez a little white lie; I’d been a bartender for a semester in college. Since that’s how I met my ex-husband, I’d completely blocked the unhappy memory and refused to talk about it. Period. To anyone.

Big Mike didn’t say a word about me being such a quick study. To show my gratitude for his discretion, I schooled him on how to pull a perfect draft beer. Of course, we had to drink his mistakes.

“What do you know about the set up at Bare Assets?

Employees, customers, and all that jazz.”

He rested his lower back against the cooler. “Busier than we are, especially on weekends. Diff erent clientele.

89

Four bartenders from 8:00 until close. Four to six cocktail waitresses. Th

ree to fi ve strippers. Two to three

bouncers and one deejay.”

“Are Hombres members used as bouncers like they are here?”

“A few are. Mostly Bare Assets is a good training ground for Hombres pledges.”

“Pledges?”

“Guys who’ve passed the fi rst tests of the Hombres membership requirements.”

Tests? Membership requirements? “Like a country club?”

Big Mike’s eyebrows squished together as he frowned at me. “You really don’t know anything about the Hombres club, do you?”

“No. Martinez doesn’t talk to me about this kind of shit.”

“Th

at’s standard procedure.”

“But under the circumstances, don’t you think I should know some of it?”

He shot a look at Martinez’ offi

ce. “Th

at’s not—”

“Please. Just the basic rundown. Th

at’s all.”

“Th

e Hombres are fairly exclusive, we don’t allow just anyone to join. First step for possible membership is the interested party needs a recommendation from another club member. Th

en background checks are done.

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Followed by a probation period where we test them on several skills.”

Hmm. I didn’t ask for elaboration on those skills.

“If all goes smoothly, we have a pledge ceremony.

For the next year, they’re basically apprentices — they do whatever we tell them to.”

In other words: free slave labor. “And if they don’t do what you tell them?”

“Instant dismissal. Th

ey’re permanently ostracized by

the members who recommended them. Biggest obstacle to completing the pledge year is family interference. Most pledges wash out before the probation period is up.”

“Do you get many pledges?”

He sighed. “Way more than we can keep up with.”

His gaze snapped to mine. “It’s against the rules for me to tell you how many members are in the organization, so don’t ask.”

“I wasn’t planning to. So, what happens after the year is up?”

“Th

e candidate gets to wear the offi

cial Hombres

patch and is a full-fl edged, dues paying member with vot-ing privileges and other . . . responsibilities to the club.”

I chewed on that for a minute. “Let’s say someone gets patched in and after a few years wants to quit?”

“Not an option. Membership is for life.”

Yikes. I changed the subject. “So have you ever 91

worked at Bare Assets?”

“Not since I was a pledge eight years ago, and only if I’ve got no other choice. Most times I’ve been in recently have been because the bossman wanted to check up on things.”

Pointless to ask how often Martinez showed up there. He owned it, he was a hands-on owner at Fat Bob’s, logic dictated he’d be the same with Bare Assets.

“When I go work there, you really don’t think anyone will know who I am?”

Big Mike smiled. “No. Bossman keeps you to himself.”

I froze.

His smile disappeared. “Shit. Th

at didn’t come out

right.”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed how little he and I get out.”

We drank our beer in the dead silence, the bodyguard and the secret girlfriend.

I crushed out my cigarette and ducked under the partition. “Let’s keep my previous slinging drinks experience between us.”

Suspicion lit his eyes. As Martinez’s bodyguard he considered everything a threat. Even little ol’ me.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Martinez. Just bad memories I’d rather not drown in, okay?”

After a second, he grudgingly said, “All right.”

I went back to my real job. I didn’t share my upcom-92

ing moonlighting gig with Kevin. I wasn’t getting paid, so technically I wasn’t violating our understanding.

But part of me felt like Martinez had violated my trust just by asking.

93

As Kevin and I rolled up the Everett driveway, I said, “Seems like I should be bringing a meat tray or something.”

“Th

is is not exactly a social occasion. When did you turn into Miss Manners anyway?”

“I’ve always been Miss Manners—mine have just been bad.”

Kevin reached for the volume control on the CD

player. Foo Fighters’
Gimme Stitches
faded into the background. “I have a bad feeling about this, Jules.”

I did too.

Th

e mangy dog bounding down the steps looked

half Border Collie/half wolf. A ferocious bark meant nothing when I noticed the long, swishy tail wagging in welcome.

94

“I hate dogs,” I said.

“You and me both.”

Neither Kevin nor I were pet people, something pet people don’t understand, and was useless to try and explain. I’m not talking about PETA fanatics. I’m talking normal people who boast about “loving all animals.”

It bothered me that animal lovers were willing to spend piles of money on pet food, pet grooming, pet toys, and pet medication, wouldn’t cross the street to give a homeless person a sandwich. Sobering, to think dogs and cats and are treated better than some children in this country.

A beat-up Harley Davidson was parked next to the Cavalier.

Th

e dog barked twice. Th

e front door opened and

June stuck her head out. “Rusty! Shut up!”

Rusty turned tail and slunk around the side of the house.

Kevin and I looked at each other again. He mouthed,

“Rusty?”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “Rusty” didn’t have a speck of red fur. Made me think of the dog in
Family Vacation
. I made a quick survey of the area. We could’ve stepped onto the set of a low budget Chevy Chase movie.

Th

en I spied the smashed up four-wheeler and remembered this was no laughing matter.

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A tall, skeletal man with stringy black hair stopped and glared at us. He wore a faded black T-shirt with the words LED visible beneath a red jacket identical to the one Lang had died in. “Who’re you?”

June came up behind him. “Th

ese are Lang’s friends

from Rapid City.”

Her red-rimmed eyes pleaded for us to play along.

“What’re they doin’ here?”

“Payin’ their respects. Ah, this is my brother, Jeff Colhoff .”

“Kevin,” he said, thrusting out his hand. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Julie.” I followed Kevin’s fi rst name only lead. “I’m sorry too.”

June placed her hand on Jeff ’s shoulder. “Th anks

for coming with me today, string bean. Don’t think I could’ve done it by myself.”

Jeff crushed her in a bear hug. “Don’t need to tell me thanks, Junebug.”

June began to bawl.

Kevin and I were helpless to do anything besides stand and watch June Everett fall apart in her brother’s arms.

I had to look away. Despite the sad event, they had each other. It was more than a lot of people had.

Kevin’s warm hand grabbed mine and squeezed.

I squeezed back.

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Finally, Jeff released her. “You need anything, call me, all right? Don’t matter what time it is, call me and I’ll be right here.”

“Will Jeannie let you out of her sight?”

“You don’t worry none about Jeannie. I’ll handle her.”

Jeff gave us one last suspicious scowl before he climbed on the hog and roared off .

“Sorry ’bout that,” June said, wiping the tears from her chalk white face. “I wanted to talk to you guys before I said anything to him. Poor bastard is so goddammed henpecked a trip to the funeral home is a mini-vacation from his responsibilities. Th

at woman he married has

sucked the life right out of him. You’d never guess just a few short years back, ol’ Jeff used to be the best lookin’

guy around.”

“You’re lucky you have him to help you through this,” Kevin assured her.

She nodded. “You wanna come in? Bit nippy to be talkin’ out here on the porch.”

“Th

at’d be great.” We followed her inside.

Th

e smell of cat urine assaulted us at the threshold.

Another reason not to have pets. At least candles and air freshener masked the lingering odor of cigarette smoke.

Th

e interior of the farmhouse wasn’t any better than the exterior. Stacks of newspapers were piled by the door.

Once we skirted them, we entered the tiny living room.

97

A burnt orange sofa decorated with gigantic yellow fl owers abutted the front windows. Two slate blue La-Z-boy recliners book-ended the couch and faced the big screen TV, which sat on a piece of plywood stretched across two sawhorses. A small electric organ took up one corner. Th

e bench seat was mounded with more news-

papers. Cardboard boxes packed with magazines were stacked to the ceiling.

Th

e particleboard coff ee table sat smack dab in the middle of the room, leaving little space to maneuver.

Empty Busch Light cans were heaped three high on one end of the table. On the other end a dozen pill bottles teetered on top of a carton of generic cigarettes. A ce-ramic ashtray overfl owed in the midst of the rubble like a white-trash centerpiece. Dirty bunny slippers were discarded under the table. Crumpled Kleenex spilled out of a pizza box.

“Go ahead and grab a place to sit. Want a beer?”

“No thanks,” I said.

“Suit yourself. I ain’t gonna pretend I don’t need another beer after what I just been through.”

June’s pink robe dangled off the arm of the closest recliner. I perched on one end of the couch. Kevin gingerly pushed aside a red and purple afghan, mimicking my posture on the other end.

I shook out a cigarette and lit up.

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June returned with an unopened twelve pack of Busch Light.

How much of that was she planning to drink by herself?

As much as it took to numb the pain.

Like I had any business judging her.

She cracked a beer.

Kevin nodded at me. Guess I’d be asking the questions. I inhaled, held it in until I felt dizzy, then exhaled slowly.

My eyes met June’s. “Tell us about the bones in that hole.”

Kevin sighed.

“Get right to the point, doncha?”

“Don’t see why we shouldn’t.”

She tipped the beer. “Fine. I ain’t gonna beat around the bush either. Lang always had something up his sleeve. He was one of those get rich quick kinda guys.” She gestured around the cluttered room. “We ain’t exactly livin’ high on the hog. Th

ere’s been times

we’ve had to do some things we ain’t proud of jus’ to make ends meet.”

Like faking a workman’s comp injury? “What kind of things?”

“No kinda handouts from the government or nothin’.”

I nodded. Folks down on their luck always felt com-99

pelled to make it clear they weren’t on the dole.

“Anyway, we started out takin’ money from guys so they could hunt on our land. Didn’t matter to us none if it was the right season or not, money’s the same color year round. Course, we had to split the take with Jeff .

Th

e ranch belongs to both of us, we didn’t divvy it up after my folks died.”

Chauvinistic that I’d assumed the land belonged to Lang, not June.

“After my dad passed on, we kept our resources pooled with the rest of my family, like it’s always been.”

“Who’s the rest of your family?”

“Me, Jeff , his mean as a snake wife, Jeannie, Uncle Charlie and Charlie’s son, my cousin Willie, and his wife Lindy. Charlie and Willie’s ranch borders ours.”

Kevin’s eyes had glazed over, a sign I needed to get her back on track. “June, what does that have to do with—”

“Grow some patience, girl. I’m getting to it.” She drained her beer and popped the top on another.

“With Lang being injured and out of work, things have been a little tight. So, a few weeks ago, when a couple of guys wanted to hunt on our land, we let ’em.”

“What were they hunting?”

“Does it matter?” She chortled. “As long as they paid cash up front and didn’t do nothin’ stupid to get caught, they could hunt bald eagles for all I cared.”

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June Everett’s attitude wasn’t unique although those politically incorrect comments were usually implied, not stated outright.

“But, the stupid out-of-state assholes tried to set up a deer blind on the top of that bluff .”

Kevin and I exchanged a look. A deer blind? Out in the open? No wonder poachers got busted so often.

“Anyway, they couldn’t get the thing level and they started diggin’ and scrapin’ away the dirt and that’s when they saw part of a skull and hand bone pokin’ outta the ground.”