The Long Game (6 page)

The man leaned back to have a better look at
the travel trailer still hitched to the old truck. He narrowed his
eyes and shifted his head from side to side. “Looks brand-new. Why
you in such a hurry to sell it?”

I thought quickly. “My wife and I,” I said,
slipping my empty left hand into the pocket of my jeans. “We’re
expecting our first baby this winter, and you know how it goes.
Kid’s costing me a fortune, and it ain’t even been born yet.”

The lie rolled off my tongue as easily as the
thick twang I used to speak it. I glanced at Jimmy Boy, who flashed
an amused grin before putting up a hand to hide it, pretending to
scratch at the scruff on his jawline.

Feeling bolder, I pressed on. “You wouldn’t
believe what doctors charge just to keep us waiting for an hour,
and that’s a bargain compared to the price of this fancy baby
carriage my wife wants. I’ll be broke in a month if I don’t pull in
some more money soon.”

“That’s just awful,” the man said, though
nothing in his tone indicated he actually felt sorry for me. He
continued his appraisal of the trailer as he spoke. “So if you
ain’t got money for the baby, where’d you get a trailer so
state-of-the-art?”

From a scrapyard, I thought, though obviously
I wouldn’t tell him that. In truth, the trailer was only worth the
five to six hundred that had been put into making it appear as
though it were worth thousands. This was why it was so important I
made the sale quickly before the buyer decided to take a closer
look.

“Wedding gift,” I said. “From my in-laws.
They’ve got money and offered to help with the baby, but I don’t
take charity.”

The man finally looked at me. I knew I had
him on the hook, and now all I had to do was reel him in. “So, you
get a good deal, and I get to buy my wife all the baby stuff she
wants. It’s win-win.”

“Women, eh?” he said, and I grinned.
Something had told me this particular buffer didn’t think much of
the fairer sex, and I was glad to see I’d been right. “Well, son,”
he went on, “it looks like she’ll be getting her over-priced buggy.
Though if you were smart, you’d tell her I jewed you down some and
pocket the difference.”

I forced a laugh as I took his greasy hand in
mine again. We shook on the deal, and as soon as he handed me the
money, I jumped in the truck and slammed the door, happy to be out
of his company.

***

“Brother, you are slicker than owl shit.”
Jimmy Boy shot me a look filled with both pride and wonder before
returning his eyes to the road. “I thought you’d lost him at first,
but he sure came around fast.”

“Yeah, well, imagine what I could do if you
actually gave me a heads up before I made the sale.”

“It’s good practice for thinking on your
feet. Quick thinking is a Traveler’s best asset.”

The first few notes of “Brown-Eyed Girl” came
through the truck’s speakers. My hand shot out and turned it off
almost as a reflex.

“What was that?” Jimmy Boy asked. “I thought
you love Van Morrison.”

“I do.”

“Then why’d you turn it off?”

“The man had almost forty albums, but somehow
‘Brown-Eyed Girl’ is the only song anyone knows. It makes me
sad.”

“Aww, how sensitive. You gonna cry about
it?”

“Shut up.” I smacked the thick envelope in my
palm, wanting to change the subject. “This is the biggest score
we’ve brought in so far. How much you think Pop will let us keep? A
thousand—maybe two?”

“I wouldn’t go making any big plans just yet.
We weren’t much more than errand boys. We’ll be lucky if we get
back the gas money we used getting down here and back.”

I made a faint noise of disgust at the back
of my throat. “Seems like a waste if that’s the truth. I know it
wasn’t our trailer, but we should get paid for our time at
least.”

“You should be happy Pop trusted you to do
this at all. You’re never satisfied, Shay, and that’s going to get
you in trouble.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I STOOD ON the postage-stamp-sized front deck
of the trailer and stretched muscles that were stiff from another
night spent in the foldout bed I’d outgrown years ago. The events
in Terrebonne Parish had boosted my confidence. My indiscretion
with Rosie hadn’t come back to bite me in the ass, and my
reputation as a buffer was fading, too. My cousin, Pete, had
already stopped by to congratulate me on a job well done, and he’d
heard about my success straight from Pop Sheedy himself.

A ladybug landed on the front of my shirt.
When I brushed it away, it took flight, heading northeast. I
couldn’t help but think of Mary Sheedy’s confidence that her
husband would be from Georgia, thanks to a ladybug that probably
hadn’t made it past the woods before getting eaten by a bird. I
chuckled to myself as I stepped off the porch and crossed to the
picnic table.

The day promised to be a scorcher, and I made
a mental note to sleep outside that night rather than in the stuffy
confines of the tin can Maggie called a home. I straddled one of
the benches and blew a sharp whistle through my teeth. Yeats padded
over and slipped his head into my lap, patiently waiting for a
scratch.

“Morning, boy.” I dug my fingers into the
folds behind his ears. “Where’s Beckett?”

I’d named the dogs after discovering the
Irish writers in a freshman English class. With their grizzled and
scraggly appearance, the names seemed fitting. Yeats lifted his
head and huffed, clearly annoyed he was once again tasked with
finding his errant companion. I chuckled as he lumbered away and
disappeared around the side of the trailer.

The sound of an approaching vehicle made me
turn in my seat. A black car pulled up to the trailer, slowing to a
stop in front of our blue pickup, which looked even older and
shabbier next to the glittering Mercedes. All the doors opened, and
Pop Sheedy hoisted himself out of the car with aid of the
doorframe. He was soon followed by all four of his sons. Judd was
the last to appear from the car, glowering as he emerged from the
driver’s side. The age range of the Sheedy boys spanned almost two
decades. Mike, named after his father and so referred to simply as
“Sonny,” was the oldest at 38, but his plump face made him look
only a few years older than his youngest brother. His young
appearance was even more stark when he was next to his craggy wife,
who thankfully wasn’t with him today. All four of them seemed to be
cut from the same cloth, each hovering right around six feet tall,
with broad shoulders; coal black hair; and the same wide-set, milky
blue eyes.

Apprehension prickled at the back of my neck.
Something had to be wrong. Maybe Pete had been exaggerating when
he’d told me how happy Pop had been with my efforts the day before,
or—worse yet—maybe a police officer had come around asking
questions about my quick-change. Whatever it was, this unannounced
visit could only be bad news because Pop Sheedy never came to
you.

I stood in a show of respect to the clan
leader who sauntered toward me at a painfully slow pace. The boys
hung back a little, though they trailed after their father in an
effort to get within earshot of the conversation. Probably looking
forward to the reaming I was about to get, the bastards. They’d all
decided to tag along to get a good laugh at the buffer.

I didn’t take my seat again until Pop had
settled himself on the opposite side of the table.

“Morning.” I sat stiffly across from the old
man. “I’m honored you decided to pay a visit. Can I get you
anything? Maggie made a new batch of tea.”

I half-stood again as if I were about to go
inside and put a kettle on. I was stalling, of course, trying to
delay the inevitable.

“
Sit down, Shay,” Pop
said.

I slowly lowered myself back to the bench.
“Pop, I think I know why you’re here, and I can explain.” It was a
lie. I had no explanation because I had no idea what I’d done
wrong. Still, it seemed like an apology was the best way to
start.

“
You don’t know why I’m here
and have nothing to explain, so shut your trap and let me say what
I’ve come here to say.” Pop’s eyes were full of cold
appraisal.

“Yes, sir.” I dropped my eyes to the table
and kept my mouth shut as instructed.

“This trailer of yours is a bit of an
eye-sore,” Pop said after a moment. “It should’ve been demolished
years ago. Why you continue to live in that when you’ve got a
perfectly good house sitting right there I’ll never
understand.”

I felt my cheeks burn. “You’d have to ask
Maggie about that, sir. She’s pretty fixed on the old notion that
sleeping under a real roof takes away your soul.”

Judd scoffed loudly. “It’s sad how some
people are so stuck in the old ways,” he said to his brother Pat,
in a voice intentionally loud enough to be overheard. Pat was four
years Judd’s senior but could have easily passed for his twin if it
weren’t for his left eye, which turned inward slightly so that it
looked like he was constantly trying to examine his own nose.

Pat guffawed but was quickly silenced by his
father’s sharp tone. “There’s nothing sad about it,” he said over
his shoulder. “There’s a lot to be said about keeping to the old
traditions. Now shut your gobs or wait in the car.”

My mouth twitched as I tried to repress a
smile. I caught Judd’s angry glare and allowed the corner of my
lips to turn up into a faint smirk, then dropped them just as
quickly when Pop Sheedy turned back to me.

“So I suppose you’d like to know why I’ve
stopped by,” Pop said.

“I’d be happy to know if there’s anything I
can do for you, sir.” I laid it on thick as molasses.

The door of the trailer opened, and Jimmy Boy
stepped out, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He stopped when he saw
the gathering in his front yard, and for a second, it looked as if
he might turn around and flee back into the safety of the trailer.
Instead, he forced his feet down into the grass, taking a few
hesitant steps toward the picnic table. He didn’t speak but crossed
his arms over his chest, hovering behind me like hired muscle.

Pop Sheedy continued on without acknowledging
my brother. “Then you’re in luck, Shay, because that’s exactly why
I’m here. Sending you out with that trailer was a little test. An
experiment, you might call it.”

I nodded to indicate I understood. I glanced
at Pop’s sons, standing in a line behind their father just as Jimmy
Boy stood behind me. It struck me that this meeting would present a
pretty strange picture to anyone watching.

“And it proved exactly what I guessed it
would, which is that you are an asset to this clan. I have a very
special job, and you’re the only one who can pull it off.”

I’d been leaning forward, listening, but
hearing this sent me reeling back several inches. “I’m honored,
Pop. What did you have in mind?”

“I’m sending you up north to Pennsylvania. A
place near Philadelphia called Balanova.”

“Balanova?” I’d never heard of the place. And
I couldn’t think of a single person I knew who lived in
Pennsylvania. “What’s in Balanova?”

“Revenge,” Pop said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE WORD “REVENGE” hung in the air as Pop
continued his explanation.

“There’s an old wrong that needs setting
right, and you’re the perfect person for the job,” he said.

“Sorry. I don’t quite follow.”

“Did you ever wonder why, out of everyone in
this clan, you were allowed to finish school?” Pop punctuated his
question with a quirked brow.

I frowned. “Because Maggie wanted me to.”

“She did, but I didn’t ask
why you finished. I asked why you were
allowed
to finish.”

Electricity prickled down my spine, and I
squirmed, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable sensation.

“Something wrong, son?” Pop asked.

I shook my head. “No, sir. I guess I just
never really thought about it.”

“Well, let me fill you in. Maggie wanted you
to finish school instead of going out on the road with your
brother, and I gave her permission to bend the rules because it
served my purposes. See, I’ve had this plan in the works for a long
time—since before you were born—and keeping you tucked away in
school meant there wouldn’t be much chance of you getting a
record.”

Almost every man and several of the women in
the Village had at least a few misdemeanors on their rap sheets,
and more than a handful had done time. Even Jimmy Boy had been
pinched as a minor for shoplifting. “So my clean record is an
asset?”

“Your anonymity is an asset. And, on top of
that, it looks like your education might actually come in handy as
well. Though I’ll be honest, that hadn’t occurred to me at the
time.” He snorted in amusement.

“Okay. So what’s the job?” I was intrigued
now. All my experiences as a Traveler were small-time. Quick and
dirty jobs like the trailer sale. I’d heard of cons who played the
long game, drawing out scams for a few months or even a year for a
big enough payout, but a plan that had been put into motion two
decades ago was something unheard of. And something I was anxious
to hear more about.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard the legend
of Saint Thomas,” Pop said.

“The apostle? The one who didn’t believe
Jesus had risen from the dead?”

“The Traveler.” Pop’s voice was sharp with
hostility. “The one who betrayed your father, stole from us, and
disappeared without a trace.”

I blinked at him. A thousand questions banged
into each other in my mind, warring for the chance to be asked
first. I turned to look at Jimmy Boy, and he shrugged, apparently
as unfamiliar with this story as I was.

“What did he do to my father?”

“Shay, I don’t—” Jimmy Boy said, but Pop
silenced him with a flick of his hand.