Cold Wind - C. J. Box [81]
Johnny rubbed his eyes. They burned and he imagined they looked like glowing charcoal briquettes, because they felt that way. He’d need to go to the pickup and reload soon as well, and avoid the crash that was coming. It felt like there were a million spiders crawling through his body just beneath the skin. The rock would put them back to sleep. Johnny said, “Like a whorehouse on wheels?”
“Exactly,” Drennen said. “Exactly. We drive up to the well, get the word out among the workers, go set up somewhere on public land or some dumbass rancher’s place, and take our cut. Of course, we have to protect the whores and keep them productive, so we’ve got to be on-site and be alert and all that. I’ll handle the accounting and paperwork, and all you’ll have to do is stand around and look jumpy and menacing. I know you can do that.”
“I can,” Johnny said, pointing at the cooler. Drennen stood up and got him another beer.
“We need to make some money,” Drennen said. “We’re just about out and there is no work out there. We couldn’t even get on at a dude ranch since it’s September and the end of their season. Man, we burned through the whole wad in a couple a weeks.”
“Maybe we can kill somebody else,” Johnny said, patting his pistol and dropping his voice. “That’s easier than hitting the road in an RV.”
Drennen grunted. “Nobody we know needs anyone whacked,” he said. “So there’s no business there, either.”
Johnny said, “Maybe we can get unemployment from the government. I heard one of those gas guys saying you can collect for something like two years now before you have to even look for a job. That sounds like a sweet deal to me.”
Drennen rolled his eyes. “That’s subsistence level, man. We can’t do that. We’ve got to live higher on the food chain.”
“So where do we get an RV?” Johnny asked. “Those mothers are expensive.”
“I haven’t figured that one out yet,” Drennen said, dismissing Johnny’s concern.
“And if we do somehow get one, why would Gasbag Jim trust us to lend us his whores and give him his cut? He don’t know us from Adam. And along the same lines, if this is such a great idea, why won’t Gasbag and his buddies just do it? Why do they need us?”
Gasbag Jim was always shadowed by two large Mexicans named Luis and Jesus. Luis openly wore a shoulder holster. Luis had a trickedout tactical AR-15 he sometimes used to shoot at gophers using his laser sight. The Ruger also belonged to Luis.
Drennen had a blank expression on his face that eventually melded into petulance. “I didn’t say I had the whole fuckin’ thing figured out,” he pouted. “I said I had a concept that I’m working through. One of us has to think ahead farther than the tip of our dick, you know.”
Johnny looked down at his lap and smiled. At least that felt like his. “Wish I could figure out where I left my pants,” he said. Then: “I’ve been thinking, too. What about that Patsy? I bet she’d part with a whole bunch more if we got to her and said we might have to talk. Hell, she got that bag of cash from somewhere. I bet there’s a hell of a lot more where that came from.”
Drennen shook his head and said, “I’m ahead of you on that one. But all we know is she’s from Chicago. We don’t have an address, and we don’t really even know if that was her real name. It’s not like she gave us a business card, bud.”
“I went to Chicago once,” Johnny said. “You’re right, it’s big. And I think Patsy knows people, if you know what I mean.”
When Drennen didn’t respond, he looked back at his friend. Drennen was sitting in the dirt, legs crossed Indian fashion, head tilted back. He was squinting at something in the sky.
“What?” Johnny said. “You’re not gonna ask me what animal a cloud looks like again, are you? Because I’m not interested.”
“Look,” Drennen said, gesturing skyward with this beer can.
Johnny sighed and looked up. It seemed like a lot of effort.
“See it?” Drennen asked.
“What?”
“That bird. An eagle or whatever, going around in circles?”
Johnny squinted and finally found it. It was a long