Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [50]
The college market made up the most reliable chunk of the Hansens’ customer base. There was plenty of competition, but also a giant, unwavering demand. Paul enjoyed that all these Tylers and Hunters and Masons were paying for his own kids’ college education—if he ever had kids, that is. And if those kids had Brandy’s genes, Paul thought, they’d probably need Ivy League money.
Over the next few hours Paul made a couple of transactions at smaller schools. The largest and last on his schedule was Sequoia State, Rafael Dupree’s domain—he lived just off campus. As always, they met at the Sickly Thistle, a pub near campus.
Finding Rafael in a back booth, Paul was about to shake his hand but pulled up dramatically at the last second. “Hey, how’s that rash?”
“Aw, man, don’t be like that. All cleared up. Question is, how are you? I heard about Hart,” Rafael said.
“I’m okay. Just trying to keep the doors open, you know?”
“How’s Lacey holding up?”
“Let me get back to you on that one,” said Paul. “Not sure she’s really processed it.”
“So, who do you think did it?” Rafael said.
“I have no idea. Not in a hurry to get one, either.”
“Right,” Rafael said, sounding not quite convinced. Then he offered his take on the suspect pool. “With somebody like Hart, it could be almost anyone. A recent business associate, someone from his Bakersfield days, back when he was doing business with gangs, a jealous husband, a jealous sheriff husband—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Paul said. “For now I’m just letting it unfold how it does.”
“That’s very stoic of you, Epictetus.” Rafael liked to show off what he’d picked up in the classes he was auditing.
“I got your epic teats right here,” said Paul. “Come on, man, just let me have my beer.”
“Yeah. Best to let bygones be bygones.”
“What does that mean?” Paul asked.
Raf shrugged. “Nothing, man, just that you can’t fix the past.”
“Uh, yeah. Well, shall we?” Paul said, motioning to the door.
They went out to his truck and made their standard transaction. Rafael left for a medieval philosophy lecture.
As much as he liked Rafael, Paul was glad to be free of him. An idea had occurred to him during their conversation. He took out his cell phone and noticed that the battery had died. He used the pay phone at the back of the pub to call Lacey’s cell. Her outgoing message came on immediately.
“Lace, it’s me,” Paul said, his voice quavering a little. “Hey, I just talked to Rafael. Listen: He says Hart was mixed up with a gang called Los Chungos from way back in the Bakersfield days. Apparently he was working off some money he owed them. I’m trusting that you’ll . . . register the seriousness of this and act accordingly. To summarize: Hart, Los Chungos. Spanish for ‘We kill nosy white girls.’ Okay? Be careful.”
Paul felt a little uneasy about using an honest guy like Rafael as part of the lie, but it was for a good cause.
It was shaping up to be a successful day for Paul’s top two imperatives: keeping Lacey and the business out of trouble. He decided to check out a little liberal arts school nearby where he didn’t have customers yet. He hung around the campus health food store, just getting a feel for the place—the same way he’d met Rafael a few years ago. Judging from the concentration of white dreads, it was a promising target. He’d ask Raf to check it out.
As Paul got on the highway to head back to Mercer, his focus on business as usual started to drift. He knew he’d pass the exit to the old family cabin halfway home. While he remained committed to steering clear of the Hart/Babalato mess as much as possible, he couldn’t forget what Big Marv had insinuated to Lacey about their parents’ death. He had to do something about it.
Paul could already see himself pulling off at the exit and, for the first time since before the accident, going to the cabin. If there was something to find, he wanted to find it before Lacey did. Given her recent behavior, she’d no doubt be snooping around soon enough.
His mind drifted back ten years to the days in the wake