The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [9]
“Well, “ Leonard said thoughtfully. “I could use a beer. And maybe some pussy.”
“God damn it, Leonard--” DeWayne began.
“Easy, cuz,” Leonard said. He gave his cousin a lopsided grin and took the joint from him. “Look, we’ve had a coupla hard days, right? We’re both stressin’. We got the money, sure it’s not as much as we thought it was gonna be, but it’s more than we had. So let’s enjoy it, man. Life’s too damn short.”
“Don’t it bother you we just killed somebody, Leonard?” DeWayne said.
The joint was almost gone. Leonard put the roach out in the cracked ashtray. “Sure it bothers me,” he said. “But that old fucker brought in on hisself. He’d a done what we told him, he wouldn’t be dead. Ain’t nothin’ gonna change what we did. All you can change is how you look at it.”
DeWayne digested this for a moment as Leonard stood up. Leonard put his hands at the small of his back and arched, wincing slightly at the snapping and popping sounds. “Gettin’ too old for this shit,” he grunted. He scooped a handful of bills off the counter and went to the door. “There’s a Short Stop across the street,” he said. “I’m gonna go get us some beers. Then we’re gonna get in the truck, drive on up to Fayetteville, and get you laid.” The lopsided grin was back. “You’re gonna be amazed at how it changes the way you look at things.” He walked out.
DeWayne sat for a minute, the thoughts coming slowly to him. He wasn’t used to reefer, and the thoughts seemed to struggle upwards in his brain.
Fayetteville, he thought. Who do I know in Fayetteville? Then it came to him. Crystal, he thought.
After a few minutes, Leonard came back in, carrying a paper bag under one arm. He had a Budweiser tall-boy in the other hand.
“Leonard,” DeWayne said. “Crystal still living in Fayetteville?”
“Yeah,” Leonard said. “Shakin’ her ass in some titty bar on Bragg Boulevard, last time I heard.” He took a long pull on the beer. “Momma and Daddy don’t even mention her name anymore.”
“She might let us hide out at her place for a while. I been there once.”
Leonard pulled a beer out of the bag, popped the top and handed it to his cousin. “Not a bad idea,” he said after a moment.. “Bet she’d introduce us to some of her friends, too.” He grinned like a satyr. “Shit, we play our cards right, we might not even have to pay for pussy. Now, you’re thinkin’ right, old son.”
CHAPTER TWO
Keller walked out into the motel parking lot, blinking against the sun. The previous night’s thunderstorms had blown away, leaving the world exposed to the hard glare of the sun. The heavy, waterlogged air soaked up the heat until walking across the parking lot was like swimming through soup.
As he approached his car, he saw a white police cruiser parked crossways behind him. There was a big cop leaning against the car, his arms crossed over his chest. His sleeves were rolled up to accentuate his massive forearms. His partner was standing beside Keller’s Crown Victoria, peering through the window with one hand shading her eyes. She was a tall woman, with the lean build of an athlete. Both cops’ eyes were hidden behind the inevitable mirrored sunglasses. The female cop turned as Keller approached.
“This your car, sir?” she said. There were a few wisps of light brown hair coming untucked from beneath her blue cap, but that was the only hint of softness about her. Her lips were compressed into a thin line when she wasn’t speaking. When she spoke, her voice was the officious bark of a drill sergeant. She made sure that the word “sir” contained not a speck of actual respect or courtesy.
Keller took a deep breath. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Is there some kind of--”
“Mind telling us why there’s a shotgun in the front seat?”
He kept his voice mild, inwardly cursing himself for choosing not to bring the shotgun in with him. The desk clerk at the last place he had stayed had seen him carrying his gun into the room and had spent most of