economic hold on the women, Calb believed that they were safe. The women were, he thought, the next thing to fanatics. Nice fanatics, like Ruth Lewis, but they would go to prison before they talked about the deal.
Another fly was Deon Cash, and his old lady, Jane Warr. Cash wasn’t quite right. Shawn Davis had given him a job reluctantly, paid him $432 per delivery, because he was a cousin, and because he had shown in jail that he could keep his mouth shut. But Cash was a bad man; and worse, he was stupid.
A third fly, and lately a big juicy one, was Cash’s friend, Joe Kelly. Kelly stayed with Cash and Warr between runs. Then, a month earlier, he’d disappeared. Nobody knew where. Everybody wanted to know. Calb had begun to suspect that Kelly had made a move on Jane Warr, and that Cash had buried him out in the woods.
Now this.
C ALB WASN’T LISTENING to Ruth Lewis’s appeal. He was staring past her, out into the shop, thinking about the whole mess, and calculating. He had to have something going out there when the cops arrived. Maybe he could haul one of his own trucks in, tear it down, start repainting it. The place couldn’t be empty, with a bunch of guys sitting around staring at the walls . . .
“Gene! Gene!”
Calb looked back at Ruth: “Sorry—I was thinking about . . . getting something going out in the shop. Before the cops get here. It looks weird, being empty.”
“Give us the cash to buy a truck,” Ruth said. “One truck.”
“Listen. Guys. We’ve got to figure out what’s going on here. You have to figure it out, too—I mean, you’re doing the driving. I thought maybe Joe Kelly just took off, but there was no sign he was going and Deon said all his clothes are still hanging in his closet . . . ”
“You think Joe’s dead, too?” Katina asked.
“Well, where is he?” Calb asked. “Nobody in Kansas City has heard from him.”
“There’s an auction Saturday morning in Edmundston that’s got the perfect truck,” Ruth said. “Three years old, two hundred and fifty thousand kilometers, runs good enough to get across.”
“I gotta talk to my Kansas City guy . . . ”
“Gene, we’ve got to do this,” Ruth said urgently. “We’ve got a load waiting. We’re desperate.”
“Let me talk to my guy.” He looked around the office. “You know, if this doesn’t get settled quick, we might have to start worrying about where we talk. What we say.”
“You could always come over to the church to talk,”Katina said. “I don’t think they’d have the guts to bug the church.”
“Maybe . . . ” Calb looked out the window. “I wonder what happened? I heard they were just hanging there, like icicles, all . . . messed up.”
“Jane Warr. She was not a nice woman. Deon was worse,” Katina said. She turned to Ruth. “The Witch used to hang around with Jane. I hope she’s not involved with this somehow.”
“Ask Loren,” Ruth suggested.
“I will. But Jane and Deon . . . ”
“May God have mercy on their souls,” said Ruth, and she crossed herself.
5
A RMSTRONG, THE COUNTY seat, came over the horizon as a hundred-foot-tall yellow concrete chimney with a plume of steam hanging over the prairie, then as a couple of radio towers with red blinking lights, then as a row of corrugated steel-sided grain elevators along a double set of railroad tracks. They followed the tracks past the elevators, past a few broken-down shacks on what had once been the bad side of town, into a quiet neighborhood of aging Cape Cod houses, all painted either white or a dirty pastel pink or blue, over a bridge labeled CROSS RIVER, and into the business district.
“What’s that smell?” Del asked, as they came into town.
Zahn looked at him. “What smell?”
“Paper plant, or chipboard plant,” Lucas said.
“Chipboard,” Zahn said. “I don’t smell it anymore.”
“Jesus. It smells like somebody’s roasting a wet chicken, with the feathers on,” Del
Another fly was Deon Cash, and his old lady, Jane Warr. Cash wasn’t quite right. Shawn Davis had given him a job reluctantly, paid him $432 per delivery, because he was a cousin, and because he had shown in jail that he could keep his mouth shut. But Cash was a bad man; and worse, he was stupid.
A third fly, and lately a big juicy one, was Cash’s friend, Joe Kelly. Kelly stayed with Cash and Warr between runs. Then, a month earlier, he’d disappeared. Nobody knew where. Everybody wanted to know. Calb had begun to suspect that Kelly had made a move on Jane Warr, and that Cash had buried him out in the woods.
Now this.
C ALB WASN’T LISTENING to Ruth Lewis’s appeal. He was staring past her, out into the shop, thinking about the whole mess, and calculating. He had to have something going out there when the cops arrived. Maybe he could haul one of his own trucks in, tear it down, start repainting it. The place couldn’t be empty, with a bunch of guys sitting around staring at the walls . . .
“Gene! Gene!”
Calb looked back at Ruth: “Sorry—I was thinking about . . . getting something going out in the shop. Before the cops get here. It looks weird, being empty.”
“Give us the cash to buy a truck,” Ruth said. “One truck.”
“Listen. Guys. We’ve got to figure out what’s going on here. You have to figure it out, too—I mean, you’re doing the driving. I thought maybe Joe Kelly just took off, but there was no sign he was going and Deon said all his clothes are still hanging in his closet . . . ”
“You think Joe’s dead, too?” Katina asked.
“Well, where is he?” Calb asked. “Nobody in Kansas City has heard from him.”
“There’s an auction Saturday morning in Edmundston that’s got the perfect truck,” Ruth said. “Three years old, two hundred and fifty thousand kilometers, runs good enough to get across.”
“I gotta talk to my Kansas City guy . . . ”
“Gene, we’ve got to do this,” Ruth said urgently. “We’ve got a load waiting. We’re desperate.”
“Let me talk to my guy.” He looked around the office. “You know, if this doesn’t get settled quick, we might have to start worrying about where we talk. What we say.”
“You could always come over to the church to talk,”Katina said. “I don’t think they’d have the guts to bug the church.”
“Maybe . . . ” Calb looked out the window. “I wonder what happened? I heard they were just hanging there, like icicles, all . . . messed up.”
“Jane Warr. She was not a nice woman. Deon was worse,” Katina said. She turned to Ruth. “The Witch used to hang around with Jane. I hope she’s not involved with this somehow.”
“Ask Loren,” Ruth suggested.
“I will. But Jane and Deon . . . ”
“May God have mercy on their souls,” said Ruth, and she crossed herself.
5
A RMSTRONG, THE COUNTY seat, came over the horizon as a hundred-foot-tall yellow concrete chimney with a plume of steam hanging over the prairie, then as a couple of radio towers with red blinking lights, then as a row of corrugated steel-sided grain elevators along a double set of railroad tracks. They followed the tracks past the elevators, past a few broken-down shacks on what had once been the bad side of town, into a quiet neighborhood of aging Cape Cod houses, all painted either white or a dirty pastel pink or blue, over a bridge labeled CROSS RIVER, and into the business district.
“What’s that smell?” Del asked, as they came into town.
Zahn looked at him. “What smell?”
“Paper plant, or chipboard plant,” Lucas said.
“Chipboard,” Zahn said. “I don’t smell it anymore.”
“Jesus. It smells like somebody’s roasting a wet chicken, with the feathers on,” Del
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