Randy White - Deceived

Mica pretended to give that some serious thought, then seemed to drop his guard a little. “Well, honey, truth is, I ain’t the dumb little kid you remember. I figured something out. Back in the day, folks around here made money. I’m talking piles of cash. Now that they’re old, most of ’em are happy to donate to a place that will show off their family history. Plus it helps ease the guilt they feel-which I’m sure you already know.” He let that sink in before adding, “Mamma was tickled pink to help spread the word about Fisherfolk. Same with your own sweet Loretta. So I don’t see it as stealing.”

What was that supposed to mean? I told him, “I didn’t hear you mention any pot haulers on your list of names.”

“Didn’t I?” he said, and gave me a look that asked How can you be so damn naïve? At last, I understood. He was hinting that Rosanna Helms and Loretta had both been involved in smuggling drugs.

“That’s cruel, even for you,” I said. “Your mother’s not even in the ground yet, and Loretta hated boats. Still does! Show some respect!”

Mica laughed that away while a silky wink came into his tone. “Instead of fighting me, you could be helping collect donations. I wouldn’t expect you to work for free. You’d be paid on a percentage basis-like all charities do it. Hannah-han”-he spoke my name as if I was already a conspirator-“some of our people had so much cash lying around, they didn’t know what to do with it. You think they put it in banks? You think they paid income tax on that money? Hell no! They hid it-and killed more than one man to protect what they were doing.”

“You’re talking about your father,” I said.

“Goddamn right I am! Didn’t you hear me say folks around here got reasons to feel guilty? Daddy was a mean sonuvabitch, but he wasn’t dumb. Think how much you could sock away if you made ten, twenty million cash, and didn’t pay the IRS? If I’m right, someone owes us both. Think of this as collecting your inheritance, ’cause that’s the way I see it.”

Once again, taxes had been mentioned, but that ended the conversation as far as I was concerned-and also explained why Mica Helms might have ransacked his own mother’s house. Hunting for cash, hunting for something . I started toward the gate while tapping numbers on my phone.

“Hey… hey! Who you calling?” Mica followed, the cigarette clinched between his teeth.

“That sheriff’s deputy,” I replied. “I’m less tolerant of bullying since Friday when you chased me with an axe. Or was it him?” I looked toward the trailer, but Spooner had vanished from the steps.

“You’re crazy!” Mica hollered, but then surrendered in a rush by promising to return Loretta’s donations if I hung up the phone.

Too late. Birdy answered, saying, “You better not be backing out. My friend loaned me his night vision dealie.” She was talking about the plans we’d made for tonight.

I remained formal. “Deputy Tupplemeyer, you said I should call if I had any problems at the junkyard.”

Mica groaned and spun away while the redhead became all business. “If you’re in trouble, give me a landmark, I’m on my way. In danger, say something about-shit, I don’t know-say your watch broke, that’s why you’re late. Then pretend to hang up-but don’t .”

Looking at Mica, I said, “No trouble so far, but you asked me to check in. Can I call you back in twenty?”

“Is this about that charity scam?”

“Seems so.”

“You’re trying to scare some asshole,” Birdy guessed. “No problem. I’ll call you back in five. Put your phone on Speaker before you answer.”

I replied, “Well, if you’re already in Glades City, that’s fine,” and hung up.

Mica was lighting another cigarette, his nerves and starving brain on overload. “Shit, that’s just dandy. I give you a chance to make some real money, but you go crying to the cops anyway!”

I pointed to the metal building and said, “Not if we find Loretta’s things in there. Otherwise, the deputy and I are just meeting for lunch.”

“Lunch! With a cop ?” Mica studied me, suddenly suspicious. “You stay away from that storage barn. Hear me? It’s up to Harris whether he gives us the keys or not.”

For the first time, I took a real look at the building: corrugated roof and siding, with sliding doors like a garage but bigger, and they were padlocked. Against an outside wall was a stack of car batteries and piles of trash that included metal cans-the kind that hold paint thinner. I sniffed the air and suddenly understood why the area had a nasty chemical smell. The building was probably a meth lab.

“Don’t get any stupid ideas,” Mica warned softly.

I was moving away from him when Birdy, whose internal clock runs fast, called back. I touched Speaker and turned the volume loud so Mica wouldn’t miss a word.

“Ms. Smith? Deputy Tupplemeyer here. We’ve got a couple of K-nine units in the area, and I know how much you like dogs. Mind if we stop and say hello?”

When my eyes shifted to Mica, he was waving his hands to focus my attention and mouthing the words Okay!… Okay! meaning he would open the storage barn, answer my questions, anything I wanted. I didn’t believe him but the K-9 unit was a fiction, too, so I went along with it, telling Birdy I would call back in a few minutes.

Mica was lying, as expected. But it gave Harris Spooner time to appear, the ZZ Top giant who moved methodically despite the pit bull that was pulling him along by its leash.

“I’m betting on that Chevy again!” he called to us, grinning. “Or she can pay me twenty bucks and walk out like a lady. Her choice.”

The man had added an extra ten as interest, apparently, but it was actually extortion because I was terrified of the dog, which he could read in my reaction. It caused Spooner’s grin to broaden, a grin so wide and wild it spread his beard like a curtain and laid his teeth bare on a face that was the size of a yeti and just as hairy.

I didn’t freeze but didn’t argue back either. Just stood there numbly while Harris knelt to slap the dog’s neck while saying to Mica, “You talk too much, dickweed.”

Mica feigned indignation. “You know I wouldn’t do that!”

“I heard you, boy. Piles of money and unpaid taxes. You didn’t say that?” Harris’s head pivoted slowly until his eyes found Mica. “You ever bring another stranger back here, keep flapping your lips way you do, I’ll turn you into something Vixxy can lap from a bowl.”

Mica’s expression became glassy, but he tried to save face by saying, “This girl, she’s almost like family. You knew her people!”

Spooner nailed him with another look that read I’ll deal with you later, then got back to me and his wager, saying, “I don’t see no money in your hand, girl, so you must be real proud of those legs of yours. Well, if that’s the way you want it.” He reached to unsnap the dog’s collar. “You get a five-second head start. Damn it, girl, better run!”

The threat shocked me out of my daze and I replied with a threat of my own. “Mister, I’ve got a sheriff’s deputy waiting outside-ask Mica, if you don’t believe me. A whole team, plus a K-nine unit!”

It was the wildest of lies but didn’t matter. Before Spooner could respond, a familiar voice stopped everything by hollering, “Leave her alone, Harris! Mica, back away, and let me see your hands! I’ll shoot that damn dog, if I have to.”

Joel Ransler was there when I turned, a pistol in his left hand and ready but pointed at the ground. Then proved he could bully both men-possibly showing off for my benefit-by asking, “What’s the problem, you fellas miss showering at Raiford? Or just the strip searches?”