Don Bruns - Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

“Once you quit, what happened? Did they keep checking on you?” Em was into it now.

“For a while. I’d see a car, catch somebody walking behind me. I didn’t sell any knockoff shit for a couple weeks, because I thought they might arrest me for that.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So it finally ended?”

“I think they realized I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a killer. Although, they desperately want to pin it on somebody.”

“Well, neither of us was in Washington, D.C. three years ago.” I’d never been there in my life. “We were still in school.”

“That’s not true, Skip.” Em put her arm around my neck. “Daddy and I went to some hearings on contracting laws. It was in the summer of that year and I went along to keep him company. I’m pretty sure it was at the same time that the senator was shot.”

“Unbelievable.” I thought back, trying to remember Em being gone. Must have been a couple of weeks when we were out of touch.

“The car that followed Emily was owned by the FBI. I feel pretty certain that my visitor was from a government agency. Em, you and I were both in Washington that summer, so there’s a good chance they’re looking at you.”

“You know, if I’d stayed away just another week, this crap never would have happened.” She took her arm off my neck, stood up, and walked to the truck. She looked it up and down, touching it with her hand. “This damned truck of James’s, it’s already caused its share of problems hasn’t it?”

“Em, it’s not the truck.”

“No. I know it. It’s your roommate. I swear to God, Skip, he gets us into more hot water.”

E m and I talked. It was late, and the feelings and the words came slowly. A little about where she’d been for the last three months. Mostly up in the panhandle, staying with a girlfriend. She was disappointed that I’d stayed with the security company. I couldn’t blame her, I was disappointed too. We talked about her job with her father, and we talked about the future. Well, actually we discussed what tomorrow would bring. But in our relationship, it has always seemed to be one day at a time.

“How long are you going to hitch your wagon to James’s star?”

I looked up and could see the stars, dazzling in the Florida sky. “I don’t think that’s fair.”

“Skip, you’re bright, you’re intelligent — ”

“I’m up to my ass in college loans. I have applied for other jobs, but with my grades and lack of experience, it just hasn’t happened, Em.”The same argument, the same answers. Emily is a rich bitch and she will never understand the other side of the tracks.

“And I’m still not sure what we’re doing here. We could get into so much trouble.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Daron is the one going in. We’ll simply stand outside and be the lookouts.”

“Still — ”

“You were followed by the FBI.”

“We’re to believe that scumbag, Daron Styles? Jeez, Skip, do you remember him in high school? He was a liar, a cheat — ”

“Yeah. And you wouldn’t believe what he’s up to now.”

“Don’t even tell me.”

I didn’t. I would have lost my lookout partner if I had.

“The stuff he said makes sense. You know it, I know it. The fact that you really were in Washington, it’s enough to be concerned that they’re checking you out.”

“Being checked out by the FBI — ”

Styles came walking back from the Buick, carrying a shoe box. “Hey, Em. Know anything about Loeffler Randall shoes?”

“What?”

“About the value of Loeffler Randall shoes?” He opened the box and showed her these high-heeled somethings with a thin ankle strap.

“What are you doing with women’s shoes?”

Styles looked at me and I frowned and shook my head. He hesitated, watching me closely. “Oh, nothing. I just sort of found them and wondered if they had any value.” He waited for an answer, and when he got none he tossed the box into the truck. “Well, I’d say it’s about time we stroll back to the trailer and see if our security guy has decided to call it a night.”

I kept thinking about Dusty, the full-timer, the ex-school teacher, the gun-toting security guy from the other end of the path. Maybe they switched off and Dusty was security for the office.

Styles leaned into me, a little closer, and whispered. “Some really good stuff in those bags. Three, maybe four hundred bucks on eBay. Find out about those shoes. Okay?”

We acted like we were just out for a one o’clock stroll. Actually, I figured if anyone saw us they’d know in a heartbeat that we were there to break into Cashdollar’s office. I was sweating, glancing in every direction, and wishing like crazy I hadn’t involved Em. She was right. I got into some really bad scenarios because of my best friend. I mean, here I was doing what could arguably be called the dumbest thing I’d ever done, and not only was it sheer stupidity, but I was dragging Em right along.

“I hope you find something, Daron.”

She sounded almost excited, like it was an adventure.

He whispered, softly. “He keeps a record. Of everything that goes on.” Glancing back at me he said, “The incident with the tires? That will be in the computer. He may even write down why they shot them out, and who shot them out. I’ve just got to see if I can find everything.”

“This record of things that happened,” I whispered back, “I don’t understand why he keeps it. And I really question whether it’s that accessible. I mean if this stuff is damaging to Cashdollar, he’s not going to leave it so you can break in and steal it.”

“My friend, trust me.”

“I don’t.”

“In this case, Skipper, I know what I’m talking about. He’s got it all written down. And I told you, he’s got Stan’s notes too. I think he feels that he needs it as security.” He paused for a long time, and we all stopped walking.

“Security?” I had to ask the question.

“I think he’s afraid that the rev may take a hike. And if someone starts looking into the entire mess, I don’t think that LeRoy wants to be involved. Any more than he has to be.”

“He could bargain his way out, with a diary filled with this information?”

“Come on guys.” Styles pointed his finger at me. “Can’t you quit putting words in my mouth? I told you, I’m guessing.”

Softly, she spat the words. “Bullshit. You said there might be information about you in this electronic notebook. You know exactly what they’re doing. Don’t you? You’re not guessing.”

“Yeah.” I needed to stand up for Em. “Why the hell would he write about you, and what did he say?”

Styles was quiet. He sucked on his tobacco, my God he smoked a lot, and seemed to be pondering the situation.

“I told you that Michael Bland was a full-timer?”

Em gave me a questioning look.

“Yeah.”

“Well, when he died of a drug overdose he had quite a bit of money on him. His winnings from the poker game.”

I just wished he’d get to the point.

“So, I got word the next day that I was being accused of taking the money.”

It all started to fall into place. The poker group had figured out that Styles was a scam artist, and it made sense that he would be the one to steal the money. But off a dead body?

“So, the next day, after the cops left, Stan, Henry, and Sailor came to see me. I had a little tent, and they pulled the flap back and asked me to come out.”

“Threatening?” Em seemed to be more engrossed than before.

“Not at first. It was just after dinner that night, and I’d had quite a bit of business. I thought they were asking me to come down early to the poker game.”