Victor Gischler - The Pistol Poets

They each sipped a large cup of convenience store coffee.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Lancaster said. “A drug sale. This is nothing but a common drug sale. We’re criminals.”

“A thousand bucks to each of you just to ride along,” Jenks said. “This guy’s a professional dealer. He don’t get it from me, he just gets it from somebody else.”

“Where’d you get all that cocaine?” DelPrego asked.

“Just a fluke. This is my one deal.” Jenks held his coffee cup with both hands, felt the warmth. “As soon as I get this money it’s straight and narrow for me.”

“Good,” Lancaster said. “Otherwise, count me out.”

“Me too,” DelPrego said. “I’m flat-ass broke. They cut off my phone. I need cash so bad I’d sell coke to my grandmother.”

“Okay then. One score and it’s all done.” Jenks pointed to the left. “Down that dirt road.”

“How the hell you know where to go?” DelPrego turned the truck.

“I was out here yesterday to find the guy. He said come back today and he’d have the cash. That’s why I needed you guys.”

“But how did you know the first time?” DelPrego shot a glance at him.

“You keep your ears open and you hear things.”

“I still don’t like it,” Lancaster said.

“We can stop the truck and let you out,” Jenks said.

“I’m just saying I don’t like it,” Lancaster said. “I’m nervous that’s all.”

“Good. Keep you on your toes.”

The land sloped up gently, and they saw the gray, weatherworn barn on a rise a half mile up. They drove toward it easy and slow. A little squat house a few dozen yards from the barn. One half-assed tornado would knock the place to kindling.

“This isn’t where drug dealers live in the movies,” DelPrego said.

Jenks wasn’t listening. He pulled the.32 revolver and the 9mm Glock from two of his baggy pockets. “Here.” He dropped the revolver into Lancaster’s lap.

“What!” Lancaster jerked, looked down at the gun like Jenks had dumped hot coals on his crotch. “I don’t want this thing.”

“Shit.” Jenks slammed a clip into the Glock. “What the fuck you think you’re here for? To keep me company?”

“I don’t want it.” Lancaster looked sick. “You said all I had to do was sit in the car. Give it to Wayne.”

“Don’t bother.” DelPrego reached under his seat, pulled out a double-barreled shotgun. “Twelve-gauge. Loaded with buckshot.” The barrels had been hacked short. The whole gun was barely two feet long, stock and all.

Lancaster groaned.

“Good.” Jenks stuck the Glock in his belt under the army jacket. “You guys hang back. That’s all. If he sees I got backup, he’ll be less likely to pull a funny. Now drive up within a hundred feet of that barn. Nice and slow.”

They finished their coffee, tossed the cups out the window.

Moses Duncan puffed a cigarette, watched through the crack in the barn door as the truck approached. He wore a heavy corduroy jacket which hid the.38 revolver in his belt. The pistol was thirty years old and had been his daddy’s. He’d kept it clean and well oiled over the years, just like Daddy had shown him.

The truck was getting closer, and he could see three men in the front seat. That damn coon had brought friends. Hell, he should have figured. Well, that was okay. He had friends too. Big John up in the loft with a shotgun. His pal Eddie in the house, watching from the front window. Eddie was the most goddamn bad shot Moses had ever seen, but he could make a hell of a lot of noise with his army-issue.45.

The coon had approached him yesterday about buying a buttload of coke at a fraction of the street value, and Moses thought, hell, why not get it for free? The guy was clearly from out of town. Nobody would miss him, and he could feed his body to the pigs. And the coke would be all his. He wouldn’t have to filter the profits back to his contacts down in Oklahoma City. He could get a new Harley. Fix the thermostat in the house. Fix himself up with some new threads. Twenty grand for a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of coke was actually a damn fine deal, but Duncan couldn’t raise twenty grand any more than he could hammer a tent peg through a block of ice with his pecker.

No, there just wasn’t any honest way to do this deal, and frankly Duncan didn’t bet on losing any sleep over it.

Nothing to do now but let the truck get close and park. If he could get the coon into the barn, they could bushwhack him good.

“Stop the truck,” Jenks said.

DelPrego parked the truck a hundred feet from the barn and shifted into park. He left the engine running.

“Here’s how it’s going to happen,” Jenks said. “You guys get out the truck, see. Stand there by the open doors and watch me go toward the guy with the money. Be looking around in case he’s got some buddies. Lancaster, you can leave that.32 in your coat pocket. It’s small enough. Keep your hand in there like you’re staying warm. Keep hold of the gun, be ready to bring it out fast in case some shit happens. You hear?”

Lancaster shook his head. “I changed my mind.” He looked a little green, breath short. “Wayne? You changed your mind too, right? I want to go.”

Jenks ignored Lancaster, nudged DelPrego. “You’ll need to leave that scattergun on the seat, but the door will be open so you can grab it quick if you have to.”

“Right.”

“But your main job is to drive. Some kind of hell breaks loose, you come get me. I’ll jump in the bed so you can drive off quick. Slow down a little, so I can jump in the back.”

“You expect trouble.”

“Just being careful. Lancaster, you got to spray bullets at whoever’s causing the trouble. Keep me covered until I’m in the truck.”

“God. Sherman, look, I don’t want to shoot anybody, okay? I don’t think I can. You said all I had to do was sit in the car.”

“Sit in the car with the gun. You just got to make them duck. Give me a chance to get back.”

“I have to pee.”

“Chances are he’ll give me the money and I’ll give him the powder and that’s that. So you two stay cool. Don’t twitch out on me. Keep your eyes open.”

DelPrego opened their car door, stepped out. Lancaster was frozen in his seat. Jenks slid out DelPrego’s side, walked around, and stood in front of the pickup. DelPrego leaned on the driver’s-side door, the butt of the shotgun on the seat within quick reach.

The barn door creaked open and Moses Duncan stepped out. He had a paper grocery sack under his arm. Jenks tried to eye him for weapons, but that corduroy jacket was so baggy, could have been twenty guns and a bazooka under there. Jenks waved, set the gym bag with the cocaine on the hood of DelPrego’s truck.

“Hey there, boy,” called Duncan. “You’re on time. Good. I got your money right here.”

“Let’s trade,” Jenks said.

“That’s fine. Come on in the barn and we’ll settle up.”

Jenks shook his head. “Out here in the open.”

“Hell, boy, I just want to get out of the wind.” Duncan frowned, rubbed his nose with his thumb. “Besides, I don’t know them two fellows you brought. Sort of makes a man nervous.”

“Look, dude, this is simple,” Jenks said. “You walk this way and I’ll walk to you and we’ll trade in the middle.”

Duncan looked back into the barn, turned again to Jenks. “Yeah, okay.”

They both started walking and met between DelPrego’s pickup and the barn. Jenks dropped the bag at Duncan’s feet.

Duncan smiled big. He was missing a molar toward the back. “Got your cash right here. Had to hit up a few folks to raise this kind of money, but I managed to scrape it together.” Duncan unrolled the top of the grocery sack, started to reach inside.