Diana Palmer - Night Fever

Mack was doing his math homework at the kitchen table without an argument, strangely silent and uneasy.

“Anything I can help you with?” she asked, pausing beside him.

He looked up and then away, a little too quickly. “No. Just something Clay asked me to do and I said no.” He twirled his pencil. “Becky, if you know something bad’s going to happen, and you don’t tell anybody, does that make you guilty, too?”

“Such as?”

“Oh, I didn’t have anything in mind, really,” Mack said evasively.

Becky hesitated. “Well, if you know something wrong is being done, you should tell. I don’t believe in being a tattletale, but something dangerous should be reported.”

“I guess you’re right.” He went back to work, leaving Becky no wiser than before.

Clay went with the Harris boys to pick up their load of crack. In the past three weeks, he’d learned plenty about how to find customers for the Harrises. He knew the kids who were hassled at home, who were having trouble with schoolwork, who were mad for anything outside the law. He’d already made a sale or two and the money was incredible, even with a small commission. For the first time, he had money to flash and Francine was all over him. He’d bought himself a few new things, like some designer shirts and jeans. He was careful to keep them in his locker at school so that Becky wouldn’t know. Now he wanted a car. He just wasn’t sure how to keep Becky in the dark. Probably he could leave it with the Harris boys. Sure, that was a good move. Or with Francine.

He was still seething about Mack. He’d asked him to help him find customers at the elementary school, but Mack had gotten furious and told him he’d do no such thing! He threatened to tell Becky, too, but Clay had dared him. He knew things about Mack that he could tell—like about those girlie magazines Mack hid in his closet, and the butterfly knife he’d traded for at school that Becky didn’t know he had. Mack had backed down, but he’d gone off mad, and Clay was a little nervous. He didn’t think his brother would tell on him, but you never knew with kids.

They were at the pickup point, a deserted little diner out in the boonies, with two suppliers in a four-wheel-drive jeep. The Harris boys were acting odd, he thought, noticing the way their eyes shifted. They’d left the motor running in the car, too. Clay wondered if he was getting spooked.

“You go ahead with the money,” Son told Clay, patting him on the back. “Nothing to worry about. We’re always careful, just in case the law makes a try for us, but we’re in the clear tonight. Just walk down there and pass the money.”

Clay hesitated. Up until now, it had just been little amounts of coke. This would label him as a buyer and a dealer, and he could go up for years if he was caught. For a moment he panicked, trying to imagine how that would affect Becky and Granddad. Then he got himself under control and lifted the duffel bag containing the money. He wouldn’t get caught. The Harris boys knew their way around. It would be all right. And this supplier wouldn’t be too anxious to finger him, either, because Clay could return the favor.

By the time he got to the black-clad figure in the trendy sports coat, standing beside a high-class Mercedes-Benz, he was almost swaggering with confidence. He didn’t say two words to the supplier. He handed over the money, it was checked, and the coke, in another satchel, was given to him. He’d seen dealers on TV shows test the stuff, but apparently in real life the quality was assured. The Harris boys didn’t seem bothered at all. Clay took the goods, nodded at the dealer, and walked back to where Son and his brother were waiting, his heart going like a drum, his breath almost gasping out of his throat. It was an incredible high, just overcoming his own fear and doing something dangerous for a change. His eyes sparkled as he reached the car.

“Okay.” Son grinned. He took Clay by the shoulders and shook him. “Good man! Now you’re one of us.”

“I am?” Clay asked, hesitating.

“Sure. You’re a dealer, just like us. And if you don’t cooperate, Bubba and I will swear that you’re the brains of the outfit and that you set up this deal.”

“The supplier knows better,” Clay argued.

Son laughed. “He isn’t a supplier,” he said, studying his nails. “He’s one of Dad’s flunkies. Why do you think we didn’t test the stuff before you handed over the money?”

“If he’s just one of your father’s men...” Clay was trying to think it through.

“There was a surveillance unit across the street,” Son said easily. “They made you. They couldn’t pick you up because there wasn’t enough time to get a backup and they knew you’d run. But they’ve got a tape, and probably audio, and all they need is testimony from eyewitnesses to have an airtight case against you. You bought cocaine—a lot of cocaine. Dad’s flunky won’t mind doing the time, either, for what he’ll get paid. We can always buy him out later. You won’t get the same consideration, of course.”

Clay stiffened. “I thought you trusted me!”

“Just some insurance, pal,” Son assured him. “We want your little brother to do some scouting for us at the elementary school. If he cooperates, you don’t do time.”

“Mack said no. He already said no!” He was beginning to feel hysterical.

“Then you’d better make him change his mind, hadn’t you?” Son said, and his small eyes narrowed dangerously. “Or you’re going to end up in stir for a long, long time.”

And just that easily, they had him. He couldn’t know that the so-called surveillance people were just friends of the Harrises, not heat. Or that Francine was being persuaded to be nice to him to help keep him on the string. Yes, they had the poor fish doubly hooked, and he didn’t even know how caught he really was. Yet.

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