Blake Crouch - Snowbound

“You are cool and calm and in control.” She handed him her Glock. “It’s loaded.”

“Where’s the safety?”

“There isn’t one, and there’s a round in the chamber, but don’t get all Jack Bauer on me. That’s last resort right there. If you have to use it, things are seriously fucked-up.”

Will closed his eyes. “He’s gonna know the second he sees me that I’m—”

“It’s like acting, Will, okay? Ever do any high school theater?”

“No.”

“Well, you were an attorney, right? Ever represent someone you knew was guilty?”

“Sure.”

“Ever get them acquitted?”

“A few times.”

“Then you’ve acted. Convinced twelve people. Tonight, you only have to convince one.”

“The stakes aren’t even in the same league.”

“You know what to say?”

“Yeah.”

“Want to run through it again?”

“No, I don’t wanna sound rehearsed.” He held up the gun. “Where do I even put this thing?”

“Just slide it down the back of your waistband when you get out of the car. And make sure your shirt and leather jacket are pulled over it. Listen. If you have to use it, if it comes to that, you calm yourself down first. Center mass is what you aim for. That’s a forty-five-cal. Thing’s got plenty of stopping power.”

“Jesus.” Will looked at the clock: 10:54.

He opened the door, stepped outside.

“Good luck,” Kalyn said. He nodded, felt like he was going to be sick. “I know you can do this,” she said. “So quit doubting yourself.”

But he didn’t. He doubted himself as he shoved the Glock into his waistband, as he looked back across the interstate toward the motel where he’d left Devlin, as he shoved his hands into his leather jacket and started across the parking lot.

Will stepped into the convenience store that adjoined the café.

Big Al’s was bustling for almost eleven, and, no surprise, 80 percent of the customers had the look of truck drivers—bearded, bulging guts, bloodshot eyes bleary with loneliness.

He walked past the drink machines, saw a black man filling what must have been a gallon-size cup from every soda dispenser—shot of Sierra Mist, Coca-Cola, orange Fanta, lemonade, Dr Pepper—a potpourri of colored, carbonated sugar water.

He headed for the rest rooms, found an empty stall, and sat for a moment on the toilet, making himself breathe, holding the Glock, turning it over, trying to settle into the weight of it. As he washed his hands, he caught his reflection in the mirror. He studied his eyes, wondered if the man named Jonathan would see the cold, callous burning that he did not.

He walked back through the convenience store, heading toward the restaurant’s entrance.

A clock above the cash register read 11:02.

The hostess looked up, said, “Just one tonight, honey?”

“No, I’m meeting someone.” He strode past her, made a quick scan of the tables and booths, the stools at the counter. Soft drink signs and old license plates adorned the walls. A sign over the grill read KISS A TRUCKER. Breathe, Will. Breathe. The place was packed. Smell of fried things, onions, old coffee, bacon, body odor, eons of accumulated cigarette smoke. Long red hair, bushy beard, weighs over three hundred pounds. Aside from the long red hair, Javier’s description matches a third of the custom—There.

In the last booth, not far from the kitchen doors, an enormous man with braids of red hair and an unkempt beard occupied an entire bench seat. His back was to the wall, and he was staring at Will. You aren’t breathing. Will breathed, then moved carefully across the checkered floor to the booth, the man watching him with uncertainty.

The food on the table could have fed five, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all major fried-food groups represented.

Will slid into the booth.

“Jonathan?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Breathe. Will’s lower lip ached to tremble. He bit his tongue, glared at the man, summoning all the hate in his arsenal. He had a hand in taking Rachael.

“Once more. You Jonathan?” The man returned the onion ring he’d been holding to the basket and wiped the grease from his hands onto his size XXX T-shirt, which displayed three naked women engaged in some act that was indeterminate due to the stretched, faded quality of the cotton.

When he started to rise, Will pulled the Glock from his waistband, set it on the table, the barrel pointed at Jonathan, his finger on the trigger.

“You crazy?” The man’s eyes cut to every corner of the restaurant, but Will didn’t move. “Where’s Jav?” Jonathan whispered.

“Jav went to be with the Lord.” Will wiped his right hand on his pants under the table, sweat running down his sides. He tapped the Glock on the table. “Should I put this away or—”

“Yes. Nobody told me nothing about this. Who are you?”

It hadn’t occurred to Will that he might be asked to give his name, and he said the first thing that popped into his head: “Never mind what my name is. We discovered that Jav had this little operation going on the side. And you know what the upsetting thing was? He never shared.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I have the product.”

Jonathan picked up an enormous hamburger and bit into it, juice and catsup running down his chin. He wiped his forearm across his mouth and spoke as he chewed.

“You think I’m gonna do business with someone I never met, never seen, never heard of? That how you do business?”

Will exhaled slowly through his nose. “How I conduct my business is not your affair. Just for clarification . . . you are ending your arrangement with us?”

“Us?”

“The Alphas.”

Jonathan’s face blanched. He swallowed. “I suspected,” he said. “But I didn’t know. Sure as shit didn’t ask.”

“Are we doing business tonight, Jonathan? I need to know right now.”

Will set the Glock back on the table.

Jonathan sighed. “Yeah. Course we are. Course we are. And I apologize if I—”

“Just shut the fuck up. I’m tired, and I’d like to get some sleep. Where’s your truck?”

“Space one fifty-one.”

“Be there in five.”

TWENTY-SIX

Will unlocked the Land Rover, climbed into the driver’s seat, and shut the door. Kalyn lay silent and unmoving across the backseat, and when he glanced at her, he couldn’t help seeing Rachael, and it hit him again that she’d been through all this alone, without him.

“He went for it,” Will said.

Kalyn didn’t move. “What now?”

“We’re meeting him at his truck.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like someone jammed an adrenaline shot into my heart.”

“Yeah, it’s a rush, huh?”

“Kalyn, it’s not too late. We can still just drive away, forget this whole thing. You sure you wanna be put in the back of a trailer? God knows where it’s going.”

“Of course I don’t, Will. I’m scared beyond shitless. But in spite of the fear, I want to know what happened to my sister. She went through exactly what I’m getting ready to experience. Nobody tracking her. Nobody watching her back.”

Will cranked the engine, shifted into drive. He pulled around the side of the building that housed the restaurant and convenience store, soon found himself driving through row after row of semis, at least a hundred of them, dark and dormant, their drivers asleep for the night. Will lifted the TrimTrac device from the passenger seat, slipped it in his pocket.

“Kalyn, I’m worried. What do I do when the next transfer is made? What if he just passes you on to another truck?”

“There’s no way of knowing what’ll happen, where I’ll wind up. You just be close and ready to improvise. But listen, don’t get yourself and your daughter killed over this, okay?”