I sucked in a breath. I wanted desperately to back away and run like hell. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten where Fat Ernst had left Heck. No, scratch that. It wasn’t only Fat Ernst. It had been me as well. I had helped. I had helped Fat Ernst drag Heck into the Dumpster. I had helped Fat Ernst in lots of ways.

To hell with it then. I didn’t care if Fat Ernst did own the land and the trailer. Things had finally gone too far, gotten too out of hand. Grandma and I would figure something out. We’d find somewhere to live. I’d sleep under a goddamn bridge for the rest of my life before I worked for Fat Ernst one more minute.

CHAPTER 24

I knew I couldn’t march in there and demand my share of the buckle. I couldn’t let on that I intended to quit. If Fat Ernst suspected that, then he would naturally assume I would be calling the cops, letting them know exactly what he’d been feeding the customers. Of course, that’s what I intended to do, but I wanted my fair share of the money first. Maybe it was hypocritical of me, waiting until I got paid before I split and called the cops, but I figured that if me and Grandma were going to have to find a new place to live, then we were gonna need all the money we could get our hands on.

As I filled the plastic bucket with hot water for the last time, I felt a sense of peace settle through my body, knowing that after this, I wouldn’t have to mop the goddamn floor again. I dragged the bucket and mop out front and started splashing water near the front door. I had about got all the mud that I had tracked in cleaned up when Ray shouldered the front door open. He stood in the doorway like he was afraid of stepping inside and let his right hand settle around the handle of the .480.

He nodded at me, saying, “Fat Ernst around?”

I was about to point toward the restrooms when we both heard thesound of a flushing toilet. Fat Ernst appeared, hitching up his jeans. He ignored me and glared at Ray. “What do you want?”

“Thought I’d stop in for a quick bite. See how things were going.”

I wondered if Ray knew about Earl’s belt buckle.

Fat Ernst sighed. “Okay, but it’ll have to be fast. I gotta run down to Sacramento, take care of some business.”

I thought Fat Ernst was supposed to have gone last night, coming back this morning. I almost said something, but Ray stopped me.

“What’s going on in Sac?” Ray readjusted his gun belt and holster as he bent his sticklike figure slightly to sit on a barstool.

Fat Ernst stopped for a moment as he rounded the bar, fixing Ray with heavy-lidded eyes. “Business,” he said flatly.

So Ray didn’t know about the buckle. Good. That meant more money for the rest of us. Fat Ernst scratched the boulder of his stomach. “What do you want?”

“How about some of that chopped steak, couple of eggs?”

Fat Ernst swiveled his blunt head around to stare at me, still trying to clean the new mud around the front door. “You heard the man. Steak and eggs. Hop to it.”

I straightened, holding the mop in front of me. “Uh, I don’t think you’ve got any more meat.”

“Got some more in yesterday, ‘member?”

“You’re out now. There’s nothing in that refrigerator.”

Fat Ernst folded his massive arms and leaned back. “What?”

The rhythm of my words was steady, but my voice was a little strained. A little squeaky. “I didn’t see any meat in there.”

Fat Ernst stood, started back around the bar, moving slow, but he didn’t look tired. He moved languidly, like a bored shark going after a drowning seagull.

“Well, hell, if you don’t have any meat, that’s okay. How about some pancakes, then?” Ray asked.

“Oh, no, we’ve got some meat. We’ve got plenty of meat,” Fat Ernstanswered, glancing at Ray. “Seems to me there’s been a … mistake.” With the last word, his eyes nailed me to the wall. But then his eyes slid up and over me, staring out the window to my left. “Christ, what’s she want?”

I turned to look. Through the rain-streaked window, I could see a red Dodge pickup bouncing through the deep mud of the parking lot. It stopped next to Ray’s police car and Misty Johnson climbed out.

CHAPTER 25

Ray pulled his shoulders back and did his best to straighten up his hunched posture. He licked his fingers and smoothed out his pencil mustache, then his eyebrows. “Probably wants to talk to me.”

Fat Ernst slowly backed up to the bar. I knew he was worried that she’d been out to the cemetery. Hell, I was worried too, worried that she’d been out to the cemetery, worried that she’d been talking to her uncle Slim. But I had to admit, it was nice to see her. She jumped out and dashed through the rain to the front door. I opened it for her and she stepped inside, shaking water droplets out of that perfect blond hair. She was dressed almost exactly like yesterday, with a white blouse and jeans that looked like blue skin.

“Hey there,” Misty said to me.

“Hi,” I said, trying not to smile too much.

“Howdy,” Fat Ernst nodded. “Get you anything?”

“No, thanks. I was just stopping by, wondering if you guys had seen my uncle anywhere this morning.”

I knew enough to keep my mouth shut.

Fat Ernst shook his head. “Nope. Haven’t seen him since, let’s see … yesterday. Came in, had a burger around lunchtime.”

“He got real sick early this morning, took off a couple of hours ago. Aunt Gertie is having a nervous breakdown.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Ray said, hitching his belt and reaching down desperately for a deep voice. “If you want, I can drive you around, and we can look for him.”

“He’s sick?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s been throwing up, and—”

“Stomach flu’s been going around,” Fat Ernst cut in. “Hell, I ain’t been feeling so good either.”

Ray stood and puffed his chest out, pulling his chin in so that his Adam’s apple protruded out damn near equal to his nose, still talking like Darth Vader. “So, uh, like I said, why don’t we go look for him?” He pushed his cowboy hat back. “Ever been for a ride in a real police car?”

“Oh, motherfucking Christ. Not now,” Fat Ernst said in a low growl, staring out the window again. I whipped my head around, and saw the Sawyer brothers had just plowed through the parking lot. This place was turning into Grand Central Station. Junior stopped behind Fat Ernst’s Cadillac, shut off the engine, and jumped out. He had several strips of gray tape across his nose, probably from last night’s mishap with the crowbar. Bert followed, wobbling around the front of the truck.

Misty casually moved sideways a few paces, putting me between her and the front door.

Junior kicked the door open. “Mornin’.”

“Mornin’ yourself.” Fat Ernst said, lips drawn tight against his teeth, and folded his arms once again over his stomach. “What are you doing here?”

Junior grinned. “Thought you might need some help today. In Sacramento.”

Fat Ernst shook his head. “Nope. Now, we talked about this last night. You go on home, and we’ll …”

Junior suddenly noticed Misty. His grin got even bigger. “Well, hey-hey-hey there. Wondered if that was your truck outside.” He sidled over to Misty. Bert leaned against the doorframe and stared blankly at the bar through bloodshot eyes.

Ray stepped forward, hand on his gun. “Why don’t you fellas do like Fat Ernst said and go on home now.”

Junior took a whirling step and snarled up at Ray’s Adam’s apple, “Why don’t you lick my ass?”

Ray flinched. “Wouldn’t take much to put a bullet in that thick head of yours. The only thing that’s stopping me is all the goddamn paperwork I’d have to fill out.”

They reminded me of a couple of dogs, sizing each other up to fight over a scrap of meat. But Ray was the one bluffing; he kept swallowing, and you couldn’t miss that Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a buoy in a storm.