 
# Billie

## By

## Stuart F. Dodds

# Copyright

Copyright © 2019 by Stuart F. Dodds

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

***

Published by Stuart F. Dodds

ISBN: 978-0-9932065-7-3

First edition (2019)

***

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of

the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial

purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own

copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

***

Cover design by Stuart F. Dodds

***

Discover other titles by Stuart F. Dodds

1. Deep Yellow (A Brell Sturlach Adventure)

2. The Search for Locardum (A Brell Sturlach Adventure)

3. The Fight for Locardum (A Brell Sturlach Adventure)

***

Table of contents

# Part 1

# Monday, April 16

## i. Billie

As Billie drifted asleep, she relived the garage memory. It started with her brother's facial expression and his hands pulling at his hair as they stood outside the rear garage door of their old house.

"Don't go in sis, don't go in."

She watched her hand reach for the door handle. Her heart thumped with a sense of foreboding.

The door swung open in slow motion.

The memory unraveled in the same order, starting with the partially torn off sizing stickers on the soles of her mom's slippers. Laying on her back, her mom's legs were splayed apart, and her head turned to one side. A circle of saturated dark blood blossomed in the center of her gray sweater.

Billie's legs wobbled, making her grip the door for support. Bile rose in her throat.

Then the scene moved across the floor to her father and the revolver; the vintage revolver lying in the middle of his open, dead hand.

The image changed focus from the horrors of ten years ago to the present. This time, her brother, Jeffrey, was not pulling at his hair. Instead, he sat on the ground hugging his knees. His body was clearly outlined, but his surroundings were blurred.

Billie woke with a start as something brushed her face. It took a moment to remember her surroundings; the security office break room of the Millennium Industrial and Business Park, Spokane, Washington State.

A rolled-up piece of paper bounced off her chest.

Her neck complained as she straightened her back. She must have dozed for a few minutes, with her head propped in her hand. It was 2.50 a.m.

Two men in their forties, with stomachs bulging against their blue uniform shirts, stood in front of her, grinning.

"Wakey wakey, princess."

"Princess or prince?"

"Who can tell with that mustache?"

The men giggled at each other.

Billie wiped the corners of her mouth and sat up straight.

"Talking in your sleep again."

"No, don't go in, please don't go in," one man said in a poor attempt at mimicking Billie's voice.

Billie rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. It was not worth responding.

The door squeaked upon opening, and an obese man entered. Vincent had a round, friendly face and black skin. His glasses rested on top of his head like an avuncular grandfather. Blinking as he spoke, he said, "Come on, now. Time for patrol. Boss is on his way in."

"Who put you in charge, old man?"

"I am the spy of all things," he said. "Now." He motioned with his thumb towards the door.

The two men collected their uniform jackets and left.

Vincent held the side of the door to steady himself, his breathing audible. Billie wondered how his knees took the weight of his body.

"Hey, Billie, got a family barbecue coming up, you wanna come?"

She smiled; there was no need to consider her answer. "Thanks, I'm okay."

"Plenty of nieces and nephews your age." Vincent raised his eyebrows.

"Thanks anyway," Billie said, fleetingly making eye contact. She knew he expected her to decline the invitation, she could see it in his expression.

"Better check yourself in the bathroom mirror," he said, waggling a finger towards his lips. He ambled back into the CCTV room to resume his position in front of a large bank of screens. The seat strained and squeaked underneath him.

Billie went into the bathroom. A curly mustache had been drawn on her upper lip.

"Bastards," she said.

After washing it off, she pulled her shirt out of her pants, straightened it, then tucked it back in. Once she had adjusted her utility belt, she grabbed her uniform jacket and checked herself in the mirror.

That bloody garage memory again, when she was fifteen years old. Before the tragedy occurred, her only concerns were school, Girl Scouts and a growing interest in boys. Now, at twenty-five, she could not define her life in such simple terms. As for the memories, whatever she did, they just seemed to bubble up without warning.

The newer thoughts regarding Jeffrey were different, and recent, very recent. She could not shake the feeling he was in danger.

She went into the control room and grabbed the back of Vincent's chair. "Anything happening?"

"Nothing much."

At 5'9", she could see the screens over his head with her brown eyes. In recent years, she kept her dark hair in a short bob with straight bangs, as it was easier to manage. Makeup, if worn, was always minimal. Her unpolished fingernails were cut precisely, and she wore a small pair of stud earrings. People described her as plain-faced, lanky and pale. Underneath her uniform, her body was toned because of regular fitness routines recommended by a therapist.

Vincent looked up from the screens. "Any news of your brother?"

Billie pressed her lips together, "Nope. Been ninety-three days since I last heard from him."

"One day, Billie, one day." Vincent nodded towards her. "He's out there somewhere."

"I know he is. But recently I've had this feeling, not a good one, about him."

"I prayed for him last week. There was a period of reflection in church for lost souls and missing people."

"Thanks." She changed the conversation. "I've just started looking into another missing person case."

"Who's that for?

"Avery P. Fournier. He's a well-known author who has been missing. Well, dropped out of society. He may have returned to Spokane, as he lived here for a few years. Be great to find him."

"Is there a reward?"

"Don't think so. I'd just like to talk to him." Billie pulled at her nose. "I've read his book."

"Book? Don't read fiction books."

"He only wrote one, called _We Have Seen Better Days_. It became an influential bestseller. Future society, robots, and synthetic people."

"Sounds complicated."

"It was a commentary on modern society. Anyway, he never wrote a follow up. Had a breakdown or something, lived off the grid. That's what is interesting about him."

"Sounds like a troubled man. Look ..." The screens reflected on Vincent's face as he pointed a pudgy finger at one of them. "The supervisor is driving back from perimeter patrol, see?"

An electric security cart drove alongside a long line of chain link fencing.

"Better get out on patrol," Billie said, putting on her jacket.

Vincent's hand found its way under the lid of a box of doughnuts lying on top of paperwork. He drew out a plain doughnut. "Want one?"

Billie sneaked a hand inside the box. She pulled out a pink-colored doughnut and took a bite. "Not bad."

"Hey, what," Vincent said turning his head as Billie left the office. "That's my favorite, I always leave it 'til last."

Billie walked outside and rubbed the sugar off her hands. She glanced up at the sky and pulled at the collar of her jacket; at least it wasn't raining. Spokane in April was still chilly in the early mornings. Billie could not pick her favorite season; it was whichever one they were in.

She jumped into the security cart and sped off along a route which meandered through a labyrinth of industrial buildings. Amongst the silence and shadows, an occasional light glared out into the darkness from a window or around a factory door. A few units and factories employed night workers. The building which received the most attention on night shift belonged to a baking firm. At 4am, the aroma of freshly baked bread and doughnuts acted like a beacon for security staff.

Slowing, she leaned out of the cart and examined windows, shutters, and doors on her way to the far end of the estate. The air was purer here, without unpleasant manufacturing smells. The dense wooded area beyond the perimeter was like a scene from a fantasy novel or one of her video games. It was dark and mysterious with animal noises, hooting owls, and orcs.

Something caught her eye. The bar on an emergency pedestrian gate was lower than normal, as if it had not been shut properly. Billie parked up, unhooked her flashlight, and walked over to the gate. Fresh duct tape had been stuck across one of the door locking bolts to prevent it from fully engaging. She ran her finger along the side of the gate where the small sensor unit was normally located.

There was a CCTV camera nearby trained on the gate.

Billie pressed the talk button on her radio. "Control. This is Billie."

" _Go on, Billie_." Vincent's voice cut through the air.

"Pedestrian exit gate at the rear, northwest corner. The gate's been stuck open and its sensor is missing. It can be opened from the outside. Anything seen on CCTV?"

" _Got that Billie. Um, the CCTV camera? It's covered in dirt, can't see clearly_."

She looked out through the wire fence. "May be relevant. Could someone check out the woods? I'll look around this area."

" _We'll make our way to the woods to help Wilhelmina_." It was one of the two dick brains who taunted her in the break room. Though supposed to patrol on their own, the pair of them always ended up together.

" _Copy that, and keep me updated_ ," the supervisor's whiny voice sounded out.

With her back to the gate, Billie examined the vicinity. Night lights cast a yellow glow and discordant shadow across the area. Billie's gaze settled on an old bathroom block, thirty-five yards away, jutting out from behind a modern two-story building. Though now used by construction workers to store equipment, Billie took occasional bathroom breaks there, as the toilets remained plumbed in. It was not cost effective to train CCTV cameras onto the building.

"Going to check the old bathroom block," she said.

" _Copy that. Need help?_ "

"I'm okay," Billie said.

She was glad no one offered to assist her.

She drove over to the block and flicked the beam of her flashlight across the external walls and roof before pulling open the door. With her foot stuck against the inside of the door, she leaned in.

Silhouettes revealed container boxes, crates, junk, and large spools of cable in the wide corridor situated before the entrance to the toilets. The place smelled musty.

Taking a length of wood laying on the floor, Billie slid it in between the outer door and the doorframe. Propped open, the outside lights provided a visual reference.

Within two minutes, she found a crate with a tarp pulled off. On the floor by its side was a box containing a brand-new cell phone.

She walked into the toilet section and shone her flashlight along the line of stalls. "Hello? Security here. Anyone here?" Her voice echoed around the walls.

She waited. There was no reply and no noises.

After searching each stall, she returned to the cell phone and took a photo of it with the crate in the background. She picked it up by the edges and took it with her outside and into the security cart.

"Control. No one here. They've gone. Looks like they hid cell phones during the day and returned at night to collect them by way of the back gate. They left one behind, should be able to find the company owner in the morning."

" _Copy that, Billie,_ " Vincent said.

" _I'll need a full report,_ " the supervisor said.

Billie shook her head. Talk about stating the obvious.

She took a few more photos of the bathroom block and the gate before ripping off the duct tape and securing the exit.

" _Nothing in the woods except trees and trim bushes_ ," one of the dickheads said.

" _Going back on patrol, nothing happening here_ ," the other said.

Billie muttered under her breath, "Shit heads."

She returned to the control room and created a crime report, which she emailed to the supervisor together with the scene photos.

It was after 4am, a time when her body was at its lowest ebb and night began mutating into morning. She went into the break room for coffee and checked her cell phone. There were no messages.

## ii. Weasel

Jarvis Weselly became known as Weasel during his teens because of his offhand behavior towards girls. His face was covered in pockmarks from a childhood illness, and it didn't matter what he ate, he was always thin.

He bumped along through life committing burglary and minor misdemeanors, for which he received short-term sentences in juvenile institutions and adult jail. It gave him, in his mind, bragging rights and street credibility. However, he never mentioned his stalking and voyeurism convictions.

By way of a lucky break, he was caught trying to burglarize the offices of a real estate office by the owner, Mr. Randall. It ended with Randall asking him to perform a few dirty jobs in return for the cops not being called. It allowed him to put his camera and gadget skills to use.

That was a year ago, just before his twenty-second birthday. It was also around the time his mother died.

At 6.30 p.m. on Monday evening, Weasel stood on the second floor of a half-built house on the Happy Villas estate. Wearing a casual black shirt and pants, he was prepared for his stalking activities.

His attention was focused on the upstairs bedroom window of the "Show House" on the opposite side of the street. The man and woman, who had just arrived in separate cars, were exactly as described.

Weasel adjusted the camera settings and took shots of the two vehicles and the front of the property. Next, he focused on the bedroom. From his point of view, he could see half of a double bed and a door into the room. First clicking off a few photos, he also recorded a few seconds of video. The man entered the bedroom, undoing his tie. He turned his head and spoke to someone on his left, out of view.

A woman appeared wrapped in a large towel. The man put his arms around her, squeezed her backside, and kissed her neck.

"Turn around," Weasel said between his teeth. "Turn around."

The woman loosened herself from the man's grip and pointed towards the window.

"Face me, face me, come on, bitch," Weasel said as he aimed his camera.

The man nodded and walked towards the window, stopped, and spun around. He whipped the towel off the woman and put his hands out in mock surprise.

Weasel swallowed as he saw the woman's naked body. Only at the last moment did he remember to take photos before the drapes were pulled across.

He fumbled with the camera buttons as he reviewed the images. Four photos had captured the man in full view with the naked woman behind him. A second later, and he would have pictures only of the drapes. His eyes lingered on the woman's breasts and pubic area. He licked his lips and rubbed his groin.

His cell buzzed; a text had arrived.

Hi. Rosita is on way to clean your residence. Thank you for using Standard Cleaning Services.

Weasel walked around for a while, using the glare of his smartphone to make sure he didn't trip on anything. Thirty-five minutes later, the drapes re-opened. He took photos of the woman, now dressed, straightening the bedsheets. The male appeared in the background, pulling on his shirt. The couple left the house and walked to their own vehicles.

Once they departed, Weasel extricated himself from the building jumped into his silver Dodge Dart and drove off. Forty minutes later, he swung his auto into the Pleasant Valley trailer park on the outskirts of Tucson. As he drove along the meandering road, he saw the cleaning van parked by the side of his trailer.

A rotund Hispanic woman with a light mustache and two chins was carrying out a trash bag as he turned off the engine. Her cleaning uniform was stretched tight across her backside and belly.

"Rosita."

"Hello, mister Weasel. I'm just finishing."

The trailer smelled of industrial cleaning agents. He pinched his nose as Rosita pulled herself inside.

She breathed heavily and wiped sweat off her forehead.

He lit up a cigarette, crumpled the empty packet, and tossed it into the sink. Rosita's glare was enough for him to retrieve the packet and throw it in the trash bin.

Weasel peeled off two fifty-dollar bills and held them out. He gazed at the wall and licked his lips.

Rosita examined the notes. "Can spare you a few minutes for fucky, mister Weasel. Got to get back to my husband. It's his birthday tomorrow." She took the money and put it in her pocket.

Weasel ran his hands down his pants. "I wondered ..."

"No touchy, no talking, mister Weasel. Okay?" Rosita said.

He nodded and walked into his bedroom, whilst Rosita visited the bathroom.

The bedroom was that of a teenager. Books, magazines, DVDs, and computer equipment lay in random piles on top of a bookcase. The best Rosita could manage was to tidy up the floor and straighten the Las Vegas duvet bed cover.

A single wardrobe with a broken base stood at a slight angle. A poster of Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry was stuck on one of the doors. Underneath was a movie poster for Reservoir Dogs.

He threw back the duvet, closed the drapes and switched on a side lamp. Grabbing a condom from the top drawer of his night stand, he glanced up as Rosita walked in. She held her XXXL sized underpants, a toilet roll, and a large tube of lubricant in her latex gloved hands.

Weasel stared at the floor as he left the room. Facing the closed door, he took off his pants and shorts but left his socks on. Aroused ever since Rosita agreed to the tryst, he rubbed his penis several times before fumbling with the condom. Standing still, he placed his hands by his side and waited.

There was a sound of liquid squirting from a bottle followed by the side lamp being clicked off.

"Ready mister Weasel."

Weasel knocked softly on the door. On entering, light briefly flooded the room, revealing Rosita laying on the bed with her knees apart. Her skirt was pulled up and over her stomach and her head was facing away from him. Without being told, Weasel shut the door and found his way, in the darkness, to the end of the bed. His hand briefly touched a foot as he kneeled on the mattress.

In silence, he lowered himself over Rosita's body, took his weight on his elbows, and waited. Hands grabbed his backside, and within moments, he was thrusting into her like a jackhammer. He climaxed within a minute.

Rosita pushed at his hips, forcing him to roll off. The mattress moved underneath him as she stood up. She wiped herself with a handful of toilet tissue, pulled on her underpants, and smoothed down her uniform dress.

"Okay, mister Weasel."

"Thanks, Rosita," Weasel said quietly.

She left.

Weasel waited until he heard the van driving away.

He chucked the condom into the kitchen trash bin and threw water over himself. With just a towel wrapped around his waist, he opened the main door and sat on the floor, his feet resting on the outside steps. He swigged from a can of beer and lit a cigarette. The sound of loud TVs, music, and shouts floated on the evening breeze from surrounding trailers.

A car pulled up. It was Taco. He was squat in stature, overweight, had large hands, and was the same age as Weasel. Of mixed ethnicity, his grandfather, originally from Puerto Rico, married a local Spokane woman and settled down. He wore a check shirt and plain pants.

"Hey," Taco said on slamming the car door. "What's up? You been busy?"

Weasel grinned. "Just had sex with a trailer park girl. She was hot. Worked up quite a sweat." He stared into the distance.

"You are one lucky man."

"Comes naturally. Anyway, how are you doing?"

"Selling drugs and shit. Hey, banged a girl last night." Taco tilted his head and grinned.

"And?" Weasel gave a knowing nod.

"It was up against a trash bin. From behind, you know."

"Jeez Taco, you need more subtlety with the ladies. Flowers, chocolates, chat, foreplay, all that sort of thing."

"Anyways, anything happening?"

"Just finished a blackmail surveillance job."

"Up to anything else?"

"No. It's steady work, pays well, and it's better than burglarizing. I'm nearly a legitimate worker. But whilst I'm doing it, I'm building up to doing a big job."

"What you got?"

"Still strategizing." Weasel threw his cigarette out onto the gravel. He clasped the towel to himself and stood up. "Come in. Want a beer or smoke? Small bit of blow here."

"Beer." Taco followed him inside.

Weasel went into his bedroom and got dressed.

"Cleaner's been, I see."

"Twice a month, as usual. Worth the money."

"I'm sure she is."

Weasel hesitated and coughed. "The surveillance jobs get me thinking. How about we blackmail the people ourselves rather than just supplying the photos?"

"Got anyone in mind?"

"Working on it."

"Hey, I was reading what they do in Brazil. They hold the mother of a rich soccer player. Son pays up, no one gets hurt."

"Sounds easy enough. I'll add it to our work strategy."

"Work strategy?"

Weasel stood up, his voice rising. "Fuck, man, I'm planning my future." His eyes flashed for a moment. "Do you think I want to live here? We should be kings of the castle. Women, booze, and drugs on tap. People doing our bidding."

"Okay, man, calm down."

Taco waited until Weasel sat down.

"I could move in here, we could plan stuff together?" Taco said.

"Off limits." Weasel jerked his thumb behind him. "This is a man's zone, predatory, not having any interruptions."

"Look, Weasel," Taco said, leaning his arms on his thighs. "If nothing happens soon, I'll start working for my cousin. He's been asking after me again."

Weasel licked his lips and gazed around the room. "Your cousin? Not your cousin. Dangerous."

"He's a mad mother fucker. My parents won't let him in the house. I can start off driving and delivering stuff. He'll pay me well. Rent my own place."

"Hold on, we'll strike it big. Just the two of us, you know."

"You've been saying that for the last few years. Shit, there are kids running gangs. We need to step up."

"Talking of which, want to show you something."

Weasel disappeared into his bedroom and returned wearing a dark blue jacket. "Ready? Drum roll." He pulled the left side of the jacket slowly open to reveal he was wearing a chest holster. His Smith and Wesson 642 revolver was secured inside. "What do you think? It's pure leather, like Dirty Harry."

"Yeah."

Weasel took out the weapon, spun to his left and pointed it at a wall. "Boom."

"Mean, man, mean."

Weasel replaced his gun into the holster. He seemed to sit straighter as a result.

"Well. Got to head off. See you soon," Taco said.

"Okay, man."

They bumped fists.

Weasel fetched another can of beer and found a meat pie at the back of the fridge. With the pie jammed between his teeth, he booted up his laptop on the living room table. He took out the SD card from his camera and inserted into the slot.

"Let's have a look," he said chomping on the pie.

He waited until all the photos and video clips had loaded. Viewing each one, by the time he reached the end, he was pressing speed dial. Pie crumbs were strewn all over the carpet.

"Mr. Randall, got those images for you."

" _Any good?_ "

"Yeah. Clear view of them together. Woman's naked."

" _Fucking, are they fucking?_ "

"The man pulled the drapes. But I got some good shots beforehand."

" _Are the images clear enough of their faces?_ "

"Yes."

" _Good. His wife will have no problem identifying him and his work colleague. That'll make him reconsider his current business model. Send it over in the usual way_."

"Okay, Mr. Randall."

" _Got another job for you. Coopers Auto Salvage. I've been making a move on the place for some time. It's finally being foreclosed on Monday next week_."

"Surveillance?"

" _Yes. I want to make sure Cooper can't raise any capital over the weekend or find anyone willing to bail him out. I want that salvage yard_."

"Understood, boss. What does this Cooper look like?"

" _Big fucker with a beard. Follow him. I think he has a girlfriend somewhere. See what you can find and let me know_."

"Sure thing."

" _I want you there when they post foreclosure. I want to know who is turning up to inspect the place. I also want you to keep an eye on the yard. I don't want any squatters in there before the auction_."

"Security guard work?" Weasel said, unable to stop himself from sounding dismissive.

" _If I'm paying you to be a security guard, then that's what you'll be."_ The man raised his voice. _"Otherwise, what? Get caught burgling again, you punk? Think yourself lucky you can use a camera. It's not too late to report you to the cops_."

The line went dead.

"Fucker," Weasel said.

# Tuesday, April 17

## i. At home

Billie's apartment was a square box set within a plain concrete building. Located in a low-income suburb of Spokane, the tenants were a mixture of full-paying renters and those on community assistance. Inside, there was a bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room with kitchenette.

Despite no one visiting her, Billie kept the apartment clean and in order. A schedule, based around her shifts and days off, helped her keep on top of laundry and basic chores. The dark drapes were added months ago to help her sleep during the day, and she fitted another chain lock into the door frame to make the place more secure. Her old baseball bat was stored under the bed as a precautionary measure.

She preferred plain walls without adornment. Only one photo was out on view; that of her standing next to her brother. They were both smiling. It was taken on the day he left to go traveling.

Jeffrey, two years younger than Billie, was clean-shaven and had what people called a cheeky grin. The thin scar intersecting his right eyebrow was still evident, as the hair had not grown back properly since a childhood accident. He called it his war wound. "The ladies love it," he used to say. Of course, he told no one it occurred when he fell over during a water pistol fight with his sister, who always defeated him.

Billie woke at 1pm after an uneventful night shift. She wanted to check through her research and website before getting ready for work. Remaining in her pajamas, she put on a bathrobe and turned up the temperature. The apartment block was old and didn't retain much heat. Noises of domestic arguments and shouting children sounded through the walls due to a lack of soundproofing.

With TV news on low volume, she ate a bowl of cereal whilst waiting for the coffeepot to boil.

Once finished eating, she cleared up and grabbed all her reference material. She laid out the roadmaps, the missing author's novel, a printout of her brother's last email, and a porn magazine on the couch next to her. With a fresh cup of coffee, she re-read the email as her laptop booted up.

She hoped for some type of epiphany every time she read the words, such as a clue to Jeffrey's location. As usual there was nothing.

The email mentioned Jeffrey's traveling partner and lifelong friend Shaggy, so named because of his resemblance to the cartoon character.

Sat Jan 13.

Hi, sis, we have arrived in Arizona and are heading down through Phoenix, towards Tucson. We're looking to settle down for a while and live off-grid. We hope to get work for dollars or food but will make it up as we go along.

I know you will, but don't worry about me. I may not be in touch for some time. It will be nice to be away from the internet and cell phones.

Sis, I love you, but I think it's time for us both to move on.

Thumbs up.

JJ.

x

Shaggy says, peace out.

That was the last contact she had from him; three months ago. The phrase "make it up as we go along" was typical Jeffrey.

The day after the garage tragedy, she had sat with Jeffrey eating breakfast at their auntie's house. They ate in shocked silence, on their own, until Jeffrey dropped his fork and cried.

Billie waited until he composed himself, then said, "We only have each other now. I will always be here for you, Jeffrey."

Jeffrey put out his hand and made a thumbs up sign.

Billie returned the gesture and pressed her thumb against his. "There, we've sealed it."

The bond was made.

As the years passed, their personalities took different pathways. Jeffrey lived fast, loose, and unorganized, seeking escape in cannabis and alcohol. Billie became lonely and aloof, with a sober determination to support Jeffrey.

Their relationship was tested severely when Jeffrey's behavior worsened. He would often bring women or friends home and party until the early hours, despite Billie needing to sleep. It usually ended in a drunken, drug-fueled argument. Despite Billie waking him with coffee and breakfast, Jeffrey frequently stayed in bed instead of going to work.

It reached a point where Billie could not stand back and watch her brother implode. "We both have things to deal with, but not like this. You are self-destructing with your drugs, drink and women," Billie said.

"So what? At least I'll go out in style. Father always said I was the weak one and you're the strong one. Perhaps he was right."

"Come on, Jeffrey, that's not you, really. You are better than this."

"I know, sis, I just can't help myself.

Jeffrey returned one night to discover Billie had destroyed his stash of cannabis and poured his booze down the sink. They argued, but Billie stood her ground. Despite the tears and self-doubt, they stuck together over those critical months, during which Billie spent her savings and broke up with a boyfriend.

Eventually, Jeffrey turned a corner and cut back considerably on his drinking and smoking habits. He kept better company, re-connected with Shaggy, and held down a factory job. With a new outlook came a new perspective.

"Now everything is clearer, I need to get away, sis, and cut loose from the past." He examined Billie's face as he spoke. "I need to make a new start, Billie. Been talking it over with Shaggy, we're going on an adventure, a road trip."

He held his thumb up and waited for Billie's response.

"Is that what you want, JJ? You know, inside. Gut feeling?"

"Yes."

She brought up her hand, extended her thumb and made the connection.

He moved out the next day to live with Shaggy. Billie was left alone with her thoughts, a larger than needed apartment, and a lot of tidying up. She blamed herself for him leaving because she was too protective and motherly. It was her role to be the caring older sister and take over from their mother, wasn't it?

Downsizing to her current apartment, she learned to live on her own. Perhaps it was for the best, as she enjoyed her own company and could get a good night's sleep. To Billie's relief, Jeffrey maintained regular contact with her. She tried not to sound too concerned with her questions, despite Jeffrey often saying, "Yes mother."

At least he maintained his positive outlook. She took on the security job at the Millennium, kept herself to herself, and everything ticked along.

Both men worked two jobs and bought a Ford Econoline Cargo van. Shaggy hand painted the van with his own Scooby Doo-ish design. Waves and streaks of blue and green colors were embellished with poorly-painted flower petals. He decided against writing "mystery machine" on the side, instead adding more flowers. They fitted out the van with mattresses, a small sink, and stove, and it was ready to go. Shaggy was good with engines, and after a road test, he declared the van road-worthy, and they left on December 1.

Hesitant to write on a USA roadmap at first, Billie eventually placed an "x" by each new location in pencil.

In the two-month period since Jeffrey's last email, Billie tried to believe he was living free and happy, just as he wanted. It was her only way of dealing with it.

However, concern turned to anxiety. She could not escape the feeling that Jeffrey was in danger.

It catapulted Billie into a frenzy of investigation, including taking two days of vacation time off work. News sites and community forums were interrogated more thoroughly than before. She reported him as missing to the Tucson police, but they would not make anything official as there were no concerning factors. Homicide reports and the activities of drug cartels in Arizona did nothing to ease her stress.

Billie pinned her hopes on Jeffrey remaining in Tucson and not wandering off elsewhere. She considered paying for a private investigator to visit Sunlight Farm, one of the largest communes on the outskirts of Tucson. The fees meant she could only afford one day's worth of investigation. It would not be enough unless they got lucky. Billie set aside as many dollars as she could in order to visit Tucson herself. With her rent, bills, and motorcycle loan payments, she could not drop everything to search random areas. She needed more information. Shit, he could have moved on to another State.

Then, during the last few days, two pieces of key evidence came to her attention.

Whilst browsing a magazine rack at the back of a corner store, Billie's gaze strayed to the top shelf material. Only the name and top portion of the porn magazines were viewable within its plastic "modesty" cover. Underneath one title, and next to the face of a smiling woman were the words, "Avery P. Fournier". It was a mainstream pornographic magazine which contained non-porn articles in amongst the pictures. With a quick glance behind her, she reached up and grasped the magazine. She pinched the plastic cover so she could read more of the sub heading.

Avery P. Fournier, where is he?

There was something intriguing about Avery. A one-hit wonder novelist who enjoyed the high life before dropping out of society. He lived in Spokane as a teenager, and his multi-layered novel was one of her favorites. That he had also gone missing, like Jeffrey, was another point of interest.

The magazine felt heavy in her hand. She couldn't exactly say to the checkout operator. "I'm only interested in the written articles." That would be so lame.

She replaced the magazine and pretended to shop, whilst studying the checkout operators. The older woman would be the least embarrassing. Billie bought the magazine, along with a crossword puzzle and a packet of chewing gum. She offered the correct change in cash, grabbed the shopping bag, and left. Once outside, it took a few minutes for the warm nervous feeling down the back of her neck to subside.

At home, she flicked through the pages, straight to the article to stop herself being sidetracked by the pictures. There would be plenty of time to examine the rest of the contents from cover to cover.

Her heart skipped a beat when she read the double page article.

Along with a potted history of the author, there were suggestions of where he may have disappeared to, together with pictures. One image, entitled "Living off the grid," showed a community of tents, hand-built shacks, wind towers, and solar panels near Tucson. A group of people sat together in a communal eating area. A man, who had been highlighted by a red circle, bore a resemblance to Avery, perhaps in the eyes and nose. As many of the men had beards, it could not be a perfect match.

She studied the picture, at length, with a magnifying glass. Billie wanted to believe her brother was in amongst the group, but she could not be sure.

When was the picture of the commune taken? Her pragmatic thoughts were that it was a random stock photo which fitted with the journalist's story. There was also a suggestion of alien abduction, with a poor image of a flying saucer. The article did not quote any sources, so it was likely the account was based on social media chit-chat.

She was becoming desperate to believe anything which would give a clue as to her brother's whereabouts.

It was when Billie read a local Spokane newspaper that she became excited.

Titled "Has he returned to Spokane?" the journalist believed he saw Avery in a bar in downtown Spokane. As the journalist thought about approaching the man, he left. There was a suggestion that Avery may have returned to Spokane, as he was fond of the place and the bars, clubs, and nightlife.

The article may have been written to generate interest in Spokane or was a spin on the porn magazine's piece. What if Avery was in Spokane? What if he had stayed at the same off-grid community as Jeffrey or Shaggy?

Find Avery, find her brother, became a repetitive thought. It was a slim notion, but what else did she have to go on? All other inquiries led to nothing. If she explained her reasoning to anyone, they would laugh at her.

Whatever; if you don't ask, you don't get.

Turning to her laptop, she logged into her website editor. Written using a simple template, the website was an appeal for information about Jeffrey. However, since her interest in the author, she decided to write an appeal for information regarding his whereabouts. Happy with the content, she pressed "publish."

Billie sat back and rubbed her eyes. It was 4 p.m. and thoughts of the forthcoming twelve-hour graveyard shift were not uplifting.

For the next thirty minutes, she gathered email addresses of Spokane bars, strip clubs, and drinking establishments where Avery could be visiting. She wrote a basic email with a photo attached and a link to her website. The biggest pain was entering all the email addresses. She pressed "send" and powered down the laptop.

Before getting ready for work, Billie tidied up and stood, holding the well-thumbed porn magazine. She shoved it back under the mattress, embarrassed to leave it out while at work.

# Wednesday, April 18

## i. CCTV

In the early hours of Wednesday morning, Billie was out on patrol in her cart when the supervisor contacted her.

" _Can you take over from Vincent for the rest of the shift? He's gone home. Family problems. His son's in trouble again."_

"Copy that, on my way."

Talk about keeping Vincent's personal matters a secret.

Since the supervisor checked her records and realized she was CCTV trained from her previous security job in a shopping mall, she would fill in when no one else was available.

Once acclimatized to the warmth, she adjusted Vincent's chair, read a briefing note, and examined the screens. Billie enjoyed working in the control room on her own, checking screens and looking out for crime and incidents.

Watching people interested her, as she often thought about the life they led. A favorite game in coffee shops and public areas was to study couples as they went about their business. What was their relationship? Were they lovers, friends, relatives, or strangers?

Comfortable in Vincent's chair, she moved the joystick and panned around the external perimeter fences. The wooded outside areas were just as spooky on camera.

Within an hour of taking up her position the expected joke call came through from the two dickheads. Billie sighed as one of them pretended they had seen suspicious behavior by the old toilet block, where she had recently found the stolen cell phones.

She kept up the pretense by informing the supervisor and asking another guard to assist. Then she sat back and waited for the punchline.

" _No one inside. But there is an old rug_."

"A rug?" Billie said. She couldn't remember seeing one in the building.

" _Yeah there's a bit missing from it. We must have been chasing the phantom rug muncher_."

The remark was followed by sniggering and lewd comments from other guards.

Billie wiped her face with both hands. Why do they think they can do this? She knew "rug muncher" was derogatory slang for a gay woman.

The men had difficulty working with an aloof young woman, so they made up things about her. It was pathetic, upsetting, and difficult to deal with. She would not, however, allow the incident to interfere with the search for her brother. When she found him, she would find another job involving investigation or research; something without guns.

Billie watched the two dickheads security cart appear on camera as they patrolled the estate again. They didn't slow down by any buildings, and the cart wobbled as if a conversation distracted the driver. A hand appeared dangling out of the cart, a cigarette between its fingers.

She shook her head.

A short while later, the supervisor walked in. He clasped the back of her chair and leaned forward. It was too close for her liking, as she smelled freshly applied aftershave.

"The boys meant you no harm, just having fun."

Billie folded her arms. "Yeah, hilarious."

The supervisor disappeared into his office.

Billie was grateful he left. His mouth dangled open when he spoke to her and his gaze roved around her body. She shivered.

As there was a lull in radio communications and CCTV activity, she opened the control room's laptop. Used to access the internet for general enquiries, it was strictly for use by permanent CCTV staff and the supervisor. Vincent had whispered the login password to Billie one morning and winked.

Billie typed in _GoSeahawks_. She entered her websites online editor and navigated to the new pages on Avery. Though already published she wanted to read the words through again in case adjustments were needed.

Missing author - have you seen him in Spokane?

I'm trying to trace the well-known author Avery P. Fournier, as he may have returned to Spokane.

_Aged 45, 5' 9", white, dark eyebrows and dark, medium-length hair._ _No recent photo exists, click_ _here_ _for a gallery of previous photos taken at parties and events._

_After writing his bestseller, the seminal sci-fi novel_ We Have Seen Better Days _, Avery became well known in celebrity circles and lived the high life. Stories suggest that he was unable to complete a sequel due to a breakdown. It is said he joined an off-the-grid commune near Tucson, Arizona. His sister managed his earnings from the book and movie rights, etc._

_A few days ago, a local newspaper journalist wrote a piece on Avery, as he had seen a man who looked like him sitting in a bar in downtown Spokane. (Here is the_ _article._ _)_

He suggests that Avery may have returned to Spokane, as he lived here for a few years in his youth.

Have you seen him?

_Any information? Please click_ _here_ _for contact details._

Billie nodded to herself. It read okay; she felt no need to change anything. She glanced around; she was still on her own.

She took out her cell phone and checked her email account.

"Shit," she said aloud. "Jesus."

A new email sat in her inbox. It was a reply from a bar.

Bloody hell, she thought, the details were only sent out last night.

The control room door opened. The shock made her drop her cell phone. She flicked the laptop lid shut but could not hide a guilty expression.

It was the two dickheads.

"Hey, caught you watching something you shouldn't, eh?"

"Probably looking at rugs," the other said.

Billie didn't reply. The laptop screen had been at an angle, they wouldn't have seen her website.

She waited until the men giggled their way into the break room before reading the email.

Hi. I may have seen the guy mentioned in your email. He looks like the photo. Been in three times.

Lil. The Crankshaft bar.

It ended with a local Spokane phone number.

Billie sent a reply.

Lil. Thanks for getting in touch. I would like to find out more from you and will contact you soon, if that is okay?

Regards

Billie.

She thought it best to be non-committal; it was an email from a stranger, after all. Also, she had plans for the next few days. Once she had completed her night shift tonight, as from 7 a.m. Thursday she was free for four days until Monday morning. Each day had been mapped out with cleaning, shopping and bike rides.

Now, she may have to visit a bar.

Don't start something you can't finish, she told herself, and thought of her brother.

She worked through the rest of the morning, checking key CCTV locations and alarm systems until the early shift operator arrived. Then it was time to travel home alongside morning commuters.

## ii. Cooper's Auto Salvage

Cooper's auto salvage yard, located between the shadows of an elevated freeway and rail line, was owned by Stratton Cooper. He was a large and imposing man, who had lived and worked for all his thirty-seven years in Spokane. With an untidy beard, a worn leather jacket, dirty jeans, and boots, he dressed like a biker. In reality, he didn't own a motorcycle. Preferring to tinker with cars, date girls, and drink beer, he had drifted through life taking little interest in his father's business.

When his father suddenly died, Stratt grew up overnight. Thrust into a world of paperwork, employees, buying, and selling; every day was a learning experience.

The biggest error Stratt made was in believing a car crusher would generate much-needed income. It didn't.

There was only one firm, a Realtor and mortgage provider, who would consider lending him the money for the car crusher. Stratt remembered following the arrogant boss of the company around the yard. He wore a traditional light-yellow Panama hat with a black band. With the hat, a graying mustache, and a trimmed beard, he didn't look like a Spokane local. The man was more interested in the dirt on his shoes than Stratt's explanations about his car crusher plans.

They walked along a line of dismantled cars to the middle of the salvage yard. The man looked up to the I90, two hundred yards away. Traffic zipped past on its raised section. "So," the man said, sweeping his gaze around, "you are below and between a freeway and a rail line."

He brought up his hand to shade his eyes as he walked over to the side fence and studied the large area of barren land, intersected by the rail line on top of wide supporting pillars.

"Covenants," the man said.

"Covenants?" Stratt said.

"Agreements, such as not missing monthly loan payments. If the business is deemed to be making a consistent loss--" the man tapped his bottom lip "--we could opt for early foreclosure."

"Yes, I understand, sir," Stratt said.

That was eighteen months ago.

Cheap imports of new auto parts, low costs of aluminum, and poor decision making had brought the business to its knees. Staff had kept loyal more to his father's memory than himself.

And then the loan was called in. Stratt could not put off the inevitable. During a mumbling speech last week, he told the three members of staff they were being laid off. After hanging an "Out of Business" sign on the main gate, he returned to his office and got drunk.

Today, he filled storage boxes in the office after a failed last-ditch attempt at saving the business with a bank loan. Blinking back tears, he took a framed picture off the wall and examined it. It was a newspaper ad for the business. His father stood beside a line of cars, arms outstretched. _Welcome to Cooper's Salvage, your local parts dealer. No better deal in town._

Once finished, he placed the storage boxes in his car and walked around to his residence. The one-bedroom mobile home was comfortable enough for his use. But, like the business, he would have to give it up.

He changed clothes, sprayed himself with cologne, and grabbed his car keys. After offloading the boxes in a storage facility, he headed across town to see his girlfriend, Lil, who worked at the Crankshaft bar.

It was Stratt's second home. He enjoyed the conversation and ambience with the other men, many of whom were car nuts, motorcyclists, or blue-collar workers.

He flopped into a chair by a table on his own in one of his favorite spots. Positioned halfway into the bar, he could see the sports screens and the door and converse with anyone walking by. In amongst the background noise of talking, music, and sports commentary, he saw Lil.

She walked towards him holding a glass of beer, poured as soon as he entered. In her late thirties, of average height, and with a trim figure, she wore a black shirt, jeans, and faded cowboy boots. The top three shirt buttons were undone, offering a glimpse of cleavage. Her brown shoulder length hair was tied in a ponytail with an elastic band. She placed the beer on the table. "Here you go, honey."

"Thanks, Lil," he said, before taking a longer than normal gulp of beer.

"Careful, honey. You promised me, remember?"

Stratt pulled a face and muttered. He looked at her whilst downing half of the remaining liquid.

Lil put a hand on her hip.

"I don't need this now, Lil. It's over and done. The bank won't help me. Foreclose on Monday."

"Fuck, Stratt."

"I've no idea what I will do."

"You'll think of something."

Stratt touched her arm. "Can I have another one? Please?" He waggled the beer glass and smiled. "And a whiskey to chase it down."

Lil walked off, shaking her head.

# Thursday, April 19

## i. In the kitchen

Billie's night shift from Wednesday evening through to Thursday morning had been uneventful and dull. She managed to avoid the two dickheads and the supervisor for most of the time. Without much to do, she spent time worrying about Jeffrey.

Traffic on the journey home was light, meaning she was in bed by 8.15 a.m.

As she drifted between levels of light and deep sleep, her mind reached back in time and replayed what she termed her "kitchen memory."

She was fifteen. It was the day before a week-long Girl Scout summer camp, and she was in the kitchen checking clothes and equipment as she packed the items into a duffel bag. Her mother was due home soon from the shops, and her brother was throwing a basketball around the yard. Her father was in the garage tinkering with his motorcycle.

Billie sang along to an Avril Lavigne track playing on the CD player placed on top of the fridge. During a quieter track, she heard the unmistakable sound of the garage intercom.

Buzz buzz buzzzzz.

She looked up.

" _You playing your music again, Wilhelmina? What have I told you when I'm working in the garage_?" Her father's voice boomed out of the speaker.

Billie went over to the intercom and pressed a button. "Yes, sir."

Since her father's retirement from the army, she avoided him, as did her brother. There was notable tension in the house. It was something to do with his difficulty adjusting to normal life, her mom said.

" _Fetch old faithful_ ," he said. It was an order not a request.

"Sir."

Billie disappeared into the living room. Her great grandfather's World War II revolver, a Smith and Wesson Victory model, lay in its custom-made display box within a locked cabinet. The cabinet key was secreted inside a mantelpiece clock. She fetched the box and took it to the kitchen table to examine the contents. First glancing at the back door, she ran a finger along the barrel. With a quick movement, she grasped the revolver and flipped open the cylinder to confirm it was unloaded. She gripped the weapon in both hands and stood in a soldier's stance like her father taught her. She adjusted her fingers a fraction, remembering the other grip she used to hold her father's Glock 30, which he kept in a floor safe. With confident movements, she pointed the gun at the wall, pulled back the hammer and fired.

"Boom," she said, as the cylinder clicked around.

She carefully replaced the weapon and wiped it over with a cloth.

It only took Billie four steps to reach the rear garage door from the kitchen. Built as an addition to the house, the garage was mainly used as a motorcycle workshop by her father. He had installed a large workbench as well as numerous shelves and tool racks. The overhead door opened onto the driveway at the front of the house.

She entered the garage. A Yamaha Daytona café racer motorcycle stood upright on its side prop in the middle of the concrete floor. A tray, placed underneath, caught oil drops from the sump. Her father kneeled on a blanket, working a wrench up and down.

"You took your time. Onto the bench," he said without looking up.

Billie glanced at the old cookie tin resting on a high shelf where her father kept the bullets. She lay the display case on the bench.

Her father stood up. His overalls were stained with years of gas and oil. A muscular slim man, he wiped his hands in a rag as he stared at her.

Billie made to leave.

"Hold on, Wilhelmina."

"Sir?"

His facial expression was one she would never forget. It was of sadness, loss, and anger. "Nothing it doesn't matter. Go about your business, Wilhelmina."

She left him reaching for his revolver cleaning kit, her presence already forgotten.

As she returned to the kitchen, her mom walked through the front door carrying grocery bags.

"Where is your father?" she said, her face flushed and angry.

The images faded.

Billie woke at 11 a.m. With barely three hours of sleep, she fetched two Advil and drank a glass of water. She got back under the duvet, rolled onto her side, and hugged her body pillow.

## ii. Drink this, you big dumbass

Stratt awoke and squinted at the midday light. He lay in Lil's bed in a large room above the Crankshaft. Lil's room was comprised of a double bed, a wardrobe, a couch, a coffee table, and a small bathroom. The downside of the low monthly rent was that Lil was on hand to help in the bar should staff go sick.

Stratt's head pounded and his tongue remained stuck to the roof of his mouth. Like a dream, Lil appeared at the foot of the bed, holding a cup of sparkling water. She wore a pink bathrobe, loosely tied at the waist.

"Drink this, you big dumbass."

He pushed himself up on his elbows. As he tipped the cup to drink, the soluble aspirin fizzed up his nose.

Lil sat on the bed. "So, what are you doing today?"

"I don't have a business to run." He pulled Lil onto the bed next to him and put his arms around her. "I'll go back to the yard and check over everything. Bit of packing. Then I'll see you later in the bar."

Lil brushed his hair with her hand. "It'll come good in the end, honey. But hey, be careful with the drink, would you?"

Stratt's hands strayed inside her bathrobe.

"Before you get any ideas, you need to wash, and I need to get food and coffee. If you behave yourself, we'll fool around in a while." She rolled off the bed.

Stratt reached forward and made a grab for her but missed.

Lil busied herself in the small cooking area while Stratt took a shower. In no time, she had a plate of bacon and eggs and a mug of coffee waiting for Stratt as he joined her with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"You smell better," she said.

He picked up a piece of bacon with his fingers and popped it in his mouth. "What's this?" He tapped a finger on two pieces of paper lying by Lil's purse on the coffee table.

"Oh yes, it's a missing person email, came in the other night. Does this man look familiar?"

Stratt examined the photo page. "No."

"He's been in three times in the last month. He was odd that's how I remember him. Bit carefree with his hands and called me Edith. I've emailed someone who is trying to track him down. May be worth a few dollars. You never know."

"Is he a millionaire with a wad of cash in his back pocket?"

"Unlikely. But I'm sure the man has a family somewhere."

"You have a good heart, Lil."

They ate in silence. Afterwards, Lil cleared up and made another coffee. "What happens next week?"

"After the official foreclosure notice, there will be a few assessors coming in to value the business. Then a few meetings with the lawyer. I'll need to meet up with the staff ... err, the ex-staff. Not looking forward to that. After that, I'll get depressed and drunk."

"There will be ground rules next week when you move in here. It's gonna be cramped. You have to smoke outside."

"Once the yard is sold, there should be cash left over. I'll make it up to you."

Lil checked the time. "Right, if you want sex, it'll have to be in the next ten minutes. I need time to get ready for work."

Stratt whipped off his towel and stood naked in front of her. "Ready when you are."

Lil poked a finger into his belly button. "Get on the bed, Romeo." As he turned around, she slapped his backside.

Afterwards, Stratt sat back against the headboard and closed his eyes until Lil came out of the shower.

She glanced at a wall clock, with an image of a sunflower in its center. "Shit, I'm running late."

Stratt laughed. "You can't hurry love, baby." He put his hands in the air.

Lil took off her towel and threw it at him. "Fucking hilarious."

She went over to a stack of clothes piled on top of a small cupboard and pulled out a bra. Her panties were taken out of a laundry basket of washed clothes. She fetched a black shirt from the wardrobe, hooked it over a door handle, and sprayed it with fabric freshener. Before putting it on, she flapped it around in the air.

Stratt shook his head. "Always a joy to see you get dressed."

Lil pulled on her jeans. "Well, from next week on, you're on laundry and ironing duty."

She regarded herself in the mirror, played with her hair, and applied makeup and deodorant. Finally, she unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt and pushed up her breasts.

"And that's how it's done." She turned to face Stratt. "I wonder if, oh, I don't know if this Billie is a man or a woman. I wonder if they will contact me later?"

"Who?"

"The thing about the missing man?"

Stratt frowned at the question.

"Christ, Stratt, sex addled your brain?"

"Want to try again? It may bring me back to my senses."

"Put some clothes on, you fool."

## iii. Edith and the Crankshaft

Billie woke an hour and a half after reliving the "kitchen memory," as she named it. Despite the passing of years, it was still detailed and vivid. If only she had seen the signs of depression and battle fatigue in her father. She could have hidden his guns, talked more to her mother. If only, if only.

As a way of confronting her issues, one therapist suggested looking at pictures to remember happy family thoughts. She wasn't sure if it worked, but today it might. She grabbed the photo album from a storage box in the closet and sat on the couch.

The picture of her as a plump thirteen-year-old with pigtails was her least favorite, but she couldn't destroy it.

The one of her standing with her brother at a zoo made her smile. They splayed their fingers as if they were lions. It had been a happy day, in part because her father was not there. He was on a tour of duty overseas. She paused over a photo of her mother. Taken in her early twenties, it captured a carefree moment with her life ahead of her.

Billie owned only one photo of her father. Taken upon his retirement from the army, he posed in dress uniform. He stared out of the picture with his piercing eyes. What was he thinking at the time?

She remembered when he used to take her and Jeffrey shooting. Much to her mother's displeasure, her father took her and Jeffrey deep into the woods to perform soldier movements and fire at tin cans. Often, he would make them track and zigzag through a small course as if stalking an enemy before taking a shot. "In soldier's stance, like I showed you," he would say when coaching them. "And remember; shoot with purpose and determination."

Often, Billie would intentionally miss the targets to allow her brother to win. It never passed her father's scrutiny though.

"Wilhelmina, you pulled your last two shots. Don't protect your brother. Let him lose."

A bastard, really. A man unable to see the effect he had on his wife and children.

That was enough. She replaced the folder and ate a bowl of cereal. After her usual cleaning and laundry chores, she sat and wrote a few notes before phoning the Crankshaft bar. She had already researched the place and its location. Visitor reviews were mixed, as it seemed like a place for locals rather than people passing through.

" _Crankshaft_ ," an uninterested male voice said.

"Oh, hi. I sent your bar an email about a missing man and got an email reply from, err ... Lil."

" _Hang on_ ," the voice said. The telephone was placed down with a thud.

" _Hello?_ " a female said.

"Hi, I emailed about a missing man. Did you send me the reply? Are you Lil?"

" _Yes. Are there any dollars in it if we find him?_ "

Billie couldn't place the woman's accent. Midwest?

"Um, possibly. Are you certain it was him?"

" _The jawline and those eyes were very similar_."

"What did he do? Was he on his own?"

" _He was kind of odd, very handsy, if you know what I mean_." She placed a hand over the mouthpiece. " _Table six_."

"Sorry, am I stopping your work?"

" _No, it's fine_."

"Did he cause a problem?" Billie said.

" _Nothing I can't handle. He kept looking at me. Said I reminded him of someone_."

"Did he say who?"

" _Edith_."

"Edith?" Billie swallowed and licked her lips.

" _Why? Does that make sense?_ "

"Perhaps," Billie said, trying to hide her excitement.

" _May be onto something, then?_ " the woman said.

Billie knew the woman sensed her reaction. "Can I come over and visit?"

" _Sure, tonight's good_." The woman's voice was muffled as she covered the receiver again and spoke to someone else, then spoke to Billie again. " _Gotta go, you know where we are?_ "

"You're on Main in the central bar area. Be there about eight?"

"Okay. See you then."

Billie ended the call and wondered about the waitress. She seemed very astute.

Billie grabbed her printed copy of _We Have Seen Better Days_. Edith was the synthetic woman who fell in love with the main character, Krantz. She found the paragraph where Edith first appears.

Kranz entered the basement of the large factory unit, now a makeshift hospital. He watched a nurse walking between the rows of injured humans and synths lying on mattresses. Her backside moved hypnotically against the fabric of her pants. Turning, her face in half shadow, Krantz first noticed her eyes, focused and wise. She nodded and walked back along the rows towards him. Her breasts pushed against her shirt and her hips swayed in an alluring and experienced way.

_Krantz let go of his arm, the pain forgotten_.

The mention of Edith fascinated Billie. It meant the sighting of this man had to be investigated. She turned off the laptop, stored it away, and made a meal of ground beef and pasta.

The idea of visiting a bar and talking to strangers sent her mind in a whirl. What should she wear? Except for shirts and jeans, she didn't have many other casual clothes, as she rarely went out socially. That's why she liked wearing a uniform; there was no need to make a decision.

Shit, she may have to shave her armpit fuzz. She would perform a self-inspection in the shower and decide then.

After drying herself, she liberally applied a deodorant and body spray. She found a bottle of perfume, which her brother had bought her two years ago, and dabbed it on her neck and wrists. She dressed in comfortable underwear, a brown check button-up shirt, and blue jeans. Her makeup was the same she used for work. To try anything different would be a mess.

It was time to leave.

With the route memorized, she rode down Nevada Street into Hamilton and then over the Spokane River into Riverside.

She turned onto Main and slowed as she approached the bar. The parking lot was situated behind the building. Once the motorcycle was chained up, she removed her crash helmet. With butterflies in her stomach and her mouth dry, she walked around to the front entrance door.

On entering, she noticed men staring at her. She supposed few women went into the place on their own. Her leather jacket and crash helmet would provide a few talking points.

There was a hubbub of conversation mixed with the background rock music and smells of food and beer. Waitresses worked the tables. It was a popular place, judging by the lack of free tables. Someone walked in behind her, squashing her to one side.

She walked over to the main bar.

"Hi, I'm looking for Lil?"

A man, drying a glass nodded towards a waitress who was conversing with a group of men sitting around a table. The woman held a tray against her side.

Billie walked towards her but stopped and waited until she finished speaking.

"Okay, fellas, you enjoy your food."

"Thanks, darlin'," one of the men said.

The woman turned. "Excuse me," she said.

"Sorry," Billie said on stepping back. "Um, Lil?"

"Yes?"

The woman examined her.

Billie blushed. "I'm Billie. I spoke to you about the missing man?"

"Oh, great." Lil moved her head back to examine Billie's face. Her eyes darted around, sizing her up. "This way."

Billie followed Lil to a round table, behind which sat a large man with a somber expression. Billie presumed he was a motorcyclist, judging by his clothes, beard and demeanor. At least she may have something to talk about. Her motorcycle would not be in his league, though.

"This is Stratt," Lil said.

"Hi," Billie said, her voice trailing off.

The man grunted and stared at her. Whether that was his normal behavior or just the beer, Billie didn't know. He tugged at his beard and remained silent. Billie placed her crash helmet between her feet and unzipped her jacket.

"Want a drink?" Lil said.

"Diet soda, I'm on my motorcycle," she said, motioning to her leather jacket.

Billie watched Lil walk to the bar in a slow and balanced way. Her backside swayed back and forth against her tight jeans. Men nearby stopped drinking as their eyes tracked Lil's body.

"Is there any money in this man?" Stratt said.

"Sorry," Billie said, "what was that?"

"Is there any money in this man?"

"Not sure until he's tracked down," Billie said. The man on the other side of the table looked like an ancient Viking king from one of her video games. All he needed was a gold helmet with horns, a fur shawl, a sword, and a shield.

She felt warm and wiped a hand across her face. Had it been the right decision to meet here? Shouts and laughter came from two men playing pool. Their girlfriends sat on stools with bored expressions, drinking from long glasses. Most of the drinkers were men, no doubt attracted to the male atmosphere where all the waiters were women.

One waitress smacked the hand of a man, who roared with laughter. "Dirty bastard," she said, and laughed back.

Baseball was showing on a large sports screen; the sound was barely audible.

"Here we are," Lil said, placing the drinks on the table. She sat down. "Got a few minutes break. So how can we help you?"

Billie examined her face. Her features were homely, and she smiled often, but there was something about her eyes. Blue, deep, wise, and kind. Age lines gave them more distinction. A woman, Billie considered, who had experienced much in her life.

It was difficult to avoid glancing at the woman's cleavage. Billie blushed. She didn't want the woman to think she was overly interested in her breasts. She wasn't. It was the confident way she dressed, walked and spoke.

Billie coughed. "Um ... when did you last see the man?" She took out a small notebook and pen from inside her jacket.

"Who is he?" Lil said, unfolding a copy of Billie's email onto the table. She leaned on her elbows and looked at her.

Billie understood. It was the eye contact meant to search out whether she was telling the truth. "He could be the reclusive author Avery P. Fournier. Have you heard of him or read his book?"

"Is he rich?" Stratt said, interjecting while stroking his beard.

Lil placed a hand on his arm.

"His sister looks after his money. So, I presume he is."

"That's good. We'll expect a deal if you find him," Stratt said before taking a slurp of beer.

Lil softened her voice. "Don't listen to him, just tell us this man's story."

Billie sipped her drink. "I'll tell you what I know, okay?" Billie said, ignoring the stares from Stratt. She felt warm and loosened her jacket more. "He wrote the novel _We Have Seen Better Days_ about fifteen years ago. It became a bestseller, won awards, and is still being considered by movie studios."

"Nah, haven't read it."

"It's about a future society where synthetic people are in the majority and live like normal humans until an elite group of synths take control. There's a fight at the end between the elites and the remaining humans and robots. The book was hailed as a comment on society."

"Unreadable, then?"

"Takes a couple of reads to understand the different layers of meaning. Anyway, he dropped off the radar. Rumors were that he tried to write a second novel but destroyed it. Had a breakdown and lived off grid."

"He's here in Spokane?" Lil said.

"He lived in Spokane as a teenager."

"Coming back home?"

"Perhaps. If you don't mind, could I ask you about what he said and did?"

"Sure," Lil said. "He's been in three times in the last month. On each occasion, he talked a bit and called me his Edith. He had a beer and a meal and left a good tip."

"Anything else about him?"

"Yes, he was a bit handsy, touching my arm and trying to grab my butt. He was crude, you know, with his language." She glanced at Stratt. "I'm told he asked for me when he sat down."

Stratt came to life for a moment. "Just let him try that in front of me."

"Did he say where he lived?" Billie said, ignoring the last comment.

"No. He didn't talk much about himself," Lil said.

"What will you do when you find him?" Stratt said, unable to contain his patience.

"With his permission, I'll interview him and perhaps take his photo."

"Are you fucking with us?"

Billie examined her hands. "No."

"Stratt, hold on," Lil said. "Go on."

Billie hesitated before answering. "A newspaper would pay a lot for an interview. It would be an exclusive."

Stratt sat back, rubbed his beard, and finished his beer. "I'm going for a pee, this is a waste of time," he said, glancing at Billie.

Lil watched him stumble off to the restroom before speaking. "I can see you have been straight with us. So, let us be straight with you. Stratt owns an auto salvage business which is foreclosing on Monday."

Billie nodded in thought. Where was all this going?

"He means well. The business thing, it is a huge stress for him. We had a vague hope that this missing man would be worth a lot of money for a last-minute attempt to save the business."

"I'm sorry if you had hopes of dollars." Billie touched her helmet believing it was time to leave.

"What's your interest in all this, Billie?"

"Err ... just I read his book a while back. It seemed interesting to track him down." She glanced at Lil's expression and wondered what she was thinking.

"What do you do?" Lil said.

"Work?"

Lil nodded.

"Security guard at a large industrial complex."

"That's different. Have you been there long?" Lil said.

"A year. Before that, I worked in mall security and a library. It pays the rent."

"That's what I normally say. So, we're both in crappy jobs, eh?"

Billie nodded and grinned.

"Is Billie short for another name?"

"Wilhelmina," Billie said, screwing up her face.

"And I'm Lillian." Lil raised her eyebrows. "I think we're better sticking with our shorter names."

They watched Stratt as he appeared from the restroom and talked to one of the men playing pool.

"Who is Edith?" Lil said.

Billie felt her gaze.

"She is a synthetic woman who sides with the humans and has a romantic relationship with the main character. She was originally created as a nurse for the synthetic people but ended up working for human fugitives."

"Oh? Is she good looking?"

"Well, she's, um, err ..."

"Sexy?"

"Alluring." Billie rubbed the back of her neck. "He wrote that her hips swayed in an alluring and experienced way." Billie flushed and took a swig of soda. "That's what he wrote, anyway."

"Alluring? I don't think many men in here know what that means." Lil glanced around the barroom and pulled at the front of her shirt. "Swaying hips? I like that."

"I think I've got everything. It's been really helpful, thanks. Pity he's not here now."

"If he comes in, what do you want me to do?"

"Could you ring me? I'll write my number down."

"Sure, I'll keep him busy and call you."

Billie wrote her cell number, ripped off the sheet, and pocketed the notebook. She stood up as Stratt came over and zipped up her jacket. "I'll be off then." She gave a short wave without making eye contact.

She turned over the conversation in her mind as she rode off. Lil was easy to talk to and had a certain something about her. As for the man, he was a grumpy old drunk with a failing business.

Once home, she took off her bra and rubbed her breasts. She had sweated somewhat in the warm bar and with the stress of meeting new people. After a quick shower, she changed into her pajamas and sat at her laptop. She typed up some notes and questions on a word processing document within the "Avery folder".

Grabbing a can of beer from the fridge, she opened a packet of chips and relaxed on the couch. The beer took the edge off her thoughts and the movie seemed funnier as a result.

After it ended, she went to bed and lay in the darkness cuddling the body pillow, listening to the muffled sounds of the neighbor's TV. She thought through her conversations in the bar. The author Avery, Lil, and the character Edith from his book. A coincidence?

Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling. Her mind was awake as if expecting to be working another night shift. She ran a hand underneath her pajamas and caressed her lower belly. One of her special relaxation routines would help her sleep. She turned on her side and reached towards the bottom drawer of her night stand.

# Friday, April 20

## i. Stupid, stupid

The next day, Billie rode to the gym, completed a full workout, and visited Walmart on the way home. She emptied the food out of her bulging camouflage backpack and made lunch. In the afternoon, she checked her website and emailed her brother's account to add to the growing unanswered Inbox.

Her cell phone blipped at the arrival of a new message. It was from a dating app she recently joined.

_Iloveumore6969_.

How about meeting up one evening next week? Are you up for it?

"Up for it?" Why didn't he just say, "Wanna have sex?" She deleted the message and closed the app. Why did she bother?

She played a video game for two hours, immersing herself in the storyline and side quests. As evening drew in, she cooked eggs and ham and thought about the rest of her evening. A bit of self-pampering whilst watching a movie would be nice.

Her cell rang.

"Hello?"

" _Is that Billie?_ " Lil's voice sounded out from the background noises in the bar.

"Yes. Lil?"

" _That man, he's in at the moment, just ordered a meal_."

"Err ... right." Billie muted the TV. "I'll ride down to you. Be as quick as I can."

" _Okay, see you soon_."

Billie became a whirl of activity, realizing that her cozy night in was to become an unscheduled one again at the Crankshaft bar. But, Avery may be there. She opened the front door and looked at the sky. It was a cold evening, and clouds were gathering. Should she wear an undervest? It was only a fifteen-minute ride to the bar.

Within minutes, she was dressed and checking that everything was turned off, except the main ceiling light. Her cell phone was placed in the top pocket of her shirt in case Lil phoned.

She drove carefully, keeping to the speed limit. At one junction, she rode through an amber light and felt a rush of guilt. A quick glance did not reveal any nearby cops. Once in the parking lot, she secured her bike and entered the Crankshaft with a growing excitement and uncertainty.

Unsure where to stand, she tried not to blush at the stares from the men.

Lil approached her, wiping her hands down her apron.

"Who's your girlfriend, Lil?" a nearby man said.

"Fuck off," Lil said back.

Billie bit her lip to stifle a grin at Lil's free and easy swearing.

Lil turned to Billie. "Hi, honey. He's at a table in the back."

They passed Stratt, who sat in the same place with a beer in his hand. He nodded back. Had he moved since yesterday?

Lil motioned with her hands by an empty table. "What?" She picked up the dollar notes left on the table. "He's gone. Is he in the bathroom or left out back?"

"I came in the front, no one passed me."

"There's an exit by the restrooms."

"How long ago?" Billie asked.

"Two minutes."

"Where is the door? I may get a license plate."

"Follow me."

Lil pushed the exit door open and studied the parking lot. "There, the man getting into the driver's seat."

Billie hesitated, but heard herself say, "I'll try to follow him." She stood on tiptoes to study the car and the driver. It was a white Honda Civic two-door coupe. The license plate was out of view. The man had dark hair.

Billie yanked on her helmet and rushed to her motorcycle. The Honda drove off as she unlocked the security chain. With no time to put on her gloves, she pulled the clutch lever, pressed the ignition button, and rotated the throttle. She kicked the gear shift down with her left boot.

Lil shouted and waved. "Left, left."

Billie zoomed out of the parking lot, made a left turn, bumped up the gears, and tucked in behind a Ford van to get her bearings. The air around her felt cool and she already missed her gloves. She tilted her weight and moved across the center of the road into the oncoming lane. The Honda Civic was in the line of traffic, two cars ahead.

A truck blew its horn.

Shit. A semi-truck headed towards her. She brought the motorcycle back into the correct lane and braked to avoid colliding with the rear of the Ford van. Her heart thumped as the rush of air from the semi-truck buffeted against her.

"Crazy, crazy."

The evening light edged towards darkness and the clouds threatened rain.

Billie checked her distances, glanced over her shoulder, and sat back. At least the Honda hadn't turned off. The nearer they headed towards the I90, the more her heart sank. Coeur d'Alene, east of the state border in Idaho, was a suburb she never wanted to return to.

Ahead, the intersection lights were green. The Ford in front braked as if expecting a red.

"Come on, come on."

The lights changed, and the Ford came to a stop. Billie swore as she saw the Honda speed towards the I90's up ramp. At least the car was traveling west across Spokane and not to Idaho.

Billie placed one boot on the ground, held in the clutch, and pressed the gear shift back down to first. If the Honda drove at speed along the freeway, it could gain the next intersection and that would be that. The man may never return to the Crankshaft.

With care, she rode next to the Ford and, ignoring the stare from the driver, held the clutch ready. As soon as the lights changed, she gained the on ramp ahead of the Ford.

Once in the middle lane, she worked the gears and reached 65 mph. Air rushed around her neck and into her helmet. Her decision to wear jeans was fine for a relaxed ride to the Crankshaft but not for hurtling along a freeway. Her leather motorcycle pants were back at the apartment. A waft of hot gasoline fumes hit the back of her throat, making her cough. Get on with it, she told herself while concentrating on her position, gear, and distances.

Where was the Honda?

All she could see ahead were three lines of traffic speeding along under the yellow glow of the freeway lights. Tires thud-thudded across the tarmac.

Where next? With confident movements, she cut into the inside lane, sped up past a line of cars at 70 mph, and returned to the middle before slowing. Again, she examined the traffic.

Billie homed in on white roofs. Were they sedans or convertibles? She could not say; they all looked like Honda coupes. She approached as near to the truck in front of her as she dared; one of the white cars was a Hyundai.

"Shit."

She slowed. This was mad and dangerous. What was the point of continuing? Probably best to leave the freeway at the next exit. But what if the man doesn't return to the Crankshaft and disappears? What about Jeffrey?

With teeth gritted and eyes stinging from the cold air, she pulled into the outside lane and sped up to 80 mph. A streak of heat ran down the back of her neck at the thought of receiving a traffic ticket.

Despite that, she felt alive. Her senses were alert, and she commanded her motorcycle with fluid coordination.

A hundred feet ahead, a white car drove along the inside lane, positioning itself to take the off ramp onto the 195. It was definitely a Honda coupe.

Follow it, or continue on the freeway?

"Crap it," she said loudly. There was no time for uncertainty.

Billie slowed, signaled, and settled into the inside lane. She followed the traffic off the freeway. The wider three lanes of the freeway now gave way to the two lanes of the 195.

Away from the center of Spokane, the suburban environment changed to open country and darker roadways. Billie immediately gained the outer lane and rode alongside the Honda.

A woman was in the driving seat. How many bloody Honda coupes were there in Spokane?

The man was probably still driving along the I90 or at home by now.

Billie checked her positioning and brought her gaze up to the horizon to assess the driving conditions ahead. The lanes snaked and curved into the distance, but something must have happened a few miles ahead. Red taillights flashed on and off, and traffic around her slowed as drivers anticipated the delays. Perhaps there had been an accident.

If the Honda was still on this freeway, then there was still a chance.

Billie slowed to 15 mph and deftly balanced the tension on the clutch lever with the throttle. There was only one thing to do: lane splitting. She would have to squeeze in between the two lanes of traffic. The option to use the breakdown lane was a step too far.

Mindful of side mirrors and vehicles wandering over the lane markings, she concentrated on the route ahead.

"Yes."

The risk paid off. A white Honda coupe appeared in the inside lane, three cars in front of her current position. She dipped her head down as she sped up to gain a better look. It appeared to be a male driver, on his own, and of similar features to the man she saw stepping into the Honda. A brief glimpse of the license plate was all she could manage. At that moment her bike wobbled due to taking her attention off the road.

The first letters were CF.

She sat upright and steadied herself. She would follow this Honda to its destination. That was an end to it. With the evening drawing in, the cold air was making this wild goose chase uncomfortable and her hands were stiffening.

Vehicles tailgated, horns beeped, and drivers examined their cell phones. Traffic moved, slowed, then sped up. It was like being between two lines of vicious bumper cars.

A semi-truck rumbled alongside. Billie felt the vibration of its bulk through her seat. She glanced at the underside of the trailer and the huge tires. Despite the semi's side guards, any mistakes would not end well. She bit her lip.

A sign board displayed an exit ahead. With only two lanes, inside traffic could continue along the freeway or turn off.

What was the Honda intending to do? There was only one way to be certain.

She nudged the right turn signal and glanced to her side. Behind the Honda was a red Ford sedan, and a gray Chevy behind that. She matched the speed of both vehicles and rode towards the gap.

A horn blared repeatedly.

Billie pulled back into the middle. The semi continued to rumble along on the outside. She glanced to her right.

The Chevy drove up to the Ford's rear fender while the driver stuck up his middle finger and mouthed obscenities.

Could she move in behind the Chevy, then?

A slight touch on the brake positioned her perfectly beside the gap. She went to move but pulled the handlebars at the last minute.

"Crap, shit, crap," she said.

The truck driver behind the Chevy honked his horn and sped up.

This was impossible.

The last exit notice appeared. A quarter-mile before the turnoff.

Indicator lights winked on; the Honda intended to leave the freeway. Thankfully, so were the Ford and the Chevy.

Billie braced herself as the Honda left the freeway. As soon as the Ford driver turned his steering wheel, she followed alongside. She tilted the motorcycle and placed the bike in an arc to maintain a three-foot gap between herself and the side of the car.

The Chevy driver behind the Ford blasted his horn.

Within seconds, the motorcycle rattled over raised painted strips at the edge of the off ramp. Billie clung on as she rode over loose stone chips and ripped strips of tire rubber.

The motorcycle's tires were losing traction and the turning angle was too steep.

She put a foot out and wrenched the handlebars. Though her body weight was centered, she now traveled in a straight line, off the road and towards rutted grass.

Billie pulled in the clutch, braked, and trailed her boots above the ground like an off-roader. The bike bounced and bucked, but she fought it to an eventual stop.

In a standing position, she held her bike steady and let out a long breath. Her heart thumped and sweat formed on her brow. Sitting back down, she flipped up the helmet visor and wiped her face.

Freeway traffic on the 195 to her left trailed along to whatever was causing the delay. Frustrated drivers streamed along the off lane to her right, following their GPS's new route.

Shit, the Honda? Where had it gone?

She slapped the visor down, selected first gear, and sped off towards the off ramp, easing herself into the line of traffic and stopped at the junction. Despite horns beeping behind her, Billie studied the road.

Which way?

To her right, a car with rear lights shaped like the Honda was disappearing into the darkness. She turned and went after it.

It began raining--not a downpour, but enough to make the road surface greasy. She wiped the helmet's visor with her left hand, then shook her fingers.

At least the road ahead was a single lane with little traffic. With her head and shoulders hunkered down, she sped along into the Latah Valley area. Known for its upscale residences, the home owners enjoyed views of the valley. It was not an area Billie knew well.

A white Honda coupe with a single male-looking driver was ahead of her. The license plate started with CF. Relieved, she slowed down to a comfortable distance.

Her cell phone vibrated against her chest. Lil would have to wait.

The street lights had long disappeared as the road wound its way uphill into the darkness, illuminated only by the lights of the residences on either side. Many of the houses had walls and security gates.

Fleetingly, she wondered if the man was aware of being followed and was leading her into a trap. At that thought, she turned off her headlights and slowed.

The Honda's brake lights came on repeatedly before it made a half-turn and stopped. Billie rode forward at a steady speed. The Honda disappeared into a residence. Not wanting to ride alongside, Billie cut the engine, kicked out the stand, and jumped off the bike. She ran towards the residence, tugging off her helmet.

Amongst the light wind, rain, and rustling of night life, she heard an electrical hum. In the dim light of a neighboring house, she saw an automatic gate closing. A number plate screwed to a side pillar read 147. There was not much else to see due to the high surrounding wall.

She waited for two minutes but heard nothing distinctive. No car reappeared. There was nothing more to do except find the road name.

It took four hundred yards of freewheeling downhill, with the engine turned off, before she found a signpost.

Bolam Way.

She switched on the engine and continued riding. On reaching street lights, she pulled over and stopped underneath an overhanging tree. She examined her cell phone. Five missed calls from Lil.

She called her.

"Lil?"

Bar noises and conversations sounded in the background. " _Yeah?_ "

"Billie here."

" _You okay? I kept phoning_."

"I'm okay. Yeah. I made it up to the Latah Valley. Followed a Honda here to a residence on Bolam." She hesitated. "Number 147."

" _Million-dollar properties up there_."

"Yes. It's too dark to make the place out. I could only see the security gate closing. It may not be him, or it could be the wrong address or the wrong Honda. There was more than one Honda on the freeway."

" _Well done, Billie. At least there is a potential address. What are you going to do?_ "

Billie hadn't considered this question. Tomorrow she was aiming to do more chores at home and go for a long motorcycle ride. "Err ... I may make a visit tomorrow and knock on the door?"

" _Want company?_ "

Billie was unsure how to answer. She balked at the suggestion of making an unplanned meeting with people, she barely knew.

" _I don't start until later tomorrow. We could come up and help you out_."

"What, with your boyfriend?"

" _Stratt will be sober. He's back to the yard first thing but will return to give me a lift late morning_."

"How about 11:30?"

" _Billie, you told me the house number. I like that honesty and trust. See yah tomorrow_." Lil ended the call.

Billie nodded and said aloud, "Thanks Lil."

She wiped her hands on her jeans and opened the top box behind her seat. Her gloves lay on top of a neatly-folded high visibility jacket, which she proceeded to put on. It was a relief to pull on her gloves. Rain had soaked through her jeans and underwear, which stuck to her skin. She shivered and tugged the bottom of her jacket over her backside.

Though a miserable journey home, Billie kept within the speed limit. Once back, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into a hot shower. With a warm chocolate drink in her hand, she sat on the couch in her pajamas and dressing gown. She shook her head at the memory of her journey. How many traffic violations had she committed? Enough to have her license suspended. A fine would be difficult to pay with the cost of her monthly outgoings.

She grinned. It had been exciting and liberating, though.

It was worth the risk, as she felt certain it was the same man who drove away from the Crankshaft's parking lot.

She glanced at Jeffrey's photo.

"For you, brother."

Despite a growing excitement and anxiety about what the next day would bring, she went straight to sleep.

#  Saturday, April 21

## i. 147 Bolam

Billie woke with concerns that Lil and Stratt were planning to visit 147 Bolam without her. They may be already speaking to the man.

For a moment, she wondered if they were planning to rob him. No, that was unfair.

She resisted the urge to phone Lil, so sent a text instead.

Okay for this morning? Billie

While waiting for a reply, she downloaded a voice recording app and checked the storage on her cell phone's SD card.

A text arrived.

Yes. Stratt will be back in time from the yard. Lil

Relieved, Billie sent a reply.

See you soon

She left early, as she wanted to view the area in daylight. The motorcycle's engine noise and vibration felt good underneath her as she entered the freeway. Unlike yesterday, she kept her speed down and didn't dodge lanes.

The road, which weaved its way up into the valley, was dotted with prime real estate. Most had fences and gates. What did you have to earn to live here?

Billie rode past 147, intending to stop a short distance away, out of view. In the daylight, she realized it was a corner house, so slowed, turned down the side road, and parked under a tree. With her crash helmet locked in the top box, she wound a security chain around the tree trunk and through the front wheel. Happy with the padlock and chain, she walked to the corner and waited. As a car drove by, Billie brought out her cell phone and held it to her ear as if making a call. The car continued on its journey.

A throaty vehicle exhaust could be heard coming up the hill towards her. Billie watched the car appear, then slow on seeing her. It was Lil and Stratt. She waved her hand as they pulled over and stopped.

Lil wound down the window, "What's the plan?"

"Is it best if you speak to him first, as he knows you? I'll follow behind and ask if he is Avery. Then I'll ask for an interview and photo."

"I'm coming in with you in case he gets funny," Stratt said.

Billie studied him. He was sober, and his voice was quieter, less forceful.

They parked and joined Billie on the sidewalk. Lil wore a waist-length blue cotton jacket and a long-sleeved blouse tucked into her blue jeans. Billie unzipped her motorcycle jacket and glanced down at her blue plaid men's shirt.

They walked down to the gate. "This is it, 147."

A security camera and communication panel were set inside a brick pillar by the gate.

Lil walked up to the intercom. "Let's hope he's in," she said, and pressed the button.

A low volume ring sounded and continued for what seemed a long thirty seconds.

" _Yes?_ " a male voice said.

Lil looked at Billie who nodded.

"This is Lil from the Crankshaft. Or you can call me Edith."

" _How did you find me?_ "

Lil touched her hair and said, "I have my ways."

There was no reply.

"Fuck it," Stratt said.

"I just kind of wanted to speak to you again," Lil said, holding up a hand towards Stratt. She smiled at the camera. "I've put on my favorite jeans." She stepped back and twisted her hips.

" _Nice_."

"You called me Edith. I like that. Sounds exotic."

Unseen to the man inside the house, Lil pushed Stratt's chest to stop him getting in front of the camera. He moved his hands in agitation.

" _You up for some action?_ "

Lil tilted her head "As long as I get a drink first."

There was a clunk, and the gate slid open.

Lil stepped inside, followed by Billie and Stratt.

With its well-kept front garden, Billie could not quite describe the style of the single-story house. European villa? It was expensive and elegant.

A man stood on a small veranda by the front door.

"Who are these other people? I thought you were on your own?" the man said angrily.

"It's okay I can explain everything," Lil said, turning to Billie.

"You'd better, otherwise I'll call the cops."

Billie studied the man. He had dark medium length hair, down-turned eyebrows, dark brown eyes, a pointed nose, and a thin face. His facial features were definitely like the photos of Avery. The man's skin was weather worn, suggesting he had lived or worked outside. He wore a shirt, casual pants and was unshaven.

"Hi, I'm Billie," she said, aware her voice sounded hesitant.

"Sorry, what? Can't hear you very well, err, mister?" the man said.

Billie walked nearer to him. "It's miss," she said flatly. "I've been posting stuff on my website to do with missing people." She realized she was waffling.

"So?"

"I err, thought you may be the author Avery P. Fournier."

Billie noticed the man's eyes move, almost imperceptibly.

He grabbed the side of the balcony rail and blew out a breath. "Fournier, you say? The author? I've been mistaken for him before. People always say that. Sorry, you're wrong. Now can you fuck off, please. Now."

Lil glanced at Billie and held her hands out. The man's reply ended a whole line of conversation.

The man gazed at Lil and said, "I presume there's no sucky fucky, then?"

Stratt, who had stood behind Lil, could not stop himself speaking. "That's out-of-order, fella."

Billie held her breath.

"Hey, man, if you don't ask you don't get."

"But not with my girlfriend."

"She doesn't mind putting it about at the bar. Nice tits and hips."

Stratt bounded towards the man, who put his hands out in front of him in surprise.

Lil ran after him. "Stratt, leave him. Let's go."

Before Lil's voice had registered, Stratt grabbed the man's shirt collar with one hand and pulled at the material.

The man pushed back and tried to gain his footing. "Get off me," he said between gritted teeth.

Stratt pushed his face into the man's, making their noses touch. "Don't come in the bar again."

He released his hand, but with the momentum, the man stumbled backwards and fell onto the wooden floor.

He lay still and didn't move.

"Jesus, Stratt," Lil said. She shoved him out of the way. "Billie help me with him."

The man opened his eyes and touched his head. "What the?" he said.

"It's okay, you tripped. Can you get up?" Lil said.

With Billie's help, they assisted the man to his feet and helped him inside the house. Lil glanced up, then guided the man towards a long couch.

"What the hell's going on?" he said, putting a hand to his head.

"Billie, can you get water and a wet towel or something? Stratt, you stay out of the way." Lil sat to the man's left and held his hand. "It's okay, you're fine."

"Jesus," the man said. "My bloody head. I want you lot out of here."

Lil softened her voice. "We're going, but I can't leave you here until you are okay."

The man rubbed his head and glared over at Stratt. Lil's company and her soothing words seemed to have calmed him down.

"Slight shock. Just take a few minutes." Lil brushed his hair and pulled at his shirt collar.

Billie had no difficulty finding the kitchen as the whole place was open plan. The living room space, with its couches and armchairs, gave way to a dining area with a long polished wooden table. Large windows dominated the living room, offering a clear view of the valley. A wall, which ran across three quarters of the width of the room, acted as a break between the dining area and the kitchen at the rear.

Billie presumed the line of doors at the back of the living and dining area contained bedrooms. One door was open. On her way to the kitchen, Billie glanced inside; it was a study. A series of paintings adorned the walls, which she recognized as Indian-styled depictions of the Kama Sutra.

She found a glass in a cupboard and filled it with water. A towel lay on the counter next to a packet of cereal, a half-eaten apple, and a pot of filter coffee. She wet the end of the towel and squeezed off the excess water.

Lil took it from her.

"Lean forward," Lil said.

The man bent his neck while Lil dabbed at the back of his head.

"You'll have a bruise, but nothing broken, you can sit back," Lil said. She rubbed the man's cheek. "You'll be okay, honey."

Billie smiled. Lil would have seen her fair share of fights and broken male egos in the Crankshaft.

Stratt stood by the front door, watching events. Billie thought he looked like a scolded schoolboy waiting for his mum.

"Is there anything I can get you, mister?" Billie said.

"Keep that gorilla away from me," the man said. He nestled his head into Lil's shoulder.

"What's your name, honey?" Lil said.

"Alan Foster," he said.

"Do you want a coffee or something stronger?"

"Coffee." He wriggled his body and, leaning lower, pressed his cheek into Lil's right breast. His left hand strayed onto her knee.

Lil shot a glance at Billie and rolled her eyes as she moved the man's hand back to his lap.

"Send that lunkhead away, but you two ladies can stay. Fancy a threesome?"

Lil narrowed her eyes. "I think you are feeling better. Sure, your name isn't groper Joe or something?"

"If you are asking the questions, Joe is fine."

His hand found its way to Lil's thigh.

"You're a lively one, aren't you, Joe?" She shifted the man's hand again.

Billie watched Lil work her magic and felt more relaxed. At least the man wasn't badly injured and hadn't called 911.

She returned to the study door and looked inside again. A laptop lay open on top of an ornate wooden table next to a pair of glasses. Reference books, notepads, and pens lay nearby. Billie did not want to place a foot inside as it felt wrong and intrusive. However, she leaned her head in and held the door jamb. A statue with a plaque on its front piqued her interest. Shaped like a vintage robot, it rested on top of a bookcase. Was it a trophy or an award?

She glanced at Lil. She was holding Joe's hand and shuffling sideways a few inches away from him. Stratt smoked a cigarette on the veranda.

With a rapid movement, she took out her cell and took a series of photos.

Billie tip toed into the kitchen and filled four cups with filter coffee, found a tray, and grabbed a pint of milk from the fridge.

"Here," she lowered the tray next to Lil.

"Milk?" Lil said.

"Yes please," Joe said and levered himself upright. He glanced over at the front door.

Billie took the tray out to Stratt who accepted a cup.

"Well, this is a nice place," Lil said, standing up. "What a beautiful view of the valley."

"Yes, it is. With you standing in front of it it's much better."

"Been here long, Joe?"

"Not really."

"What do you do?"

"Freelance. Short-term contracts." He rubbed his nose. "I hire and fire people."

Billie noted his non-committal short answers.

"Sorry to have made a mistake. You get it all the time, then?" Billie said.

"Oh, that? Yes, people often mistake me for that Avery fella."

" _We Have Seen Better Days_ is one of my favorite books," Billie said. "Would have been nice to speak to Mr. Fournier. I would have liked to ask him a few questions about his book and travels. He's been away, I believe."

"Apparently."

Lil spent a moment with Stratt and after a reassuring pat on the shoulder, she returned to Joe.

She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. Her legs were splayed apart, and she tilted her hips very slightly towards him. It gained his attention as he sat back and wiped his thumb and forefinger over his bottom lip.

Lil knew what she was doing. The man's gaze roved up and down Lil's body; he was entranced. To Billie, this was like watching a master class.

"Are we okay to leave you now? No harm done, and Stratt will apologize, won't you?" Lil said, glaring over at Stratt.

Stratt nodded, "Sorry, mister," he said in a loud voice from across the room. He stared back at Lil.

"Okay, okay. Defending your girl's honor. I get that. You are a fine specimen of a woman. Like that character Edith." The man winked at Billie, then continued studying Lil.

Billie collected the cups and left them on the kitchen counter. On her return, she shook the man's hand.

"Sorry to trouble you."

"Firm handshake," he said, holding the grip for a moment, "I like that in a woman, especially a shy one."

Billie realized the man enjoyed making her blush.

As Lil said goodbye, Joe grabbed the back of her hand and kissed it. "If you want more refined company, then pop back and see me. Bring your friend. I can assure you both of a pleasurable time."

"In your dreams, Joe," Lil said, and poked him on the nose with a finger.

She made it appear casual and easy.

Stratt was already outside and unaware of the last exchange.

As the gate slid open, the man walked to the entrance and watched them leave. Billie turned. Though his face was devoid of emotion, his eyes were deep in thought.

Was he Avery? Billie remembered the trophy in his office and felt a shudder of excitement.

"He's an arrogant fucker, hands all over the place. But we tried, Billie. He says it is not him. I don't know."

"Should have smacked him," Stratt said. But he added, "He must be loaded. Do you think he would want to buy a salvage yard?"

"That bird has flown," Lil said. She put a hand on the roof of Stratt's car.

"You off home now, Billie?"

"Yes," Billie said. "I'll update my website and keep looking."

"You're thinking about something, aren't you?" Lil said.

Stratt started the engine.

"Billie?"

Billie glanced down at the sidewalk and shuffled her feet. "I, err ... I'm not sure."

"Try me."

"I saw something in his office. The door was open. I leaned in and saw a trophy which may have been a writer's award."

"Trespassing, eh?"

"I shouldn't have, I invaded his privacy. But I'll research the item when I get home."

Stratt revved the engine.

"I've gotta go. If you find anything, let me know," Lil said.

"Thanks, Lil."

"You take care, Billie," Lil said, and gave her a brief hug.

Stratt drove off, leaving Billie on her own with the lingering scent of Lil's perfume. She returned to her motorcycle and rode home.

## ii. Zoom lens

Weasel studied Billie through the zoom lens of his camera and continued to take pictures of her as she rode off. He rested the camera on his lap for a moment and rubbed his ear.

His morning assignment was to keep an eye on the salvage yard and its owner. Weasel had no difficulty in recognizing Stratt from the description given by Randall. When Stratt drove out of the yard, Weasel felt obliged to follow him. A woman was picked up on a street corner and they traveled up the foothills to an expensive residential area. Having driven past Stratt's car as it slowed, Weasel positioned himself a hundred yards further up the hill. The long-distance lens gave a perfect view. Every so often, he brought the camera down to his lap. Though a quiet neighborhood, there would always be someone looking out of a window.

A puzzled expression crossed his face on seeing someone in a motorcycle jacket talking to the big man and the woman. Once they disappeared through the gate of a residence, Weasel re-positioned his car to gain a clearer view. He flicked through his photos and studied the body shape and face of the person in the motorcycle jacket. It was a woman.

Without taking his eyes off the house, he swigged from a bottle of water and ate a handful of chips. The crumbs fell onto his shirt.

When the main gate eventually slid open, his bag of chips fell out of his hand as he grabbed his camera. He recorded everything, including the man standing by the gate. After everyone left, the man scratched his head and returned inside.

Weasel waited for two minutes, then drove down the hill and out along a main road, where he pulled into a diner to call Randall.

"Hey boss."

" _What you got_?"

"Strange. Been following Cooper, your salvage man. He left his yard this morning and picked up a woman in her thirties from outside a bar. They drove up to Latah, where they met a woman motorcyclist. All three of them went into a house there."

" _What number?_ "

"147 Bolam."

" _Expensive real estate_."

"They came out later and another man, I think the owner, watched them leave."

" _A meeting? Prostitution? Swingers? Drug sale_?"

"Any of those. It wasn't a burglary or robbery. They all seemed okay with each other. I've taken photos of everything."

" _Who was the motorcyclist_?"

"Don't know. Thought it was a man at first, but it was a girl."

" _Needs more work. Don't go back to the address unless I say so. The man may be connected. I'll check that out. Leave Cooper and his girlfriend for now_."

"Boss."

" _I wonder if they have found a wealthy backer for the yard? Hmm ... I doubt it. Weasel, Cooper's place must not receive any money, do you hear? I want that salvage yard to foreclose_. _See what you can find out. Visit the dyke on the bike, but no funny business. I don't want any attention being drawn to the salvage yard_."

"Yes, boss."

The call ended.

"Mother fucker," Weasel said as he rang Taco. "Hey man, got a job for you this evening."

" _What's that_?"

"You and me. We're going to rattle some dyke and warn her off getting involved in that salvage yard job I was talking about. No violence, boss says."

" _Okay. How old is she_?"

"Dunno, in her twenties? She rides a motorcycle."

" _Must be a pussy muncher. Us two hombres turning up, she'll be turned straight in two minutes_."

"It will give us a chance to practice our skills, so we can step up."

" _Good idea_."

"Pick you up later."

Weasel swung his car out onto the main road and drove back to his mobile home. He sent a text to his contact at licensing, and within fifteen minutes received Billie's name and address. It didn't take long to research her on the internet and dig up her family past.

## iii. Pizza

Billie spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about the visit. She was certain the man was Avery. It was his reactions when off guard and the imperceptible look in his eye. An internet search found a sci-fi author named Alan Dean Foster, was that a coincidence?

What did he do for a living to afford a house like that? His weather-worn appearance suggested outdoor adventures, though he talked about hiring and firing people, which suggested an office job.

She fetched the men's magazine from under the mattress. The photos of him were a good likeness to those found on the internet. One image showed him dressed in a tuxedo with an arm draped around a young actress. If the man they visited was Avery, he probably groped the woman. He was a rude asshole and not the man she envisaged.

Billie sipped at her coffee. When working as an assistant librarian, before her security jobs, she sat in on authors' visits, when they talked about their books and characters. Yes, it was possible that Avery saw himself as Krantz, the male protagonist who had sex with anything vaguely female. This included worker bots, drones, and synths. The sex scenes were graphic, which to a teenager, and literature critics, were part of its appeal. The character was a tough fighter, unlike the man they suspected of being Avery.

She laughed on remembering Lil calling him "groper Joe." What should she call the man now? He said his name was Alan, but he responded to Joe. Joe it was, then.

Billie grinned. Lil's confidence with Joe and his wandering hands was a sight to see. From being pissed off and angry, he became a teddy bear. That pose with her hands on her hips; it was as if she exuded an invisible feminine power. What would Lil make of her supervisor?

Of her cell phone photos, only one had captured the trophy in the study with enough detail. Sadly, the inscription plate was not visible. A few web searches later, and Billie found an image of Avery holding a literature award. The trophy was in the shape of a vintage robot, similar to the one on the bookcase. It could be as fake as the man. He may be a fantasist.

She sat back and rubbed her eyes. It was 7 p.m., and she was in no mood to cook.

After phoning for a pizza, she jumped in the shower. With her eyes closed, she raised her face towards the stream of water. She wondered what Lil and Stratt were doing. Smoking, talking, and worrying about the future?

She dried herself, wound the towel around her head, and padded to the kitchenette. She placed a plate, a knife, and a fork ready on the counter, then took out ten dollars from her wallet.

There were no messages on her cell phone.

With five minutes until delivery, she put on a pair of pajamas emblazoned with space rockets. She bought them for herself as a Christmas present, as they were like a pair her mother gave her when eight years old.

There was a knock on the door.

A glance through the spyhole showed the pizza box being held out ready. With the dollars in her hand, she opened the door.

The delivery man smiled. Only then did Billie see the other man standing behind him. Concerned, she tried to push the door shut, but it wouldn't budge.

"Excuse me," Billie said, raising her voice.

The man holding the pizza walked in. He was thin, with a pockmarked face, and he wore a black suit, white shirt, and thin black tie. The second man entered, closed the door, and leaned back against it. Heavy set, he folded his arms across his belly and stared at her.

The thin man laid the pizza box on the kitchen counter.

"Wilhelmina Jansen?" the man said, trying to affect a smile.

"What are you doing? I'm calling the cops," Billie said, realizing she had left her cell phone on the kitchen counter.

The man followed her gaze.

He leaned sideways and picked up her phone. Scrutinizing it for a moment, he opened the cutlery drawer and tossed it inside. "Now, miss. We need to have a chat, that's all. Allow us to introduce ourselves." The man placed his hand on his shirt collar. "I'm Mr. Weasel, and this is my associate, Mr. Taco."

Billie's legs knocked back against the couch. With the sudden threat, her heart beat faster and there was a sour taste in her mouth. To counteract a feeling of fight or flight, she balled her fists.

"What do you want?" she said, trying to sound convincing. She would have to jump over a chair to reach the kitchen knives or run into the bedroom to reach her baseball bat.

Weasel stood over by the bedroom. "Just having a chat," he said before glancing inside the room.

He returned and leaned his back against the kitchenette counter. "Does anyone else live here. A boyfriend?" His gaze rested on her breasts.

Billie was certain his face flushed. When she looked at him, he glanced away.

She fastened the top button of her pajama top, then fiddled with the pants cord to make sure the knot was tight.

"How about a girlfriend?" Taco said. He smiled at the thinner man.

Billie remained silent.

"I read something about your family. Nasty business," Weasel said.

Billie paused. Though braced for a fight, she was thrown by his comment. She relaxed her fists, gauging that the man could have caused damage or harm by now. The heavier man could have overpowered her.

"So?" Billie said.

"Nothing, just doing my homework. Wilhelmina."

"It's Billie, at least call me Billie."

"Billie," Weasel said. "I like that."

How old was this man? Probably a little younger than herself. His eyes did not match what he was saying. It didn't make her feel any less vulnerable. Especially when he opened his jacket and stared at her. She gazed at his chest holster. With unnecessary swagger, he pulled out his gun and squatting slightly, pointed it towards the end of the room.

"Yeah, man," Taco said.

Weasel tilted the handgun sideways and said, "Pop."

He didn't seem to know what to do next, so re-holstered the weapon. Had he been trying to impress her or the other man?

Weasel studied the room as if uncertain of what to say next, his gaze turning to the kitchenette. "Cooking, you like cooking?" He reached for one of Billie's cookbooks. "Solo meals," he said. "Cooking for one?"

Billie watched his hands, which shook with nerves as he picked up the recipe book, then replaced it. He wiped his hands across his cheeks and glanced towards the couch.

Billie tensed as he homed in on the adult magazine, which she had left out.

"What's this?" he said. He held the cover up to the other man.

Weasel propped himself back against the kitchen counter and flicked through the pages. He tried to act seriously by saying, "It's got an alien abduction story." As he turned over a page, he tilted his head sideways. His ears turned red and he audibly swallowed.

Weasel held up the magazine towards Taco, who walked over.

"Pussy," the other man said. "Told you she likes pussy."

Weasel flipped another page.

"Woah, there are men in that one. Could turn you into a faggot if you look at that long enough."

"Calling me a faggot?" Weasel said, almost spitting out the words.

"No, man."

Weasel stepped away from Taco and mumbled, "I'm not a faggot." He reached a hand inside his jacket and touched his revolver.

"Okay, okay. Keep cool." Taco raised his hands. "We have company." He nodded towards Billie.

As if suddenly aware of Billie witnessing his outburst, Weasel coughed. "My throat," he said, and filled a cup with water from the faucet and drank its contents. "That's better." Though his face remained flushed, his voice had returned to normal.

"Hey," Taco said turning over a page with his fat fingers. "It's a threesome. Two guys, one girl. See?" He showed the pages to Weasel.

Billie ran to the door.

Weasel glanced up. "Taco."

Billie grabbed at the door handle.

Taco was quick on his feet. He pushed her sideways with his outstretched hands, making her bounce off the side wall.

Rubbing her shoulder, Billie had no option but to retreat to the couch.

Taco leaned his back against the door and grinned as he pulled out a flashlight.

Weasel sniggered.

The flashlight emitted a blue, crackling electrical charge from its tip. "For you if you give any more trouble," he said and motioned the flashlight back and forth with the stun gun element sizzling.

Weasel lifted out his revolver again. Billie tensed. He held it out towards the far wall as if mimicking the stun gun.

Billie examined the two men. They were like teenagers with water pistols.

"You can see we mean business," Weasel said.

"Yeah," the large man said.

Both men smiled at each other. They were friends again.

Weasel rolled up the magazine and patted it on his hand.

"Now," he coughed and looked at Billie. He tried to make his facial expression one of seriousness. "Who was the man at 147 Bolam?"

"How do you know I was there?" Billie said.

"I'm a private investigator." He made a gesture as if taking a photo. "Got it all recorded."

Shit, Avery's pictures and story were inside the magazine. If Weasel knows about 147, does he know something he's not saying? An answer may send them on their way.

"I thought he was a missing man, an author, but it wasn't him. His name was Alan something or other."

"What does the man do for a living?"

"He didn't speak a great deal. Freelance recruitment, I think. Once he told us who he was, we left."

"What were Cooper and the other woman doing there?"

Billie shrunk back. Did Stratt and Lil know this man?

"Was Cooper making any deals or getting a money loan?"

"I'm not sure what you are talking about. No, they were helping me. The man had been seen in Lil's bar, that's all. She contacted me and we went up to the place. I hardly know them."

"Lil? Is that Cooper's girl?"

"Bit of pussy," Taco said.

"So, you were only there to see the man who lived there?" Weasel said.

"Yes. Why else?"

Weasel rubbed a hand across his forehead. His eyes bulged, and he focused on Billie's pajamas again.

"Now listen," he said, licking his lips. "Err ... do not involve yourself in the affairs of Cooper. Stay away from him, his woman, the salvage yard, and that place in Latah Valley."

Billie nodded. If anything were to happen, it would be now. She clenched her fists ready.

"You're a pretty lady. Wouldn't like anything to happen to you," Weasel said, his voice going up a notch. He waved the rolled-up magazine at her. "I'm gonna keep this."

"Why?" Billie could not stop herself saying.

"Err ... homework."

The other man stifled a laugh as he opened the door. Weasel tapped a finger against his forehead and nodded towards Billie as he left. His ears were red.

Billie pushed the door shut and double locked it as soon as they left. As a precaution, she pushed a heavy chair up against the door. She folded her arms, suddenly feeling cold. This experience would play on her mind for a long time. The Weasel man's knowledge of her family was unsettling, plus he must have spied on them all when they went into 147 Bolam. Were Stratt and Lil in trouble?

She laid the pizza box on the counter and opened it. A lovely cooked smell wafted out. Uncertain what to expect, she poked at the pizza wedges with a knife in case something was hidden inside. She couldn't eat it now.

Thankfully her cell phone lay inside the cutlery drawer. Perhaps the porn pictures made him forget to take it.

She guessed that the men must have been snooping on her, waiting near the door when, by chance, the pizza guy arrived. It wouldn't have taken much to give the delivery man a few dollars and give him a story, like a surprise birthday visit.

She turned up the TV, shivered, and found her bathrobe. Weasel sounded and acted as if he was trying to punch above his weight. A loose cannon, though, and probably dangerous in his own way. His henchman, Taco, was strong but lacked any conversational skills except the word "pussy."

They must have found out her name and address from her motorcycle license plate, unless they had followed her home, which she doubted. Uncovering the news story of her family tragedy would not have been difficult.

She thought of Lil, and before she could stop herself, sent her a text.

Hi - I'm not sure what to do

Lil's replied within a minute. _What's happened?_

Had two visitors who warned me off speaking to you and Stratt

Billie's phone rang.

" _You okay, honey_?"

It was comforting to hear Lil's voice. "Yeah, they left a few minutes ago."

" _What did they want? What happened?_ "

"They knew my name, my family history, and that we were in the Latah Valley at 147."

" _Fuck_."

"They asked whether Stratt was making any deals or money loans."

" _What did you say_?"

"That we were looking for a missing man, we spoke to him, but it wasn't him. I was told to stay out of Stratt's affairs and his salvage yard."

" _What did they look like_?"

"One thin, bad skin on his face, pockmarked, white skin. The other heavyset, overweight but strong. He could have been Hispanic. In their early twenties? They introduced themselves as Weasel and Taco."

" _Doesn't sound familiar. Hang on_."

Billie heard background noises from the bar and the vague voices of Lil talking to Stratt. Lil must have held the phone down by her pant leg. Stratt sounded angry. She was sure she heard Lil say, "Okay, honey, okay."

" _Stratt's pissed, but he can't think of anyone like you said and their names aren't familiar. Have they left the area? Is anyone with you_?"

"I live alone," Billie said, whilst staring through the front door peephole. "Hold on."

With hesitance, she unlocked the door and took a step outside.

" _All right, Billie_?"

"Just having a look."

She stepped further out and peered along the landing area which ran along the front doors. Then she looked over the edge of the railing and onto the ground. Passing traffic and a couple walking hand in hand. "Nothing," she said in a louder than normal voice.

Relieved, she walked back inside and locked the door. "They've gone."

" _Good_. _Do you want to call the police_?" Lil said.

"I'm not sure, what do you think?"

" _Did they steal anything or hurt you_?"

"Weasel searched around the apartment and took a err... magazine. It had an article about Avery's disappearance. They didn't touch me. I don't think they will return. It's shaken me up, if I'm honest," Billie said. She realized she had spoken about her feelings. Usually she clammed up, lied or avoided conversations.

" _Well, call the cops later if you think. Do you want to come over? We're staying over at Stratt's yard tonight when I've finished at the bar_."

"No. I'll be okay." She added, "I'll speak to my neighbor."

" _If you get the jitters, call me anytime_."

"Thanks."

" _Just thought. Tomorrow's Sunday. Stratt's final day of ownership_."

"I'm sorry about that."

" _But hey, he has a grill. Well, it's an oil drum with a grill over the top. Would you like to come over? You can tell us about those two guys, and we can all be unhappy together_."

"I'll think about it," Billie said, giving her usual answer.

" _That's your normal answer, isn't it, Billie_?"

"Well, I don't know, I've got a lot on."

" _Washing and doing your hair_?"

"Perhaps," Billie said, her voice trailing off.

" _Billie. We will see you tomorrow, that's an order. Cooper's Auto Salvage on Linklater, by the I90. Come over anytime_." Lil paused. " _Okay, Billie_?"

"Thanks, Lil."

She ended the call. My god, she thought, I've spoken to someone else like a friend.

Her thoughts returned to the intruders. Minutes later the chair was placed back against the door and she had hold of her baseball bat. Scratches and gouges ran along its length, depicting baseball game memories. Perhaps it was best if she left it out from now on when she was home.

To assuage her guilt at not informing the police, she typed out her account of the incident in statement form and emailed it to herself. As usual, it helped to write down her thoughts, feelings, and situations.

Once finished she held her face in her hands, realizing she was on the verge of tears. After a few steady breaths she said, "Right," and stood up.

With a peanut butter sandwich and two cans of beer she sat on the couch and watched a low budget sci-fi film. It got her through to midnight, when the effects of the beer made her feel sleepy. She grabbed the duvet off her bed and lay on the couch, the baseball bat by her fingertips.

With the TV on mute, she dozed, knowing she would wake every hour. Her thoughts whirled between the faces of the men and the events of the last two days. As she thought of one of her monotonous security rounds, the face of the man who told her he wasn't Avery flashed into her mind.

Perhaps she should go to the salvage yard tomorrow. It was, after all, Lil's orders.

## iv. We will be kings

When Weasel and Taco left Billie's apartment, they bumped fists on the stairs.

"Good job," Taco said.

Weasel squared his shoulders and strutted along the sidewalk back to his car. A couple walked past. He gave them a knowing nod before getting into the driver's seat.

"You are the boss, man," Taco said. "Sorry about the faggot thing, it just came out."

"Okay, man, let it go." Weasel started the engine and accelerated away. "Hey, see her face when I pulled out the gun?"

"Pizza girl nearly crapped her pants."

"She looks like a librarian."

"A pizza librarian. One of those quiet ones with small tits. After a few beers, she'll be sucking you off like a vacuum."

"She may be one of those who likes a fancy restaurant meal to get warmed up," Weasel said.

"Fuck that, man. A few beers and boom outside up against the trash bin."

"Delicate."

"It's what girls like," Taco said sagely.

"Perhaps, but she may be different."

"You getting a hard on for her? Keep both hands on the wheel."

Weasel flushed, grateful for the dark interior. "No, just women are different. Different needs, is all."

Taco rubbed his hands together. "She must crack one off looking at that porn mag. I love that. Told you she likes pussy. Needs a man to straighten her out."

Weasel kept his eyes on the road. "Nice pajamas. Space rockets."

"She can polish my rocket any time."

For the rest of the journey the men swapped crude comments about Billie until they pulled up outside Taco's house.

"See you man," Taco said.

They bumped fists.

Once back in his trailer, Weasel stripped off, and walked around in his underpants still wearing his chest holster. He turned on the TV, found a soft porn movie and grabbed a tin of beer. Next, he booted up his laptop, and with renewed attention, examined the photos of Billie and the others standing outside 147 Bolam.

His cell phone rang. It was Randall

" _How we doing? Is my property safe_?"

"Boss. You'll have no problem. I paid a visit to the motorcyclist. She lives on her own, you won't have any trouble from her."

" _No violence. This must be legal. Don't fuck this up for me, Weasel_."

"It's cool, I just warned her off. Didn't touch her."

" _What about the expensive residence in the valley? What did Cooper talk about_?"

"The owner's not a threat. The motorcyclist was making inquiries there, she thought he was a missing man. It's the wrong person."

" _Do you believe her_?"

"Yeah. I looked her up, she's interested in missing people. She's like a librarian, wouldn't hurt a fly."

" _Good. So, nothing about money deals_?"

"No."

" _I still need you to keep an eye on Cooper. I'm not paying you to sit on your ass, boy_."

"Yes, boss."

The phone clicked off.

"Fucker," Weasel said.

He visited the bathroom and as he exited, his gaze strayed to Billie's magazine, which he had left on the kitchen counter. For a moment, he hesitated, then grabbed the magazine and went back to his laptop with a thoughtful expression. With the pages open at the article, he stared at photos of the man standing by the gate.

"Mother fucker," he said.

With concentration, he inputted Bolam and Latah and added the word, "sold." Within moments, he clicked through images, including 360-degree photos of the house interior. He pointed his finger at the screen on seeing that the house was newly rented.

Weasel coughed and wiped his lips.

For the next hour, he investigated the author Avery P. Fournier with growing excitement.

He called Taco.

" _Hey, what the fuck man, it's late_."

"I think I've found something."

" _Eh_?"

"Our pizza librarian? The man they visited in Latah may be worth a lot of dollars. He writes books, gone off the grid, blah blah. He's worth a fortune." Weasel spoke faster than normal. "I've got to check out his address again. But listen, if he is the man, we tie him up and ring his relatives. Within a day or two we should have a hundred thousand dollars. Quick and easy. We will be kings."

" _A hundred thousand_?

"More, possibly. You have to aim high."

" _Sounds good, man_."

"Yeah, if he's a recluse, he won't report it. He'll just want to move on."

" _Good thinking_."

"I'll get back to you. I need to plan a strategy, work it out. We'll need to buy stuff and use separate stores to make it all innocent looking."

" _What about your security guard job on that salvage yard_?"

"Still doing that. Gotta keep up normal appearances."

" _Sure thing_."

He ended the call and searched for kidnap hints and tips. Before going to bed, he went back to his photos of Billie. He magnified the images and focused on her face and body as his hand crept inside his underpants.

# Sunday, April 22

## i. BBQ

Billie pulled up at the gates of Cooper's auto salvage, concerned that 11:30 a.m. was too early. She buzzed the intercom and glanced at the CCTV camera.

"Billie?" It was Lil's voice.

She leaned towards the intercom "Yeah. Hope I'm not too early?"

"Nope, come on in. Go around the main office and to the left, you can't miss us."

Billie rode in as the gates closed behind her. In first gear, she rode by rows of automobiles in various states of decay. Like a graveyard, Billie thought. She reached the main office, an old, flat-roofed building, and rode around behind it to the mobile home. There was a parking space next to Stratt's car.

She took off her helmet and brushed a hand through her hair. Freeway traffic, metal, and oil was how she summed up the noise and taste of the place.

The mobile home door opened, and Lil waved at her. "Here."

Billie walked over towards the small set of wooden steps, unsure if she should have come. A day at home, taking it easy, would have been more to her liking. She needed to get her things ready for work tomorrow.

"Hi, glad you could make it," Lil said. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

She followed Lil inside, turned left, and stood with her by the kitchen sink. It appeared to be a typical rectangular single-story mobile home with a lounge, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom.

Lil motioned her hand around. "Stratt's father installed this place. He lived here so he could be near the business. He often had guests staying over on the pull-out cot, so added a few things to make his home more comfortable."

"Looks cozy."

"Take a seat."

Billie took off her backpack, sat down by a table, and watched Lil make the coffee. Without makeup, Lil wore an old pink bathrobe, and slopped around in flip-flops.

As she reached down for the milk from the fridge, her robe fell open and her breasts popped out.

Billie blushed and diverted her gaze as Lil re-tied the bathrobe cord.

"Err ... all packed up?" Billie said, referring to the suitcase and two cardboard boxes heaped in the back of the living area.

The place appeared sad and empty, Billie thought.

"Yeah, all done, just some bits to take out tomorrow. Stratt's filled up a storage unit with his business and personal bits and thrown out a load of trash. He'll be up soon. Bit of a bear in the morning."

Billie heard coughing from inside the bedroom.

"Lil, got my cigs?" Stratt's voice boomed out.

"Hang on," she said, and took him in a packet of cigarettes and a coffee.

"What do you think of yesterday?" Lil said on returning.

"I don't know where to start," Billie said.

For a few minutes, they discussed the visit to 147 Bolam and the two men who visited Billie's apartment.

"Groper Joe was almost trying to deny his identity too much, do you think?" Lil said.

"Yes, I thought the same. His eyes became deep whenever Avery was mentioned. Thankfully, you could handle him," Billie said. "I wouldn't be so confident."

Lil shrugged. "You'll be surprised, Billie. Anyway, I've been working in bars for a long time."

Billie wondered if Lil would give her a speech about how she didn't know her inner depths, blah blah, and that she was a strong woman, etc., etc. She'd had enough advice over the years.

Lil just continued talking.

"Those two chumps with the pizza. Seems like they are working on behalf of someone regarding Stratt's foreclosure. Can't be anything else. Stratt divorced ages ago. Got a son who he never sees. That's all in the past." Lil pulled at her bathrobe.

Billie panicked for a moment. Could a mafia type boss be involved and want to visit her? Shit.

There was a pause in conversation.

"Yeah. Hey, I've bought a few things," Billie said. She pulled over her backpack and removed beer, soda, chips, and cookies.

Lil opened a packet of cookies and ate one. "Breakfast."

Billie smiled. Bloody hell. It didn't seem to bother Lil that she was makeup free and wearing very little clothes. She talked to her like a friend. There had to be a catch. Did they want her to set fire to the place to claim insurance before foreclosure?

She should have stayed at home. It was always for the best.

The bedroom door opened and Stratt appeared in his red shorts. He farted, patted his stomach, and nodded at Billie. "Morning."

"Jesus, Stratt. Go and have a shower, will you? Hold on." Lil fetched a bottle of shampoo from a packing box. "Here. For your extra special shower experience."

Stratt grunted and ambled off into the bathroom, rubbing his beard. The crease of his butt crack was clearly visible above his shorts.

"Have to tell him when to wash."

Billie laughed. This was turning into a soap opera.

"What happens after foreclosure?"

"They auction everything off, pay all the debts, and Stratt, as the owner, is left with any profit. He may have to settle up with staff, who have lost their jobs. He'll be living with me for a while." She glanced towards the bathroom door. "Will be a lot of ground rules."

"Will you keep working at the bar?"

"No choice, it's where I live. We have no plans until after everything is settled. I'm lucky to have him. You have anyone, Billie?"

"No, I'm on my own at the moment."

"Ever had a special one?" Lil examined Billie's face. "Sorry, that's a bit personal."

"I've had two boyfriends, you know, proper ones." Billie realized she had replied truthfully. Sometimes she made up boyfriend numbers, dependent upon who asked. She always emphasized she had boyfriends before anyone said, "You're a bit of a tomboy; are you gay?"

Billie continued. "Both lasted for quite a while. The breakups were my fault, really. I keep myself to myself."

"It's okay, Billie, I'm not prying."

They made small talk about work until interrupted by Stratt who emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist.

"Where are my clothes?" he said.

"On the side. Laid out for you."

He nodded and shuffled into the bedroom.

"You're lucky he's wearing a towel."

"Another coffee?"

"Yes, sure."

"I'll get him to show you around the yard while I get dressed and make a start on the food."

## ii. Down by the car crusher

A little later, Billie followed Stratt outside. It was sad to hear him talk about how his father started the business. During long pauses in conversation, Billie asked what she hoped were sensible questions.

They came to the car-crushing zone. "Staff only. Do not enter" signs were secured on high metal fence panels which segregated the area from the rest of the yard. Stratt opened one of the access gates.

The car crusher stood at the back; its jaws gaped open like a wide-mouthed devil. Parked near to the crusher was an old, faded yellow tractor with prongs like a forklift. There was a large empty space in front of the crusher, which Billie considered was a turning circle for the tractor and to allow a semi in to collect the crushed cars. As Billie walked, her boots crunched on small fragments of glass, metal, and fabric. The ground in front of the crusher was stained black where oily remnants of hoses, reservoirs, and sumps had seeped from the crushed vehicles. Two plastic buckets, placed underneath the lower ramp, caught any spillages.

To the right of the yard, a pile of compressed cars, stacked like pancakes, lay near the outer fence. Alongside were five neatly parked tireless cars awaiting their fate.

To the left was a metal-sided storage container, a mound of tires, a heap of old motor parts and general junk. A ring of solar-powered light posts circled the yard, allowing Stratt to work into the evening.

Stratt nodded over to the untouched cars. "Pointless shifting this pile." He shrugged his shoulders.

"They don't have tires?" Billie said.

"No, they are removed." He jerked a thumb across the yard. "Recycled or sold on if good enough. We drain the oil and fluids and remove the engines, as they are difficult to crush. Basically, the cars are metal shells when they go in the crusher."

Billie nodded. There was more to this than she thought.

He approached the car crusher and held out his hand. "This was supposed to save the yard. Second-hand, it's broken down a few times. One of the pistons is off. Just a big old money pit."

Billie examined the beast. Set within a strong outer body, its bottom ledge was about two feet off the ground, with the moveable crushing ramp retracted above. The machine seemed keen to dispose of its next victim.

"What type of engine does it have?" Billie said.

"Diesel. It drives the pistons which move the downward ramp. Want to see it start up?"

"Sure."

"It's noisy. Hell," Stratt looked at the parked autos, "let's do one for old times. Stand back."

Stratt jumped into the tractor and started up the engine. He drove over to a sedan, lowered the tractor's arms, picked it up and deposited it inside the crusher. The tractors prongs were lifted until level with the car's windows. By driving back and forth, he shattered the windows and dented the roof's support struts.

With the tractor parked up, he walked over to the controls. His hand disappeared inside the bulkhead and fished out a key.

"Let's start it up." Stratt opened the control panel to reveal a series of rugged push buttons.

He inserted the key, turned it, and pressed the yellow button.

Billie jumped when the engine rattled, turned over, then burst into life with a loud chug.

Stratt grinned. "That one." He raised his voice and pointed to another yellow button marked "Down."

Billie pressed the button.

Stratt motioned with his hand and they moved to the side.

"Not too close," he said loudly. "Stay back."

The engine noise surged as the top jaw descended. The car cracked and rocked as shards of metal and glass pinged out. Amidst the loud crunching sounds, the pistons squealed in complaint.

Stratt tapped Billie on the shoulder. "Stop it now. That one," he said. "Red ones for emergency."

She pressed the "auto up" button and the compressor plate moved back up. The crusher had compacted the car to a height of one foot. Stratt pressed the "engine off" button and, after a misfire and a rumble, the engine eventually stopped.

The silence was palpable.

"You any good with tractors?"

"I'll give it a go," Billie said, feeling a flood of excitement.

Stratt tapped the seat, and Billie hauled herself into the cabin. "Lil doesn't have the patience. Ran over my foot."

Billie laughed and noticed that Stratt appeared more relaxed.

"Start her up and standby." Stratt put a foot on the tractors ledge and pulled himself up.

The engine throbbed and vibrated as Billie manipulated the controls according to Stratt's instructions. In no time, the prongs were under the crushed vehicle.

"That's it. It's in the center so it's balanced. Good. Lift the arms first, then reverse."

The sound of the reversing warning sounded more like a squawk than a clear beep.

One gear crunch later, Billie had mastered the driving. She could feel the weight of the car on the front of the tractor as she slowly drove over to the first stack of crushed vehicles.

"On top," Stratt said. "Careful with your distance, lift the arms."

Billie bit her lip in concentration and, with Stratt's help, placed the wreck on top of the others.

"Good," Stratt said. "Now park it over there and we are done."

Billie's backside buzzed from the tractor's vibration as she stepped onto the ground.

"That was fun."

"You did good," Stratt said. "If I still had the yard, you would be a hell of a loader."

"Thanks."

He scratched his head and said, "I'll leave the keys nearby, so the assessors can start everything up."

Billie saw his expression change. He dropped his gaze and kicked at the ground. She didn't know what to say. Was he now going to ask her a favor regarding setting fire to the place?

They walked back to the mobile home in silence.

"Well, that's it," he said, motioning towards the yard. "Just got to disengage the gate." His voice trailed off.

"Thanks," Billie said. She realized this was probably Stratt's final look around. A family business being sold off by the son. Not exactly something to feel good about. No wonder he was broody and got drunk.

## iii. Re-telling

They arrived back to see Lil standing by a large oil drum. She held a gasoline can.

"Just in time," she said. "Stratt, get this thing going, would ya?"

"Sure," he said, taking the can off her.

"Help me with the food, Billie. Always let the men do the fire. Makes them feel they are back in the caves or something."

Billie helped Lil prepare the salad, leaving Stratt to cook the steaks. "Another man thing," Lil said, nudging Billie.

Billie realized how relaxed she was in Lil's company and conversed more than normal without overthinking her replies. Though over ten years older than her, Lil was easy to talk to and had a good sense of humor. No airs or graces or concerns about what other people may think.

Perhaps it was just a friendly invite to a barbecue.

Stratt was a different man from when she first met him in the Crankshaft the other night.

After the meal, Billie and Lil sat outside in picnic chairs while Stratt was on washing and clearing up duty.

"Do you have any family, Billie?"

Billie squirmed and her shoulders slumped.

"Sorry, I guess it's not something you talk about."

"I prefer not to, it's very difficult."

"You and me alike, then. My father is still alive but I don't see him anymore. He's an old drunk who invites winos into his house. As for my sister ..." Her voice trailed off. She took a long swig of her beer.

Billie bit her lip. "We had a family tragedy. I err .... well, my father shot my mom, then shot himself. It's on news sites on the internet."

"Oh, honey, I had no idea," Lil said. She put an arm across Billie's shoulder.

"It's okay," Billie said, looking at the ground. "It was ten years ago, I was fifteen."

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

"My mom came home from shopping angry and upset. Her credit card was denied at the shops. She went into the garage where my dad was fixing his motorcycle. They argued, and he shot her in the chest then turned the gun on himself. I had just taken the gun into him."

"Oh, Billie."

Billie wiped her nose with a finger and thumb and glanced away. "My brother was there as well, we saw them in the garage. It err ... well. Wasn't nice. Thankfully, our neighbor heard the shots and pushed me out of the garage and took over. He was a paramedic, but nothing could be done."

"Etched on the memory for life."

"Yeah, what I saw was bad enough, but Jeffrey went in as my father shot himself. Saw him fall to the floor. He froze in disbelief before coming to find me."

Stratt appeared with three cups of coffee. Lil took two and nodded for Stratt to disappear back inside the mobile home.

"What caused it?" Lil said.

"Post-traumatic stress from Iraq and Afghanistan. Dad wouldn't speak about his experiences and then couldn't cope with retirement, became angry and started gambling." Billie shook her head. "We went to live with my aunt. She was horrible to us. In fact, she blamed us for Mom's death. She hit my brother all the time."

"Fuck, Billie."

"As soon as we legally could, we rented an apartment together. Jeffrey bummed around, smoking drugs and drinking. It affected both of us in different ways. He cleaned himself up and then decided that he needed to get away, find peace or whatever. So, went on a road trip with a friend."

"Is he still on the road?"

"I haven't heard from him for three months. Thing is," she looked at Lil. "I had hoped that groper Joe met Jeffrey during his travels. There was a mention of Avery, in a magazine, living off grid in Tucson. It could have been the same place Jeffrey ended up."

"Right." Lil said nodding her head in understanding. "A dead end, then."

"I had a feeling, a premonition that Jeffrey was in danger. Can't shake it off."

"Yeah." Lil nodded and glanced away before speaking again. "So, pretty much on your own then, Billie?"

"Yes, pretty much." She wiped her eyes.

"You've had professional help with all this?"

"Yeah, I've had lots of counseling over the years, you know. Stopped that a while back, felt ready to take on the world. Been okay, just plagued by replays of events, thoughts that pop into your head. Wish there was a switch to turn it off."

"Know that one," Lil said. She paused before continuing. "You know, the last time I saw my sister alive, she was smiling and waiting for a cab in the hallway at home. We had gone out the previous day to buy her clothes. It was a friend's wedding party, and she was sweet on a groomsman. She had been through a lot of shit in the previous two years. Anyway, the cab driver ran a stop sign. That was a few years ago. My thoughts range between her smiling and then her coffin being brought into church."

"Do you do anything on her anniversary?"

"I buy flowers on her birthday. I'm afraid to think of her too much." Lil wiped her eyes.

Stratt appeared with a coffeepot. He looked at Lil, who nodded to the spare chair.

"Families, eh, Stratt?" Lil said.

"Yes, indeed," he said. He filled up their cups and sat down.

"Have to put up with this one." She tousled Stratt's hair. "But it could be worse."

"Life, eh?" Stratt said.

"I'll drink to that," Billie said, raising her coffee cup. She smiled.

They clinked cups.

"Fuck it," Stratt said.

"Fuck it," Billie and Lil said together.

"So, Billie. Seen anything you shouldn't see when on security patrol?" Lil said, winking at Stratt.

Billie was grateful for the change in conversation. "Evenings are the main time, when workers believe they are alone. They don't pull the drapes or blinds. I saw some sexual activity in a boss's office."

"You can't leave us with that, what happened?"

Billie tugged at her ear as she tried to stop herself blushing. "I was on patrol at dusk time and saw a light on in an office. It had slatted blinds, but there was a gap at the bottom where it hadn't been lowered enough."

"Keep going," Lil said.

"Well, a man was sitting in a chair behind an antique desk and another man was on his knees giving him oral sex."

"Ooh."

"It didn't look like any crime was being committed, so I left."

Stratt and Lil laughed.

"Not in this State," Stratt said.

Billie wiped her nose to hide her embarrassment. In truth, she had stayed and observed the proceedings until the man zipped up his pants. It had been exciting to watch.

"Anything happen afterwards?" Lil said.

"A month later, I was called into the building because of a parking problem. I went into the same office, and a woman was sitting in the chair behind the desk. She was the boss. Turns out the man receiving the, you know, oral thing, was her husband. He came into the office to ask her a question. Bit embarrassing."

"Seems like he comes in the office quite frequently," Stratt said, glugging from his beer.

Lil gave him a mocking slap.

"What?" he said, putting a hand in the air. "It'll blow over, I'm sure."

They all laughed at the comment.

Billie sipped her coffee. "The work fills a gap until something else comes up. Pay is okay, and we don't carry weapons. Speaking of work, I need to get home. Early start tomorrow. Got a four-day run."

They finished their coffee and Billie stood up. "Thanks for the invite and the go in the tractor."

"I'm glad you decided to visit," Lil said.

Stratt nodded.

Billie picked up her backpack and helmet. "Best of luck tomorrow. Sorry about your business."

"It'll sort itself out," Stratt said. He shook her hand.

Lil gave Billie a hug and rubbed her shoulders. "You take care, honey. Come and see us again, you know where I work."

"Thanks. Goodbye."

Billie put on her helmet and with a wave rode off.

Once inside her apartment, she stood in the living room and glanced around. It was cold and empty.

She felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness.

Snapping herself out of the mood, she glanced at her watch. There was enough time for a quick gym session before preparing for work tomorrow.

## iv. Package delivery

While Billie was enjoying the barbecue with Lil and Stratt, Weasel drove to the Latah Valley to visit Groper Joe's house with Taco.

"Nice houses 'round here," Taco said.

"Exactly," Weasel said. "This is our chance, man, but we need to do our homework on the target first. As part of phase one, you know."

"Phase one," Taco said, nodding and shaking his head at the same time.

Weasel parked in the side road where Billie previously left her motorcycle.

"Right." He turned to Taco. "Ready?"

"We're good," Taco said, pushing a mobile Bluetooth headset into his ear.

He opened the passenger door and stepped outside.

"The package," Weasel said, "don't forget the package."

"Oh, yeah," Taco said and reached back inside for a brown paper-covered box.

"Give me a couple of minutes to set up," Weasel said.

"Okay."

Dressed in gray overalls with a gray baseball cap perched on his head, Taco ambled off. As part of the act, he glanced at the package and looked around as if trying to find an address.

Weasel stepped out of the Dodge, opened the trunk and took out a drone, which he placed on the ground. With it switched on, he sat back in the car, opened the windows, and readied the controller. An old cell phone displayed live images from the drone's HD camera.

He adjusted his headset and rang Taco, who was still standing by the corner glancing at the package.

"Hear me okay? Checking our connection."

Taco held up a hand. " _Yeah, all good_."

"Keep it cool and undercover."

" _Okay, man_."

"Stand by, just raising the drone."

Weasel placed his cell phone on the passenger seat and returned to the drone's controller. With small and practiced thumb movements he raised the drone six feet off the ground. He breathed out.

"Drone is up. Anyone around?"

"Nothing much. Some old woman walking her dog."

With eyes glued to the screen, Weasel flew the drone up and rotated it to face the side of the house. He orientated himself first by taking in the overhead view of the fence, house, and garden. Maneuvering the drone over the roof, he stopped as soon as he saw a figure sitting at a table in the garden. The man was interacting with a laptop. Weasel moved the drone back over the roof.

"Got a man in the garden, looks like our target. Taco, begin stage two."

" _Stage two? What was stage one_?"

"Getting here. Stage two is implementation. Delivering the package."

" _Whatever, I'm at the gate and pressing the button_."

Weasel heard Taco's heavy breathing as the intercom buzzed.

He flew the drone forward a few feet and saw the man turn his head.

Weasel stopped breathing for a moment as the man continued to look around.

"Fuck off inside," Weasel said.

" _Who, me_?" Taco said.

"No, no the man. Thought he had noticed the drone. Hang on."

The man stood up and walked into the house.

" _He's answering the intercom, stand by for contact_."

Weasel moved the drone down into the garden and maintained a steady position by the laptop. He pressed the camera record button.

" _Hello?_ " A voice sounded through Taco's headset.

With his tongue clenched between his teeth, Weasel spun the drone around to face the house. Nudging the joystick, he sent the drone towards an open door.

Taco glanced down at the words written on the side of the box, before replying. "Package delivery."

" _A what_?"

"Package delivery." Taco again stared at the writing on the package. He spoke as if reading the words for the first time. "Has to be signed for."

At this point Weasel began sweating. The drone's picture became fuzzy and then went blank. "No, no, no," he said while urgently moving the joystick levers to reverse the drone. There was no response.

"No, no, no? All I know is, err... I have a delivery," Taco said.

" _What are you talking about? What name is on the package?_ "

"Name?"

" _Yeah what name? It's not a difficult question._ "

"Err ... Mrs. Hampton."

" _Hampton? That's the previous owner, nothing to do with me_."

Weasel tapped repeatedly on the controller. "Keep talking, keep talking."

With one voice in his ear and the other over the intercom, Taco became confused. "Do you want the package?"

" _No, I don't want it. Fuck off, fat boy_."

Weasel shook the console. "Motherfucker."

Taco pressed his earpiece with a finger. "You're a motherfucker," he said.

" _Stick the parcel up your ass_ ," the man inside said.

There was a blip as the intercom turned off.

"Code red, code red," Weasel said, in desperation. "Signal lost, drones down, interference from a building. Keep him talking."

Taco pressed the intercom button. "Hey man inside, are you listening?" He took off his cap, wiped his head and replaced it. "This is bullshit."

He ambled back around the corner and saw Weasel frantically shaking the controller out of the car window.

As he walked towards the car, he gazed upwards and pointed. "What's that?"

Weasel, with mouth open, watched the drone drift down and land by the side of the car.

"Auto-return." He shook his head as he got out and placed the drone in the trunk. "Let's get out of here, we need to go to stage three, debrief and examine the strategy," Weasel said, as he started the engine.

They stopped at a diner, found a corner table, and ordered a meal.

Weasel inserted the drone's SD card into his laptop.

"Let's see if there's anything useful."

"He got mad real quick," Taco said.

Weasel watched the footage until the moment it became distorted. "Let's look again."

"Here you go," the waitress said, plonking two plates of food on the table. She turned around.

"Big ass," Taco said.

"Eh?"

"The waitress. She's got a big ass."

"Got something," Weasel said. He rewound the footage. "There." He poked his finger at the screen.

"What?" Taco said, as he bit into a large beef mince taco.

"I think this is our man. He looks like the photos, plus there's a dictionary by his laptop. All writers have dictionaries to look up big words. But here is proof, exactly what we wanted to find. He was reading the pizza librarian's website."

"The dyke on a bike?" Taco said, his mouth full of food.

"Yeah. Her website has details about the missing author, that's why she tracked him down. He must have given her a bullshit story and she believed it. We've seen the truth. He was reading about himself, there's a dictionary, his appearance, it all fits." Weasel tapped his laptop screen. "Do you know what this means?"

"What?"

"We can," he lowered his voice and looked around, "we can go ahead with our master plan. Step up."

Weasel closed his laptop and pulled over the plate. He grabbed his burger, opened his mouth but spoke instead of taking a bite. "We can do this on our own and we'll be rich. People will wonder who pulled it off. They'll look up to us."

Half the burger disappeared into his mouth.

The waitress returned and refilled their sodas. Both men stared at her shifting backside as she walked away.

"So, we gonna do this?" Weasel said, as he wiped at a drip of ketchup on his chin.

"Yeah," Taco said.

"We need to plan this thing. Today is Sunday. Tomorrow, we're checking out the salvage yard, and Tuesday we'll buy the equipment. Wednesday? You got anything on?"

"Nah. Have to take my parent's car for a service on Friday."

"Wednesday it is."

"Good, cos I want to smack that motherfucker."

"Once we're in, he'll soon tell us who he is. We'll contact his family, they'll pay up straightaway, they won't want any fuss."

"Yeah. Hey, what you having for dessert?"

They finished their meal and Weasel dropped Taco off at his house.

"Doing anything this evening?" Taco said.

"Planning the big job."

Weasel drove off, but instead of going home, he went to Billie's apartment. Parking nearby, he walked towards the block as casually as he could manage. Three men leaned over the railing of the top floor, talking and smoking in the late afternoon sunlight.

Weasel reached Billie's floor after narrowly avoiding a rail of drying clothes left out on the stairs. A front door opened, and a man and a child walked out. Weasel grabbed his cell phone and put it to his ear.

"Okay, I'll find it," he said, gazing at the man out of the corner of his eye.

The man stared at him but continued down the stairs. Billie's front door was shut, the window dark. Weasel walked to the railing, glanced at the road, and lit up a cigarette.

A motorcycle slowed down as it approached the apartments. Its rider wore the same colored crash helmet as Billie. The motorcycle disappeared around the corner towards the parking lot.

Weasel chucked his cigarette and ran down the steps. He made himself slow down, as it looked like he was running away from a crime scene. As nonchalantly as he could manage, he made it out to the street in front of the building. Turning, he saw Billie, crash helmet in hand, walking up the stairs.

He ducked to one side, sure she hadn't seen him. With his back to a wall, he coughed and put a hand to his chest. Sweat formed on his forehead, which he wiped on his sleeve.

Once back in his car, he turned on the ignition, then turned it off. With the window open for fresh air, he switched on the radio and lit up a cigarette. He breathed the smoke in deeply for a few minutes, relaxing at its effect.

"Shit," he said.

A motorcycle appeared from the rear of the apartment block; it was Billie. He sat up, turned on the engine and pressed his foot on the accelerator. Within a second, he braked hard to avoid a passing car. The driver honked his horn.

Weasel raised his hand in apology. "Fucker," he said while performing a faster than needed reverse. Other cars beeped at him as traffic had stopped in both lanes. He sped after the motorcycle.

A red traffic light was ahead. He bobbed his head around a stationary car to see Billie waiting in the inside lane. She put a hand under her backpack to adjust its position. At green, Weasel pulled forward, then slowed. Billie had kept to the inside lane and rode at a steady 30 mph. Unused to driving at that speed, Weasel maneuvered his way into the same lane. He made sure there was one vehicle between himself and the motorcycle.

After ten minutes, Billie turned off and parked in front of a 24-hour gym.

Weasel found a space in the parking lot around the back. He squinted as he examined two large, slightly darkened windows. People inside were pedaling furiously on cycling machines.

His long zoom lens gave a clear view of faces and bodies. As Billie had not appeared, he put his camera on his lap and pulled at his nose.

On a second viewing, Billie walked in, dressed in dark blue sweatpants and a gray tee shirt. Weasel studied her through the viewfinder. After a few minutes of cycling, Billie used a cross trainer.

Weasel took a continuous stream of photos. Billie's chest, neck, and face were red with effort and sweat. It was when she entered the second room that Weasel had difficulty hiding his excitement. She approached a punching bag wearing a pair of sparring gloves.

Billie performed a series of moves; jabs, hooks, and uppercuts. When she dropped her hands for a moment and jogged on the spot, Weasel held his breath. Her nipples were hard and protruding through her top.

Once Billie finished her routine and left the room, Weasel placed the camera on the passenger seat and wiped his forehead.

She didn't re-appear, so he gave up and drove home. Within ten minutes of walking through the front door, he lay on the bed, and masturbated while viewing his photos of Billie.

Once finished, he stood on the doorstep and drank a can of beer while staring out into the night sky.

He smiled as a thought came to him. Within minutes, he was on his laptop researching flower delivery firms. He selected a mixed bouquet of scented flowers, completed the address field, and typed out his message for the delivery card.

To: Billy

From: A mystery admirer. W

On reaching the payment screen, he let the mouse pointer hover over the "pay now" button.

He bit at a fingernail as he re-read the screen content.

His gaze trailed from the laptop, across to his movie posters, then around his room and back to the screen. With a quick movement, he deleted the order and closed the laptop lid.

Laying back on the bed, he turned on his side in the fetal position, and pulled a pillow over his head.

# Monday, April 23

## i. Mentoring course

Billie started her day shift at 7 a.m. and spent the morning on the front gate. Workers on foot or in vehicles pressed their ID cards against a reader to enter. Occasionally the passes didn't work, or visitors turned up for a meeting. Though it kept Billie busy, her thoughts often strayed back to the last few days. Excitement, stress, laughter, and loneliness.

Somewhere in the middle of that was Jeffrey.

During a meal break, she considered whether to send Lil a text. Having only known her for four days, repeated text sending could be stalker behavior or signs of a romantic crush.

Arguably, she did not need to contact Lil again, as the whole episode had ended, and they were both getting back on with their lives.

Despite her internal arguments, she sent a text.

Lil. Thanks for the BBQ yesterday. Wish Stratt best of luck Billie

A reply came back five minutes later.

It's done, the yard has closed. Stratt's okay be in the bar later xo

Billie smiled at the X that Lil added to the end of the message. She wondered for a moment how many personal friends Lil had. For some reason, which Billie couldn't quantify, she believed Lil was more private than her outgoing personality suggested. Lil did not receive or send any cell phone messages during her time at the barbecue.

Billie recalled the brief sight of Lil's breasts and Stratt's ass crack. What a couple. Comfortable with each other, no doubt because of various life experiences. Perhaps, Billie thought, she would have to work her way through various men and let the years pass before finding a proper partner to settle down with. God, that sounded desperate. The cuddles, companionship, and sex may be fun and exciting, though.

The two dick heads came into the room and sat opposite her.

Billie quickly glanced down at her cell phone to stop herself from blushing in case they were able to discern her thoughts.

She read Lil's last text again. Unable to think of a reply, she thought it best to carry on as normal; back off, slink away, and move on.

In between eating, the two dickheads, as usual, turned the conversation to sex. Billie tried to ignore it.

"Get up to anything over the weekend?"

"Lots of sex, man. Lots of sex. Yourself?"

"Yeah, likewise. Kids were staying with grandparents. The wife was hot." The man winked at his colleague. "Hey, Billie, you get much over the weekend?"

"Eh?" she said, not hearing the question properly.

"Get much over the weekend, you know?" The man winked again at his colleague.

"Much of what?"

The men responded with laughter.

Billie narrowed her eyes. "Went to a barbeque. We all got naked and danced around a fire."

The men looked at each other uncertainly.

"It was good fun," Billie said, watching the men's reaction.

"You're joking with us, right?"

"You will never know," Billie said, as she stood up and grabbed her jacket.

As she drove her security cart around the buildings, her cell phone rang. She pulled over into the shadows so that no one could see her.

"Hello?"

"Is this the woman with the leather jacket?" A male voice said.

"Yes?"

"You came to my house on Saturday, with your two friends."

It took Billie a moment to realize it was groper Joe. "Oh. Sorry about the head thing."

"It's fine, a small bruise. Listen. I got your number from your website. I've been thinking a lot since you came around. It's time I told my story. My real story." He paused.

Billie's mind went into overdrive. "So, you are Avery, then?"

"This is all I'm going to say. Wednesday at 1 p.m. You can ask me anything for an hour then. No photos, no recordings. Straight talking."

The call ended.

Billie examined her phone. The number used to call her was withheld. She scratched her head. Shit. Wednesday was no good, she would be on day shift. Her quota of spare days off this period were already used.

It meant phoning in sick and receiving a written warning. Also, it meant lying. But if the man was Avery, it was too great an opportunity to miss. He could have vital information regarding Jeffrey.

But what if he was just plain old groper Joe inviting a woman into his house? He could keep her inside against her will, no one would know.

She had to take the risk.

Perhaps Lil could come with her. It was worth a phone call, at least.

"Lil, sorry to trouble you."

" _What's up, Billie_?" Lil sounded tired.

"It's strange, but I got a phone call from groper Joe."

" _Really_?"

"Yeah. He says he is willing to be interviewed and I can ask him anything."

" _When_?"

"Wednesday at one."

" _Sorry, Billie, can't help you, I'm with Stratt. He's got a meeting with a lawyer and the laid off staff. He needs moral support_."

"I understand."

" _Take it steady, keep your wits about you. If he becomes a pain in the ass, phone me, we'll come up as soon as we can. Or call the cops_."

"I'll keep walking around with my cell phone recording everything, or whatever. Well, thanks anyway, Lil."

Billie rang off.

That was that, she was on her own.

She continued with her security patrol, until receiving a call from the supervisor. It was time for her first annual review.

The supervisor was sitting in his fancy executive chair behind a wide table, as Billie walked in. A pair of informal chairs, with a table in between, were positioned on one side of the room. In Billie's opinion the office seemed overly large.

"Hi, Billie, take a seat." The supervisor motioned to one of the informal chairs.

Billie took off her jacket and placed it on the back of the chair.

The supervisor joined her, holding a box file and a note pad.

"Right, so it's time for your first review." He twiddled a pen between the fingers of one hand, whilst the other fidgeted by his pants pocket.

"It's gone quickly," Billie said.

"I need to consider if you have worked well enough to deserve a pay increment. You have a good attendance and work record."

Billie nodded.

They talked for a while about Billie's investigations and incidents, then the supervisor sat back and glanced at his note pad.

"Communication skills though. That's a difficult area," he said.

"How so?"

"You need to talk to the guys, you know. Get on with them, you're too uptight. You put up a wall, a shield."

"I keep myself to myself."

"Your work is good, but I'm looking for a more rounded individual. One that can be relied on by others. Be part of a team."

Billie remained silent.

The supervisor tapped the pen on his cheek. "I can help you."

"How?"

His hand came out of his pocket, tugged at his belt, and then wiped his forehead. "I have two reports here."

He produced two brown document folders from the box file and laid them on the table. Both were marked "Wilhelmina Jansen."

"Two?" Billie said.

The supervisor wiped his bottom lip. "Um ... take a look."

Billie opened the first file and read the front sheet. Her eyes strayed to the recommendation line.

Outstanding performance; pay increment authorized.

She nodded. That was good, she could save money to travel to Tucson to find Jeffrey. But what was in the other folder? She sensed the supervisor wriggling in his seat.

Not up to standard; recommend immediate redundancy.

Confused, Billie furrowed her eyebrows. "What is this?"

"Two reports. Which one you receive is," he coughed, "up to you."

"How so?"

"If you want the outstanding report and a pay increment, I would suggest that you attend a personal mentoring course."

"I haven't seen that advertised."

"No." He shoved his hand back in his pocket. "It's a bespoke course, held at a more comfortable place, like a motel. There wouldn't be any interruptions." He ran a hand across his hair. "Upon successful completion, I would sign the outstanding report." He gazed at his note pad.

"And if I don't attend the course?"

"I would make a judgement that you are unsuitable to work here."

Billie was unsure what to think. She was expecting a slap dash tedious meeting, not this.

The supervisor sat back and put both thumbs into his belt. "Look, we both know what we are talking about here. We're adults. We could have a drink first, relax, and then get to know each other. You know, man and woman."

Billie blushed.

"See there you are. Blushing again. Putting up a wall."

If she punched him, it would mean instant dismissal and it would be his word against hers. She needed to get out of the office.

"Can I think about it?"

"Sure." His eyes widened at the glimmer of possible agreement.

As she stood up, she noticed him examining her legs and breasts. She shuddered on guessing what was going through his mind. Conquering Billie, the aloof, shy girl who blushes all the time. The woman who the workers think is gay has been straightened out. Bragging rights would last forever.

She pulled at her belt, which made her pants ride up her thighs.

The supervisor's mouth fell open and his eyes became glassy and bulging. He swallowed. "You'll think about it?" His voice was rasping.

Billie remembered the way Lil stood in front of Joe. She placed her hands on her hips and tightened her buttock muscles, which moved her thighs slightly forward.

The supervisor was transfixed. She believed he would jump off a roof if she asked him to.

"I'll think about it," she said, surprised at how firm her voice sounded and that she didn't blush.

She grabbed her jacket, turned and purposefully walked slowly out of the room, aware the supervisor was leering at her ass.

Fuck him, she thought.

Once outside, she visited the bathroom and locked herself inside a stall. Personal mentoring, that's a good name for it. Sex in return for her job and a pay rise? What a sleazy ass.

Shit, she thought, it would mean spending hours searching job apps and updating her CV. Time she should spend on trying to find Jeffrey.

She flushed the toilet and adjusted her uniform.

That said, where did all that confidence come from? She didn't need to answer that question.

## ii. Snap, snap

Weasel and Taco laughed as they watched Stratt drive out of the salvage yard and give the middle finger to a man holding a padlock and chain.

Parked up under the freeway a hundred yards away, the men sat in Weasel's car in the shadows of a wide pillar.

Weasel's cell phone rang.

It was Randall.

"Boss?"

" _Anything happening_?"

"The big man had just driven out. An official looking man is securing the gate with a padlock and chain as we speak."

" _Good it's done. Keep your eye on the place today. Auction house people will be there to let in assessors and evaluators arriving during office hours. Most of them will arrive today. By Wednesday, the place should be empty. Just do a drive by every now and again after that_."

"Okay, boss."

" _Good. Now, I need pictures of everyone who enters. I know all the assessors, so can guess who they work for. Look for company names on the sides of their cars. May be more work coming your way to put a little pressure on the auction bidding. We'll see who turns up. Got all that_?"

"Yes, boss," Weasel said. He turned to Taco and pumped his fist up and down in mock masturbation.

Taco held his nose to stop himself giggling.

Weasel stuck his phone back into his jacket pocket.

"Fuck stick." He leaned in between the seats and grabbed his camera bag. Within minutes, he had cleaned the lens and was re-assembling the equipment. He zoomed in on the official notice affixed to the front gate and took a snap.

"You seem in a good mood today," Taco said.

"Got me a girlfriend."

"Really?"

"Well not quite yet, but I'm nearly there."

"Local?"

"Yeah. Err... other end of the trailer park."

"She up for it?"

"Most definitely. Nipples as hard as rocks. He placed his index finger half an inch from his thumb. This long at least," Weasel said.

"You could suck on those things all day."

"Absolutely. Sent her some flowers, you know, to make it look like I'm sweet on her."

"Thought for a minute you were talking about the pizza librarian?"

Weasel tried to look disgusted. "No. I don't mix business with pleasure. Hey, we have a visitor."

A car pulled up to the salvage yard gates. After a brief discussion the official opened the gates and waved the man inside.

"Must be the first of the auction house people as he's left the gates open. Got the license plate." He adjusted the lens. "I'll get a better shot when they drive back out." Weasel checked his earlier photos and adjusted a setting.

Taco studied him with his mouth open, bemused at all the button pressing. "Pays you well? All the blackmail photos?"

"Yeah. Cash. The boss is an asshole, but he always pays."

"You know about his operation?"

"He's a legit businessman. My surveillance skills help him with his deals."

"So, he earns thousands of dollars from it."

Weasel shrugged as he took hold of his camera.

"Got anything on him? What happens if he lets you go or calls the cops? Must be a man with connections?" Taco's forehead furrowed, the conversation was making him think too hard.

"After our job, I'll cut him off."

"How about doing a trick on him? Like one of those insurance policies my parents have. You know, in case something goes wrong."

Weasel put his camera in his lap. "I've stayed away from him, you don't want to mess with this guy, knows cops and judges."

"What if you got a picture of him doing something?"

"Blackmail the blackmailer?"

"Yeah, man. Slick and easy. No violence."

Weasel shook his head. "Don't want to upset the man."

During their surveillance, three cars went inside the yard. Weasel adjusted the lens to focus on the assessors' faces and not the perimeter chain-link fence. He believed he heard machinery noises over the sound of the freeway but couldn't be certain.

At one point, Weasel relieved himself against the freeway pillar while watching Taco to make sure he didn't touch his camera.

Eventually, the auction representative clasped the padlock around the chain and left.

"That's it. Eat?"

"Yeah."

Weasel drove to a nearby diner.

"Got anything on tonight?" Weasel said.

"Yup. Helping out a friend."

"Don't get arrested. You've got to buy the stuff tomorrow."

"I've got your list of items and hardware stores. No problem."

"It'll all fit into one kit bag. I've worked out the strategy." Weasel pointed to his head. "Once we get in, it'll run like clockwork. Should have the cash and be done by evening. Trust me."

"You got the brains, man."

Weasel smiled. "Kings of the castle."

"Drink to that."

They clinked their glasses of soda.

After dropping off Taco, Weasel made his way to Billie's apartment. He observed the place for fifteen minutes, then traveled to Randall's office.

A sign in the window proclaimed them "#1 Realtors in Spokane." It didn't mention who had given it that rating. Weasel could see Randall and a woman through the window, sitting at their desks. He drove around to the rear. Randall had changed the locks since his failed burglary attempt and a CCTV camera was fixed above the door.

With his car positioned behind and to the side of a truck he grabbed his camera and took a few establishing shots.

The rear office door opened. A woman in her thirties appeared first, followed by Randall who held a briefcase and a light-yellow Panama hat. He put on his hat while the woman set the alarm and locked the door. They nodded goodbye to each other and walked to their cars. Randall placed his briefcase and hat in the front passenger seat, started up the engine, and drove off.

Weasel followed discretely behind. It was evident that the two cars had driven off in different directions. Soon he was stuck in traffic and delayed by red lights. He gave up, turned around and went home.

The remainder of the evening was spent on his laptop, refining his strategy for Wednesday. Before going to sleep, he sat for a few minutes in bed studying his photos of Billie.

# Tuesday, April 24

## i. Surveillance

Weasel opened the door of his trailer and took a few breaths. It was a contrast to the stale and sweaty air inside. A neighbor was emptying their trash. Weasel raised a finger to his brow in salute and the neighbor nodded back.

Before leaving, Weasel checked himself in the mirror and pulled at his jacket collar. He wore his clothing of choice; a black suit, white shirt, and thin tie. His holster and gun remained in his small stash safe in his wardrobe. He grabbed his camera bag and left.

His first visit was to Billie's workplace, which had not been difficult to discover. Her uncommon name helped, plus an online PDF of a Millennium Security newsletter, which welcomed a new female member of staff. A job vacancies advertisement outlined shift patterns.

He drove by the front entrance, noting the security building. Slowing, he studied the name of an industrial unit set on a corner facing the road.

"Winters," he said.

Once parked a discrete distance away, he phoned the security office.

"Hello. I was driving by a minute ago and saw a suspicious man hiding behind a red car in the parking lot by the large white building facing the road. Wint, winter, or something like that. The man looked very suspicious. Think you should check it out."

" _Yes, thank you. That'll be Winters. Can I take a cell number_?"

"Sorry, gotta go." Weasel ended the call.

He held his camera ready and waited. A few minutes later, an exit door opened at the back of the Winters building. A man appeared and scratched his head as he looked around the parking lot. With a relieved expression, he waved over at two approaching security carts.

Weasel licked his lips and shuffled his backside. As soon as he saw Billie in uniform, he scratched his crotch. She talked to the man from the building as two male colleagues walked around, examining the vehicles in the lot. The only person he photographed was Billie. He took close ups of her talking, glancing around, nodding, smiling, and using her radio.

Once she had left, he wrenched himself out of his thoughts and drove to a burger drive through. He reviewed the pictures whilst he ate in the car. Three pictures captured Billie staring in his direction.

Next, he drove to Stratt's salvage yard. He stood in front of the gates and checked the padlock was intact. A quick peek through the fence showed everything appeared untouched since yesterday. The abandoned vehicles caught his eye, so he took a series of black and white photos. Adjusting his position, he captured sunlight shining perfectly off the front fender of a Chevy.

A few more snaps later, and he returned to his car. Slowly, he cruised along the road and turned down a rutted track which ran alongside the rear fence. He parked up by the corner of the yard and examined the section of slotted panels beyond which stood Stratt's car crusher.

Shrugging his shoulders, he turned his attention to the large square of unoccupied scrub land. He kneeled and framed a shot, in sepia, of the grass stalks and the rail track pillars in the background.

He phoned Randall.

" _Weasel_?"

"Boss. Been by the salvage yard."

" _Anything_?"

"No activity."

" _Good. From what I can gather, there may not be too many interested parties. I'll view the valuations soon, before the auction house seals them. Keep a check on the place, I don't want that asshole Cooper or any squatters to get inside_."

"How long before the auction?"

" _At least a month. Load of legal stuff to go through. Are we done_?"

"Yes, boss."

Randall ended the call.

"Fucker."

Weasel thumbed through the images of Billie in her uniform and paused to check the time. It was 3:30 p.m. Driving away at speed, he maneuvered his way through the afternoon traffic and pulled up near Billie's apartment. Once at her front door, he inserted two lengths of slim metal and manipulated them together. The lock mechanism clicked.

Within a moment, he was inside. The apartment was neat and tidy; even the kitchen counter was clear. Weasel briefly stared at the photo of Billie and her brother before checking that the bathroom and bedroom were empty. He started in the kitchenette.

Billie's calendar/year planner contained recurring blocks of days titled 'Day', 'Night', or 'Off', as well as a series of consecutive days with red ticks. Aside from anniversaries or birthdays, various notes were written on the non-working days. Weasel read two of the entries aloud.

"Drapes six month clean. Turn over mattress."

He shook his head in confusion and flipped the calendar back to the current month.

Four blue uniform shirts hung in the closet, all facing the same way and positioned at the end of the clothes rail. Casual shirts and jeans made up the bulk of clothes, except for a knee-length green shirt dress and a sash draped over a hanger. Weasel took out the sash and held it up: it was festooned with colorful Girl Scout badges. The green dress appeared unworn.

The bathroom was tidy, with all bottle and containers lined up in a row, all facing the same way. He rifled through clothes lying in a laundry basket and selected a pair of camouflage patterned briefs. With eyes closed, he brushed the material against his cheek. It smelled of intimacy.

Billie's underpants were folded into two neat piles inside a cheap four-drawer cabinet. One pile were identical full black briefs, and the other were assorted colors and shapes.

Next, he examined the two-drawer nightstand. Resting on top was a box of tissues and a lamp. The top drawer contained a box of contraceptive pills, a packet of out-of-date prescription drugs, hand cream, batteries, a notebook, a pen, and a flashlight. He kneeled to open the bottom drawer. A crossword magazine was the first item he saw. Underneath was a near empty bottle of lubricant wrapped in a small towel, two DVD cases with their covers removed, and a folded cloth bag. He fished out the bag and sat on the bed to examine it in the light.

His mouth fell open as he stared at the contents. Momentarily unable to move, he broke the spell by glancing around the room. First blushing, he rubbed an ear then sniggered at the two sex toys inside.

He picked out the long vibrator and examined its silicon surface as if it were an ancient artefact. The smaller device fitted into the palm of his hand. With hesitation, he pressed the button set in its base. The sudden fast vibration made him drop the device onto the bed in shock.

"What the hell."

It buzzed and shook itself around the bedcover.

Weasel pressed the button again. Instead of turning off, the vibration pattern became faster. It took a few more presses and swearing before he silenced the device.

After a few calming breaths, he pulled back the duvet cover and lay back on the sheets. He pulled his pants and shorts down to his ankles and shifted himself further onto the bed, allowing his shoes to dangle over the side. Based on Weasel's experience, he knew to keep his shoes on in case of an immediate need to escape.

The pillow case smelled of light perfume, and his fingers found two strands of Billie's hair, which he held to his nose. An edge of the rocket patterned pajamas Billie wore the other night poked out from underneath the pillow. He pulled the camo briefs out of his pocket, wrapped them around his growing erection and began masturbating.

Within two minutes he gasped, "Billie, oh Billie," as he ejaculated into the panties. In his relaxed state, he lay for a while absorbing Billie's scent, the warmth of the bed, the soft sheets, and the touch of her briefs.

With a sigh, he stood up and grabbed some tissues, which he used to wipe himself. He pulled up his pants and pocketed the tissues, then turned his attention to the briefs.

With careful movements he arranged the soiled briefs on top of the duvet. He placed a sex toy either side of the panties and when happy with his composition, took a photo on his cell phone.

The sex toys were put back inside the drawer in the cloth bag. He folded the panties, returned to the bathroom, and tucked them back inside the laundry basket.

He patted down the bed sheets and duvet and checked all drawers were closed. Happy there were no signs of his trespass, he turned off the lights, exited, and locked the door. Once in his car, he let out a breath and wiped his brow before starting the engine.

Weasel drove to the first hardware store on his list to buy items for tomorrow's blackmail attempt. First throwing the soiled tissues in a trash bin, he tried to walk casually along the aisles with a shopping trolley. The large bag of assorted industrial strength zip ties was the first item he selected. Next, he placed rolls of duct tape, a paintbrush and a tin of paint into the trolley. He paid for the goods with cash whilst speaking to the cashier about the weather. At the next hardware store, he bought a folding three-step ladder.

He phoned Taco.

"Just got a stepladder. It's perfect for getting up against the fence. Light enough to throw over. Bought some paint as well to make it look all innocent."

" _Very clever. Got two perfect face masks for half price. They'll scare the target_."

"What are they?"

" _I'm a skeleton and you are Frankenstein_."

"Frankenstein?"

" _A spooky double act. It will confuse him_."

"Wasn't there a Superman one?"

" _No. But, hey, the masks freaked out my mother._ "

"Keep them in the bag, okay. This is supposed to be a secret."

" _It's okay, I told her it was for a party_."

"Good thinking. I've also got loads of zip ties. I'll buy a burner phone next, plus some candy and bits to keep us going."

" _Good idea. How's the girlfriend_?"

"Who? Oh, I'm still working on her. The flowers made a good impression. Having a date soon."

" _Get her drunk and suck on those nipples, man_."

"Absolutely."

" _Be able to afford any girl I want after our job tomorrow_."

"Yeah. I may buy my girl an engagement ring. I can tell she is the marrying kind."

" _Sex on tap_."

"Exactly. Anyway, everything is in place. I will pick you up at home. You bring the bag and stuff, we'll go eat and then go over the stages of the plan. Make sure you charge your cell and wear sensible clothes, could be a long day. I'll be carrying."

" _Okay, man. I'll have my special flashlight_."

"We're going to do this, Taco."

" _Yeah, time to step up_."

"Kings of Spokane."

Once home, Weasel turned on a faucet and wet a hand, which he used to smooth over his hair. After a slight adjustment of his tie, he entered the second bedroom, which smelled of mothballs. The covers of the single bed lay undisturbed, as did the contents of the wardrobe. There were only five items inside the vanity table drawer: four pieces of jewelry and a bible. He picked up a silver cross necklace and held it between his palms before touching his thumbs against his nose.

With eyes closed, he moved his lips in silent prayer. He ended by kissing the necklace and replacing it back in the same position in the drawer.

He turned and looked at the bed. "For you, momma." Wiping his eyes as he closed the door, he got undressed and went through his wardrobe to select clothes for tomorrow. He relaxed on the bed, opened his laptop, and browsed websites for security cameras. A hidden camera pen caught his attention, and after reading the product details, he added it to his wish list. Finally, he viewed gold wedding bands on Walmart, but couldn't decide on the price or design.

He shut his laptop and took a shower.

## ii. What else could it be?

Billie was glad when the day shift finished, as the morning had not started well. The supervisor had sidled up to her as she booked out her radio. His hips seemed to brush up against her.

"Alright, Billie?"

"Yes, fine thanks."

He glanced around before speaking. "Given any thought about the mentoring program?"

"Still thinking. I'll need a bit of time."

"Okay," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

She shivered. Her next excuse would be her period was due, that always made men wince.

The two dickheads hovered nearby and exchanged a glance with the supervisor. They stared at her and adjusted their belts more playfully than normal. Did they know about his invitation? It appeared so. Would they be taking bets?

Fuckers.

During her shift, she went to Winters manufacturing company regarding suspicious activity near a car. Having done all the talking and investigating, she watched the two dickheads wander aimlessly around the parking lot. But while there, she felt someone was watching her. She gazed out beyond the fence but couldn't see anyone. It was odd. The dickheads confirmed that no vehicles were damaged, so she thanked the company representative and completed a brief report sheet.

Billie entered her apartment, yawned, and wondered what she would eat. She stopped just inside the living room. It was difficult to quantify, but something had changed; the air inside had been stirred.

Everything appeared in its place. She opened the front door and ran a finger across the lock. No screwdriver marks were evident. The clothes drawers and the nightstand appeared untouched, as was the bathroom. It was the tissue box which unsettled her. The tissue poking out of the box lay at an angle, as if ripped out sideways instead of upwards. The box itself had moved an inch from its normal position. With all the running around in the last few days, she may have done that herself.

What else could it be?

She undressed and threw her shirt, bra, and underpants into the laundry basket in the bathroom. It was full enough for a washing machine load, which she could put on while making an evening meal.

With her intention to report sick tomorrow, she didn't need to prepare her uniform or packed lunch. It was like a day off, but a guilty one. She hoped no one from work would see her riding her motorcycle across town tomorrow.

# Wednesday, April 25

## i. The visit

Billie woke at 5:30 a.m. after a fitful sleep and rang in sick. She felt guilty before, during, and after the call. Sickness and vomiting, she told them.

Returning to bed, she pulled the duvet over her, and dozed. Thoughts of her brother mixed with the excitement of interviewing the man she hoped was Avery later in the day. Her thoughts were muted because of groper Joe's behavior. Once again, she questioned his intentions. Was he genuinely willing to disclose his real identity and give an interview to a local woman, not a national media outlet?

Or was he setting up a trap for her, like a serial rapist?

She remembered the old mace spray in a box in the bottom of the closet. That would provide some protection, plus she intended to keep her cell in her hand, ready to call the cops or Lil.

Not wishing to get ready too early, she watched daytime TV whilst eating breakfast.

During her shower, she finally decided on her choice of clothes. Underpants first. She picked up the freshly laundered camo briefs; they would be perfect. For comfort, she chose a gray sports bra and a button-down men's check shirt. Her jeans and leather jacket were a given. She put on her military-style men's Timex watch and checked her small round silver ear studs in the mirror. Plain, practical and comfortable, just how she liked it. Perhaps her boyish choice of clothing may be an advantage this afternoon, after all.

Once ready, she grabbed her wallet, cell phone, keys, and crash helmet and made her way down to her motorcycle.

It was 12:55 p.m. when she reached Joe's house, having taken a detour around the Latah area, as she arrived too early.

She cleared her throat before pressing the intercom button.

There was no reply. Had she got the wrong day and time?

On the second press and after another wait, the intercom crackled.

" _Yeah_?"

"Hello? It's Billie, here for the interview?"

" _I'm sorry, have to cancel. Um ... call ..._ " It was Joe's voice, but he spoke without emotion.

The intercom clicked off.

"Hello?" Billie said, speaking towards the device. "Hello? Can we arrange another date?"

She waited, but there was no reply.

Disappointed and dejected, Billie stood for a moment on the sidewalk before returning to her motorcycle. She drove around into the side road, where she had previously parked, cut the engine, and kicked out the stand. Uncertain of what to do, she walked alongside the fence around Joe's property. Nothing appeared out of place; no sounds, no arguments. She stuck her hands in her pockets. Joe called her specifically to set up the interview but must have changed his mind.

There was nothing more she could do, except go home and feel guilty about wasting a day off sick. As the weather was reasonable, she took a long scenic route home with a stop at a diner midway.

She sent Lil a text.

Visited groper Joe, he canceled the interview

Lil replied within a few minutes.

No surprise, the man was an asshole xo

Billie bit her lip as she added an xo for the first time. It felt risky.

Yeah, he was definitely an asshole. Hope all well with Stratt xo

Went better than we thought. Join us for a drink tonight in the Crankshaft? xo

Billie balked at the invitation. Best not to get too friendly. She needed to get ready for work tomorrow.

I'm working tomorrow, another time perhaps? xo

Sure. You take care, Billie xo

Billie shook her head. Somehow Lil knew what she was thinking with the half-hearted "perhaps." The use of xo at the end of her texts was just a sign of friendship wasn't it? God, why did she have to examine everything with suspicion?

Groper Joe's brush off at the gate was an end to the whole Avery saga. She would have to consider her options. It would mean stopping work, selling her possessions and travelling to Tucson. What a shame, Lil and Stratt had been good company.

Once home, something kept nagging at her, as she finished the ironing. Joe's voice; it was too flat. He said "call" just before the intercom clicked off. Was he cut off mid-sentence, as if going to say call the cops? Or was he abrupt and arrogant all the time?

It was nearly 6 p.m. and near to sunset.

Billie decided to re-visit the house. It was early enough for her to ride there and be back in time for a decent sleep.

Once off the freeway, she wound her way up the Latah Valley, glancing at residencies as she travelled. A family, gathered around a table, were eating a meal while their neighbor read a book underneath a large lamp. It was cool and fresh and smelled of early evening. She rode to the same side road as her first visit and secured her motorcycle. This time she would observe the place before calling. At about a hundred and fifty feet up the road from the property, she turned around and viewed the house. Now able to see over the fence line, she noticed lights were on inside. Nothing unusual about that.

She walked back to her motorcycle, intending to leave, but stopped on hearing men's voices the other side of the fence. No one else seemed nearby on the sidewalks and other residences were a fair distance apart.

With her ear pressed against the wooden fence panel, she heard men arguing. Neither sounded like Joe. Aware of being on her own in the growing darkness, she felt like a stalker. She rubbed her ear to remove any wood splinters. Why hadn't she stayed at home and watched a movie or something?

If Joe was the real Avery and in danger, she would not forgive herself. If the man was just an impersonator or dreamer but in danger, she would still feel bad. At the very least, she could ring on the intercom again to be sure. She dismissed phoning 911, as there was nothing solid to report.

At the sound of a car engine from inside, she quickly ran up the sidewalk and peered around the corner of the fence. A silver Dodge Dart pulled out of the driveway and headed down the hill. Billie ran along in the shadows. Before the gate clanged shut, she leaned her head inside to check around. Nothing of note.

She would give it an hour, then ride back to her apartment and forget all about it. Whilst waiting, her thoughts swung between doubt, self-doubt, and hoping to see the car return.

As she waited in the shadows, someone trudged past, closely followed by a dog. It stopped to sniff at her leg. A gentle nudge from her boot sent the pooch on its way. With ten minutes to go, she felt for her motorcycle keys. This was a waste of time.

Just then, a car drove up the hill. Its engine slowed as its headlights illuminated the road surface. Billie hung back. It was the same car which left earlier. The driver, a dark figure, spoke on a cell phone, and within moments the gate slid open and the car drove in. Without thinking, Billie slunk along the front wall. As the gate began closing, she rushed forward, and with two feet to spare, crossed over the threshold.

The gate slid shut. One part of her had unconsciously decided to trespass. The other part, the thoughtful, sensible Billie, had not been fast enough to stop herself.

## ii. Through the gate

Billie hunkered down behind a row of bushes and heard the car door slam. A quick glance revealed the driver standing in shadow. He was of thin build and carried two large grocery bags.

There was an exchange of voices at the front door before the driver walked inside. She took out her cell phone and tapped the screen. Should she dial 911 or contact Lil? Best to make sure it's not something innocent. As a security officer, she had attended many calls with innocent explanations which could have been resolved earlier. The police would be unimpressed, and Lil would be busy with Stratt or waiting tables.

She made her way across the garden, away from the gate and onto a grass area.

Within the darker shadows, she found a spot where she could see into the large living room windows. One person came into view as he placed the grocery bags on the dining table. She walked forward, without taking her eyes off the man and his pock-marked face.

Time to call 911. As she pressed 9, her boot bumped on the side of something metallic. She tripped and fell forward. Her cell fell out of her hand and clattered on concrete.

There was a rush of air and a heavy weight between her shoulder blades. Shocked at the assault, she tried to roll over, but knees on her spine prevented her from moving.

"Weasel," the man said, in a loud voice towards the house. "Weasel."

Billie heard footsteps and saw a pair of shoes out of the corner of her vision.

"What's this?"

"Thought I saw something in the garden. Fucker tripped over the stepladder."

"Get him inside," Weasel said.

Hands grabbed her unceremoniously and took her into the house. They dropped her on the floor face down.

Billie twisted her neck, looked up and felt cold. It was definitely the same two men who visited her apartment. Weasel was wearing the same black suit and Taco his casual pants.

"Hang on," Weasel said. He glanced away and licked his lips. "That's the woman. You know the one, the pizza librarian."

Billie rolled over, pushed herself up, and ran towards the kitchen. Remembering the layout from her previous visit, she headed straight out the side door. It was cool in the garden as she rushed towards the fence.

With a sprinting jump, she grabbed the top rail. As she brought up her foot to gain purchase, she felt an intense shock and throbbing pain in her thigh. Her head thumped, and her fingers automatically opened. She fell to the ground.

The two men stood over her. Taco held a flashlight in front of him and grinned as he pointed it towards her. Electricity sizzled and crackled.

Neither man spoke.

Eventually, Taco said, "Get the ties, get the ties." He breathed heavily.

Billie still reeled from the sudden pain and discomfort, wondering if she had wet herself. She lay on her back, on the grass for a moment, then remembered the mace spray. It had to be now, while she was still outside.

With concentration, she shoved her hand in her jacket pocket and grasped the canister. She brought it out, angled it towards Taco, and pressed the button.

The spray was as weak as the pungency of its contents. Most of it was blown away into the air.

"What the fuck," Taco said, and slapped it out of her hand.

Weasel arrived with a hand full of zip ties.

They all coughed, and Billie felt her eyes sting.

"Keep your eyes open," Weasel said. "It'll pass."

They dragged Billie by the shoulders along the grass and away from any lingering mace spray.

"Nice try," Taco said. "Have to watch her."

He took the ties from Weasel, brought Billie's hands together, in front of her, and fastened a plastic zip tie around her wrists.

"Get her inside," Weasel said.

They manhandled her into the house and lay her on the floor in the living room. Billie felt control of her legs again, though her head still thumped.

Taco stood up, wiped his forehead and shook his hands. "What are we going to do with her?"

"I don't know," Weasel said.

"You're the strategist. You always say you have a plan."

"This was not part of the plan."

"She's only the librarian pizza woman. What should we do? We can't let her go."

Weasel stared at Billie. "Why did you come back?"

"I don't know," Billie said.

"So, what we gonna do? Pop her or something?"

Billie looked up at both men. Taco played with his flashlight and Weasel's hand fidgeted with the handle of his revolver, secure within its shoulder holster.

"Hold on, hold on," Weasel said, as he scratched the back of his head. He moved his hands up and down as he walked around. "Why did you come back?" His voice was emotional and imploring.

Billie remained still, hoping the men would fight each other, allowing her to make another escape attempt. This time she would find the front gate and shout out to neighbors.

"Calm it, calm it, man. Anyway, we need to search her. Her cell phone is out on the path," Taco said.

"Get the cell. I'll search her," Weasel said.

Weasel waited until Taco left before kneeling.

"Sorry about this," he said as he searched Billie's jacket.

With all the struggling, Billie's jeans had shifted down at the waist, exposing the top of her underpants. On seeing the camouflage patterned briefs, Weasel sat back as if receiving a shock. He wiped his mouth and stared at her. She watched his reaction, unsure what to think.

He pulled himself together and searched her pants. Billie felt his hands shaking.

Taco returned with Billie's cell phone and handed it to Weasel, who wiped his finger around the screen.

"Screen is locked. Did you call anyone?"

"No," Billie said.

"Do you trust her? The cops could be on their way. What about our masks?"

"Too late for that. She's seen us before. Get her on the couch."

They grabbed Billie's shoulders and hauled her along the floor and up onto the couch facing the windows. She shuffled herself backwards. Taco rummaged in a duffle bag and produced three zip ties. Two were fixed around each ankle, with the third one being looped inside the other two. He finished by winding a roll of duct tape around her wrists.

"She ain't going nowhere."

Billie pulled her ankles apart. It would take micro steps to walk. There was no way of escaping. Of little interest now, this was where Joe sat the other day, when being comforted by Lil.

"Can you unlock the screen?" Weasel said, placing the phone in front of Billie's hands.

Billie examined Weasel and Taco, who played with his stun gun. Vulnerable and with her hands tied, she didn't want to inflame the situation.

She extended a finger and swiped a pattern around the lock screen dots.

Weasel prodded at the screen. "Phone history. No 911. Texts, nothing for last hour. Good."

He went over to the office and returned with a paper clip. With his tongue clamped between his teeth, he inserted the paperclip into the side of the cell phone and popped out the nano sim holder.

He passed the SIM to Taco who promptly snapped it between his fat fingers.

Shit, Billie thought. Shit, shit, shit. She should have sent Lil a text to say she was returning to the address. So much for remaining aloof and wanting to move on.

She wiped her face with the back of her hands at the reality that no one knew she was here.

It was clear the two men had examined every nook and cranny of the residence. Cupboard drawers lay on the floor and papers were randomly strewn around, particularly by the study. Its door was open, revealing an extensive ransacking. The trophy award, which Billie had previously researched, lay in pieces.

Two open duffel bags were dumped on the dining table. Zip ties and cookies lay next to them. A skeleton and a Frankenstein Halloween mask were discarded on a chair.

Taco opened one of the grocery bags brought in by Weasel and took out a burger meal. He plonked himself down and demolished his food while staring at Billie.

"Got a boyfriend?" he said, his mouth full of food.

Billie shrugged her shoulders.

"Girlfriend? You like pussy?"

She ignored him and looked out of the window at the lights twinkling in the valley. The family she saw earlier, when riding up the valley would be snuggled up watching a sitcom or movie.

Weasel returned from the kitchen drinking a tin of beer.

"Hey," he said. "Forgot about this." He helped himself to a burger and fries.

Billie watched him eat with his mouth open. He glugged at his beer and let out a loud burp, which made both men laugh. Taco drank a soda and thumped his stomach to reciprocate with another burp.

"What are we going to do with her?" Taco said.

Weasel's face became serious. He wiped his lips. "Been thinking. She may be of help to us. Going to have a tinkle, we'll get fuckwad back out to talk to his sister." He walked off to the bathroom whilst burping and unzipping his pants.

Taco continued staring at Billie.

Weasel was picking food out of his teeth as he returned. "Right."

"What we gonna do?"

"Bring him out," Weasel said.

"Masks?"

Weasel picked up the Frankenstein mask and glanced at Billie. "We were spotted on the front door camera. These are shit. I should have been Superman."

"I liked the skeleton," Taco said.

Weasel threw the mask over to Taco, who put it on. Billie recognized it as a cheap plastic Halloween mask, like ones sold in Walmart.

Taco looked in her direction and brought his hands into the air. "Ooohhhh." The man's belly bounced beneath his shirt as he laughed.

Billie regarded the overweight man, giggling behind the mask. It was surreal, as if an announcer from a "Gotcha" type entertainment show on cable was about to appear.

Weasel went to a bedroom door and pulled the chair from under the door handle. He opened the door saying, "Come on, fuckwad."

Joe shuffled into the room. He wore a plain shirt and brown pants, and his face showed evidence of a beating. His ankles were secured the same as Billie, but his wrists were secured round his back. Taco pushed him into an armchair.

This was not the same brash man from Saturday. Joe gazed around the room at the men, then settled on Billie, his expression one of disgust.

"Where's Franken pussy and Skeleton jerk off? You two looked better with the masks on," Joe said, trying to sound confident, but his voice was strained.

"Fuck off," Taco said.

"What are you doing here?" Joe said towards Billie.

"We caught her snooping," Weasel said.

Joe shot an accusatory glance at Billie. "You part of this?" He spat out the words.

"No," Billie said, staring at the floor.

"You've been setting me up. All that snooping around on Saturday."

Billie didn't answer, instead she concentrated on keeping her emotions in check.

"You're just a silly girl. You fucking these guys? How much is your share?"

Weasel, who stood watching the scene, said, "She's not with us. She's our prisoner."

"You would say that," Joe said.

Weasel spoke to Billie. "So. You thought this man was the author?"

Joe glanced up.

"This man has a sister who handles his money, and he looks like the pictures." Weasel fished around in a duffel bag. "Exhibit A."

He opened the men's magazine to the article on Avery and walked over to Joe. With the pages placed to the side of the man's face, he said, "What do you think?"

Taco rubbed his chin. "Similar, this motherfucker looks like he's been living under a rock or something."

"Check my driver's license. My name is Alan Foster," Joe said.

"Easily faked, I sell them," Taco said.

"I've been mistaken for him before. What's in the magazine?" Joe said.

"Pussy," Taco said, unhelpfully.

"Some dickhead writer called Avery was apparently abducted by aliens," Weasel said. "Ask her about the magazine, it was hers."

They all stared at Billie.

She blushed and tried to find something interesting out of the window.

"Yeah, she likes pussy," Taco said, taking the magazine off Weasel.

"We all like pussy, don't we? No harm in that?" Joe said.

Weasel blushed and rubbed the side of his jaw. Taco grinned.

"But that's not me, fellas, sorry." He shrugged his shoulders. "Get it all the time." He coughed. "Hey, anything to eat?"

Billie listened as Joe attempted to change the subject. He was adamant about his identity. Had all this been for nothing?

Weasel made a face towards Taco. "What do you think?"

"Does it matter who he is? As long as we get the cash. He is a motherfucker, anyway."

Billie felt Weasel's gaze on her.

"You thought it was him, the author man?"

She licked her lips. "I did." She gave a cautious glance at Joe who though appearing nonchalant, stared intensely at her. "His hair is different."

"So why did you come here for an interview?"

Joe's gaze bore into her.

"He was going to provide me with some job advice."

"Security jobs?"

Billie paused, how did he know about that? "Well, yeah. I want to do something better. I, err ... thought he could give advice, help me with a CV."

Weasel wrinkled his forehead. "Is it him?"

"Now I've seen him again, I know it's not him. His face is too weather-worn, and his hands are rough. A writer would have smooth hands. He's Alan Foster."

Weasel studied her. "Are you sure?"

Billie smiled as best she could. "Sure."

"If she says it's not him, then that's final. Fuck it, we get money anyway." Weasel said towards Taco.

"Eh?" Taco said. He had been examining the adult magazine all the time Weasel was talking. "Hey, man, look at this." He turned the double page spread around and showed the image of a naked girl.

Billie glanced at Joe, who nodded back to her. He wrinkled his forehead and blew out a breath.

"How do you afford all this?" Taco said, motioning around the living room.

"Rented. Short-term work contract. I hire and fire people, you know."

"Fire people who act like a dick?" Taco said.

Joe smiled and said. "Or a cocksucker or something."

Billie waited for Weasel's reaction. Joe's brashness was returning, and he was misjudging the situation.

Weasel jumped to his feet and pulled out his revolver. He waved it around. "You calling me a cocksucker?" His voice was raised, and his ears turned red. "Well, are you, punk?"

Billie held her breath, it only took Joe to say the wrong words and anything could happen.

"Okay, okay," Joe said. "Sorry, sorry, if I caused offense."

"I'll use this, you know," Weasel said as he returned his gun into his holster.

"All right?" Taco said, leaning over to Weasel. "He was just fucking with you. He's the cocksucker, not you."

Weasel nodded. "Yeah," he said, smoothing his hair with his hands. "Let's get this done. Call your sister on my burner phone," Weasel said, winking at Billie. He tapped on the dial pad and hit the loudspeaker icon.

" _Hello_?" a female voice said. There was concern in her voice.

"Hello lady," Weasel said. "Any news on the cash?"

" _I can fetch fifteen thousand dollars cash_."

"Fifteen?"

" _Banks need more notice. That's all the cash I can get at this time, sorry_."

"No, no, we need more."

" _I can only get fifteen thousand_."

Weasel muted the phone. "What do you think?"

"It's better than nothing. It's a start," Taco said. "Buy us a few hookers."

"Hoped to get more." He glanced at Billie, then at the floor.

"You can buy your sweetheart an engagement ring and get married in Vegas."

Weasel flushed and rubbed his neck.

"It's our first job, we start small then work our way up. Get someone with more cash next time," Taco said.

"Yeah, yeah," Weasel said. He coughed before touching the speaker button. "Okay, then fifteen. Pack the dollars into a backpack and get to the center of Spokane for nine in the morning. We'll contact you tomorrow for further instructions."

" _Can I speak to my brother_?"

Weasel placed the cell phone on a small table in front of Joe. "Make it quick."

Joe leaned forward so his mouth was nearer the phone. He also shook his arms and wrists as he had been sitting back against the restraints. "Hi. All good. Don't call the cops. Just pay off these two clowns and I'll move on again."

Billie noted how he softened his voice when he spoke to his sister.

" _Okay, it's good to hear you_ ," the sister said.

"I'll be okay," Joe said.

"Wrap it up."

"See you soon," Joe said.

Weasel snatched the phone back and continued his conversation. "We are good here and have an understanding, right? No cops or any funny business? We all walk away from this."

" _Yes, I understand_."

Weasel ended the call. "Good. Right let's put laughing boy back in his cage."

"Guys, could I at least have my hands in front? Like her? For the night? All be over tomorrow."

Weasel nodded towards Taco. For a large man with big hands, he acted swiftly. The existing zip tie was cut and thrown on the floor. Within a minute Joes hands were held in front of him whilst a new zip tie and duct tape were secured.

"All done. Now it's time for bed," Weasel said.

Taco grabbed Joe's shoulders and pulled him to his feet. He prodded and pushed the man back into the bedroom, then placed a chair under the door handle.

Billie was on her own again with the two men. She pushed herself back into the couch.

"What's the plan for tomorrow? Couldn't the sister just bring the money here and leave it outside the gate? We could take it and leave these two in here," Taco said.

"Nah. Cops will be waiting. We have to be clever. Got a plan, thanks to Dirty Harry." He patted his handgun belt. "Just have to find a location. Make sure it all goes smoothly."

"Don't watch any porn on your laptop, you'll get nothing done."

Weasel glanced over at Billie.

"What are we doing with her?" Taco said.

"Check the second bedroom. We'll put her in there."

As Taco walked over to the room, Weasel said, "Sorry, but we have to keep you here overnight. Can't let you go." He spoke clearly, but his gaze darted around, and he could not make eye contact.

At least, Billie thought, they would leave her alone, there didn't appear to be any other intentions on their mind.

The second bedroom was bare, as if not intended for use. There was a double bed, a wardrobe, and a bathroom with a towel on a radiator. Despite numerous attempts, Billie could not budge the window lock. She grasped the door handle and pulled it down; it caught on something the other side.

In exasperation, she kicked at the door, her boots scuffing its paintwork. She sat on the bed and rubbed at her eyes with her fingers. When the feelings passed, she visited the bathroom and splashed water on her face.

A movement outside the door made her stand on the far side of the room, by the window. Weasel appeared. He went to speak but said nothing.

"What's happening?" Billie said.

Weasel's eyes were sad. "I told you not to get involved." Again, he glanced everywhere except at Billie.

Taco came into the room and folded his arms.

Weasel suddenly came to life. "Yes, and if you muck us about, you'll end up at the bottom of a river or something. We're not messing about, we'll do it." He glanced at Taco, who nodded back. "Now, don't make any noise for the rest of the night."

# Thursday, April 26

## i. Body heat

Billie woke from a light doze with a deep dread. Hunger and thirst were the least of her worries. She listened at the door for a while but heard nothing. Using baby steps, she walked into the bathroom, fumbled with her belt and pants, and used the toilet. A shower would be nice, she considered.

Grasping the faucet levers, she filled the sink with warm water, closed her eyes, and plunged in her head and face. Normally, she would worry about splashing water over the sink and floor. Today, it didn't seem to matter.

She had soon learned the most comfortable positions for resting her hands or manipulating things. Using her teeth, she managed to pull at the edge of the duct tape. Her belief was it would be best to leave the duct tape on. Any escape attempts could end with more restraints.

She dried herself with a towel and placed it back on a rail. It was too small to be useful as a weapon or escape aid.

Men's voices sounded outside. With a few waddling steps she made it back to the side of the bed. The door opened a fraction. Weasel's head and shoulders appeared. He looked Billie up and down.

"What's happening?" Billie said.

Weasel glanced over his shoulder and walked close to Billie. "It's okay, we are taking the man to a rendezvous point where the cash will be handed over. You are coming with us. Nice and easy, then we let you go." He put out a hand as if to touch her but pulled it back at the last moment. "Be okay," he said softly.

"I won't tell anyone."

"I know. I, err ..."

Billie sensed his body heat and watched as the man constantly licked his lips and swallowed.

"Hold on," he said as he took out his knife and leaned down to cut the ties.

Billie moved her feet and rolled her ankles. She thought about kicking Weasel in the balls but stopped herself.

Weasel stood up, his face flushed. "I, err, we need you to walk. But the wrists," he glanced at the door, "we still need those on for now."

He stopped talking and lapsed into silence.

Billie filled the gap for him. "Anything to eat?"

"Yes, sure. Food, yeah," he said as he left.

A few minutes later, Weasel entered and placed a banana, an apple, and a pop tart on the end of the bed. "Here."

Billie intentionally stared at him and said, "Thanks."

Weasel grinned and glanced at the floor. "It's okay."

She waited for him to leave. There was no doubt his actions near her were like a blushing young teenager. Christ, he must have had less sexual partners than her. For all that, he became easily angered and would wave his gun about.

Tentatively at first, she ate the half-cooked pop tart. She peeled the banana and laid the skin under the bed as it may have Weasel's fingerprints on it.

Billie drank water from the faucet, wiped her mouth and wondered if anything had happened to groper Joe overnight.

Taco walked in. "Any problems from you and you'll get this." He thrust his flashlight at her. The stun gun element crackled.

Taco pushed Billie onto a couch and said, "Stay there."

The living room was more of a mess than last night. Plastic containers were strewn over the floor and the karma sutra art frames from the study were propped up on two chairs. Remnants of foodstuffs were stuck on the pictures where it had been used as target practice. Someone had drawn a large penis on one print with a finger dipped in ketchup. The two masks lay in pieces on the floor.

A few pages, pulled out of the porn magazine, were duct taped across the television screen. Speech bubbles containing words were written by the mouths of the models. It was too far away for Billie to read. The double page spread with the 'Avery article' lay on the floor with 'motherfucker' written across the top of the page. The remaining pages and cover were scattered over by the windows.

Joe was brought out and forced down on the couch next to Billie. His temple was bruised and he winced in pain when shuffling his backside. An attempt had been made to wash his face and comb his hair.

Weasel dialed a number on the cell phone and pressed the loudspeaker button.

"Hello?" It was the same woman as yesterday.

Weasel gave the phone to Joe.

"Hi, sis."

" _Are you okay?_ "

"It will be over soon, then these clowns can go back to the circus."

"Here," Weasel handed Joe a piece of paper. "Read it out."

Joe squinted as he read the first line.

"Are you in Spokane center with your car?"

" _Yes_."

"Are you on your own?"

" _Yes_."

"Did you call the cops?"

" _No_."

"Do you have the dollar bills?"

" _Yes_."

"Backpack?"

" _Yes, a black one_."

"Drive to Dinky's Diner, bottom of Latah Valley by the 195. Wait inside for further instructions via your cell phone."

Weasel grabbed the phone and ended the call. "Right, step one completed. In a while it will be step two; into the car. First, we clear this place."

"Is that step two?" Taco said.

Weasel hesitated. "No, it's the final subsection of step one."

## ii. To Dinky's Diner

Weasel checked all the rooms then returned to the living room with a plastic grocery bag and filled it with zip ties and essentials. The duffel bags were stuffed with clothes, the pieces of masks, and anything else of theirs. Finally, he picked up his shoulder bag.

"I've got my bag and a few bits. We'll dump the duffel bags on our way. Can you open the car doors for our friends and set the child locks?" he said to Taco.

On Taco's return, Weasel said, "Into the car and do as we say." He spoke loudly and with authority, but his voice sounded tired.

Weasel led Billie by the arm out into the sunlight and straight into the back seat of the Dodge Dart. She was placed behind the front passenger's seat.

Taco and Joe exchanged insults as they appeared. It ended with Taco grabbing Joe by the neck of his shirt and thrusting him into the seat behind the driver.

Weasel opened the trunk, dumped in the duffel bags, then got into the driver's seat. He turned to both passengers. "Child locks are on. Wrists."

He leaned in between the front seats and with a deft move, cut off the duct tape then the zip ties from Joe and Billie's outstretched wrists.

They both rubbed them with relief.

Weasel flapped open one side of his jacket. "No funny business or I'll get this bad boy out."

The car dipped as Taco took his seat. He held out his flashlight. "It's fully charged."

"Are we good to go?" Weasel said.

"Front door is shut. We are good," Taco said.

Weasel drove over the sensor, through the open gate, and down Bolam. He drove steadily and kept his eyes on the road. A creeping silence spread over the occupants.

Billie felt Joe nudging her in the side with his elbow. She waited for Taco to turn around and stare out of the windshield, before looking across at Joe.

"Fight. Okay?" Joe mouthed at her. He balled a fist.

Billie nodded.

Joe tilted his head at her as if uncertain of her reply.

Billie ignored him and returned to studying their surroundings and rationalizing what was likely to happen. Hopefully they would be released soon; she couldn't contemplate anything else.

The Dodge pulled into a picnic area. Taco stepped out and threw the duffel bags into a large trash bin. They drove off again.

Billie examined Weasel's face. The nearer they reached their target, the more he showed signs of stress. Taco gnawed on a fingernail while glancing between Billie, Joe, and the road ahead.

A while later they drove passed a large signboard.

Motel and diner, one mile ahead.

"That's the place," Weasel said.

He slowed as they approached the turnoff to the parking lot, then sped up.

"Anything?" Weasel said.

"A few cars. No cop cars," Taco said.

Weasel turned into a trackway leading into a field and reversed back onto the main road. He audibly breathed out. "We're going in."

Joe nudged Billie and raised his eyebrows. He also closed his fist again.

Weasel swung the Dodge into the parking lot, which had plenty of empty spaces. Cars were mainly grouped in front of the motel and diner.

The motel, an average-looking concrete building, was on the left, with Dinky's Diner on the right with its doors facing out into the lot. Billie watched a young couple holding hands as they walked along to the diner.

Weasel chose his parking spot carefully.

"Looks the same as on them googly maps. That's the trash dumpster by the side of the diner."

A few yards from the edge of the diner, the dumpster was surrounded by food containers and other trash.

Weasel wiped his brow, reached into his jacket pocket, and produced the burner phone and a piece of paper. He pressed a speed dial. "Speak to your sister and read the instructions."

"Sis?"

" _Yeah_."

"Listen. Walk outside the diner and turn to your left. Place the backpack in the trash dumpster at the side. Open the lid, drop it in, and drive off. Don't look around."

" _Okay_."

"Good luck, sis. Get away from here. Speak to you soon."

Weasel snatched the phone off him. "Just do as he says," he said in a loud voice. He pulled at his shirt and shifted in his seat.

As if on cue, the diner door opened.

Billie leaned forward to see past Joe. She saw a slim woman, aged in her fifties with short gray hair, walk down the diner's steps. Due to the parked cars, Billie could only snatch a glimpse of her. A black backpack was visible in her hand as she approached the dumpster.

"Sis," Joe said.

"Shut up," Taco said.

With all occupants gazing together, the gray-haired woman swung open the dumpsters hatch and dropped in the backpack. She shut the lid and walked over to a white SUV. Soon, she was driving out of the parking lot. Billie noticed the woman keeping her eyes on the road rather than looking around the lot for her brother or the kidnappers. If she was nervous, she didn't show it.

"It's in," Weasel said.

"Let's get the money, man."

"Wait. Check we aren't being set up."

Joe fidgeted with his hands. "Come on, there's no one here. Get the money and let's go."

Billie swallowed and hoped it would all be over in the next two minutes.

Weasel drove towards the dumpster.

"Shit, cops," Taco said.

Weasel hauled the Dodge into a parking space facing the side fence, twenty yards away from the dumpster.

"No one say anything."

Weasel glanced to his left. "Don't all stare." He looked back at the side fence in front of him, despite the others all studying the cruiser.

The cruiser parked in front of the diner and two officers emerged. In unison, they pulled at their pant belts.

"Make it look natural and smile."

Joe rapped his knuckles on the window. Taco tapped him in the leg with the flashlight but did not use the stunner. "Don't do anything."

In response, Joe turned and depressed the window button. As the passenger window began descending, he started shouting. "I've been kidnapped. Hey, anybody."

Weasel twisted round and pointed his revolver at Joe over the top of the driver's seat. His hand shook.

Billie tensed, put her hands in front of her face, and turned her body away from Joe. At that moment, Taco stabbed Joe in the knee with his stun gun. It crackled and fizzed. Joe snapped back with a cry of pain. He reacted to the longer than normal jolt by moving his hands robotically in the air. "Aargh," was all he could say.

Weasel replaced his gun, leaned over the seat and pressed Joe's window button. The mechanism whined as the window closed. "Thanks, man," he said to Taco.

"He deserves it," Taco said.

Weasel let out a breath. "Right. Let's get the cash."

"What if the cops are sitting by the diner window?"

"Good point. We could use Billie here, they won't think anything of her."

Weasel turned to Billie. He glanced at her, then diverted his eyes. "Could you? You must come back because of him. We'll shoot him if you don't."

Weasel looked at Taco for confirmation.

"Yeah, and we know where you live," Taco said.

"Get the backpack, then we'll let you go."

Before Billie could process what they were asking, Weasel had opened the door. She gingerly got out and placed a hand on the roof to steady herself. Joe continued grunting in pain.

For a moment, she breathed the fresh air; it made a change from the sweaty testosterone inside the vehicle. She wiped her hands on her jeans and walked towards the dumpster.

A quick glance behind showed Weasel and Taco staring at her. She bit her lip and continued. As she neared the dumpster, her legs felt heavy. A decision was needed. Keep walking ahead and into the diner to seek the safety of the police or retrieve the package and accompany Joe. It could all be over in minutes; for her, but not Joe.

She thought of Jeffrey.

On reaching the dumpster, she opened the lid and looked inside. It smelled putrid. A black backpack lay on a heap of food remnants, tins, packaging, and cigarette stubs. It would need her to lean her shoulders inside.

As she stood on her tiptoes, a vehicle drove nearby. Out of the corner of her eye she realized it was another police cruiser aiming for the parking place next to their colleagues.

The two officers got out and gazed in her direction. A hot sensation prickled down her spine. A thought came to her. She bent down, picked up a discarded food container and tossed it into the trash bin. The lid swung shut with a clang.

She smiled towards the cops, who nodded back. It was no use trying to retrieve the package, so she walked back to the car.

"Do you think we've been noticed?" Weasel said. "They'll be running our number. What we gonna do?"

"Can't stay here, man," Taco said.

"My sister wouldn't call the cops. We would have been surrounded by now and you'd both be dead," Joe said between clenched teeth.

"You'll be dead in a minute if you don't shut up."

"The cops are all inside the diner and haven't come out." Weasel started the engine. "Let's get out of here, regroup, change strategy."

"Strategy?" Joe said.

## iii. I know a little place

Weasel turned out of the parking lot and sped up as soon as they were out of sight of the diner.

"Keep it steady. Don't alert the cops," Taco said.

Billie caught a glance from Joe, who shook his head at her.

"We hide out for a while, then go back," Weasel said.

"Drop us off, you have the cash," Joe said.

"Must get the cash first before we let you go. Make sure your sister isn't playing with us."

"Got a place in mind?" Taco said.

"Little place I know in the forest. It's got park trails and all that shit. Courting couple's paradise."

After ten minutes they headed along a forest road. There were few residences and little traffic. As they drove into the deserted parking lot, the car bumped along the gravel surface. Weasel drove over to the far side of the lot before stopping.

"Anyone following us?"

"No."

"How long are we going to be here?" Joe said.

"Shut up," Taco said, waving his flashlight.

"It's run out of power, moron."

Taco tilted the end of the flashlight towards himself, pressed the button, and flicked his head back as it crackled.

"Moron," Joe said.

Billie sat still, not knowing what to do or think.

"I need a piss. So do you, don't you?" Joe said as he elbowed Billie.

"Piss in your pants," Taco said.

"Do you need to go?" Weasel said to Billie.

She nodded.

"A lady needs privacy," Joe said.

Billie nodded.

"One at a time. We'll take the stupid mother fucker first," Weasel said, turning to Joe. "Any problems and we'll fizz your johnson."

"I bet you'd like that," Joe said.

Weasel's face flashed anger and the revolver appeared in his hand again.

"Little boy with big gun syndrome. Making up for something you don't have?" Joe said.

"Should have popped you back there," Weasel said.

Joe went to speak but stopped himself.

"Keep it steady, man," Taco said to Weasel as he levered himself out of the car.

Weasel joined him, gun in hand.

Joe turned to Billie. "Get ready."

As the door opened, Joe pushed hard against it, catching Taco's side. He scrambled out and stumbled towards a line of trees, his leg not yet fully responsive. Taco held his stomach as Weasel stood, confused.

Billie eyed the gaping door.

She scooted across the seat and ran after Joe. A quick glance to each side confirmed the trees offered the best protection.

Behind her, she heard Taco shouting, "Shoot them, shoot them."

She zigzagged.

"Get out the way," Weasel shouted out.

She caught up with Joe. As she went to grab his arm to help him, there was a loud crack of gunfire.

Three shots were fired within rapid succession.

Unsure whether she stumbled or was shocked at the noise, Billie toppled forward. Barely able to put her hands out in time, she saved her face from being buried in the dirt.

Birds chirped furiously as the echo of the gunshots diminished. Billie tensed, ready for another gun blast as Joe cried out.

She opened her eyes to see him lying on his back, writhing in pain. Judging by the blood-soaked pants, Joe had been shot in the thigh. His face was ashen, and his hands shook. He held his thigh for a moment, lay back down and then put his hands on his head.

Billie got up and kneeled beside him.

"Run, run," Joe said, with difficulty.

The bloodstain on Joe's pant leg was blossoming across the fabric. Billie glanced towards the trees, then at Weasel standing by the car pointing his weapon at them, then back at Joe's leg.

With a resigned look on her face and suppressing her embarrassment, she fumbled with his belt and unzipped his pants. "Need to take a look, okay?" As best as she could, she pulled his pants down to his knees without dragging down his underpants. There was an entry and exit wound in the side of his thigh. Blood dripped onto the earth.

"Lay on your side." She helped him lean over and pressed her thumbs into the wounds.

Weasel appeared clasping his handgun. All he could do was stare at the injury with his mouth open, as if mesmerized.

Billie took off her jacket. With a few movements, she unbuttoned her shirt and rolled it into a cigar shape which she wrapped around Joe's thigh, above the wound. She pulled it tight, tied a knot, and wiped Joe's thigh with one of the dangling sleeves.

"He needs a hospital," Billie said.

"Can't do that," Weasel said, and shook his head. "Can't do that."

The Dodge drove up to them. Taco had managed to circumvent a line of logs which marked off the parking lot.

Billie kept the pressure on Joe's wounds. "Hang on," she said to Joe.

Joe stared at her with half-closed eyes and nodded.

Taco got out of the car. "Are you going to pop them? They are witnesses."

"I've shot him," Weasel said.

"Yeah, you only hit one of them and they are both still here. Two shots went wide."

"They were running."

"They're not running now. Even you couldn't miss."

"You do it, then." Weasel held the gun towards Taco.

He stepped back and brought up his hands. "This is your job, remember? Your strategy. Time to step up, you said."

Billie's hands, arms, and stomach were soon covered in Joe's blood. She looked Weasel in the eye. "Don't hurt us. The money is still in the dumpster."

Weasel remained still, with the gun now pointing to the ground.

"Please," she said.

He clenched his jaw and gazed at her with longing and sadness. "I didn't want to shoot at you."

"Fuck man. Look," Taco said, motioning to the side.

A truck rumbled along the road and slowed. Two men standing by a bloodied man with a woman in her bra performing first aid, would draw most people's attention. The vehicle sped away.

"We've been spotted. They'll call the feds," Weasel said, with relief rather than disappointment. "Get them into the car."

Together they lumbered Joe onto the back seat. Billie grabbed her jacket and squeezed in, trying not to sit on Joe's feet. Jolted by the sudden acceleration, she hung on until they made it onto the main road.

"Fuck, man, did they get the license? They may have dash cams," Taco said. He had taken the driver's seat.

"Have to lie low for a while. Get the cash later," Weasel said.

"This car is hot, right?"

Weasel hesitated. "Erm, my mom bought it for me, before she, you know."

"It's registered to your address?"

"No, I used the neighbor's name and address."

Taco kept his eyes on the road. He shook his head. "You're more stupid than me."

Billie did her best to examine Joe's wound. "Still bleeding but could be slowing."

Joe stared at her. Hunched, with his back against the door, his face was pale, and he grasped his hands together.

"Where to then? Your trailer?" Taco said.

Weasel stared out of the window. "No way. Forget the money for now. This car's been spotted, we need to get away from here." He tapped his chin. "That place we were scoping the other day."

"The salvage yard?"

"It's empty and they have a car crusher. Perhaps," he glanced around the dashboard, "this baby needs to be put to rest." He lowered his voice, "These two could be in the trunk? Then we go back for the dollars."

Taco nodded sagely back. "It's a plan."

Billie loosened the tourniquet a fraction. Blood oozed. She tightened it, but not as much as before. "We'll give it a few more minutes."

Joe nodded.

With difficulty, Billie lifted and turned Joe's legs to enable her to sit back. His calves ended up lying on her lap. She removed his Reeboks and tugged at the bottom of his pants to free each leg. His socks had leopard motifs.

The forest landscape gave way to suburbs as they headed back towards Spokane.

Billie contemplated making a lunge for Taco when he stopped at traffic lights. With a small movement, she pulled at the door lever; the child locks were still engaged. If a truck drew up close, she could wave her bloody hands; they may think it is an emergency.

Both her and Joe were a mess of smeared blood. Lost in thought, she felt Joe's hand finding hers. She squeezed it.

"Where are we going?" she said.

There was no reaction from either man.

"Where are we going?" she said in a louder voice.

"Eh?" Weasel stopped picking at his fingers.

He turned, his gaze going straight to her chest. Then he stared at Joe and the blood-soaked shirt. Weasel swallowed and blushed. He appeared drained. A man with the sudden realization of what he had done. A man facing years in prison.

He diverted his eyes as he spoke. "You'll see." With that, he resumed staring out of the windshield and picking his fingers.

Joe's eyes were shut, his face relaxed. With a start, Billie shook his hand. "Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." He opened his eyes. "Still here, tired, fuck it hurts, but here. Any water?"

"Any water?" Billie said to Weasel.

A terse "No," came from Taco.

Billie wiped over his wound with the arms of the shirt. He needed medical attention, but he would not bleed out.

"Hold on," she said and rubbed his hand. She felt tired after the high of the recent escape attempt. The first aid, at least, had acted as a distraction from the kidnapping.

Did she hear Weasel mention a car crusher?

## iv. Are you part of this?

As soon as they entered the long road off the overhead freeway, Billie knew they were heading to Stratt's salvage yard. She remembered Weasel threatening her not to contact Stratt or interfere with his affairs. He must have known about the foreclosure.

They stopped by the front gate. Weasel exited the car, popped the trunk, and walked over to the gate holding a pair of bolt cutters from his roll of burglary tools.

Taco drove through the gate, stopped and Weasel re-joined them.

"I've tied up the chain, looks like it's still intact."

"Good job," Taco said.

They drove on.

"Park there," Weasel said, pointing to the spot where Billie had parked her motorcycle on Sunday.

Weasel exited the car and rattled the front door handle of the mobile home. He returned, grabbed a small bag from the trunk, and within moments had picked the lock.

Billie watched Weasel in action. His lock picking skills unnerved her.

With Billie's help, Joe limped up the steps and through the front door.

"In there," Weasel said.

Billie stumbled into Stratt's bedroom. Joe sat on the bed for a moment before maneuvering himself, with Billie's help, into a sitting position with his back against the headboard. He grunted at each movement.

Taco disappeared outside, leaving Weasel in the bedroom. He spent most of his time staring at Billie's breasts.

Aware of this, Billie said, "I'm cold without my shirt, is there something I could wear?"

Weasel flushed, "Yeah, have a look in a minute."

"Also, water and pain relief?"

"Have a look."

Soon Taco arrived with two long lengths of weather-beaten chain. "Got to chain them up and tie up the hands."

"Do we?"

"Yeah, we do until you can come up with another brilliant strategy."

Taco secured the chains to the bottom of the bedposts.

"We need your boots off."

Billie hesitated.

"It won't be for long," Weasel said, glancing at Taco.

Billie sat back on the bed. Taco placed a zip tie around her right ankle and secured it through a chain link.

Weasel left and re-appeared with a packet of Advil.

"These are my own," he said.

"Thanks," Billie said.

"Found this."

Weasel produced a large gray T-shirt. A rock band's tour dates of over ten years ago were listed in faded lettering on the back. It must have been one of Stratt's cast offs from a plastic trash bag Lil left outside. At least it smelled clean.

The various ground-in stains on the bare mattress caused Billie to shudder and shift her backside away from them. Two pillows, without cases, lay by the headboard. Apart from her jacket, which Weasel had tossed on the floor together with Joe's blood-soaked pants, the room was empty. What looked like a square wardrobe jutted out of the corner of the room, on Billie's side of the bed. She knew it contained a toilet and sink. Lil had explained it provided Stratt's father with privacy when guests stayed over. Whatever, Billie reasoned; the chain may be long enough to reach the toilet.

The room smelled of stale tobacco and the yellow stains on the ceiling were testament to years of cigarette smoking.

Taco secured Joe's ankle in the same way as Billie's. He was breathless with the exertion as he stood up. "Wrists," he said. Before long, Joe and Billie's wrists were bound.

As soon as Taco left, Billie kneeled and inspected the restraints. It would require a sharp-edged implement to cut through the industrial-strength plastic, which secured the chain around the bedpost.

She examined Joe. He stared at the ceiling; his face ashen.

"Check your leg?"

Joe nodded. Blood from his wound had already soaked into the mattress.

Billie loosened the tourniquet and pulled the shirt to one side.

"Not bleeding as much," she said as she closely inspected the wounds. "Looks like the bullet traveled straight through, missed the artery. May have bounced off a bone. I don't know."

"That Weasel is a lousy shot," Joe said, unable to mask his discomfort and pain.

"Still need an ER."

"If we get out of here."

"Gonna check out the toilet."

To her relief, the chain was long enough for her to sit on the toilet and pull the door a fraction.

Stratt had made a thorough job of clearing up; there was nothing in the room, except a plastic cup and an old piece of soap. Billie had hoped a razor may have been left behind.

Though limited in movement, Billie ran her hands and lower arms under the faucet and watched the blood swirl down the plughole. She lifted the t-shirt, clenched it between her teeth and wiped over her stomach. The soap produced a weak lather which was enough to clean her hands. Despite the situation she felt obliged to clean the sink, so swirled water around and ran the soap under the faucet.

She thought back to Joe's escape attempt. They were close to being released; he had run and nearly got them both killed. Jesus, for a few more minutes, Weasel would have returned to the trash bin, grabbed the backpack, and they would be free. Thank god for his poor attempt at marksmanship.

Back in the bedroom, she handed Joe three Advil and a cup of water, then sat on the bed.

Who was she angrier with? Herself for following the car into Joe's house, or with Joe himself for his antics? What were Weasel and Taco planning to do with them? Her stomach lurched, and her mind became blank.

The sound of footsteps snapped her out of her fog. The front door opened, and someone trod on the wooden steps. The Dodge started up and drove off.

"Have they gone?" Joe said. He appeared more responsive.

"Not sure." Billie stood up.

The chain clanked as she walked around the bed. There was sufficient length for her to place her head close to the door.

She heard the creak of heavy footsteps walking up and down inside the living room before someone, presumably Taco, stepped outside. "I think Weasel has driven off and Taco has just walked out."

Joe pulled himself along the bed and propped his shoulders against the pillows and headboard. "Where are we? What is this place?"

Billie refilled his cup of water.

"I've been here before, on Sunday to a barbeque."

Joe snorted. "You're not part of this, are you?"

"No."

"Well, explain, then."

Billie paused before speaking. "Lil contacted me because she saw you in the Crankshaft bar. I found out where you lived, and we visited you."

Joe remained silent.

"You said you weren't Avery, so we left. Unknown to us, we were being watched by that man Weasel, the one with the pockmarks."

"Why?"

"Because of Lil's boyfriend, Stratt. He owns, well used to own, this salvage yard."

"The big man?"

"Yes. Last week before this place foreclosed, Weasel was concerned that Stratt may have secured a last-minute injection of cash. You live in a nice neighborhood. I believe Weasel may have been working for someone else."

Joe wrinkled his brow.

"Weasel and Taco visited me at my apartment and warned me off."

"How does this involve me?"

Billie sighed. "It's all my fault," she said. "Sorry." She shook her head.

"You, what did you do?"

"I wanted to find Avery. There was the article about him in that men's magazine that Weasel showed you. Also, a local newspaper journalist saw a man who looked like him and suggested he had returned to live in Spokane." Billie bit her bottom lip. "Weasel picked up that magazine from my apartment and I guess he thought you were the same man as in the article. He took photos of all of us when we came to visit you."

"Shit, I remember walking out front when you left." He rubbed his leg. "So how did you find my place?"

Billie blushed and breathed out. "I'm sorry again. I followed you from the bar, Lil phoned me."

"Fuck. What was it? Interview, expose, and cash?" Joe said, bitterly.

"No."

"Really?"

"Well, you aren't Avery, are you? So, it doesn't matter."

He shuffled his backside, winced and examined his wrapped thigh and ankle chain. "Look, Billie." He placed his hands over his crotch as if to hide his embarrassment of being in his underpants. "This is not looking good."

Billie didn't reply. He was right.

"I, err, fuck it. Look," He raised his hands. "I'm Avery the author, not Alan, Joe or whatever. I've been using different names and hiding. Okay, you found me, which, considering our predicament, will not help much."

Despite the revelation, Billie didn't feel very elated.

"What do you want from me?"

Billie wiped her eyes before speaking. "It's about finding my brother."

"Your brother?"

"He's missing with his friend, and I'm really concerned for his safety. His last email said he was heading towards Tucson to find a commune to stay in."

Avery nodded.

"That was the last I heard of him. They traveled in a Ford van painted like the old cartoon, Scooby Doo, with hippie flowers."

"Okay."

"I saw a photo which looked like you at a commune in Tucson." Billie could not stop herself. "Did you see my brother or the van or anything? It's been three months since last contact."

Avery wiped his brow with the back of his hand, "Hold on, hold on. I traveled around, met many people. I visited at least three off grid commune type places in Tucson."

"Um, Jeffrey had a scar across his right eyebrow. White, twenty-three, has probably grown a beard, relaxed personality. His friend is called Shaggy, a stoner type, who looks like his cartoon namesake. Hence the van colors."

"I traveled around so much, it's all a blur. I experimented with drugs, you know, couldn't tell you what was real or not. I was at the Sunlight commune for a while. Big place. There were a few hippie-style vans and stoners there." He rubbed at his leg.

Billie kept looking at him expectantly.

"Can't remember anyone with a scar like that. Scooby Doo van. Possibly, but I don't know." Avery shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know. I can't think. We're being held prisoner, for god's sake. I've been shot."

"Oh, okay." Billie looked away. She laid down and turned on her side away from Avery. Her heart sunk in disappointment.

Avery moved his legs and swore as he pulled himself up against the headboard. He glanced at Billie. "It doesn't seem to matter now, but you know, after my book was published, and it became a best seller, doors would open for me. Women, champagne, and money. But it broke me." He let out a breath. "How can you write a second novel to top the first? I was plagued with doubt. My editor gave up. It went on and on until it overtook me. I had to get away. What better than a commune off the grid in Arizona where people don't ask questions?"

Billie turned onto her back.

"Where would a brother be without his sister, eh, Billie?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I handed over all my financial affairs to my sister, which she invested in property, stocks, and shares. Thank god she did. I would have been living on the streets if it wasn't for her."

"My brother, he wanted to get away from it all. Been a lot of family problems."

"Sorry, Billie, it's a blur. You know, I had to leave one commune due to my behavior." He shook his head. "I'm a fuckup, really."

Billie sat up and wiped her nose. "What brought you back to Spokane?"

"After the commune failure, I traveled to Las Vegas. Despite all the action there, I kept remembering my teenage years in Spokane. So, I spoke to my pissed-off sister, who rented a house for me in the valley. I visited some old haunts and various bars and clubs while I considered my next move."

"And met Lil at the Crankshaft?"

"Lil, what a woman. She reminded me of Edith."

"I've read your book many times."

"Because of seeing Lil, I picked up my book and read it with fresh eyes. I surprised myself; it was good. It made me believe I could do it again. I felt back to my old self. When you turned up, it got me thinking. Perhaps it was time to take on the world again, hence setting up our meeting."

Billie knew what was coming next.

"And then you led these clowns to me and fucked it all up."

"I'm sorry. I was just hoping you may have seen my brother."

Avery glanced at her and remained quiet. With difficulty, he stood up and, using the wall to lean against, reached the toilet.

Billie wept. There was no restraining her feelings of despair. The man who was Avery could add nothing to her brother's whereabouts. What did that matter? Her fate relied on two bumbling crooks. At this moment, her job at the Millennium complex would be enjoyable. Shit, she would even be nice to the two dickheads.

Avery flushed the toilet and came back in. He studied Billie and went back onto the bed.

"Hey. I want to thank you for the first aid."

His voice was humbler, Billie thought.

She wiped her nose. "I was in the Girl Scouts a few years back. At one summer camp, a few men were shooting bottles in a nearby field. One guy accidently shot himself. Didn't die, but I helped out with the first aid."

"Well, thank god for the Girl Scouts, eh?"

Billie remembered the "kitchen memory" and packing for the Girl Scouts summer camp. She rubbed her face with her hands.

Avery examined her. "Okay? My mouth runs away with itself sometimes. I'm an ass. That's me, but we need to think about our predicament."

Billie bit her lip as she considered that it would be best to continue talking. This man was indeed an ass. Lil would say he was an arrogant fucker. "What will happen?"

"I don't know. I hoped the fifteen grand would be enough for them. My sister doesn't like spending money."

"Will she do anything if you contact her again? Promise something for our release?"

"Possibly." Avery glanced at the back of his hands. "I noticed the thin one looks at you a lot."

Billie nodded.

"Can you talk to him? You know, chat him up? It may give us a break to allow us to escape."

She knew he was right. Given all the circumstances, she would have to say and do things outside her comfort zone. Her stomach churned. "I'll try my best. He has a gun on him."

"Know how to use one?"

"Yeah. Been a while, though. I have nothing to do with them, now."

"Check the safety is off, grasp it firmly, aim, and pull the trigger. Do you know what type of gun he has?"

"A revolver."

"If you can pass it to me, I'll get us out of here."

"Okay."

"Good, good. We'll have to overpower the fat guy."

They paused their conversation at the sound of the front door opening. A muffled conversation could be vaguely heard in the living room.

"Weasel's back," Billie said.

## v. Lil

Lil brought over Stratt's second beer of the afternoon. He was playing pool. A five-dollar note held down by a quarter rested on the corner of the table.

"Shit," the other player said, leaning up from the table.

Stratt bent forward, aimed, and hit a ball into a corner pocket. "Yes."

Lil watched him play. He glanced at her as he positioned himself for the next shot. Not only did the cue ball miss the five ball, it tumbled down a pocket.

He banged the end of the cue on the floor between his feet and looked at Lil. "Well?"

"I'm worried about Billie. She's not replying to texts or answering her phone. I was checking she was okay."

"She may have gone away. She's a loner type," Stratt said while watching where his friend positioned the white ball.

"Is that the motorcycle girl with the leather jacket? Dyke on a bike. Perhaps she needs some loving? I'd give her a go," Stratt's friend said as he leaned over to take his shot.

Lil remained stony-faced. "She's a good person, pays her bills, is polite and decent."

Stratt wiped his brow as the other man found something interesting on the other side of the table.

"Her dad shot her mom dead, then killed himself when she was fifteen. She saw the bodies. How would you be?"

Stratt went to put a hand on her shoulder. She stepped back. "Lil, you have that look about you."

"I need you to drive me to that house in Latah. We need to check it out."

"Latah? That's across town. You want to see that asshole again?"

"No, but something bugs me about the man and the place. Billie was desperate for that interview."

"She could be at home or out with friends." Stratt put his hands out and stared at the pool table.

"Look, I'll ring the hospitals in case she's had an accident on her bike. But if I hear nothing, we're going to Latah when I finish in two hours."

"Okay," Stratt said. He drank a large mouthful of beer.

"I'll get you a pot of coffee. You can forget about this." She took the beer out of his hand and walked away.

The other man giggled at Stratt.

"She gets touchy about things, that's all."

"Whatever. It's your turn." He wiped the side of his mouth. "If Lil allows it, that is."

Stratt muttered as he went to make his shot. He missed and sunk the white ball again.

"I'm going for a whizz," he said.

"Do you want Lil to hold if for you?"

He stuck up his middle finger.

## vi. What's going to happen?

Though Billie could check the time on her watch, the constant assessment of each action and sound made the time of day seem the least of her concerns.

She stood near the door. Weasel was talking to Taco but it was difficult to make out every word.

"They are talking about getting the backpack," she said. "Taco will go. He'll call a friend to pick him up and drop him off using a made-up story. Weasel will strategize whilst Taco is away."

Avery shook his head. "Clowns."

Billie returned to the bed as someone entered the main bathroom, the one Stratt had showered in. The toilet flushed.

She could only sit back on the bed and regret the whole sorry saga she had brought on herself. Her hopes of gaining a strong lead on Jeffrey's whereabouts was in shreds. She closed her eyes and remembered the day Jeffrey and Shaggy drove off with waves and smiles. The sounds of Taco leaving the mobile home did not enter her consciousness.

All was quiet until the bedroom door squeaked. Billie jumped at the sound and opened her eyes. It was Weasel, who appeared upbeat.

"Disposed of my car. Well, tried to, couldn't work the tractor, so set fire to the Dodge, well, the inside, anyway." Unwashed dirt was visible inside his hairline and a vague smell of burned metal and gasoline filled the room.

Avery nudged Billie with his elbow.

She coughed. "What's going to happen?"

Weasel's face became serious. "Keep you here for now, until we fetch back the money."

"We won't say anything. I promise. You can let us go." Billie paused before continuing. "I err ... would, err ... could I speak to you on my own. Just you and me?" She bit her bottom lip.

Weasel flushed and licked his lips. "Perhaps." He glanced at Avery, who smiled back.

"Where's your friend?" Avery said.

"He's gone to get the backpack."

"Without you?"

"He wouldn't let me down."

"Believe that? He's banging a hooker right now."

"No," Weasel said, wiping at his forehead. "He wouldn't." He rubbed a hand over his hair. "You just stay here and shut up. You, you are in no position to negotiate." His hand reached inside his jacket and pulled out his handgun. His eyes flared. "I'm in charge here." He aimed the weapon at Avery.

"Woah take it easy, pal," Avery said, his voice shaking.

"Say something again, go on." Weasel thrust the gun forward.

"Sorry," Avery said. "Easy, take it easy." He raised his bound wrists in front of his face.

Weasel's hand shook.

Billie remained still; the tension between the two men was palpable. She swallowed before speaking. "Please," she said. "He was joking. Please."

Weasel flicked his gaze to her and softened.

"Sorry, pal," Avery said.

Weasel replaced his gun in his chest holster and pulled at his jacket. He left the room.

"Got under his skin," Avery said, unable to hide his relief.

Billie did not see it that way. She listened for a moment. "He's on his cell. Hold on." She went to the door.

"Got the money?" Weasel said.

Pause.

"For fuck's sake, Taco. Don't the cops have anywhere else to eat?"

Pause.

"Our guests have been saying that you'll take the money for yourself."

Pause.

"Okay, okay, I trust you. We'll try later when its proper dark. Okay? We'll work out a strategy for them, when you come back."

Pause.

"No, don't call your cousin. We'll talk about it when you come back. We could try to get more dollars from them."

Pause.

"Yeah, burger. Double stack with cheese, no onion."

Billie rushed back to the bed and spoke in a low voice. "Sounds like Taco didn't get the money, too many cops eating at the diner. Weasel is concerned that Taco will call his cousin. He's ordered a double stack burger."

"Food?"

"With cheese, no onion, to be precise."

"Jesus," Avery said. He felt down his leg. "This is ridiculous. If they let me out, I'd limp there and get the goddamn money myself. What's the matter with them?"

He lapsed into silence.

Billie saw him wiping his eyes before turning his head away from her. She shared his thoughts and despondency. However, Weasel was on his own for a while yet.

She walked over to the door and knocked. "Mr. Weasel?"

Billie straightened her T-shirt and waited.

He came in.

"Can I speak to you?" Billie said.

Weasel looked at the floor. "Sure." He grinned and rubbed his bottom lip. "Sure."

"Not in here. Outside, on our own?"

Weasel pulled out a knife and cut off the ankle restraint. "Have to leave your hands tied."

Avery nodded at Billie before the door closed.

Billie stopped by the front door. "Can we get some fresh air?"

Weasel put out his hand. "No, it's against the rules."

Billie turned to Weasel and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't know your rules."

He smiled. "It's okay."

She followed him into the living room. "I wanted to tell you something."

His ears flushed red.

Billie continued. "The man told me he can call his sister to get more dollars."

"More?"

"More dollars in another backpack. But only if you let us go. We won't say anything."

Weasel's eyes were wide. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No." Billie said, surprised at the question.

"I thought so." He sniggered. "Do you prefer girls?"

"Not in that way."

Weasel puffed out his chest and grinned. "Would you go on a date with me?"

Billie coughed. "I'd like to. But not like this." She held up her wrists. "What about more money?"

"Flowers, do you like flowers? Which kind?" Weasel said, ignoring her mention of money.

"Err ... roses."

"Chocolates?"

"Yes."

"We could have a date, you know, over a meal. A date night."

"Perhaps. We could leave now, before your friend gets back."

Weasel picked at his fingers. "Better not. He'll call his cousin."

Billie nodded. "How about a date night when this is over?"

"Sure." Weasel brightened. "And after the meal?" Weasel raised his eyebrows.

"What are you thinking?"

Weasel blew out a breath. "Wow. You know, get to know each other better." He rubbed a hand along the front of his pants.

Billie's mouth was dry. "Um, make out?" Despite knowing she had his attention, speaking like this was uncomfortable. She noticed him pulling at his groin. "Sex?" she said, louder than she wished, but it had the desired effect.

He puffed out his chest. "I can show you what a real man can do. Be no need for any toys."

Billie screwed up her face. "What do you mean?"

Weasel flushed. "You know."

Billie still couldn't follow his train of thought. "Sorry, toys?"

"You know. Those toys in your bottom drawer. The small one buzzed right out of my hand."

The blood drained from Billie's face. "You entered my apartment?"

Weasel held her shoulders. "Only the once, when you were at work, well apart from the pizza night. I have to check out my girlfriends." He grabbed at his crotch again, then reached forward and stroked her hair. "My photos don't do you justice."

Billie hesitated, her mind whirling. This man had gone into her apartment and touched her personal stuff. What did he do? Oh god. She took a few breaths to steady herself as her knees wobbled.

Weasel brought up his cell phone. The screen contained the picture he took of Billie's soiled panties and the two vibrators set either side.

"It's funny because you are wearing those camo panties now," Weasel said. He blushed and giggled.

Billie's world stopped; her privacy had been violated and defiled by a man who thought it was funny. As she tried to compose herself, she realized Weasel was talking again.

"Do you want to see some more pictures?"

Billie leaned back against a cabinet and studied the kitchenette and the living room for anything useable as a weapon. This bastard needed to be hit as hard as possible. With Taco away, this chance would not come along again. There was nothing obvious to defend herself with. A missed kick or punch could make Weasel angry.

Best to bide her time, for the moment.

Weasel dug into a shoulder bag and produced a camera, which Billie recognized as an expensive model.

"Got all the distance lenses and my laptop in here. Gadget boy," he said, laughing. He held up his camera screen and flicked between folders and photos with practiced movements. Billie was dumbstruck. There were pictures of her outside Avery's house, at work in uniform and boxing at the gym.

Weasel seemed to sweat more when he showed her the gym photos. He glanced from the screen to her face.

"You've been following me?"

"Might have," he said with a sheepish grin. "But there is the contract work," he said, in a serious voice. "I take photos of people and pass them on." He opened another folder. "I captured a couple meeting up. Got well paid for that. She's naked." He giggled like a teenager.

Billie saw a naked woman standing in an upstairs bedroom; a man was reaching for the drapes. "Blackmail?"

"Whatever. It pays well. And this," Weasel thumbed the navigation buttons, "is the man who asked me to take the pictures. I've been following him. Nothing yet, but he is bound to meet up with a hooker. Need to get myself one of them insurance policies."

Billie saw a series of shots of a man in his fifties wearing a Panama hat, standing outside the rear of an office building.

Time was ticking. She thought of Avery chained to the bed. He was relying on her to gain their escape. Violence may not be enough. A man like Weasel was unpredictable and emotionally unbalanced. Focus she thought, focus. "You're clever," she said.

Weasel smiled and stood up, obviously happy at receiving a compliment. Billie noticed this and gained his eye contact. "And you have a gift for taking pictures."

"Thanks," he said. He tilted his head and smiled.

He placed the camera back into the shoulder bag and moved it to one side.

Billie swallowed. Weasel's jacket swayed as he moved, revealing his gun within its holster. It would take a quick movement to grab it. Or his knife, which pocket was it in?

She bent her head and rushed at him, her hands reaching towards his holster. He grasped her shoulders, making her hands sway and miss their target.

"Hey, hey. Take it easy."

He enveloped her in his arms, crushing her against him. She felt his holster and gun pushing into her side. Her head was pressed awkwardly against his shoulder and her arms pinned in front of her. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of burned automobile. Her rib cage was compressed, making her take shorter breaths.

"Now, now, trying to run away like a scared rabbit." He moved his head back to talk to her. "This is nice. I've been dreaming of this. I, I haven't been with my cleaner, I've had lots of girlfriends, you know. And I'm not a faggot or cocksucker, except in prison when I was held down, you know."

Billie couldn't think of anything to say. Weasel was stronger than she believed. He pushed his hips forward into hers and sighed. His hands grasped her buttocks, and he sniffed her hair. His erection pushed against the back of her hands, making her shudder.

He acted like an obsessed lover. Sudden rejection would not end well. What would Lil do?

"Honey, I can't breathe and my arm hurts. We need to relax."

Weasel lessened his grip. "Honey, you called me honey. That's nice. It's like we have a thing going on here."

Grateful for getting her breath back, Billie moved her hands to relief the pressure caused by the bear hug. "Perhaps we do," she said.

The side of her hands remained in contact with his crotch. This was no time for embarrassment. "You seem very happy to see me," she said, glancing down.

"I, err ... think you are hot."

"You're not going to hurt me, are you?"

"No."

Billie steadied herself. "I've only just met you. How about we take it slow and talk?"

"Sure, sure. Shall we?" Weasel motioned her towards the couch.

Billie sat down.

Weasel sat next to her; their thighs touched.

"This is nice, like the back row at the movies. Hey, I'll put some music on."

Weasel reached out for his cell and played a music file. "Recognize it?"

Billie knew the song. "From _Fast and Furious_?"

"Yeah, I'm impressed."

He lowered the volume and set his cell phone on the side, then leaned his head against hers.

"I can imagine you wearing that green dress to our date. I'll buy you silk underwear to replace your older stuff. You have long legs, stockings would be nice."

Billie steadied her breath.

"What sort of food do you like?"

"Most things," Billie said, wondering how long Weasel spent in her apartment.

"It would need to be a flashy joint but must serve burger and fries. Then afterwards we can go back to my place. Would you like that?"

"Yes."

"I'll get it cleaned properly, but not by Rosita. We could light some scented candles before we make out. I'll buy clean sheets to make it special. We can turn the lights off if you prefer."

He kissed her neck and ran his fingers through her hair.

Billie winced and tried to move sideways, but his hug was too strong.

"In the morning, I'll make you breakfast. Hell, you could move in. It's not a bad trailer park. Some neighbors aren't too noisy. You will like it there. After all, I'll be buying an engagement ring with the dollars from this job. My mom would have liked me marrying you."

Billie tried to change the subject. "Will your friend be back soon?"

Weasel pulled at his crotch with his left hand and coughed. He nibbled at Billie's neck. "My girl," he said.

She watched his left hand rubbing his erection through the fabric of his pants.

"Slow down, leave something for our date night," she said.

"I can't stop myself."

He continued kissing Billie's neck.

She thought quickly. "Um, what make is your revolver?"

"Smith and Wesson,"

"Can I see it?"

"Later, later."

"You know, I could relax you more with my hands free."

Weasel pulled back for a moment. "I can't untie your wrists, it's a rule. Me and Taco agreed."

"You can tie them back up, afterwards. He doesn't need to know."

Weasel sniggered and glanced at the wall before speaking. "Are you sure?" His forehead creased. "This isn't a way of getting me to drop my pants, is it? Only, I've had that before at school."

Billie raised her wrists as a response. "I was thinking of a shoulder massage to relax you, it's been a stressful day. I want to save the intimacy for our date night and do things properly, in the right order."

"Oh, yes. That's okay." Weasel said. His voice trailed off.

Aware of his disappointment, Billie continued talking. "I can perform a special massage on our date night, or tonight if we leave before your friend gets back."

Weasel became animated. "Special massage? What, like a blowjob or something?"

"Err ... yes. But you'll have to wait and see. You won't be disappointed."

Billie made a fake smile as Weasel fetched out his knife and cut the plastic tie. She rubbed at her wrists.

Weasel settled himself back into the couch. "Yeah, special massage, special blow job." He brought his right arm over her shoulder and rested his hand on the side of her chest.

Billie's right hand landed on his lower chest with her left arm uncomfortably squashed into his side. Her head was pinned down below his right shoulder.

"This is nice." He rubbed his groin. "A blowjob. Yeah."

On realizing that Weasel could not hide or contain his arousal, Billie considered two things. First, he was not intending to rape her; that would have taken place by now. Second, if he jerked himself off, he would be consumed with pleasure and mess for a few seconds; enough time to grab his handgun.

"Do you want to make yourself more comfortable down there and release your stress? I don't mind," Billie said.

Without saying anything, Weasel unbuckled his belt and loosened the top of his pants. He pushed at his jeans and underpants to release his erection. Billie watched for a moment, almost in disbelief, then squeezed her eyes shut and shivered.

Weasel pulled up his shirt to bare his stomach and then began to masturbate.

He was, at least, performing the act on his own without demanding her help, Billie thought.

"I remember your bed, perfume, warm sheets, hair, and underwear. I like those camo panties."

Billie barely processed what he was saying. Instead, she opened her eyes, diverted her gaze, and concentrated on the position of her hand in proximity to the gun.

"I prefer my right hand, but the left is okay."

All Billie could think to say was, "That's a good skill."

"Yeah," Weasel said, "lots of practice." He wriggled his backside and thrust his hips upward. "Yeah a special blowjob, with stiff nipples."

Billie crept her fingers inside Weasel's jacket. His breathing was becoming shallower in line with the increased rapidity of his left hand. She touched the revolver's grip with her fingers and waited; he wasn't far off climaxing.

"Billie," he said, between breaths, "oh, Billie."

Three things happened.

Weasel reached a point of no return.

Billie grasped the revolver.

Taco opened the front door and said, "What the fuck?"

Shocked by the intrusion, Billie loosened her grip as a panicking Weasel twisted himself away from her.

She fell sideways, behind Weasel, who started to ejaculate.

"You jerking yourself off, man? What the fuck?" Taco said. He held two brown bags.

Weasel stood up and walked to the center of the room with one hand still tugging at his penis. The other hand was trying to pull up his pants.

"What's the matter with you? You're still jerking off. Christ, clean yourself up. It's all over your shirt and pants. Fuck's sake."

Weasel disappeared into the bathroom.

Billie sat up and moved away from a sticky patch on the couch fabric. She examined her t-shirt, put her hands on her knees, and waited for whatever would happen next. By remaining quiet, she hoped the men would argue, giving her a chance to make use of the distraction.

Taco placed the bags on a counter, stared at Billie, muttered to himself, and shook his head.

The toilet flushed and Weasel re-appeared. His pants and the bottom of his shirt were wet with the remnants of toilet tissue where he had cleaned himself up. He stared at the floor.

Taco opened Weasels jacket. "Was she trying to grab your gun while you were jerking off? You dumb fuck. Pow." He pointed a finger and brought his thumb down in a shooting motion.

"She's my girlfriend. We're going to have a date night with a special blowjob. She wouldn't hurt me." He turned to Billie. "You weren't trying to grab my gun, were you?"

"No," Billie said.

"There, see."

"Oh god." Taco poked Weasel's forehead with his finger. "Special blowjob. Your brain is in your dick."

Billie regarded the two men and the shift in body language. She coughed before speaking. "It was my fault. I needed to talk away from the other man."

"What about?" Taco said.

"Getting more money."

Weasel brightened on hearing Billie speak. "That's right." He gave Billie a quick grateful glance.

"How much?"

Billie said the first number that came into her head. "A hundred thousand dollars."

Taco nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, that's right," Weasel said. "We were just making out. Celebrating."

Taco was unimpressed. "Celebrating? She needs to be put back and we'll talk about it."

"She said that if we let her go, she wouldn't tell anyone." Weasel spoke faster and waved his hands around. "Our man in there can get us more cash." He nodded. "We're back on track."

Taco stood up straighter. "It don't matter, I've called my cousin, he's on his way over."

Weasel walked up and down balling his fists, his face was red. His mouth was open, but he didn't speak. Taco stepped towards him and grabbed him by the jacket collar.

"We are out of our depth. My cousin will sort out this mess. I used a friend's cell, so we're not connected with him."

"Not your cousin." Weasel reached for his gun. "Not your cousin." He began pleading with Taco. "Not your cousin."

At this, Taco grabbed and pushed Billie back into the bedroom and re-secured her wrists and ankle. He returned with two bags of food, which he threw onto the end of the bed.

After slamming the bedroom door shut, a loud argument erupted in the living room. Two minutes later, it became quiet.

"They've kissed and made up. Sounds like they are eating," Avery said as he grabbed at the food bags. "What we got here? Burger, fries, apple pie, and soda. Want some?"

Billie couldn't eat, her nerves were shredded.

Eventually Avery said, "What happened out there?"

"Taco came in just as I had hold of the gun. I nearly had it."

"Did he harm you?"

"No." Billie flushed at thinking of Weasel burglarizing her apartment.

"You're doing good, Billie, there may be another occasion. Don't go soft or feel sorry for him."

"I won't, don't worry." She moved her leg and rattled the chain. "This cousin must be a bad man. Weasel is very unhappy about it."

"We're in serious trouble and no one knows we are here." Avery rubbed his face. "Whatever happens, I'm going down fighting. Like Krantz."

Billie struggled with her emotions as Avery gave an unwelcome but truthful assessment. He didn't sound very convincing by comparing himself with the main character in his fictional book.

"Billie? Fuck them, right?" His voice betrayed no conviction in his words.

"Yeah." She wiped her eyes with her arm. A thought came to her of her father and the damage he wrecked on her mother, brother, and herself. He was a continual influence on her life, even in death. The counsellor was wrong, family photos didn't help. That retirement photo, for example, with her father staring directly at her, was ingrained in her mind. "Fuck him," she said.

A car braked heavily on the shale surface outside. Doors clunked and footsteps sounded by the front door.

Avery and Billie listened intently.

"Hi, cousin," Taco said.

"Cousin. How long is this gonna take in this shit hole salvage yard? Where are these people you need to get rid of?" The man did not hide his irritation.

## vii. Humor me, would you?

After Lil finished work, she got changed and jumped into Stratt's car. She had tried three ER's without any trace of Billie. They were soon driving towards the Latah valley.

"Which turning was it?"

Lil glanced at her cell phone. "Not this one, the next one. Um, Bolam Way."

Late afternoon was changing to early evening twilight. Lil stared out of the window and counted off the numbers. "Long way up the hill, keep going."

"Okay," Stratt said. "Do you think that asshole will invite you in again?"

"No, probably not."

"Slow down."

"That's it, just up there on the left."

Stratt brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine. Lil stepped outside and pulled at her jacket in the cool air. She walked across to the other side of the road and jumped up and down.

"No lights on inside. Just one's reflecting from the garden."

"People may see, Lil." Stratt glanced at the nearby houses. A car drove up the hill. He held Lil's arm until it passed.

Lil pressed the communication button by Avery's gate and waited.

"No one in," Stratt said. "He's out visiting another bar. Let's go."

Lil pressed the button again.

With no reply, she walked beside the fence towards the side road. Stratt, hands in pockets, walked a few feet behind her.

"Shit," she said.

"What?"

"That's Billie's motorcycle."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely." Using the flashlight in her cell phone, she looked it over. "See, the rear box."

Stratt nodded. "Yes, saw it Sunday at our barbeque. What does this mean?"

"She's in trouble. I know it."

Lil took photos of Billie's motorcycle and checked around the area. "Nothing here. The last thing she said was that asshole Joe did not want to see her. She must have stayed or returned."

"Could she have climbed over the fence?"

"Too law-abiding. Must be by the front door. But that was yesterday. She should have gone home by now."

"Unless," Stratt said.

"You back to that?"

"Your man was very handsy, and she's a fit young woman. Not much of a looker, but to an older man ..." Stratt's voice faded.

"Thanks, Sherlock."

"It's possible."

"Not Billie. More likely she could have been drugged and tied up inside."

"What do we do? The cops won't do anything, what can we say to them?"

Lil tapped her mouth. "Push me over the fence."

"Lil, you can't just burglarize the place."

"Stratt. Just push me over will you."

He chose not to say any more and stood by the fence with his fingers interlaced.

As Lil put her right boot into Stratt's hands, he hoisted her up. She grasped the top of the fence and bent her knee onto Stratt's shoulder. He wobbled with the effort as Lil stuck her other knee into his neck.

Lil pulled herself up and leaned her weight on the top of the fence. With Stratt's help, she shifted her legs over to the other side and dropped down.

"Lil, okay?" Stratt said.

"Yep, be back in a sec."

Stratt regained his breath as he leaned back against the fence panel.

Lil moved cautiously along in the dark, keeping away from the solar-powered garden lights.

She found her way to the large living room windows. The house was in darkness. She tried to look inside by placing a hand over her eyes but gave up. Her cell flashlight did the trick.

"Fuck," she said on seeing the ransacked room.

She studied the interior. It was difficult, as her flashlight reflected off the tinted glass. No bodies and no signs of blood.

The kitchen door and front door were locked. Groper Joe's car was in its parking space.

She returned to the fence. "Stratt, Stratt."

"Yeah, Lil you okay?"

"Something's gone on here. I'll see if I can open the front gate. Go around, bring your flashlight from the car."

Finding the quick release button by the gate, Lil waited for Stratt to appear with the large flashlight.

"Lil," he said, quietly. "We're trespassing, they'll think we are burglarizing."

"Gimme the flashlight."

She walked back to the living room windows and stepped back and forth, moving the stronger beam slowly around the room. She examined the damaged Kama sutra pictures, the Halloween masks and the papers and garbage strewn on the floor. Her gaze went to the cover and pages of the porn magazine near to the window, then across to the two-page spread on Avery.

"Motherfucker?" she mouthed to herself.

A fastened zip tie lay on the floor. Lil's eyes narrowed when she saw the plastic had been cut through.

Stratt joined her and peered through the window.

"Looks like he's had a party with hookers."

Lil turned and keeping the beam down so as not to alert the neighbors, walked around the garden. The step ladder lay on its side, and a short distance away a canister of mace.

"What Lil?" Stratt said.

Ignoring him, she went over to the nearby fence. There were scrape marks on the panel, and the grass underneath had been the site of a struggle.

Lil turned, sniffed the air and turned off the flashlight.

"What, Lil?" Stratt said again. He constantly looked around as if waiting for the cops to appear.

"Back to the car," she said in a monotone voice.

"Thank god," Stratt said.

They drove down the hill and parked, only then did Lil talk.

"Something's gone on inside. People been tied up, but no signs of blood or victims."

"Bit intense, Lil, been reading your crime novels again? Sure it wasn't a hooker party? He looked the type to blow his money on whoring and drugs."

"Yes, but where is Billie in all this?" Lil took out her cell. "Where did she say she worked?"

"Some huge industrial estate east of town, near the river."

Lil pressed a speed dial. "Hi Sally? Can you do me a favor? Thanks. Take me ages on my cell. Can you look up a large industrial estate, east of town? What was its name? It has its own security building. Mill something." She held the phone away from her face. "Sal is looking it up on the Crankshaft's laptop."

Stratt nodded.

"Yes, yes, that's it, Millennium. Phone number of security? Yes. Hang on."

Lil took a pen and pad out of her purse and handed it to Stratt.

"Go on Sal." She spoke out the number.

"Thanks, Sal. No, I'm off tomorrow. See you. Bye."

Without speaking, Lil phoned the number and pressed the loudspeaker.

" _Millennium security. Vincent speaking_."

"Hello? Yes. My name is Lil and I'm a friend of Billie, she's a security guard with you, I believe."

" _She works here, yes. What business do you have with her?_ "

"I wanted to get an urgent message to her."

" _She's off sick at the moment_."

"Oh. I lost her address."

" _I can't tell you that, miss. It's against our rules._ "

"Oh."

" _Is Billie okay?_ " Vincent said.

"I'm not sure. She won't answer her cell."

" _May I ask, how you know her?_ "

Lil touched her lip. "It's to do with a missing person. She came to see me the other day."

" _Listen, Lil was it?_ "

"Yes."

" _Billie doesn't have any friends_."

"I know. Look, I won't bullshit you, Vincent. I've found her motorcycle parked in a street and she's not with it. I'm concerned about her safety."

" _Whereabouts?_ "

"Latah Valley."

" _Doesn't sound like a place she would go to_."

"All I wanted to do was check she's at home. Her motorcycle may have broken down and there is a simple explanation."

Vincent breathed heavily on the phone. " _I have a soft spot for Billie, she's a good person. Could do better than working here. Hold on_." There were some static sounds. " _Boss is not around. I'll tell you where her apartment block is, but not the number. If you see her, tell her the boss is not happy with her absence_."

"Thanks, Vincent."

He told them the zip code and the apartment name.

Stratt inputted the code into his GPS, and a while later they pulled up outside Billie's apartment block.

Lil veered past a mattress left out on a set of steps as she ascended each level and checked every front door. "At least it's not a high rise. We've walked past every front door. None look like they have been burglarized. No windows broken or anything like that. She could be anywhere."

"Come on, Lil, let's go back."

"Hang on Stratt, hang on."

A woman came out of an apartment.

"Excuse me," Lil said.

"Yes?"

"I'm looking for a friend, she rides a motorcycle, do you know her?"

"The motorcycle girl?"

"That'll be her."

"Second floor, an apartment in the middle near the stairs."

"Thank you."

They walked down one level.

"Probably this one," Lil said, "the door is clean."

She knocked repeatedly, but there was no reply. She rang Billie's cell and leaned her ear to the door. "Nothing ringing inside."

"What do you want to do?" Stratt said.

Lil leaned over the rail and watched the scene below. Cars driving along and people walking by.

"I'm not happy. Something is wrong." She tapped her fingers on the rail.

"You've only known her a few days, Lil. She's a big girl, may have a boyfriend or be doing something which she hasn't told you about."

"No."

"What about her brother, has she gone after him?"

"No. She doesn't know where he is, except perhaps Tucson."

"Well, what then?"

"Hold on, I'm thinking."

Stratt shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarette, which he offered to Lil. She clamped it between her fingers and waved it in the air as she spoke.

"Pizza delivery was here. The man mentioned you, and we gathered that he followed you from the salvage yard. He said something to Billie about getting money before the foreclosure."

"So? We talked about this before. It's all over."

"Scuff marks on the fence, cut off zip ties, an upmarket ransacked house with a crude penis drawing. The magazine with the authors disappearance. Immature men. Billie's brother."

"This isn't a Nancy Drew mystery."

"Stratt, we need to swing past the yard. It's deserted, a perfect hideout or meeting place."

"Come on, Lil, that's a stretch, and the lawyer advised me not to go near the place."

"Humor me, would you?"

Stratt huffed before speaking. "Okay, if it will keep you happy. But I need to eat first," he said, patting his belly.

## viii. The cousin

Billie sensed an immediate change in atmosphere. The cousin was swarthy with brown eyes. Though slightly darker skinned than Taco and similar facially, this man exuded violence. Tattoos adorned his fingers, hands, and neck. He seemed unable to stand still and stared at Avery, then Billie, as if he was going to shoot them. Weasel and Taco squeezed in behind. A thick-necked black man stood outside in the corridor.

"How much you get?" the cousin said.

Billie watched the men with growing dread. They stared at her, their gaze roving over her face and body. Her hopes of Weasel and Taco making errors and offering another escape attempt had passed. She thought of her brother and wished anything done to her would be quick.

"Yeah," Weasel said. "Fifteen grand. There was a few dollars in the safe."

"Where is the money?" The cousin said. He winked at Taco.

"In a dumpster, but we had to lie low before going back. Too many cops," Weasel said.

The cousin turned his head and motioned to the large man outside the room.

He produced a black backpack which he unzipped to reveal bundles of $100 bills. "Do you mean this?"

Weasel stared at the money, mouth open.

The cousin glanced inside the bag. "Lots of dollars. Fifteen thousand, in fact."

"How did you know?" Weasel said.

The cousin snorted and slapped Taco's shoulder.

Taco's face became an embarrassed red color. "We needed help. I had to tell him what happened," Taco said. "We were stuck. He can help us."

Weasel went to speak but stuttered and kept his mouth open.

"Finished trying to talk?" the cousin said.

"We can ring his sister. He's promised more money," Weasel said.

"Ring his mother for all I care." The man grinned. "I thought you boys wanted to step up? Fifteen thousand? That's chump change. Now, if we are done, step aside."

Avery spoke up. "I can get you a hundred grand." His voice betrayed his stress.

"We need to clean up this mess," the cousin said, ignoring Avery.

"We were spotted. Cops would have been alerted, it was too risky to do anything else," Weasel said.

"Yeah, and his car is registered to his neighbor," Taco said, drawing strength from standing by his cousin.

"I've burned the car, sort of." Weasel's voice trailed off.

The cousin glanced at Weasel disapprovingly. "Because of your juvenile actions, you're both facing kidnapping and shooting charges. That's twenty to thirty years, minimum. But with some imagination, I can cover your tracks, cousin. Keep your parents happy. But you, jerk off faggot boy, will need to disappear from Spokane."

"He fucks his cleaner, I've seen her leaving his place." Taco spoke more confidently in his cousin's presence.

"Really?"

"She's fat with a mustache."

The cousin shook his head.

Weasel's face was thunder. He wiped his hands down his pants and repeatedly licked his lips.

Taco left the room and returned with Weasel's shoulder bag. "Yeah, and he takes pictures."

The cousin looked inside the bag. "Taken any of us?"

"No, no, it's just blackmail jobs."

"We don't do this shit. Evidence, the cops go straight for it. Cornelius," he said and passed the bag outside the room.

There was a grunt of, "Boss."

Weasel watched as Cornelius bent his laptop in half between his huge hands. The screen splintered, and plastic shards fell onto the floor. He released the SD card from the camera and snapped it between thick fingers. The camera was thrown down and stamped on.

"Cell phone," the cousin said.

The cousin put a hand on Weasel's chest. "Don't think of any retribution. Give us your cell phone. No running away and phoning the cops."

Reluctantly Weasel took out his cell. Cornelius gave it the same treatment as the laptop.

Billie saw Weasel visibly crumple as he watched the last of his gadgets being destroyed.

"Be cool, Weasel. Take this as a lesson. But see, this is gonna cost you fifteen grand."

"That leaves us nothing," Weasel said, speaking louder than he wanted to.

"Getting a little upsy?" the cousin said. He grabbed Weasel by his jacket. "Consider that your first lesson. These two," he nodded towards Avery and Billie, "they should have been separated, stripped, and both legs bound. You boys are too caring."

He spoke in a way that was not meant to be contradicted. "This is what will happen." He pointed to Avery. "Put him in the other room and leave her on the bed. Taco can fuck her. Cocksucking faggot boy, you take the man into the other room and keep your hands off your dick."

Taco grinned.

"Cornelius?"

"Boss?"

"They've a car crusher here. Find tarps or carpet. We'll torch this place afterwards." He waggled his hands. "Too many fingerprints."

Weasel stood, dumbstruck, and stared at Billie. Physically agitated, he was snapped out of his demeanor by the pistol thrust into his neck.

"Do what I say and all will be good." The cousin stared into Weasel's eyes. "Hand over your tin pistol." He paused for a moment, then shouted, "Now."

Weasel jumped in surprise and fear.

The muscles in the cousin's neck were taught and his face serious. He pressed the gun further into Weasel's neck.

Billie's stomach sunk. This was a dangerous man who asserted his authority through violence.

Weasel took off his jacket and undid his shoulder holster which contained his revolver.

"Give it to Taco."

Weasel handed it over.

Taco hung the strap over his shoulder. It would never fit him, even if the last belt hole was used. But the gun was in a position where he could reach it.

"That's a good Weasel." The cousin slapped Weasel on the cheek.

"Yes, sir," Weasel said, spluttering his words.

The cousin stuck his gun back in his waistband. "Right, faggot boy, take this man into the other room. Wait with him until we have finished here. Is that clear?"

"Yes, yes, sir," Weasel said.

Weasel cut the plastic tie around Avery's ankle and dragged him to standing, using more aggression than he had previously used. Avery groaned in pain and discomfort as he was led into the living room. Taco closed the bedroom door and stood with his cousin, studying Billie.

## ix. You work for me now

The cousin jerked his thumb towards the door.

"That fucking Weasel. Why do you hang with him?"

"Been okay." He stared at his feet, then at his cousin, who watched him closely. "But he's a lightweight, always got plans which never work. Unlike you."

The cousin grunted. "You work for me now. Proper work." He motioned around the room. "None of this bullshit. Faggot boy is going to the crusher as well when we finish here."

He walked to the side of the bed.

"Now to our princess."

Billie kicked out as frantically as she could.

"Hey, she's a wild one. Grab her ankles."

The cousin grasped Billie's thighs while Taco gripped her ankles.

She waved her bound wrists around until the cousin applied pressure on the zip tie. He lifted her wrists upwards until her arms were over her head. With Taco's weight on her shins, she could only await her fate. She turned her head away from the men and said, "One, two, three, four," over and over to herself.

The cousin grinned as he groped and rubbed his free hand roughly over her crotch. He then shoved a hand inside her t-shirt and groped her breasts.

Taco stared in surprise, shock, and admiration.

"Now," the cousin said, pinching Billie's chin, "you will be a good girl for my cousin here. No more kicking. You hurt him, I hurt you, okay?" He lightly slapped Billie's cheek.

She nodded.

"Taco, I've warmed her up. Over to you."

Taco hesitated. His hands continued to hold Billie's legs.

"Look upon it as an initiation test."

Taco remained where he was.

There was a loud shout from outside the room.

"Sounds like Weasel has found his faggot spot. Come on, Taco, move your large ass. Take off her pants."

Billie felt the pressure lessen on her legs. Taco's hand went to her knee as he walked himself around the side of the bed.

There was a half-hearted attempt at trying to unbuckle her belt.

"Come on. Hurry up. Got something else to do tonight."

Once the belt was freed, Taco undid the top button and pulled down the zip.

Billie shuddered and turned her hips.

The cousin pushed her arms further above her head. "Lay down."

Billie turned back.

"That's better. Now, get ready to receive some hot Taco sauce."

Fingers curled around the top of her jeans. There was a weak attempt at dragging them down.

"Come on, Taco, if it was food, you'd have no trouble grabbing it. Jesus."

His fingers took a more determined grip.

Billie breathed out and bit her lip. Taco pulled her jeans down beyond her backside. Thankfully, her underpants had barely moved.

The cousin shook his head. "Christ, Taco."

There was a sound of fighting outside the room, followed by grunts and groans.

"No, no," Weasel shouted out.

"What's he doing?" the cousin said, tilting his head towards Taco.

Taco opened the door.

The cousin continued to hold Billie's wrist restraints while staring through the doorway.

Taco joined the scuffle and within seconds a single shot was fired. The sound cracked and reverberated around the mobile home.

The cousin dropped Billie's hands, and ran to the door.

Billie brought down her arms. She slid herself across the bed to get a better look. The men were in the corridor by the front door a few feet from the bedroom.

Avery was on the floor with the two other men kneeling and trying to subdue him. Taco was wrestling with Avery's hand, which grasped Weasel's revolver. The weapon pointed in every direction as Taco tried to gain control.

Billie ducked back at seeing the cousin pull out a knife.

Avery screamed in pain.

As the gun dropped from his hand, the men piled on top of him.

"Get him up. Madre María. It's like dealing with juveniles."

As Avery was brought to his feet, his right-hand dripped blood. Billie's shirt had loosened during the fracas and lay on the floor. He fleetingly glanced towards Billie. Standing in his underpants, with two bloody holes in his thigh, his stare was of a defeated man about to be taken to the gallows.

"I'm taking him to the crusher. Taco you fuck the girl, then wait here for my call. We'll torch this place. Faggot boy," he poked Weasel in the chest, "you stay here until I say you can leave." He turned to Taco. "You got all that, cousin?"

"Yes, cousin," Taco said. He glanced at Weasel.

The cousin grabbed Avery and shoved him out of the door. "Fucking kids," he said as he went outside.

As soon as the cousin left, Billie waited for Weasel and Taco to start fighting. Instead, Taco told Weasel to sit down and keep out the way.

Billie lay back and rested her arms. Her shoulder joints felt like they had nearly been pulled out of their sockets. Taco would be returning any moment to continue the assault. She pulled at her underpants, wriggled her jeans back into a comfortable position and re-buckled the belt.

Her pulse had risen and lowered so often in the last few hours that her head thumped. She tried to control her breathing, but the anticipation of what would happen next made it difficult. Fear and despair replaced any steadying thoughts of Jeffrey, Lil, or sunrise in winter.

She stood up on shaky legs and made it into the toilet. Dry retching, she splashed water over her face.

Footsteps sounded outside.

Billie returned to the bed and waited for her fate.

## x. Have business to do

Taco walked in and shut the door. He stood and stared at Billie, his hands hanging at his side. His mouth was open, and his gaze went everywhere except at her. Weasel's chest holster dug into his chest as he breathed.

Billie sat back against the headboard. If he came near her, she would kick and punch him before he could use his weight to his advantage.

Taco glanced back at the bedroom door.

His cell phone rang. He stared at the display, licked his bottom lip, and answered the call.

"Cousin? Yeah, yeah. Yes, change of plan, okay."

He turned and left the room.

Billie jumped up, crept to the door, and listened to Taco speaking to Weasel.

"I'm, I'm going outside, got a job to do. Hold on here until I get a call from my cousin. Okay?"

Instead of a reply from Weasel, she heard Taco's heavy footsteps leaving through the front door.

Billie got on her knees and rubbed the side of the zip ties along the bottom rail of the bed. It barely made a mark.

The door opened, making her scramble to the side of the bed.

Weasel entered. It was a relief to see him, compared with the others. His face showed signs of injury and his clothes were disheveled. Dry semen stains were evident on his shirt.

He stared at her; it was a look of defeat.

"What happened out there?" she said.

"We had a fight and he grabbed the gun off Taco."

Billie gauged his mood. "Are you hurt? Do you need first aid?"

Weasel shrugged his shoulders. "Taco's got my gun and holster." He almost spat out the words when he mentioned Taco. "He's making sure we go to the crusher. All my gadget stuff is in pieces. This was only meant to be a quick job."

"Can we escape? What about our date night?" Billie said, as brightly as she could manage.

Weasel gaped at her in a way which Billie took as an embarrassed yearning. That was good. She pulled at the bottom of the t-shirt, making the material tighten against her breasts. "We don't have long. Erm..."

Billie's voice trailed off as she sniffed the air. There was a pungent smell of gasoline.

"Can you smell that?" she said.

"What?"

"Gas or fuel or something."

Weasel made no reply. He appeared too consumed with his own thoughts.

Was Taco setting fire to the place? Shit to fuck. Billie bend down and yanked at her ankle chain. Her voice became urgent. "We need to get out of here."

"You and me?" Weasel said. "Yeah, yeah." He nodded. "Yeah, show Taco the traitor and his cousin."

"Yes. You'll show them."

"I'll show them, get the cash back and protect my girl. We can run away and get married. Seattle is nice this time of year."

Billie tried to make sense of Weasel's shift in tone. It was as if a lightbulb had switched on or off in his brain, she couldn't say which.

"You are the only real man here," Billie said.

"Am I?" he said, grinning.

He pulled out his knife and cut through the zip ties on her wrists and around the ankle chain. Before he changed his mind, Billie pushed her feet into her boots, and grabbed her motorcycle jacket off the floor.

"Are you my girl, Billie?"

Billie smelled another waft of gas. Expecting Weasel to move, she walked forward, but he put both his arms around her waist and rocked his hips from side to side.

Now pressed up against him, Billie felt her heart beating. Weasel kissed her neck while rubbing her backside. Her hands dangled by her side, and she considered punching him and making a run for it. Instead, she spoke. "We could bring date night forward to tonight? Don't forget the special massage?"

"Roses, I'll need to buy you roses."

Billie concentrated on how to respond to Weasel, as he appeared to have climbed out of his fog. Apart from the need to leave the mobile home, there may be a possibility she could escape with him out of the yard and take her chances then.

"Don't forget the condoms," Billie said. She pushed forward against Weasel, but again, he didn't move.

"Yes, yes, have to wear protection. I have some at home already," he said. "Full sex tonight and that special blowjob you promised, I can't wait. I've still got plenty left in the tank."

He kissed her forcibly on the mouth. Billie held her lips together and breathed steadily through her nose.

Weasel released her. "My girl," he said, "but I've got to do something first."

He took her arm and led her out of the bedroom. Billie glanced around. Weasel's shoulder bag lay on the floor together with the mangled remains of his equipment. Wet blood stains on the carpet, together with her discarded shirt tourniquet, were testament to Avery's last stand.

It was a huge relief to make it outside, made even more so by the sight of Taco.

He was sloshing gas from a dirty red fuel can onto the side wall of the mobile home, right by the bedroom. Stacks of newspaper were piled against the wooden base.

Taco looked up. "What are you doing? You're supposed to stay inside."

This must have been the change of plan Taco mentioned during his cell phone conversation with his cousin. He was told to set fire to the mobile home while she was chained up inside. It was a shocking thought, but she must not allow herself to lose focus.

Weasel spoke up. "You can play with your little fire, but we're going to the crusher. Got business to do."

Billie felt Weasel release her arm.

Taco put down the gas can and grabbed out his cell. "Wait. I have to tell my cousin."

"You in charge now? You joining your cousin, then?" Weasel said.

"Yes."

"So, we are finished?"

"Seems like it."

Billie tweaked her nose at the smell and stepped back on seeing Taco fidget with a Zippo lighter.

"We're eloping. Going to get married."

"Wait." Taco turned and stared towards the end of the yard and the car crusher. He pressed a speed dial.

Weasel slapped the phone out of his hand.

"What?" Taco said as he stared at his empty hand.

Weasel rushed at him and yanked the revolver out of the shoulder holster.

"You wanna shoot me?" Taco said.

Weasel's hand shook as he aimed the gun at Taco's chest.

"You and your plans. Like my cousin says. You are just a cock-sucking faggot boy."

Despite his weight, Taco surged towards Weasel in a fast movement and grabbed at the revolver. The men heaved and pushed at each other as they tussled for the gun.

Unable to step out of the way in time, the men knocked Billie sideways as they hissed and grunted in their efforts.

There was no mistaking the crack of a single shot.

Billie jumped at the noise and shock of the scene.

Taco stepped forward then fell to his knees. "You shot me."

He held his chest with one hand and stared at Weasel as he grasped the side of the oil drum. He fell forward, face down. Billie noticed the lighter laying on the gas-soaked newspaper. It was clicked shut.

Weasel stared at Taco's body for a moment, then turned to Billie. He stood up straight, revolver in hand and grinned. In the dim light of the shadows, his eyes were wild.

Billie remained rooted to the spot, uncertain what to do. Before she could decide, Weasel grabbed her arm and moved forward at a fast pace. Walking briskly to keep up, she knew they were not making their way to the exit gate.

She had to escape.

Weasel was set on a deadly course of action. Having shot Avery earlier, and now his best friend, his hesitance was overcome; he had stepped up.

As they neared the car crusher area, Billie heard the diesel engine start up. Her throat became dry and her legs felt like lead.

Weasel stopped walking. He dug his fingers into Billie's arm and pointed the revolver at her.

"Don't let me down, Billie."

"No, I won't. Why don't we get out of here? Elope. Date night?"

"Have business to do first."

## xi. Are you my girl?

As they continued walking, Billie felt Weasel's grip loosen. Wrenching herself sideways, she squirmed out of his grip, and ran towards a nearby car wreck. She squatted down and moved alongside the vehicle as quietly as possible.

"Billie?" Weasel spoke out. "Billie?" His voice was loud and firm.

Billie figured Weasel was on the other side of the car, so sprinted in the opposite direction. With the fatigue of the day, she stumbled as she ran to the next row of vehicles. It didn't take much for Weasel to find her. He appeared out of the gloom with his revolver levelled at her chest.

"Were you going to leave me? Run away?"

"No, no. I'm afraid. I'm afraid for both of us."

"Have you been stringing me along? Did you try to grab my gun when we were on the couch?"

"No, no."

"Am I a cocksucker or faggot?"

"No, no, you are a straight err ... virile man."

Weasel nodded and lowered the gun. "You're my girl. Say it."

Billie stood up. Her shoulders slumped as she spoke. "I'm your girl."

"Louder."

Billie raised her voice. "I'm your girl."

"Good, good." His face creased in thought. "I've shot my best friend because of his cousin. I'm going to kill that sonofabitch and take the money."

"We could run out of here."

"Too late for that, Billie." He tilted his neck. "You've got to ask yourself a question." He walked off, pulling Billie behind him, a grim expression on his face.

With twenty yards to go, Billie first tried talking to Weasel, but he would not reply. As she dug her heels into the ground, he stopped and grasped her chin between his thumb and fingers. "Billie. I don't want to hurt you." He licked his lips. "But I need to get the money so we can elope. I need my girl at my side."

Billie felt the gun barrel poke into her ribs. She recoiled and breathed hard.

"My girl?" Weasel said.

Billie nodded.

Weasel slipped the gun into his jacket pocket, put a hand behind her back and frog marched her through the open gate. The car crusher's engine throbbed in anticipation of their arrival.

Billie could not take in the scene, lit up under the faint glow of Stratt's solar powered lights. Weasel's Dodge was positioned four feet from the crusher at a sideways angle. Its trunk was open. Scorch marks around the roof were evidence of Weasel's failure to set fire to the vehicle.

Nearby, the tractor's door was open, and the prongs were extended to its maximum height. Weasel must have abandoned it mid maneuver. Beyond the tractor, the backpack lay on the ground by the crusher controls.

As Billie's eyes adjusted to the gloom, she froze. A rolled-up length of tarp lay inside the back of the trunk.

The cousin appeared from the shadows and stood a few feet from the Dodge. Appearing confused at first, he smiled, reached around and pulled out his pistol.

"Where's Taco?" His voice was barely audible above the engine noise.

"Taco's back there, setting fire to the place," Weasel said. "He let me out. I'm leaving with my girl, but I want all the cash."

"Really?" The cousin shook his head and aimed his weapon at Weasels chest. With his free hand, he pulled out his cell phone from his pocket and kept one eye on Weasel and the other on his attempt to call Taco. Gaining no reply, he replaced his cell. "That dipshit Taco." He spat on the ground. "Anyway. You ain't getting no cash. Watch this."

The cousin waved his hand at Cornelius. The big man squeezed his bulk into the tractors cabin and clawed at the controls with his bear-sized hands. The tractor's prongs lowered as he drove the machine around in an arc towards the Dodge.

"You are a useless motherfucker," the cousin said raising his voice. "You couldn't even dispose of your faggot automobile."

Weasel remained silent as Billie tensed ready to run.

The cousin pointed his gun at Billie. "Thinking of running, girlie?" He angled the gun and fired.

Billie jumped at the sound and crunch of dirt a foot away from her.

The cousin's eyes widened, and a broad smile broke out on his face. "You have a girl? And I thought you were a cocksucker." His face became serious. "Now up with those hands. I don't trust you."

Weasel touched the side of his jacket pocket before raising his hands.

The cousin glanced at the Dodge. "Say goodbye to your car and that motherfucker inside. "Girlie?" he said, pointing his gun at Billie. "Step over to the trunk."

Billie felt the heat of foreboding searing down her spine. Was this it, the end? She glanced at the sky and listened to the cars zooming along the freeway. A train clanked in the distance full of people going about their business.

"Come on, girly. Over to the trunk."

Weasel placed his hand on Billie's shoulder. "Billie, you're my girl. I'll always love you."

She ignored him and walked towards the car. The cousin grinned.

Billie stood by the trunk and stared at the rolled-up tarp. There was no movement. Avery was dead, and she would be joining him. Her legs wobbled, and she believed her heart would burst out of her chest. The cousin fired a shot into the ground behind her.

"Please, leave her," Weasel said.

The cousin spat on the ground.

"Close the trunk and step back," the cousin said waving his gun at her.

Billie reached up, shut the trunk lid, and returned to Weasel's side.

The cousin fired twice into the trunk, then nodded towards Cornelius.

The tractor moved forward and with crude movements raised the car sufficiently to shove it into the crusher. Cornelius reversed the tractor backwards in a semi-circle, placing it near Billie and Weasel. He pulled himself out of the cabin and walked over to the control panel.

"Move nearer so you can see. Because afterwards you and your girlfriend will be getting into one of them other cars. Crush, crush."

Weasel and Billie walked forward a few feet towards the cousin.

"Here's the best bit," the cousin said. "Okay, Cornelius."

The big man thumbed a button, at which the engine throbbed louder as the pistons took the strain and the crushing plate started its downward journey.

It was of no consequence now, Billie realized, but Cornelius did not break the roof struts like Stratt had done before starting the crusher. As the top plate made contact with the Dodge, its roof took the weight and the car's body pressed down onto its tires.

The cousin glanced back at the crusher, at which point, Billie noticed, Weasel's hand moved quickly. Within seconds the revolver was out of his pocket and being held behind his back. "Run," he said in a low voice.

He held up his free hand and said, "Can we talk this through? I know I made mistakes."

The cousin shouted, but his voice was drowned by the sudden screeching of the pistons.

A shot, barely audible, sounded out.

Weasel stumbled, momentarily, then stood back up. He made a quick sideways movement, raised his revolver and began shooting.

Billie ran behind the tractor as gunfire erupted, she believed, from all three men. A bullet zinged off the side of the tractor. Billie felt a zip of movement across her arm followed by a line of white-hot pain. Instinct took over. She ducked and sprinted towards a pancaked pile of crushed cars on the far side, away from the crusher. A bullet whipped through the air, someway off to her left.

Positioning herself behind a car, she kneeled and took a series of deep breaths. She waited a moment before daring to peek out. Though she could not see anyone, that did not mean she was safe. Far from it.

Cornelius was not standing by the console, so must have teamed up with the cousin. They could be behind the tractor, reloading. She would not hear their approach.

Billie changed position and scrutinized the area in front of the crusher. From the different angle, if she didn't know any better, she believed she saw the soles of two black shoes.

She carefully stepped forward to another vantage point behind a sedan. It was one of Stratt's wrecks spared from the crusher.

Cornelius was face down on the ground like a pole-axed giant. His jacket was rucked up and a gun lay in his open hand.

The sound of screeching metal from the car crusher had not registered with Billie. Now, that was all she could hear. The top plate bore down onto the bulk of the car. Its roof had been flattened and was level with the door handles. The tires had popped, but the Dodge was resisting the impact.

Billie needed to make a choice. Hide, run or arm herself? Weasel or the cousin may appear at any moment. Running to the exit gate would mean being exposed. The cousin would shoot without hesitation. As for Weasel, he was capable of anything.

One of the crusher's pistons screeched in complaint at its burden. The noise intruded on Billie's attempt at rationalizing what to do next. Carefully, she crept towards the console and pressed the auto up button. The ramp squealed on disengaging itself from the Dodge. Billie then hit the emergency button, making the engine splutter to a halt.

An eerie silence settled on the yard. This, Billie hoped, would allow her to hear footsteps. She crouched by the side of the crusher, moving her head back and forth. There were plenty of shadowy areas for hiding or stalking her position.

Her gaze was drawn to Cornelius's hand, and the pistol settled between his fingers. It looked like a Glock.

Was there anything she could use instead of a gun? A few lengths of metal tubing lay near her feet; but they were too light. She leaned forward and to the side and grabbed one of the tire irons from the shelf under the crusher console. Stratt, despite her initial impression of him, was tidy in the workplace.

She spat on the ground and grasped the tire iron. It would only work in close quarters.

"Fuck it," she said.

Dropping the tire iron, she darted forward, and grabbed Cornelius's gun. In one movement, she ran around the back of the tractor and crouched. First blowing out a breath, she examined the weapon, released the clip, checked it, then clicked it back in. It was a Glock 17, a heavier, larger weapon than the Glock 30 her father owned. The "family weapon," as her father called it, was the one she and Jeffrey fired in the woods during their soldier's drills.

She grasped the gun with her right hand, felt the weight and allowed her forefinger to lightly pull back the outer trigger. The Glock's safety was now disengaged. With the weapon extended in front of her, she flexed her hips, softened her knees, and brought up her left hand to clasp her right. She moved forward in the "soldier's stance," as taught by her father.

With light steps, she edged around the tractor. She pointed the gun to her left and right, then back to the middle. Continuing, she zigzagged her way across to a pile of junk car parts and squatted.

Peering over the brow of the metal heap, she scanned the area in front of her for movement and sounds in the shadows. Of note were the mound of used tires, and Stratt's metal storage container beyond that.

Moving sideways, she entered a darker patch of ground on the edge of the solar lights' glare. Pausing to allow her eyes to settle, she re-gripped the gun and moved forward.

It was when she approached the tires that she saw Weasel. His crumpled body lay on its side. Patches of blood shimmered in the dark material of his jacket. Billie went to check his health but stepped back on seeing a pool of blood soaking into the ground.

"I hope you are at peace," Billie said.

"Cornelius?" The cousin's voice, loud but strained, cut through the air.

Billie took up her stance again and waited.

"Cornelius? I need help, man."

The voice came from behind the metal shed.

Controlling her breathing, Billie could see that the area beyond the shed was receiving light.

As she swept around the corner of the shed, the first thing she saw was the cousin's legs. He lay on his back, clutching at the center of his chest. His shirt was soaked in blood.

"Hey Cornelius? Is that you? Get me out of here."

His gun lay beyond reach. Dropped as he staggered and fell.

Billie stood beside him and pointed the gun at his chest.

"Hey it's you, the bitch. Fucking bitch." He moved his head from side to side. "Go on, finish me, you fucking whore bitch."

The cousin coughed. It was a raking cough, making him grab at his chest. He brought up one of his bloody hands and stared up at her. "What are you waiting for?"

Billie caressed the trigger.

Within that moment, her father's voice came to her. "Shoot with purpose and determination, Wilhelmina."

She shifted the weight on her feet and relaxed her shoulders. Her gaze moved from the man's contorted face to his chest.

The cousin coughed again. "It hurts, it hurts."

Billie blinked and bit her bottom lip. Is that what her mother said in the garage when staring up at her father?

She squeezed the trigger gently, feeling its resistance.

Had her father stood like this, with his grandfather's revolver, whilst reliving a memory of battle? The triumphant pursuer watching the death of an enemy?

The cousin's breathing rattled in his chest and his hands shook.

Billie brought the gun in line with the center of his forehead.

Then a thought hit her. When her father's battlefield mist cleared, he would have seen his wife laying on the cold garage floor. Within the seconds that followed, he must have rationalized the consequences. The effect on the children, arrest, a court case, jail, and humiliation. He saw only one way out.

Billie released her finger from the trigger and lowered the gun. Stepping back, she left the man mumbling to himself.

It was over.

## xii. Time to call the cops

As she wandered back towards the crusher, Billie wondered how to call the cops. She was not touching any of the men to find their cell phones. Best to get to the main gate and wave down a car.

Before leaving the area, she glanced over at the crusher and the flattened Dodge with Avery's body inside.

The lower half of the vehicle was intact at least.

She coughed on inhaling metallic dust in the air. After dropping Cornelius's gun by his body, she walked over to the car.

In frustration, she lifted her foot and kicked out at the side of the Dodge.

"Aagh," she shouted out. "Fucking aagh."

Exhaustion, stress, relief; the emotion didn't matter. Unable to move for the moment, Billie leaned back against the car. It creaked and made a popping sound.

A light wind blew across the yard. Billie wiped at her eyes and blew her nose between her fingers. This would take a lot of explaining. And for what? A little bit of information which was of no real use in finding her brother. What a bloody mess.

The car creaked.

She leaned her head towards the trunk and listened intently.

There was that creaking, scratching noise again.

Was it a shuffle or a moan?

No way.

She banged repeatedly on the side of the car, then stopped. Yes, it was a muffled shout.

"Hold on, Avery, hold on."

The tractor's engine started up first time and after two stuttering movements, she drove over to the Dodge, careful not to go near Cornelius's body. She slotted the tractor's arms underneath the car and reversed a few feet. Once the Dodge was lowered to the ground, she examined the trunk. The crushing ramp had compressed its lid, but it was possible part of the main cavity was intact. She grabbed a tire iron. With effort, she grunted and swore as she manipulated the edge of the tool inside a small tear in the bodywork. Once the hole was expanded, she worked the tire iron up and down. With a final physical effort, the trunk lid was freed, and she yanked it open.

The tarp was wedged into the back of the trunk. One end of it moved in a wriggling motion.

"Hi, hey, help, please," Avery shouted, "I can get more money, anything."

Billie reached out and touched the middle of the tarp. She wasn't sure which end was his head or feet. "It's me, Billie. The men have, err ... gone. I'm the only one here. It's okay now. I'm getting you out."

"Thank Christ," Avery said with tearful relief in his voice. "Thank Christ."

Billie leaned to one side to allow light to shine inside the trunk. She saw two round holes in the bottom panel, two inches away from the tarp. The cousin had missed by the nearest fraction, or Avery had shifted inside the trunk.

Whatever, the man was alive.

Billie tugged at one end of the tarp but could barely move it. The crumpled body work had squeezed him like a vice. This would be an arduous task.

"Jesus Christ," a man's voice boomed out.

Billie turned. Stratt stood in disbelief, his hands outstretched. He shouted back into the main yard and put his hand out. Billie guessed that Lil was following behind. "Stop, you don't want to see this."

"Billie, you okay?" Stratt said.

Surprised and relieved that Stratt and Lil had found her, Billie hesitated before speaking, "Yeah, need help here," she said.

He could not take his eyes off Cornelius as he approached her. "What the hell happened?" he said, looking her up and down.

Billie shook her head. "Help me first. He's inside I can't lift him out."

Stratt was quizzical until he saw the roll of tarp. He reached in, and with an effort, pulled one end over the lip of the trunk. With Billie's help, they lumbered the tarp onto the ground and unrolled it.

Avery lay on the tarp, gulping breaths of fresh air. No one spoke.

"Are you okay?" Stratt said. He stared at the state of the injured man, wearing underpants, a shirt, and socks.

Avery opened his eyes and took a while to focus. "Yeah. I think so."

"Can you stand?" Stratt said.

"I'll try. My leg hurts like fuck."

They helped him up and leaned him back against the car.

"Thirsty as hell. Wow," he said, as he took in the scene.

"What happened?" Stratt stared at Billie. "Tell me."

She coughed before speaking. "There was shooting, they tried to crush the car. There's another man back by the mobile home."

"Billie, are we good here?" Stratt held both her shoulders and searched her eyes. "The cops will come and investigate."

"Yeah. Hold on. Give me a sec."

Stratt let go of her.

She leaned forward, placed her hands on her knees and spat on the ground to clear her mouth.

"Okay. This is Weasel's car, the Dodge, half crushed. They were going to put me in one of the other cars," Billie said.

"Keep talking."

"Weasel and the cousin and the large man here."

Stratt studied Cornelius. "This is the large man?"

"Yes."

"Is this his gun?"

"Yeah, I picked it up from his hand."

"Did you fire it?"

"No."

Stratt carefully picked up the gun with his shirttail, wiped it over and placed it into Cornelius's hand.

"The cousin is by the shed, shot in the chest. Weasel is over there." She pointed to the tires.

"You're doing good, Billie. What else?"

"Shit, yeah the money."

"Money?" Stratt said.

"Here, here." Billie led him over to the black backpack.

Stratt kneeled on one knee and unzipped the bag. "Jesus." He held onto it, not knowing what to do.

Billie took the backpack and shoved it into Avery's hands. He nodded in understanding.

"Anything else, Billie?"

"I drove the tractor. Um ... oh, they were going to set fire to your mobile home."

"Good. Now go to Lil."

Between them, they helped Avery hobble out of the gate and into the main yard.

Lil stood twenty yards away, wringing her hands and shifting her feet.

"Lil," Stratt said, raising his voice.

Within moments, Lil took Billie in her arms.

"It's okay, honey. You're with me."

Billie held onto her; she was warm and safe.

Stratt patted Avery's shoulder. "Okay, man?"

"Yeah."

"I need to make sure everything is okay back there," Stratt said. "You know, before the cops get here."

Billie released herself from Lil's grip and rubbed her eyes.

"Men dead up there," Stratt said.

Lil shook her head and looked at Billie. "What's this?" She pointed at the tear in Billie's jacket.

"Think I was shot."

"Jesus Christ, Billie."

"Right. Lil take Avery and Billie out of here. I'll call the cops after you've gone." He spoke with an authority not meant for argument.

Lil nodded.

"Keep us out of this, please," Avery said towards Stratt. "I want nothing to do with this. Do you understand?" His eyes were red.

"I'll try my best," Stratt said.

Billie and Lil helped Avery walk towards the entrance gate. Billie turned to see Stratt striding towards the car crusher like a man with a purpose.

They reached the car. Lil opened the trunk and found two scruffy blankets, which she placed over Billie and Avery's shoulders.

"Where to?"

"Anywhere but here," Billie said.

# Part 2
# Aftermath

## i. Police interview room

It was warm and quiet in the police station interview room. Billie stared at the darkened window opposite her, wondering who may be watching. A muffled loudspeaker announcement blared out from somewhere within the depths of the building.

She scooped a strand of hair back over her ear, folded her arms, and brushed the bullet wound scar with her fingers.

She sat back; this wait would be nothing compared to the one after escaping the salvage yard, six weeks ago.

## ii. What happened?

For Billie, the period immediately after the salvage yard was an intense mixture of stress and emotion.

She could not have managed it without Lil.

Avery, at his insistence, was driven home. As they wound their way up the hill, Lil received a call from Stratt, who was certain the cops would arrest him.

With Billie left in the car, Lil helped Avery dress his wounds and settle back in. He gave his sister's phone number in case of problems with the police.

Lil drove Billie to the Crankshaft and using a back entrance took her up into her room. She faced Billie and held her hands.

"Billie, answer me honestly. Did anyone assault you, hurt you, you know?"

Billie shook her head, "No. Nearly, but no."

"Good. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Billie said without hesitation.

"Take off your jacket and boots, then remove your ear studs, watch and any other jewelry."

Billie, with Lil's help, did as she was asked.

She stood still as Lil examined her bullet wound. "It scraped across your arm, not too deep. Jesus. It may need antibiotics. Doc, one of our regulars, can write you a prescription and a sick note for work."

Lil led Billie over to the bathroom. "Throw all your clothes out and have a long shower. I'll find you something to wear."

Though her bullet wound smarted at the liberal application of soap and shampoo, Billie appreciated the hot shower. Washing away the dirt, smells and contact with the men was a relief. Wearing a pair of Lil's baggy pants and sweatshirt, she stepped back into the main room.

Her wallet, bank card, coins, key ring, watch and stud earrings were laid out on a coffee table. All her clothes had been stuffed into two black trash bags.

"Better? Right, you can keep this," Lil said pointing to the bank card, coins and keys. "I've wiped them over. Everything else goes into an incinerator. We're not making the cop's job easy."

Billie nodded. Despite her exhaustion and foggy thoughts, she was aware Lil had taken charge and was glad of it. There was no false emotion or expressions of uncertainty. Instead Lil acted in a confident and knowing way.

This was borne out when Stratt phoned from the police station to say he had been arrested for homicide.

"What happened?" Lil said. "I dropped you off for a walk outside the yard for old time's sakes. Then you phoned me to say the cops and fire department have arrived and now you're at the police station?"

Lil rubbed her lip as Stratt replied.

"Listen. If the cops talk to you about anything other than your name, say you want a lawyer. Even if they are casual and off-hand, say nothing without a lawyer."

She nodded when Stratt spoke.

"You leave the lawyer to me. Okay? Yeah love you. Big hugs when you come home. Love you."

Lil ended the call and turned to Billie. "Cops record the phone line, so I fed him a story."

She called Avery's sister. Already briefed by Avery, the sister agreed to providing a lawyer.

Lil's experience of police evidence and arrests was obvious, and intriguing.

"We sit and wait," Lil said, throwing her cell on the couch. "I'll make some coffee."

Billie's stomach flip flopped at the thought of Stratt tripping himself up during interviews and mentioning her and Avery.

As if reading her thoughts, Lil said, "Don't worry, Billie, Stratt won't tell the cops anything. I know him."

Billie nodded.

"Stay here for as long as you wish. I could do with the company right now."

"And me. I've no idea what I'm doing," Billie said.

For the next two days, they talked, drank coffee, and laughed, albeit mutedly, and Lil jumped whenever her smartphone beeped. She would disappear downstairs to help out in the bar, returning later with two plates of food and a wink.

Billie's constant state of stress climbed through the roof when a detective phoned Lil. She was polite as she maintained her story regarding dropping Stratt off, saying he was a sentimental teddy bear.

Despite that, Billie waited for the police to come and arrest her. If it hadn't been for Lil, she would have walked into the local police station and told them what happened.

Lil slept on a pull-out cot and Billie in the double bed. Whenever Billie woke during the night, the sound of Lil's breathing was reassuring.

She spent hours talking with Lil, who was a better listener than all her therapists. Unlike her counseling sessions, Billie held nothing back.

"You know, when I was pointing the gun at the cousin, I wanted to kill him. But I saw my mom laying there, and it was like I was my father. I cannot explain it. I kind of understand things better."

"You have your father's soldier DNA."

"Yeah, there is that." She nodded. "I've always known I took after him more than my mom. Denied it to myself."

"Camo undies, camo wristwatch, camo backpack," Lil said, lifting her cup of coffee as if in salute.

"Yeah, I know," Billie said, rolling her eyes.

"Where's your brother in all of this?"

"What a mess, Lil. The whole thing was about finding Avery to ask him about my brother's whereabouts. I was convinced he visited my brother's commune during his travels. I was desperate for information, as you know. I was wrong." She paused and could not stop herself crying.

Once again, Lil put an arm around Billie's shoulders.

"Let it out. Let it out, Billie. You know, your actions stringing Weasel along saved your life and Avery's. Another woman would have got into serious trouble, fought back, or froze. God knows what they would have done. You had the measure of him even when he was jerking off, and you knew how to manipulate him in a moment of crisis. Jeez, you have a bullet wound."

"Suppose."

"No supposing about it. Anyway, what if Weasel survived? He would be a constant pest. Writing or telephoning you from jail. Come his release, whenever that was, you would be permanently looking over your shoulder, waiting for him to turn up."

"He was that type. You're right."

"Fuck him, Billie. He is jerking off with the great and good now."

Billie could not stop herself laughing. "He couldn't keep his hands off himself, that's for sure. Like a walking erection."

"Just like most men."

They clinked coffee mugs.

"But, four dead men, though, Lil."

"Yes." Lil filled up their coffee mugs. She sat down and picked at a fingernail.

Billie could see Lil was thinking deeply before speaking.

"I've seen death as well, Billie. A man shot dead over a drug deal right in front of me. Told no one, not even Stratt."

"Did you get into trouble?"

"No, I ran away. Long story." She paused. "You see, I've always told Stratt that I did various waitressing jobs. Actually, I was a topless dancer in a titty bar for a few years. Other side of the country. One of their star dancers. Earned a lot of tips." Lil cast her eyes to the ceiling and shrugged her shoulders.

Billie grinned.

"Met all kinds of people, stalkers, romantics, deviants, and druggies; you name it." She glanced at the wall. "But," she shook her head, "I got into difficulty, made poor decisions, and let's just say I went through a bad time involving guns, drugs, and police busts. Somehow, I stayed in one piece." She shook her head.

"Sounds like you've lived two lives already."

"Feels like it sometimes. Perhaps it's time to tell someone about it." Lil nodded and looked at Billie. "I'll tell you later, over a bottle of whisky."

"You don't have to."

"I want to tell you about it, Billie. The ransacking, zip ties, and juvenile behavior at Avery's house reminded me of something I was involved in a few years ago. Brought it all back."

"I wondered how you turned up at the yard. I guessed it was just luck."

"It was, plus a little intuition. Stratt believed it was all Nancy Drew. I figured that Weasel was the link between you, Avery, Stratt's foreclosure, the porn mag and the empty salvage yard. If there was no sign of you there, I'd have called the cops. We would have been there sooner if Stratt hadn't wanted to eat."

"Would've been more dangerous, if you turned up earlier," Billie said. Still thinking about Lil's revelation regarding her past life, she studied Lil's face. "How come you ended up in a bar in Spokane?"

"I moved on from the titty bar experiences and traveled home, Midwest, for a while to stabilize. Then the thing happened with my sister."

"I remember what you said at the barbecue. Did you leave home after that?"

"Yeah. It was too strained, so I moved on and ended up here. I think about her a lot, you know. Stratt's been great." Lil stared at the wall. "It isn't always easy."

It was Billie's turn to put an arm around Lil.

"Thanks, Billie. What a pair, we are."

"I'm glad I met you, Lil." Billie blushed. "Sorry, that sounded like a schoolgirl crush. I, err ... it's not what I meant."

Lil wiped her eyes with her fingers. "Don't apologize, Billie. If we were men, we would be 'bros'. High fiving, comparing dick size, and seeing who could piss the furthest up a wall. We've shared something, and I'm glad I met you."

They shook hands.

"Wilhelmina," Lil said.

"Lillian," Billie replied. She wrinkled her brow in thought, then remembered. "Fuck it. Isn't that what we said at the barbecue?"

"Exactly. Fuck it and fuck them."

## iii. Evidence

Stratt eventually arrived at the apartment nearly three days after the incident, asking for beer and food before explaining what happened. They sat around the table while he ate, drank, burped, and recounted his story.

"No charges. I'm a free man. I was a concerned citizen putting my life on the line to aid others. The cops believe it was a gang shootout."

Lil audibly sighed.

"What about Billie and Avery?" Lil said.

"I didn't mention them. The cops are not looking for anyone else."

Billie's mind went blank. She felt woozy, forgot where she was, and found herself on her knees on the floor.

"Sorry about that," she said. "I'm okay."

"It's been a stressful time, that's for sure," Lil said, helping her back onto a chair. She paused for a moment to check Billie was okay before continuing. "What do the cops think happened?"

"They believe the weasel guy pissed off the gang. His rap sheet included stalking and sexual activity, so the cops think he did something to a female relative. He was kidnapped and tortured, 'cos there were chains by the bedframe." Stratt glanced at Billie.

Lil nodded. "Keep going."

"They set fire to the mobile home, believing the weasel guy was inside, but he escaped. The gang leader, in the meantime had set fire to the Dodge and was crushing it. I guess they considered hiding the car in the yard. Anyway, the weasel appeared with a gun after shooting the big guy. They then shot each other basically."

"It would have made sense if they put Weasel inside the car trunk and crushed it," Lil said.

"Yes, but," Stratt turned to Billie. "Remember the tricks of the trade when crushing a car?"

"Take out the engine, remove the tires, and break the roof struts. I was wondering if their error saved Avery," Billie said.

"Exactly. The belief you can squash a person in that type of car crusher is from the movies. It would get very messy."

"Yes. Do they know who shot who?"

"Didn't tell me. I guess they matched bullets and all that."

Billie was disappointed that Stratt didn't know more. She had gone through every permutation in her mind of who fired the fatal shots. It was possible that Weasel fired at the cousin as well as Cornelius; it would only take one bullet in the right place. Alternatively, the cousin was waving his gun around, he may have killed him by mistake. Did it matter?

"You okay, Billie?" Lil said, noticing Billie's quizzical expression.

"Yeah, just comparing the cop's version with real events."

Lil nodded. "They weren't there, plus they only have Stratt's account and forensics. They have to fit a story around the facts for the sake of their reports and the coroner."

Stratt stared at Lil in surprise. "Yeah, Lil's right. Also, one detective said the crime rate would drop because the gang leader was taken out. The weasel guy did them a favor. Plus ..." Stratt wiped his chin with his sleeve before speaking. "A judge was shot dead after disturbing a nighttime burglar a few hours after the salvage thing. It seems the cops diverted their forensics people away from the yard to the other crime scene."

"So," Lil touched Billie's hand, "the cops want to write this thing off and move on to their next job."

"Yeah. Got another beer?" Stratt said.

Billie excused herself and visited the bathroom. She held the side of the sink and blew out a breath. She wiped her eyes and threw water over her face. This was hard. What if the cops find other evidence, like a witness coming forward who was walking or driving nearby to the salvage yard? Christ, when would her doubts end?

Lil examined her as she came back into the room. "Billie, it's all good."

"Cops don't care a shit over a few hoodlums. The judge, that's a different matter," Stratt said.

Billie sat down and grasped the fresh cup of coffee Lil had placed on the table.

"Stratt, what about the fire?" Lil said.

"I ran back to the mobile home and checked no one was inside. What a mess. I set fire to the gas-soaked paper and whoomph, up it went. I pulled the man back a couple of feet and threw the tarp the author guy was wrapped in on the fire.

"Stratt, your father's mobile home."

"Yeah." He stared ahead at the wall to compose himself, then took another glug of beer. "The whole place was reduced to ash."

"The evidence is all burned up now. That's good," Lil said.

Stratt eyed Billie as Lil fetched another tin of beer. "Been staying here?"

"Yes," Lil said. "She's told me everything, Stratt, make your hair stand on end. Also, that fucker Weasel was working for Randall. Weasel showed Billie his blackmail photos. He had some of Randall. Seems he was trying to find something on him as an insurance policy. Billie's confirmed it. We checked Randall's website."

"Moustache, beard, and a panama hat. Same guy," Billie said.

"She also has a theory."

"He was probably after the scrub land as much as the yard. Flatten it all and build a motel, gym, or a place where being next to a freeway doesn't matter. The salvage yard provides a route in," Billie said.

Stratt nodded. "Yeah, makes sense. But it doesn't make me feel better."

The evening ended with Stratt saying they must keep quiet about the incident. He stared at Billie before speaking. "We mustn't tell anyone about this. Okay, Billie? You know the consequences if we do."

They both looked at her.

She nodded, uncertain whether she could do that.

## iv. Police interview room

Billie checked her watch and stared at the interview door again. She took off her green bomber jacket and straightened her orange t-shirt, admiring Lil's choice of color. It brought a little sunshine into the dreary room.

She took a bottle out of her shoulder bag and took a mouthful of water.

What was taking so long?

## v. The letter

Billie stayed with Lil and Stratt for a week before returning to her own apartment. It seemed the right time; plus, Stratt was grateful to cuddle up with Lil instead of sleeping on a mattress in an old janitors' room.

Lil borrowed Stratt's car and drove Billie home. She made coffee to allow Billie privacy while she bagged up underclothes, bed sheets, and personal items. They threw them into the large trash container at the rear of the apartment building.

They visited Walmart, where Lil helped Billie choose new clothes.

"It's a new beginning," Lil said.

Billie went along with Lil's selections of colors and styles, none of which she would have picked for herself. At Lil's insistence, Billie tried on a pair of women's camo pants with flecks of red in the pattern. She stared at herself in the mirror. Yeah, she thought, I feel good in these.

Billie settled back into her apartment as best as she could, though thoughts of Weasel entering the place and touching her personal stuff made her shudder. In amongst the nightmares of the salvage yard, the memories of her father and mother came and went. Somehow it was easier.

Then there was Jeffrey, the reason she had embarked on the recent madness. Where the bloody hell was he?

With mixed emotions, Billie returned to work. She only lasted one day. Something had changed inside her. Checking visitors through the main gate seemed too routine, and her work colleagues were even more boring than usual, except for Vincent. She brought him in a box of his favorite doughnuts.

The supervisor called her into his office during the afternoon to speak about her return from sickness and arrange a date for the personal mentoring course. Billie raised her fist and told him to fuck off.

After her shift, she phoned Lil.

"Don't go back, Billie. Come to the bar tonight, we'll talk about it. They always need help here."

Two days later, Stratt drove Billie to her workplace to hand in uniform and equipment and sign resignation papers. Stratt came in with her, having been briefed by Lil. The supervisor became agitated when Billie introduced Stratt as her boyfriend. The two dickheads, knowing Billie was coming in, turned up, saw Stratt, and promptly disappeared.

Another box of doughnuts was produced for Vincent, who asked her to stay in touch. "Plenty of nieces and nephews your age."

The free meals from the Crankshaft and a share of tips helped Billie survive on a lower wage. After shifts in the kitchen, Billie spent time on her website. She deleted all traces of Avery and concentrated on finding her brother. From the brief discussion with Avery in the salvage yard, Billie searched news and travel blogs pertinent to Tucson and off-grid living.

It was the not knowing about her brother which churned her up inside. As the days moved on from the salvage yard incident, her thoughts returned to the feeling that Jeffrey was in danger.

One night, Billie was slicing tomatoes when Lil shouted to her that there was a visitor. Concerned, Billie took off her apron, wiped a hand through her hair, and walked into the main bar.

A thin-faced, gray-haired woman in her fifties stood next to Lil. She glanced around the bar with an expression of distaste.

"Are you Billie?"

"Um, yes," Billie said. The woman looked like a detective in her blue blouse and pants. Billie's heart thumped and she felt a streak of warmth travel down her neck.

The woman regarded Billie with eyes that bored through her. "I'm Avery's sister."

"Oh," Billie and Lil said together in relief. Billie had not seen the woman properly when she dropped off the money at the diner.

The woman took out an envelope from her purse and handed it to Billie. "For you." She closed her purse. "Thank you, ladies." She went to leave.

"Um, how is he?" Billie said.

The woman turned around. "He's recovering well."

"Wish him all the best from us," Billie said.

"And for paying for the lawyer for my boyfriend," Lil said.

The woman's eyes softened. "I will. Thank you." With that, she walked out of the bar, leaving Lil and Billie staring at the envelope.

Lil pulled Billie into the vacant manager's office. "In here, not in sight of the others. They're a nosey bunch."

Billie opened the envelope; a letter and a check were inside. She first picked up the letter.

Billie,

What can I say to my favorite girl scout?

I'm recovering well. It's as much a mental challenge as a physical one. I cannot bring myself to recall the time I spent rolled up inside that tarp. As for my leg, I have a slight limp, but otherwise it's fixed.

During my rehabilitation, it came back to me that you asked about your brother. I have thought about this long and hard. I don't recall anything of him, but the Scooby Doo van thing bugged me.

I think I may have seen it at the last place I stayed.

_As you know, I couldn't produce another book, so traveled to Arizona to live off grid. The last commune I joined was on the outskirts of Tucson. When I hitched a lift back to the city, it was a thirty-minute drive away._ _Don't know the name of the commune but it's on a long empty road. There was a woman in charge who had a partner, a black man named Bill. Their house had this peculiar wind turbine sticking out of the roof!_

Anyway, there was a Ford? van with badly painted "hippy" flowers showing from underneath a thin layer of white paint, if that makes sense. The other colors under the white were blue or green, there was definitely a wavy Scooby Doo-style design underneath.

An old guy, a miserable bastard, lived in the van with his chickens. I tried to speak to him, but he became defensive. It was parked up in a vacant area away from the main commune house. He had erected a dirty tent by the side of the van.

Billie looked at Lil for a moment and went back to the letter.

It was said that the two men who arrived in the Scooby Doo van were hard workers but left the commune to help a woman who turned up at the place in an RV, asking for help on her land. The two men left but didn't return.

I was sorting out my own life at that time, so didn't take any interest in the men, sorry.

This was about 3 months ago.

_Since our "experience," I have started writing again and have sketched out a follow up novel to_ _Better Days_ _._

The money is a small token of my appreciation. It was a complicated chain of events. What if I hadn't been so secretive? What if you hadn't followed me? I know that my lame attempt at running away changed the whole course of events, as well. Whatever, whoever, does it matter? It's history now.

I apologize for being a rude ass and I would appreciate it if our story remains secret.

If you still know Edith, please send her my love and perhaps you would buy her a gift from me.

We are all beholden to powers outside our control, are we not?

I wish you all the best with your next endeavor.

Avery.

Billie wiped her eyes as Lil rubbed her shoulder.

"Bad news?"

"No. Avery thinks he saw Jeffrey's van in a place in Tucson."

"And?"

"The two men who arrived in the van, left to help a woman. Something to do with help on her land. They didn't return."

"Christ, Billie. So, they could be living or working in a field in Tucson as we speak."

"Yeah. I'd like to think that. I do, but my gut feeling thinks different."

Billie studied the check. It was for thirty thousand dollars. Her stomach churned as she examined the check to see whether it was a joke. It was two times fifteen thousand.

Billie turned the check towards Lil.

Lil nodded. "You deserve that, Billie."

"Should I give it to charity?"

"Fuck no. Stick it in the bank, sit on it, and decide later what to do with it."

Billie stuffed the envelope into her pocket and returned to the kitchen. She picked up the knife and chopped the remaining tomatoes. By the time she finished the last one, she knew what she was going to do.

The next day, she gave notice on her apartment and sorted out her possessions. Within days, she moved into a cheap hotel room, glad to be out of the apartment. It felt she was finally escaping Weasel's ghost. She placed a few boxes in a small storage unit, leaving her with a suitcase, a backpack, and her motorcycle. She took Lil and Stratt to a jeweler, where she bought them a watch of their choice. For herself, she chose a military-style watch with a camo wristband. Despite the shopkeeper's frown, "Fuck it" was engraved on the back of each watch.

## vi. Police interview room

Billie jumped in surprise when the interview door opened. She studied the uniforms, name tags, weapons, and utility belts of the two officers who walked in.

The woman sergeant nodded to her. "Couple of minutes late. Officer Aranda was sorting out paperwork. Took him a while to realize it's just as busy on a Sunday."

Sergeant C. Danzig was 5'2" with pulled-back blond hair, straight eyebrows, green eyes, thin lips, and a sour-looking face. She sat down, placed her cell phone on the table in front of her, and tapped the screen. Sitting back, she folded her arms and examined Billie. Her gaze was one of assessment and judgement.

The male officer settled himself in the seat next to Danzig. Billie reckoned he was two years older than her. He had an easy smile, dark hair and plain face. His name and skin color suggested a Hispanic heritage. His name badge read J. Aranda.

"As I understand it, Miss Jensen, you're looking for your brother?" Danzig said.

"Yes, and it's Jansen." Billie said.

The male officer glanced at the wall.

"Okay, Miss Jansen," Danzig said, over pronouncing the "a." "Your brother?"

Billie picked up her shoulder bag by her feet and produced a notepad and map. "Jeffrey Jansen. Last heard from him in January. He was making his way to an off-grid commune, and I believe he ended up in the Tucson area."

"Many people turn up here thinking they can live off grid. They usually end up leaving or involved in crime and drugs. Have you tried the local jails?"

"Yes," Billie said. It was true. She had checked all official websites in case Jeffrey had gotten into trouble.

Officer Aranda glanced at his sergeant before speaking in a soft voice. "Can you tell us your brother's story?"

Billie told the officers about Jeffrey and Shaggy's road trip and their intention to travel to Tucson. "I have a copy of an email from an anonymous person from a community website who saw a van with hippy flowers and Scooby Doo styling. It's since been painted over. Here." She passed the officers one of her information sheets.

Danzig motioned for officer Aranda to pick it up. It contained Jeffrey's and Shaggy's details, photos, and an edited extract of Avery's letter regarding the Scooby Doo van.

Danzig leaned over and glanced at the paper. The content was clear, readable and the images all lined up. She gazed back at Billie, examining her face, hands, and wristwatch, as if re-assessing her.

"The problem is, I can't identify the exact location or area where the van may be. Plus, I'm worried something may have happened to him. He and his friend could have gone off with a woman. She could have kidnapped them."

Danzig breathed out before speaking; it sounded like a short huff of dismissal. "We get quite a few enquiries like this, miss. This has happened, that has happened. Thing is, if they are adults, they can do what they like. We try to stay out of these matters where we can."

"I understand," Billie said. "He is the only family I have. Got this bad feeling about him." She fingered her scar as she spoke.

Danzig scowled. "Interesting mark on your arm."

"Motorcycle accident. Scraped it on a low wall."

"Looks similar to a graze my friend has. Caused by a bullet," Danzig said. She nodded towards the other officer. "Aranda here nearly had one on his ass. Accident during police training." She pressed her lips together.

Aranda rubbed the back of his neck and concentrated on the information sheet.

"Right, so," Danzig said, "what can we do to assist the lady?" She looked at Aranda.

"Search databases for the van and the two men?"

"He's under training," Danzig said, "bear with him."

Aranda pulled out a tablet; it fell out of his grasp momentarily before he picked it up again.

Danzig let out another huff and gazed at her smartphone.

"Scooby Doo van, Scooby Doo," Aranda said. "Lot of VW's with hippy flowers on our gallery."

"The van was hand painted, the flowers are crooked." Billie pointed to the photo of the van just after Shaggy's paint job.

Aranda rubbed his chin. "The van's record does not show a current owner." He angled the screen towards Danzig.

"Yeah, paperwork was not their thing," Billie said.

"There are no reports on it and nothing on local files. The field, the commune." He blew out his cheeks and re-read Avery's account and examined his tablet. "Today is Sunday, June seventeenth," he said.

"Well done," Danzig said without looking up from tapping out a text on her cell.

"Just inputting search parameters," he said to Billie.

Billie licked her lips; this was a key moment.

"Right," Aranda said. "I think there are three places of interest. They informed the county about their wind turbines; not all do. They are on or within a building structure."

"Distances?" Billie said.

"They are roughly thirty minutes' drive from Tucson."

"Are they well known?"

"Not sure."

"Many of them advertise online for helpers and some handout flyers. Attracts a lot of losers to a new life," Danzig said.

Billie took out a pen and opened her map. She drew three small crosses and circles where Aranda pointed his finger.

"What else do you need to consider?" Danzig said to Aranda.

"No evidence of crime, the men are both adults. If you hear any more, Miss Jansen, let us know."

Danzig nodded.

"Thank you. This is really useful. Can I ask, though, have there been any kidnappings, crimes, or anything in these areas? Anything regarding a woman with an RV?"

Danzig's body language changed. "The state has its drug problems, what with the border and all that. People get drawn into drug dealing to make money. But in cases like yours, often the family member is living happily in their new life and doesn't want to be disturbed by a relative."

"Well, thank you for the information," Billie said. "Can I leave the sheet with you, in case you hear anything? I filed a brief report last year, I would be grateful if you could update it."

"Sure, happy to," Aranda said, holding her gaze. "And here are my contact details if you need anything else." He produced a card.

"Good. Right, let's get on," Danzig said.

"Thanks," Billie said, placing the card in her wallet.

She shook their hands. Aranda's handshake was firm and friendly.

## vii. The map

Billie blinked in the sunlight as she walked across the parking lot and into the rear seat of an SUV.

Lil and Stratt turned to look at her.

"Well?" Lil said, unable to hide her concern.

Billie held up her map. "Three places worth visiting."

They drove further into Tucson and found a diner. Lil ordered coffee while Billie laid out the map. Stratt placed a finger on their location and plotted routes to the marked areas.

Billie was glad they agreed to accompany her. She paid for their flights, car hire, and three nights' stay in a hotel. Lil was owed some days off, and Stratt was out of work.

Stratt rubbed his chin. He surprised Lil recently by trimming his beard to a neat Van Dyke style. It suited him.

Billie took out her notebook. "What do you think, Stratt? Which one is best to visit first?"

"They are all about thirty minutes from here, but if we go to this one first, then travel back across town, the other two are nearer to each other."

"Enough time today?"

"Yeah."

"Right, that one first, then." Billie finished her coffee. "Going to the bathroom."

As she left, Lil touched Stratt's hand. "Thanks for coming with us."

"You know, I wasn't sure. Now we are here, it's nice to have a break from Spokane and the salvage yard paperwork."

"And me from the Crankshaft. Plus, we are helping Billie. This may all end in nothing; it will be a bitter blow for her if it does. I wouldn't like her to go through that on her own."

"You're a good girl, Lil."

"Don't you forget it." She turned and smiled as she saw Billie leave the bathroom, tugging at her camo pants and fiddling with her belt.

"Okay?" Billie said.

"We're all set."

Stratt drove as Lil kept an eye on their surroundings. Billie laid out the map and notes on the back seat and inspected the GPS on her cell phone. She called out directions to Stratt, and soon they were driving along a winding dirt road. Knotty trees and brush were dotted along either side, offering a dull green against the yellow-brown landscape. They weaved around low-lying hills, passing entrances leading off into the brush. The fauna became denser as they reached the lower slopes of a mountain.

Billie concentrated on her cell. "Not far."

"I see an entrance," Lil said.

Stratt stopped by the side of a rectangular hand-painted sign nailed to an upright pole.

#1 Commune: No trespassers, no guns, no open fires.

"Jeffrey would have liked the no guns sign," Billie said.

Stratt drove in. It was not as Billie expected; instead of a large, open communal area, it was more like an RV campsite. Tracks led off in differing directions, along which the residents seemed to have randomly claimed their own spot. They passed tents, awning covered RVs, and hand-built wooden shacks. A man and a woman wearing similar brown clothing sat beside an old ice-cream van. They were both knitting. The van was painted in rainbow colors and advertised organic earth knits.

"What do you think?" Stratt said.

"I'll speak to them," Billie said.

She got out and held a brief conversation as Lil and Stratt remained inside the SUV.

"Jesus," Lil said to Stratt, "people live like this?"

"Off the grid, simple life. May be something to be said for it," Stratt said.

"Yeah, like washing your underwear in a bowl of dish water?" Lil said.

Stratt couldn't find any words to answer her.

Billie jumped back in and pointed out where to go. "Up there, follow the track."

They wound past two caravans and ended up in front of a large clearing roughly at the center of the commune. A large, irregular-shaped wooden building dominated the area. With roofs, walls, and windows facing in all directions, it showed signs of continual extension. A wind turbine stuck up above one of the roof lines.

Evidence of off-grid living surrounded the building. There were lines of small plastic covered greenhouses, lengths of timber, rope, half-completed wicker baskets, two donkeys, and several chickens in a pen.

Lil counted five people pottering about. They all stopped working and glanced at the SUV.

"Better stay in the SUV, they look like zombies," Lil said.

A woman in her sixties, her face a picture of outdoor living, emerged from the house and walked towards them. She wore a woolen top and red pants.

"Shit, she could do with a bra," Lil said.

Stratt wound down the window.

"Welcome," the woman said uncertainly. "Help you?" She studied the vehicle and its occupants.

"We're not cops or anything," Stratt said. "Our friend here is looking for her brother."

"Oh. We don't want any trouble here."

Billie got out of the SUV, clasping her shoulder bag. She fished out her info sheet on Jeffrey and gave it to the woman. "Jeffrey Jansen, my brother, he was with another man named Shaggy. They've been missing for three months. I'm desperate for news."

The woman gazed at Billie, then squinted at the sheet. Her brow furrowed, and she tapped the paper.

Billie tensed.

"That van and those boys."

"Yes," Billie swallowed, "Yes?"

"The boys left a while back, but their van is still here. Jeffrey and Shaggy, that's right."

Billie felt her knees weaken; she turned to look at Lil.

Lil joined her and held Billie's arm.

"It's up over there, head for the outer trackway and turn left." She pointed into the distance. "But those two boys, you know, they never came back. People can come and go as they like, here. We don't judge or tell people what to do."

"I understand," Billie said.

"Old Ginster moved into that vehicle with his chickens. Don't upset him. We don't want any trouble here." She gazed back at the house. "Mind if I come with you? Don't want you to get lost."

Billie glanced at Lil and Stratt, who nodded back. "Sure."

The woman pulled herself into the seat next to Billie and wiped her hands down her pants. She smelled of earth and manure.

"Right here," she said towards the back of Stratt's head. She regarded Billie. "Where you from?"

"Spokane, Washington State."

The woman nodded. "A fair journey."

"How about yourself?" Billie said.

"Ha, losing the accent. Originally from New York." She stared out of the window. "Yes, now, drive straight on, four hundred yards, it's on the right."

In a small clearing, the hood and front of a white vehicle appeared as they drove up. The vehicles side was obscured behind a dirt-stained tent, which was pegged into the ground and tied across the vehicle's roof. The van's windows were streaked with dirt. Trash and remnants of outdoor living lay strewn everywhere.

They stopped, got out, and were hit by a waft of sewage and putrid food. Chickens clucked from inside the tent.

Ignoring the smell, Billie walked around to the back of the vehicle. The license plate was missing. She turned her attention to the side of the vehicle. Its body shape was that of a Ford Econoline Cargo. Her heart leaped. Avery's description was accurate. Someone had applied a thin layer of white paint over the original paintwork. She ran her fingers along one of the thick painted wavy lines of blue and green color. The flower motifs were unmistakable. Billie returned to the back of the vehicle, kneeled, and ran a finger along the rusty eroded screw holes where the license plate had been attached.

She examined the area underneath the fender and scrabbled at it with her fingers. "Oh," she said in surprise.

Lil, Stratt and the other woman watched in silence as Billie walked towards them.

Visibly upset, Billie held up the license plate. "It's theirs."

# Part 3
# Sunday, June 17

## i. Secured

Jeffrey watched the guard kneel and unlock the padlock secured to his ankle restraint. The guard stuffed the keys back in his pocket, snapped the padlock onto the long wall chain, and tossed it to one side. Jeffrey waited for the order to stand.

"Párate, párate."

He rolled onto his knees and used a wooden post of the animal enclosure to pull himself onto his feet. Wearing a discarded guard's shirt and the same pants he wore when captured, Jeffrey picked up his sun hat made of folded cardboard and set it on his head with his blotchy, scarred hands.

His unkempt hair curled down over his neck and his beard needed clipping. This stained, dirty and downtrodden man of twenty-three looked like a forty-year-old.

He exited the barn into bright sunshine.

It was quiet save for the clinking of the ankle restraint. Hunched as if carrying a weight, he slowly plodded across the yard, coughing every eight steps. The guard walked three paces behind, clasping his AK47 rifle.

Jeffrey didn't know the day, month, or even if he was still in Arizona. He knew many weeks had passed since his capture. What did it matter? It was just another sunny day as a slave on an illegal narcotics facility.

They continued passed the homestead and headed towards one of several long plastic covered greenhouses. Jeffrey glanced fleetingly at the RV parked by the fence corner and diverted his eyes; the daily reminder of Shaggy was distressing.

He made his way inside the greenhouse and along the center walkway between rows of planting boxes. The cannabis plants were short, bushy and a healthy green color. Used to the change of air and smell, Jeffrey made his way automatically to the faucet. A jab in his back caused him to stop.

Ricardo, the boss, stood two feet away, examining him.

This was different, Jeffrey thought. His spine crawled and his hands shook.

"Good, eh?" Ricardo said, pointing at the rows of plants. "Hundreds of thousands of American dollars. Though it is the Lord's Day today, we have been given our orders from that fucking Pendejo." He spat on the ground. "Men will arrive to cut the plants in four days. Then, American, we have no need of you. Perhaps you join your friend in the earth, eh?"

Jeffrey heard the man speak, but his words did not register immediately. He rubbed his face. Did he say four days? If this is Sunday, the Lord's Day, then that would be Thursday. If nothing else, he would be free; free from the labor, exhaustion, and imprisonment.

On receiving another poke from a rifle barrel, he shuffled to the faucet. As the water gurgled through the plastic pipes to the sprinkler system, he asked himself a question.

When was the last time he felt free? He shook his head. The road trip with Shaggy seemed like a lifetime ago.

# December 1 to April 6

## i. A new life

The further Jeffrey drove away from Spokane, the more he felt freedom and relief. Free from the city, which dragged him down, and relief from Billie's concerned mothering. It was time to move on.

Thirty minutes out of Spokane, he deviated from their route. Shaggy, in the front passenger seat, remained silent. They crossed into Idaho, dropped off the I90, and drove through Coeur D'Alene. He found his old family house without difficulty. Repainted, the house would not mean much to a casual passerby. A two-story extension had replaced the garage. Despite changes to the house, the history and ghosts of the past would remain.

Jeffrey clenched the steering wheel and stared out of the windshield. After reliving the horror scene inside the garage, he gazed towards the sky and wiped his eyes. "Come on, let's go."

"Yeah, man," Shaggy said.

Jeffrey's mood lifted as soon as they were back on the I90 heading toward Missoula. As the days passed, they slept and cooked simple meals inside the van, only eating at cheap diners for a treat. They continued down country and entered Utah, where Shaggy was nearly arrested in Salt Lake City for back talking a cop.

They stayed in Las Vegas for as long as possible by moving from one parking lot to another. Before leaving, they checked their funds, which included three wins on a roulette table, so decided to visit a brothel in Pahrump.

"Look at you, with your cheesy grin," Jeffrey said afterwards.

Shaggy smiled back and blushed. "Hell yes. No need for any chat, straight down to business."

"True. It's not something I usually pay for, though."

"I've been Pahrumped." Shaggy said, nodding sagely.

After that, "Pahrump" became the go-to word in conversations.

The engine spluttered as they crossed from Nevada into Arizona. They stopped at a roadside café, where Shaggy cleaned the spark plugs and adjusted settings. He also got talking to a group of travelers.

"They're heading for a commune, an off-the-grid deal. What do you think?" he said to Jeffrey.

"Low on cash; perhaps there may be food in return for work? We could stay for a few weeks?"

"Why not? Be adverts on Craigslist or something. Where do you fancy?"

Jeffrey shrugged his shoulders. "Where are they going?"

"Tucson. Hipster's paradise, one of them said."

"I mean, we could head on to New Mexico, but hipster paradise sounds good. Hipster women there, do you think?"

"A bunch of laid-back ladies, seeking handsome adventurers."

"Tucson it is," Jeffrey said. "Better send Billie a message. Judging by her emails, she'll be wringing her hands with worry like an old granny. Don't drink under the influence, watch out for this, watch out for that," he said, trying to mimic her voice. "I'll tell her not to expect any contact for a while. Be best for both of us."

"Can't blame her, man. You're her only family. She helped you a lot, remember?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I know. Couldn't ask for a better sister. It's just she gets too, you know."

"Intense, uptight?"

"Yeah. Needs to calm down, get a hobby or a man."

"She worries about you. It's what sisters do. That thing affected you both. We've talked about it enough times."

"But there comes a point when you have to go your own way. Do your own thing. Seek your fortune, as they used to say."

"And that is exactly what we are doing. But it wouldn't hurt to keep her up to date."

"Yeah." Jeffrey rubbed his nose. "Hey, I could do with a good drink or a bad woman right now."

"I'll Pahrump that," Shaggy said, raising his hand in the air.

Jeffrey used an old laptop secured to the café's counter and sent Billie a quick email. He hesitated about saying they were heading for Tucson but included it anyway. It was unlikely she would travel down to find him. With it being two weeks into the new year, she would be busy writing out her year planner, he thought. Unfair, but true.

He glanced out the window at the sunny Arizona landscape. A new state, a new beginning for everyone, he considered. He ended the email and logged off.

On reaching the outskirts of Tucson, they found an internet cafe.

"Here's one," Jeffrey said, pointing at the details. "This place needs people willing to work. They have a farm setup and looks organized. Plus, it says no guns. I like that." He rubbed at his chin.

"Sounds good. The engine is on its last puff but should get us there."

"I'll reply that we are on way."

With wisps of smoke coming out of the hood and an increasing smell of burning rubber, they reached the commune.

They were directed to a vacant plot of land.

"Guess it got us here," Jeffrey said and slapped the side of the van.

Over the next few weeks, they lived off the grid. Their cell phone credit lapsed, and the internet was a preserved medium only used by Mattie, the woman in charge. She had sole possession of the mobile dongle.

With little money, they took direction from Mattie and her partner Bill in return for meals. This involved performing various chores around the site and helping to rebuild the main wind turbine.

Though taking time to acclimatize, Jeffrey became used to the slower pace of life, as did Shaggy. Thoughts of his mom and dad and the tragedy became more distant somehow. He considered that though Billie would be concerned about him, she would just have to accept his decisions in life.

Both men often talked at night about how nice it would be to visit a town and get a cold beer, a burger, or a steak.

"And a Pahrump."

"Goes without saying."

One day, Jeffrey was sawing timber when an old Ford Holiday Rambler drove up. A plump woman in her forties with tied back hair and friendly face stepped out and approached the house.

Mattie came out to meet her.

She turned to Jeffrey. "She's asking for help with digging and setting up a wind turbine. Needs to draw water out of her land."

"Yeah. Hi. I'm a little way away." She looked down. "Got a piece of land, but I can't dig the thing on my own. Have certified water supply. It'll take a few days."

Jeffrey put down the saw. "Me and my friend can help you. In return for food? Okay with you, Mattie?"

"Hey, I'm not your mother," Mattie said.

The plump woman's face lit up. "Sure, sure. I'm Susan, by the way." She became animated by playing with her hair and wiping her hands on her pants.

"Give me a minute, I'll finish here first, otherwise Mattie will give me one of her looks. Then I'll get Shaggy and we'll collect our stuff," Jeffrey said.

"Shaggy?"

"Friend's name. You'll see why."

They jumped in the camper and drove to the Scooby Doo van and found Shaggy. Jeffrey explained Susan's request. They grabbed clothes and what remained of their personal effects and stuffed them in duffel bags.

Over the next few days, Jeffrey and Shaggy dug a deep, narrow hole with a boring tool and assembled the combined wind turbine and solar panel. They toasted each other with the first clean-looking mug of water.

It was cozy, sleeping and living out of the RV. Without much deliberation both men decided to stay and help Susan. Jeffrey found her good company. Recently divorced, the sale of the marital home freed up enough money for her to start a new life. Childless, a topic little talked about, she had been a schoolteacher. A complex woman, yet open and honest. How she would have managed on her own with her plot of land, Jeffrey couldn't guess.

Each evening, they chatted around an open fire while Susan fussed around handing out food. They talked about themselves and what brought them to Tucson. Jeffrey gave his "family friendly" version of his life and the family tragedy. He also glossed over his struggle with drink and drugs.

One evening, Susan asked Jeffrey about his remaining family.

"I've got a sister, um ... Billie. As for aunts and uncles, I have little to do with them now," Jeffrey said.

"No girlfriend waiting for you back in Spokane?"

"No. How about you, what's your story?"

"I was at school one day, looked out of the window, and got a feeling it was time to move on. I've been living with my elderly parents in recent months, it was driving me crazy."

"Do they worry about you?" Shaggy said.

"Yeah, but I set up a GPS tracker app on my cell, one used for teenagers." She laughed. "So, they can see where I am on a map, anyway."

"You should leave it inside a police station, that would make them sit up," Shaggy said.

"Yeah, it would. But you know, I just wanted a little backup."

"And I needed to get away from everything, including my sister," Jeffrey said rubbing at his nose. "She can be motherly, smothering, you know. I needed to branch out of my own." He glanced at Shaggy, who found a stick to poke into the fire.

"I know what you mean. Here," she motioned to the sky, "freedom. My decisions, on my own."

"Exactly."

"Yeah, I'll drink to that," Shaggy said. "I was a disappointment to my parents. Got a degree and wore a suit, but it wasn't me."

"To ourselves and being ourselves," Susan said.

They held up their bottles of beer towards each other.

Jeffrey enjoyed the weeks spent with Susan and Shaggy. They soon got into a routine. Susan, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, pored over the blueprint for her wooden cabin in between digging small holes in the dirt. She talked about Caliche and Casa Grande soil together with different kinds of vegetables. They prepared the ground for the cabin's foundations and placed wooden forms for the concrete base. Mixing the concrete manually was hard work, but soon a solid base took shape. After leveling it off, the foundation beams were fixed, ready for the first level of timber.

As a treat every now and again for their hard work, Susan drove the men into the nearest town and dropped them off for a few hours with a few dollars in their pockets. They would head towards a diner and order a beer and steak. Jeffrey often stopped outside an internet café and thought about emailing Billie.

He didn't go inside. Life was good, he was fitter and healthier than he had been in a long time. Why did he need to tie himself to the past? He soothed his guilt at not contacting Billie by telling himself that it would be best for her. She was her own worst enemy for holding herself back. His lack of contact would spur her on to live her own life and realize her capabilities. He nodded to himself; it was best for both of them.

# Saturday, April 7

## i. Accident

On a sunny, cloudless afternoon, Susan picked Jeffrey and Shaggy up at their rendezvous point in town and drove back towards her site. On the way, they traveled along a twisting semi-desert road lined with low trees and cacti. The radio played in the background, everyone was relaxed.

"Come on, baby," Susan said, as the engine spluttered. She patted the dashboard. "Have to talk nice to it sometimes."

A vehicle behind blew their horn. Susan glanced in a side mirror. "Slow down, buddy, we'll soon be on a straight."

"Rush hour traffic," Jeffrey said.

Susan gazed at him, "Yeah." She looked back at the road ahead. "Shit, coyote."

She wrenched the steering wheel hard to the left. The RV veered across the road into the oncoming lane, ending up sideways. Such was the force of Susan's braking, the vehicle rocked back and forth on its suspension.

At that moment, a white truck drove around the oncoming bend at speed and headed straight towards them. The three Hispanic occupants in the front cab, became startled, then alert.

Jeffrey put his arms over his head. Brakes squealed, time slowed, then there was a collision. The camper shuddered on impact.

It wasn't as bad as Jeffrey expected. He blew out a breath before speaking. "Everyone okay?"

"Yeah, man," Shaggy said.

"Hope the RV isn't damaged too badly. It was a coyote or whatever, I didn't see it, 'til too late," Susan said.

They exited the camper, unlike the men in the truck, who remained inside talking amongst themselves. The car which honked its horn earlier behind the RV drove on, leaving the two vehicles on their own.

Jeffrey ignored the passengers of the white truck, as he was more interested in examining the damage. The front fender of the box truck was lodged in the rear right-hand side of the RV.

"Yeah, damage to the shell, tires okay, should be alright to drive," Shaggy said.

"Hey," Jeffrey said jumping sideways in disbelief.

The box truck reversed. Metal and plastic fragments crunched and scattered onto the road.

"Hey," Jeffrey said, waving and shouting. "Hey," He turned to Shaggy and Susan. "They're trying to leave."

One of the front passengers in the truck raised his fist and mouthed something.

As they reversed further, Shaggy ran and jumped onto the running board by the passenger door and banged on the window. The truck halted suddenly with Shaggy clinging on.

The passenger wound down the window, shouted, then punched Shaggy in the face. He ducked his head in time to avoid a second blow but continued to hold on.

To Jeffrey's horror, he saw the glint of a pistol from the man sitting in the middle seat. The box truck drove slowly forward, angling itself to drive around the RV.

"Shaggy, jump down, get off." Jeffrey raised his voice and waved his hands.

The man leaned over his colleague and pointed the pistol at Shaggy while shouting abuse.

To Jeffrey's dismay, Shaggy held on to the door ledge and made a grab for the gun.

A shot fired.

The truck braked hard and Shaggy fell to the ground.

Jeffrey ran towards him. "Shaggy?"

A bloodstain flowered on his shirt in the upper chest area. He moved his head from side to side and waved his hands.

Two men stepped out of the truck. The driver re-positioned the vehicle away from the center of the road.

"What the fuck?" Jeffrey said on seeing the pistol pointing at him.

He put his hands in the air and glanced at Susan. She stood by the RV, uncertain what to do.

The two men spoke rapidly in Spanish and nodded towards Shaggy. The man stuck the pistol inside his jacket pocket.

"We put him in RV," the man said. His voice was deep and heavily accented.

"We need to take him to a hospital?" Jeffrey said.

" _Si, si_. You help."

Concerned more for Shaggy's wellbeing than whether the pistol would appear again, Jeffrey grabbed Shaggy's shoulders while the other man took his feet. Susan opened the RV's side door, and both men lumbered Shaggy into the vehicle and laid him on Susan's bed at the rear.

Jeffrey leaned over Shaggy and pressed on the wound. Susan stood by the bed, wringing her hands.

The man with the gun entered the RV and stood in the living area next to his colleague, talking on his cell phone.

" _Si, si_. Okay."

His face was serious as he shut the side door and slid the lock.

"You," he said to Susan. "You, driver?"

"Yes," she said, timidly.

"Sit in seat."

Susan brushed past the man and sat in the driver's seat. The other man was sent to the front passenger seat.

"You," the man with the gun said to Jeffrey. "Out here."

"My friend," Jeffrey said.

"Leave him."

Jeffrey rushed out of the bedroom and flung himself at the side door, but before he could touch the lock, the man hit him on the side of the head with the pistol butt. Stunned, Jeffrey put a hand to his head and bent over in pain.

The man kicked at him with the sole of his boot, causing Jeffrey to fall to the floor.

"Vamos, vamos. Go," the man said.

With encouragement from the front passenger, Susan started the engine. She reversed too fast, braked, then engaged forward drive and followed the white truck.

A foot pressed into Jeffrey's spine.

"Don't move. I shoot you."

The man touched Jeffrey's cheek with the handgun.

"My friend needs a hospital," Jeffrey said.

"Your friend die," the man said and laughed.

Jeffrey moved his legs so he could lay more comfortably. He raised his head and glanced towards the front.

"You, drive. No funny business or we kill your boyfriend," the man with the gun said towards Susan.

"Okay, okay," Susan said, her voice betraying her stress.

The RV swayed as she spoke.

"Keep behind the truck," the man said.

Jeffrey lay his head on the floor carpet. He could not make sense of the sudden violence and danger. His mind whirled in a fog of uncertainty and fear. What was happening? What were the intentions of the man with the gun? And Shaggy? Was he dying?

"Shaggy, hang on," he said in a loud voice. "Shaggy, we'll get you to an ER."

There was no reply.

"Shut up," the man with the gun said. He sat in one of the side seats and kicked Jeffrey in the ribs. "Enjoy the ride."

Jeffrey turned his head and examined the man's boots. Could he get up and run and somehow make Susan crash the RV?

The man began another conversation on his cell phone. "Estable velocidad. Steady speed, comrade."

Jeffrey had picked up quite a few Spanish words during his time working in a factory last year. It sounded like the man was talking to the driver of the box truck driving ahead of them.

He ended the call and looked towards Susan. "Woman, keep up with the truck."

"Okay," Susan said, her voice trembling. "This RV is old, you know."

"Shut up and drive. Carefully."

"Yes, mister," she said.

Jeffrey tensed. If Susan lost control and crashed, they could either make a run for it or be in danger. Jeffrey feared the worst. The man would be quick to shoot and take over. Where were they heading?

The RV bumped and swayed along as Susan forcefully accelerated to make the engine keep up with the truck.

Though Jeffrey could see through the windshield, from his angle, he mostly saw blue sky. No landmarks were in plain view.

They stopped at traffic lights. As they waited in silence, the man in the front passenger seat waved his hands and shouted at Susan. He reached across her and grabbed at something.

The man with the gun made his way to the front. He, too, began shouting.

"Drive, drive. Fucking bitch."

Susan cried as she drove off.

"Susan, Susan, it's okay, take your time. We'll be okay," Jeffrey shouted out.

He swallowed on seeing the man walk back to him holding Susan's cell phone.

"She tried to call the cops. Stupid bitch." He examined the phone and threw it onto an adjoining seat.

The man kneeled and rubbed his hands over Jeffrey's clothing. "You have cell phone?"

"No cell," Jeffrey said. "No cell."

"Your friend?"

"No cell, no cell."

The man wiped his nose and nodded. He stood up and held a side wall as the RV sped up. The man walked into the bedroom and returned within a minute.

"Your friend asleep. Lucky for you, no cell phone," he said.

They traveled on in silence. Jeffrey could not estimate how long they had been driving before they stopped for longer than normal.

The man with the gun made another phone call. Jeffrey heard the voice on the other end of the phone shouting. The man tried to hide his embarrassment by placing a hand across his face.

"Okay, okay," the man said before ending the call.

He grabbed Susan's cell phone and threw it on the floor. With repeated movements, he smashed it with the heel of his boot. The SIM card was picked up, folded, and cracked in half.

"Conducir. Drive."

The RV started up again. The swaying became more pronounced as they drove along a rutted road. They stopped again for a short while, then slowly drove on.

Susan cut the engine and ratcheted the handbrake.

The side door opened, Jeffrey was brought to his feet and pushed outside. Three men, standing a few feet away pointed their rifles at him.

Men with rifles? Jeffrey instinctively put his hands in the air as Susan joined him.

No one moved.

Blinking in the sunlight, Jeffrey tried to take in his surroundings. The rows of greenhouses suggested they were on a vegetable farm as did the large wood-built homestead.

Why were there armed men? What was this place? All the men were Hispanic, was that an additional worry?

The guards dressed in casual shirts and pants, seemed to be waiting for orders as they kept looking over to one side.

Jeffrey followed their gaze. The three men from the white truck were being given a dressing down by a man wearing a faded blue jean jacket.

Tall and thin in his forties, with a weather-beaten, unsmiling face, the man grasped the shirt collar of the man who had shot Shaggy and swore at him. Jeffrey heard the words "cell phone" and something like "bastardo."

Jeffrey guessed the man was being rebuked for not finding Susan's cell phone and turning it off. Had Susan's cell sent a signal for her parents to find? It wouldn't matter. The cell phone was destroyed before they arrived in this place.

He thought of Shaggy and the lack of noise from the bedroom. No moaning or cries of pain. Consumed during the journey by his own fate, Jeffrey felt a sudden deep anxiety.

The man in the jean jacket barked out an order towards the three guards facing Jeffrey. One man, no older than twenty, slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked forward.

"Cell phone," he said as he began roughly searching Jeffrey.

"No cell phone," Jeffrey said.

His statement was met by a shove.

The younger guard went on to search Susan. His hands worked their way down her body while the two older guards looked on. Had they not seen a woman before?

The man in the jean jacket emerged from the RV.

"Muerto," he said.

Jeffrey knew what "Muerto" meant. He shook his head and blinked his eyes in disbelief. Shaggy was always joking and laughing, and now he was dead. Shot by these bastards.

He kicked out and connected with a guard's leg and ran as best as he could with his stiff legs.

In no time hands grasped his shoulders and waist. Manhandled backwards, his sneaker heels dug into the ground.

Dragged through the front door of the homestead, the guards shoved Jeffrey into a chair in what was once the front parlor. Susan was pushed into a chair next to him, her expression one of desperation.

The guards stood with grim expressions grasping and re-grasping their rifles. The man in the jean jacket appeared from behind them.

Nothing was said for a moment; the air was thick with tension and uncertainty.

"What are we going to do with you, eh?" the man in the jean jacket said, staring into Jeffrey's face.

"We are sorry, mister," Susan said in barely a whisper.

"I wasn't talking to you, bitch." The man slapped her face.

"Sorry, sorry," she said. Her hands shook.

The man in the jean jacket studied his men. " _Quién de ustedes lo matará por mí_?"

The older two men found something else to stare at. Creases appeared on their foreheads and they licked their lips. Jeffrey trembled at hearing the words "who will kill for me." He clutched the side of the chair to stop himself from collapsing onto the floor. He wasn't sure if he could keep breathing. This was it; this was the end of it all.

Susan put her face in her hands and sobbed.

The younger guard spoke up and pointed to himself. "Yo soy tu hombre, Ricardo." He stared at Jeffrey. "I, Chico, am your man."

Ricardo unleashed a stream of words at the other two guards. _"Malditos cobardes,_ damn cowards. _Vete_ , go away."

The men couldn't get out of the room quick enough.

He turned to the young man. " _Bueno_ , Chico."

Buoyed by the compliment, Chico grabbed Jeffrey by the shirt collar and hauled him to his feet.

Another man appeared in the room and spoke to Ricardo. He nodded towards the door, and both men went outside.

Jeffrey was thrown back into his seat.

Chico aimed his rifle at Jeffrey's head, his grin one of youthful arrogance. His eyes were wide, as if goading Jeffrey to make a move so he could shoot him.

"Bang bang, American," he said.

Jeffrey swallowed and tensed as Ricardo returned. He motioned for the young man to lower his rifle.

"You, American boy. We should kill you, but today we are good." He smiled briefly, revealing a row of black and broken teeth. "One of our compatriots will be saved from back breaking work. You, American, now work for us."

"Woman. You work in house and kitchen with the old maid. No knives for you."

"What about my friend?" Jeffrey said.

"A burial. Like an American war hero, yes?"

Ricardo motioned with his hand. "Chico. _No matar_. No killing. _Granero_."

Chico pushed Jeffrey out of the parlor and through the front door. The other two guards stood outside and watched. Chico swore at them as he took Jeffrey over to the barn. It was a typical square barn from decades back, with a sloping roof and a small side extension. He was led to an animal stall in the back corner. It smelled of decayed straw and manure. Jeffrey coughed at the dust.

" _Sentar_. Sit," Chico said.

Jeffrey sat and hugged his knees. He wondered if this was all make-believe. Shaggy would make a recovery, and they would all be released and return to helping Susan setting up her site.

Daylight peeked through the gaps between the wooden slats. He wondered how much effort it would take to kick out a man-sized hole.

Miguel arrived and told Jeffrey to lie down. He believed it was better to conform with their request rather than trying to fight his way out. Bide your time and wait for an opportunity to reveal itself, he told himself. They bound his wrists and ankles with rope.

After two hours of imagining all the different things that the men could do to him, he was relieved when two guards returned with lengths of chain. First, they placed an end around his left ankle and padlocked it together. The other end was wrapped around his right ankle and secured. This left a length of chain, resembling one used for prisoner transportation. It meant Jeffrey could shuffle, but not run. One man secured a thicker chain to a solid iron ring fixed to the wall at the back of the stall. The man pulled on the chain to check its strength. Satisfied, he snapped a padlock through the wall chain and the ankle chain.

When the men left, Jeffrey tugged at his restraints. The securing ring was solid and firmly attached to a wall strut. Its real purpose had been to confine animals. He had ten feet of movement. Enough to have a piss and a shit away from where he would sleep. One small step above the animals originally held here, he thought.

He was screwed, fucked, or whatever you wanted to call it.

# April 8 to June 16

## i. A day in the life

During the first week of his incarceration, Jeffrey studied the compound to plan his escape. Its location in the hills suggested an old family home, with a barn for animals and ownership of the surrounding land. There must be an underground water source outside of the compound because of the outlying green trees and fauna. The air was fresh, the sun beat down, and there was no discernible noise. No freeway traffic or neighbors, it was a perfect secluded spot for criminal activity.

In terms of the guards, Jeffrey quickly realized that they consisted of the same five men who crowded into the parlor on that first night. The boss, Ricardo, spent his time barking orders and shouting at the men. Miguel, the second in command, made sure the orders were carried out and site activities ticked over.

Chico, the young upstart who wanted to kill Jeffrey, looked up to Ricardo and dreamed of becoming a gang leader. Quick to bully, he would point his rifle at Jeffrey in pretend execution style.

"Donkey fucker," he would say to Jeffrey. "You will be dead soon."

Of the two older guards, Antonio and Pedro, it was Pedro who received the most abuse. A small bottle of tequila usually poked out of his back pocket. He would touch it for comfort whenever Ricardo appeared. With his ready smile and pot belly, Pedro was no vicious cartel member. Jeffrey considered he was a grandfather seeking money, in a foreign country, miles away from his village.

"Drunk, useless buffoon," Ricardo would say as he slapped Pedro's face.

The other men would laugh at Pedro's admonishment, then turn their faces away from each other, grateful for not being on the receiving end of Ricardo's wrath.

Jeffrey was careful not to reveal his knowledge of Spanish and gave a practiced glazed expression when the men spoke to each other in front of him.

He guessed Susan was still alive and working inside the farmhouse, as the men often mentioned the white American woman. What her life was like, he didn't want to guess.

Each day ran into another. After eating a breakfast burrito, he would empty his toilet bucket behind a tree. Then he would begin his daily chores of watering and tending to the cannabis plants. Jeffrey would curse if the plastic water pipes sprung a leak, or the filter clogged as it meant hauling around heavy watering cans.

Miguel oversaw his work while monitoring the temperature inside all the greenhouses. Side doors would be opened and closed at various times of the day to circulate fresh air.

When Miguel said, "Powder, powder," Jeffrey would wrap an old towel around his mouth and nose. After spooning highly toxic pesticide into a watering can, he would sprinkle the liquid at areas pointed to by Miguel. This included the ground around the greenhouses.

Jeffrey began suffering from sporadic symptoms such as vomiting, stomach pains, coughing, and blurred vision. If he didn't die from a bullet, he sure as shit would perish from interacting with chemicals.

Every few days, a man they called "Pendejo," meaning "idiot," arrived at the compound in his Cadillac to inspect the cannabis plants. In his early twenties with slicked-back hair, the man wore a suit. Ricardo despised him. The old soldier versus a young university type. Aware of his importance, Pendejo talked and acted like a brash child with influential relatives. He strutted about waving his hands as if unhappy with everything. To aggravate Ricardo's displeasure, Pendejo brought his girlfriend with him.

She chewed gum, constantly studied her cell phone and always wore a short dress. Her visits never failed to draw the guards, including the one on lookout duty. Ricardo would shout at the men to get back to their positions. When Pendejo turned his back, the woman would smile at the salivating men. Once, when Jeffrey was present, she looked towards him and lifted her dress, revealing white panties. At odds with his enslavement, it was a heavenly vision or a long-lost memory; Jeffrey couldn't decide which one it was. The men talked about nothing else for the next few days.

Pendejo would take a leaf, sniff it, and feel it with his fingers before examining it under a microscope. He placed soil samples in test tubes and mixed it with a solution. It was a tense moment as the whole place depended upon a rich, dollar-yielding harvest. Ricardo stood outside the greenhouses, smoking while waiting for the news.

To Jeffrey, a healthy crop meant survival. His daily mantra became "keep the plants alive, keep yourself alive."

The white box truck, the same one which crashed into Susan's RV, frequently visited the site. An attempt had been made at repairing the front fender. The same three men were always with the vehicle, and sometimes they stayed overnight in the homestead. If any of them spotted Jeffrey, they would hurl abuse at him.

Food, drink, packages and equipment, such as gas for the generators, were unloaded from the truck. Once, Jeffrey saw four women stepping out of the truck in handcuffs and taken into the homestead. He observed them being herded back into the truck the next day. They would not have been the only ones, he considered.

Jeffrey looked forward to deliveries of backpacks. It meant he would be tasked with hiding black sachets of heroin oil inside the seams. Despite being constantly observed by Miguel, it was one of his favorite jobs, as he could sit down and take his time. Jeffrey guessed people would pose as tourists or hikers as they made their way to the next link in the narcotics chain.

Three times a week, a clean bucket of water and a bar of soap were placed outside the barn. Jeffrey would strip off and wash himself with no care for his dignity. He ended by submerging his head under the water. Fleetingly, he considered drowning himself.

In the evening he would lay exhausted on his bed of cardboard and bubble wrap until a meal was brought to him. This was a highlight of his day, due to its taste. He considered it was the same food as the guards ate. Once his toilet bucket was emptied, he would sit down and wait for his chains to be re-secured. Then Jeffrey would watch the glow of the guards lamp as he disappeared out of the barn. That was that, the end of another day.

As the weeks passed, Jeffrey knew he fought as much a mental battle as a physical one. He would wake in the middle of the night and listen to the wind and night animals, uncertain of his whereabouts. As he turned over, the clank of this ankle chains acted as an immediate reminder of his predicament.

Images, sounds, and memories would come and go, like hallucinations. In one instance, he repeatedly looped the memory of opening the garage door, the crack of a revolver, and the sight of his father falling to the ground. The memory only stopped when he woke, sweating and panting for breath. He sat up, unwilling to sleep again, and watched the thin dawn light break through into morning.

He became angry when reliving Shaggy's last moments; a simple accident which turned to bloodshed. When thinking of Susan, he felt powerless.

Memories of Billie's unfaltering support, motherly conversations, and his reluctance to contact her made him weep. He often found himself remembering childhood events. Shit, Billie even missed shots on purpose for him to win at their father's shooting game in the woods.

What an ungrateful brother he had been.

He saw visions of the future where he walked in sunshine, a free man. Billie was there, somehow appearing older and wiser. As they touched thumbs, the scene vaporized into a burning flame.

In another dream, he lay on the ground, staring at the light shining through the wooden sides of the barn. He felt the weight of a boot in his spine and the cocking of a weapon. Metal pressed against the side of his head, the right side, where his father shot himself. With eyes squeezed shut, he waited for the bullet ... and peace.

# Sunday, June 17

## i. Thursday it is

Jeffrey was still thinking about Ricardo's news regarding the plants being cultivated on Thursday when the shouts of the guard snapped him back to the present.

"Hey, hey," the guard said. " _Agua, agua_ , water."

"Eh?" Jeffrey said with a start. "Sorry, sorry." Water spurted out the side of a hosepipe. He turned off the faucet.

He worked steadily and slowly throughout the morning, barely taking notice of anything except the dig of a rifle in his ribs.

After snatching a short break in the shade from the afternoon sun, he was sent over to the barn. He stared up at the cloudless blue sky before entering the building.

"JJ?"

It was Billie's voice, spoken quietly as if floating on the wind.

He squinted and looked around.

"Billie?" He said. "Sis?"

" _Quien_? Who you talk to?" the guard said.

Jeffrey shook his head. The line between his dreams and the real world was becoming a blur.

Thursday couldn't come soon enough.

# Part 4
# Sunday, June 17

## i. Billie

Billie stared at the Ford Econoline for a moment, then up into the sky. She couldn't pin down her train of thought. "Where are you, JJ?" she said aloud.

"Billie? Okay?" Lil said.

"Yes. I was just thinking about Jeffrey." She pursed her lips. "Um, right, okay." She rubbed her head. "Should look inside the van."

"I don't know. Old Ginster has a mighty temper," the older woman said.

"There may be something inside that shows where they have gone."

The woman rubbed the back of her head.

"Ginster, you in?" The woman walked up to the vehicle. "Ginster, you in? He's a bit deaf." She pulled up the side of the tent and shouted out his name again.

"Who's that?" a grizzled voice said, from inside. "Fuck off. I have a gun."

"Ginster, it's me, Mattie."

"What? Oh, it's you," he said, appearing from the tent.

Billie guessed he was in his late sixties. At 5'4", he had white hair, a beard, and a neck chief. He wore a dark checked shirt and a pair of multi-colored pants held up by suspenders. Judging by the peace symbol on the front pocket, Billie wondered if the pants once belonged to Shaggy.

"Ginster, it's okay. These people are looking for the two men who originally owned the van here."

"They never returned. I'm not responsible for anything. I didn't like the colors, painted over it. Don't be making allegations." He held out an accusatory finger.

"This is the sister of one of the van owners."

"He's been missing for a while. I hoped to find something here which would help me find him," Billie said.

The man regarded Billie for a while without speaking.

"Ginster?" Mattie said.

"If I show you, would you leave me be? And just the girl, no one else."

Billie threw a glance to Lil.

Mattie put her hand in the air, suggesting it was okay. She appeared loath to argue.

Ginster mumbled and grumbled to himself as he ambled out of the tent. Billie followed him around the back of the van. As he opened the doors, a chicken squawked as it fell out onto the ground.

"It's okay, princess," Ginster said as he petted the chicken. He muttered for a moment and then said, "There ain't nothing to see inside."

Billie stuck her head into the van and immediately pressed her nose between her thumb and forefinger. The smell of chicken shit was intense, and feathers hung like spores in the air.

Billie reasoned it would be best to stay outside, so she breathed in, pushed her thighs against the rear fender and leant her upper body inside. Using the flashlight on her cell, she did her best to examine the interior. A dirty stained handkerchief lay on a mattress by a small pile of clothes, but there was no sign of any duffel bags.

She turned to see the old man peering at her ass, sucking on his bottom teeth.

"Anything of use?" Ginster said. He laughed and leered at her. His breath smelled of warm stale alcohol. "Nice to have female company."

"Can I look in the front?"

"Sure."

The glove compartment was full of crumpled receipts and trash, which she took out and shoved in her shoulder bag. There was nothing else to see.

"Want me to check under the hood?" Stratt said.

Ginster shrugged his shoulders.

The hinges squeaked as Stratt lifted the hood. He shook his head. "It's blown in various places, won't go anywhere, needs a new engine." He slammed the hood back down.

"Seeing as you come a long way, how about coming back to the house, speak to the others? They may be able to help," Mattie said.

"Thanks again, mister," Billie said to Ginster.

"You're welcome, missy. You can come back anytime." He licked his lips. "Yeah."

As they drove back, the woman introduced herself. "I'm Mattie or Matilda, whatever your choice."

"Billie, Stratt, and Lil."

Billie's mind was in overdrive, which Lil sensed as she grabbed her arm as they walked to the front door of the house. "Steady, honey, take it easy."

They entered the house. Four people sat around a table and a man stood towards the back, in the shadows. He was tall and thin with graying hair.

"Been up to see Old Ginster," Mattie said.

"Did he grab your ass?" the man said as he walked forward.

"No, this lady looked inside. She came out in one piece."

"Good, good."

"By the way, this is my partner, Bill," Mattie said.

This was the man mentioned by Avery. "Hi," Billie said. "Been living here long?"

"Started the place between us a few years back."

"I like the house design," Lil said.

"It's kind of eccentric, but it works. Unlike the wind pump. Bump, bump, bump. It's gonna break down soon," Bill said.

"Now, have a seat, we've coffee kept aside for guests," Mattie said.

"Err, ma'am, would you like me to examine the pump while you are talking?" Stratt said.

"Salvage yard man. Knows his way around engines and what not," Lil said.

"Be pleased for fresh eyes on it," Bill said.

Stratt followed Bill into another room as Billie and Lil sat down.

Before the coffee arrived, Billie took out the crumpled pieces of paper. Lil helped her read through them. Most were gas or food receipts. Billie examined the dates and locations; they were all from weeks ago.

Lil held up a calling card for a "ranch" in Pahrump, which Billie took off her. She rolled her eyes and stuck the card in her pocket.

Billie was grateful when Mattie sat down and led the conversation with the others. She made notes of conversations and soon gained an idea of Jeffrey and Shaggy's last movements at the commune. Basically, they had left to help a woman dig a hole for her wind turbine and had not returned. Typical Jeffrey and Shaggy, she thought, responding to a spur of the moment request for help.

In particular, Billie noted down full descriptions of the woman and her Travelcraft RV. It had a ladder on the back and a sleeping pod over the front above the driver.

"This life is not for everyone," Mattie said. "People come and go. We had one man turn up, a real pain in the ass. Had to ask him to leave."

Billie nudged Lil, who nodded back.

Stratt and Bill returned to the room.

"Get this man a coffee. He's a genius."

"Did what I could. Bit of realignment, that's all."

As Stratt drank coffee and helped himself to a cookie from Mattie's personal stash, Bill sat down next to Lil.

"So, fancy living in a commune?" he said, grinning.

"I've got responsibilities back home," Lil said.

Billie felt Lil squirm when answering.

"Well, you know where we are."

Eventually, they said their goodbyes and left.

Over beers and a meal in the evening, they talked through the day's events. Billie drank more beer than normal and stumbled back to her room with Lil. Once Lil was happy to leave her on her own, Billie undressed, left all her clothes on the floor, and sat on the toilet. She stuck her elbows on her knees and supported her head. After her head flopped three times in drowsiness, she stood up and flushed the toilet. She drank two glasses of water, burped, then wrestled with a bathrobe.

As Billie lay under the bed covers, she heard Lil giggling loudly from the room next door. Before any other sounds started, Billie grabbed a spare pillow and wrapped it around her head and ears. The events of the day and the alcohol caught up with her. She was soon asleep and snoring.

# Monday, June 18

## i. Around in circles

The following morning was a slow affair.

"Sleep well? You old drunk," Lil said, when they met up for breakfast.

"Yeah. Bit of a headache. How about yourself? Eventually get to sleep?" Billie said, unable to resist giving Lil a sly look.

Lil smiled and glanced at Stratt, who was by the food counter, helping himself to the breakfast buffet.

"Heard a lot of giggling," Billie said.

Lil grinned and raised her eyebrows.

Stratt came to the table with a plate piled full of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. "Hey, cheese on top of the eggs." He began demolishing his food.

Lil elbowed Billie. "A man has to keep up his energy. Okay there, honey?"

Stratt continued eating, unaware of the comment.

Afterwards, Lil cleared the table and brought them all fresh coffee.

"We need a plan, Billie. It's our last night tonight, we fly back tomorrow. Have to get back to work, and Stratt's looking for a new job."

"I'm staying," Billie said. "I have to."

Lil pursed her lips and sighed. "We can't leave you."

"You can."

"Stratt, talk sense into her."

"She's a big girl who knows her own mind, Lil. She's even got temporary medical insurance. We aren't going to persuade her."

Billie tilted her head and stared at Lil. "What he said."

"How can we compromise?"

"Been thinking about this. We can download a location app. It'll show my GPS location."

"I will need texts and updates, as well. If I don't hear from you within a certain time, I will start making phone calls."

"No problem, mom," Billie said. Aware she said mom out of her normal context.

Lil nodded. "And no alcohol, no boys, and in bed by 8 p.m."

"Yes, granny."

"Harsh," Lil said.

"We still got a day left, what's the plan?" Stratt said.

"I'm going to ring Officer Aranda and update him on yesterday. We could drive around the area, see if we can locate the woman's RV. What do you think?"

"I'll start drawing circles on the map," Stratt said.

Billie grabbed her notebook from her room and phoned the officer.

" _Officer Aranda_ ," he said in a formal voice.

"Um. Hi. This is Billie. I was in the police station yesterday, looking for my brother. Scooby Doo van?"

" _Yes, yes. Find anything_?"

"One of the communes you highlighted came up for us. We found the van, the license plate confirmed it."

" _Was your brother there?_ " Aranda said.

"No. He and his friend went off with a woman who turned up at the commune in an RV. They were going to help dig a hole for a water syphon and wind turbine on land she had bought."

" _Did they go willingly with the woman?"_

"Yes. They could be with her now, I suppose. Appreciate it is still of little interest to the police, but could you perhaps search your systems on the description of the woman and the RV?" Billie said.

" _I'm not sure. I must run everything through my sergeant_."

"The woman may be intent on committing a crime or could be missing herself." Billie paused. "Or, how about helping a desperate sister?"

" _Okay, I'll think of something to keep the supervisor happy_."

"Happy? If she smiled her face would crack," Billie said.

The officer laughed, then coughed. " _She's only been with us a few weeks. Was bumped out of the Border Force for reasons unknown. Very experienced, though."_

"I suppose dealing with missing persons is mundane for her."

" _I'd like to talk more, and I've said too much. Can you email me all the details, I have to get back on patrol_."

"Okay. Sorry to take up your time. And I'd like to thank you, you led us to the right place."

" _Now that is something my supervisor should know, she's been on my ass lately over work reports. You don't need to know_."

"I'll send you an email. Thanks for your help."

" _No problem. You take care_."

Billie ended the call and smiled. He sounded interested in helping her despite getting shit from his supervisor. She created an email, typed out the details, and sent it off.

She found Lil and Stratt, and they drove off to the first point of interest.

Four hours later and after numerous dead ends and speaking to strangers, Lil said, "This isn't going anywhere. Sorry Billie."

Billie was tired. Yesterday's experience had taken it out of her. "Let's go back."

The evening meal was a muted affair, with Billie only drinking soda this time. After retiring to her room, she worked on her laptop until midnight.

# Tuesday, June 19

## i. On her own

Billie waved to Lil and Stratt as they drove out of the hotel parking lot. It had been an emotional farewell. Unable to change her return flight, Billie accepted the loss. At least the hotel could extend her stay in the same room.

She caught a cab to a motorcycle rental firm. Within thirty minutes, she sat on her pre-booked trials bike with a crash helmet and rode off. The journey back to the hotel was enough to gain a feel for the bike.

Officer Aranda phoned. " _Hi. Thought I would ring you_."

"Right."

" _I found something on the woman, I think. It takes explaining_."

"Are you on patrol, can I meet you?"

" _Um. Merles Diner on Harrison by the 29th. I have a break in one hour_."

"Merles Diner on Harrison. See you there."

" _Oh, okay_."

Billie found a corner table and drank a soda whilst waiting. A pair of cops sat a few rows away from her. It was obviously a safe diner for law enforcement, like the one Weasel unwittingly found in Spokane.

Officer Aranda entered with Danzig. He joined Billie whilst the sergeant sat with the other cops.

"Hi." He sounded nervous and glanced back at the other officers.

Danzig stared across at Billie.

A waitress appeared and filled a coffee cup. "Get you anything?"

They both ordered sandwiches.

"So, staying nearby?" Aranda said.

"At a Best Western. It's okay."

"Good, good."

Billie did not reply; she was eager for the information. Her silence prompted Aranda, who pulled out a folded printout from his pocket. "I'm not sure how much to tell you."

"Try me."

"We have a missing person report for a woman of similar age and description to the one who arrived at the commune. She drives an RV, again like the one you described. Her parents are elderly and very concerned. She called them regularly since leaving home, but they've heard nothing for two months."

"What's her story?"

"Needed to get away, dreamed of living off grid. Came to Tucson to view land lots for sale. She found one and started preparing the site for a wooden cabin."

"Hence the water turbine for water and needing help to dig it."

"Makes sense."

"So, why did she stop calling home?"

"Good point."

Their sandwiches arrived.

"Been in the Department long?" Billie said to break the silence.

"Nearly a year. Six months until the end of my probation."

"Going well?"

"Other rookies seem to fall over stuff. I have to work hard at it. What about you, what do you do?"

"I was a security guard at a large industrial complex until recently. I saved up money so I could search for my brother. Speaking of which, what about the woman's cell phone? Did she have one? Can you find out its location? My brother may be with her."

"The cell signal?"

"It's a standard check, isn't it? Do you need a warrant?"

"As good as."

"Do the parents know where she last was?"

"I don't know."

This was hard work. "Could you ring them?"

"Well, I could."

"The woman may be in trouble, I'm sure the parents are very concerned."

"Okay, okay. Just have to do everything by the book."

"I get that, but sometimes you have a feeling, a gut instinct, don't you?"

"Yeah, suppose."

"Can you do it now?"

No wonder he was being supervised.

Aranda glanced round at Danzig. "I'll go outside."

As he walked towards the door, Danzig spoke to him and nodded towards Billie. He said something and walked outside. Billie watched him make the call. He put the cell phone on loud speaker while writing in his notebook; that was a good sign.

On his return, Aranda spoke to Danzig. She stood up and followed him over to Billie, where they both sat down.

"Anything?" Billie said, looking at both officers.

"It appears the woman shared her cell phone location with her parents as a way of appeasing them," Aranda said.

"Yes, go on."

"They, well, they gave me the information. But I, err, can't tell you, it's privileged and private."

Billie opened her notebook and turned to a calendar page. "What date was the last signal? Where was her plot of land?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Jansen," Danzig said, "we can't tell you anything else."

"But my brother may have been with her. Um." She thought quickly. "He or his friend may have abducted this woman, or she may have harmed them. Their bones could be out in the desert somewhere. Or they could all be in a ditch in the desert running out of water."

She knew she was getting through to Danzig. She could see it in her eyes and the way she shuffled in her seat. Danzig tapped her fingers on the table.

"What do you do, Miss Jansen? You ask a lot of questions."

"It's Billie. Until very recently, I was a security guard at a large industrial site."

"Security guard. Not a mall cop, then?"

"I have been a mall cop, actually."

"A regular Paula Blart, then? Buzzing about on your Segway?" Danzig said.

"Something like that." She didn't know why, but Billie couldn't stop herself laughing. It broke the atmosphere.

Danzig grinned, sat back, and turned to Aranda. "Have you looked up the co-ordinates of the last known position? That would be a good starting point."

"Not yet."

"Do it now."

Danzig rubbed her chin. "Miss Jansen, um ... Billie. I looked you up; wanted to make sure there was no history of false reports, you know."

"Oh," Billie said. She glanced down at the table.

"My father was an army man. Didn't approve of me leaving the army, and," she moved her forefingers in the air, "my lifestyle choices." She glanced at Aranda as if realizing she had spoken about a personal issue. She coughed and said, "How we doing?"

"Got it." Aranda showed Danzig his tablet screen.

"Thing is, we have the RV woman listed as missing a few weeks ago but follow up inquiries were limited."

Billie couldn't think of anything to say.

"Fuck it," Danzig said. "Do you have a car?"

Billie looked up. "I've a rental motorcycle outside."

Danzig nodded. "Yeah, thought it was yours."

Danzig's voice and body language had changed. Still the uptight woman of yesterday, but a chink of civility and personality had revealed itself.

"We are driving to the last known coordinates. It's a few miles outside of town. If you happen to follow us, then there's not much we can do about that."

Billie grabbed her crash helmet and shoulder bag from between her feet. "Thanks."

Aranda went to place his pen in his top pocket but missed. The pen fell onto the floor. Danzig stared at him and shook her head as he scrabbled around trying to pick it up.

Billie followed the cruiser at a discrete distance. She pondered the conversation and Danzig's change of heart as she rode along. Billie's family history often changed people's perceptions. Also, she believed Danzig was concerned the police department had mucked up the investigation. Whatever, this was positive. She wanted to believe Jeffrey was at the place where they were heading. He would be standing with Shaggy watching the wind turbine while drinking a fresh cup of water.

They sped along a major highway, then turned off and drove through various neighborhoods. It was warmer than Spokane, which made the motorcycle journey pleasant. However, it would be uncomfortable in the burning months of high summer. They neared a mountainous region with the ribbon developments thinning into separate residences. The road surface changed from tarmac to a looser sandy track. Ahead were hills dotted with green fauna and trees. This formed part of the lower slopes of land which would eventually lead up towards more mountainous areas.

The cruiser slowed and pulled over. Billie stopped behind them.

She removed her helmet and brushed sand and dust from her face. Whilst the officers walked around, she drank some water.

"This is it. The last known co-ordinates. Nothing here, just trees and scrubland. No field or anywhere to park an RV. Looks like the track leads to the hills and fizzles out." Danzig glanced at her tablet and shielded it with her hand. "Over there are the back end of some residences. Perhaps they drove up here, realized it was the wrong road, and turned around."

Danzig kicked at the sandy ground.

"You know, batteries fail, cell phones can be turned off or broken. Or she may have not wanted her parents to know where she was. Turned off her phone every now and again and drove around randomly. Supposed to be living off the grid. She is forty-two, for Christ's sake."

"What do you suggest?" Billie said.

The radio in the cruiser blared. Officer Aranda poked his head inside the window.

"911 call, sergeant. Domestic disturbance."

"There's nothing doing here for now, and we need to check other coordinates. She must have been static on her plot of land at some stage. We need to write this thing up and make more inquiries. We have to go. I'll get Aranda to call you."

"I understand," Billie said. "Thank you for your help."

Danzig nodded and got inside the cruiser. It sped off with the lights flashing.

Once on her own, Billie walked a hundred yards in each direction. It was barren with no signs of anyone. One side of the trackway contained a thicket of brush, which Billie tried to traverse but stopped when she tore her pants.

She sat on the motorcycle. A little despondent and a little positive, she mulled over the train of events which brought them here. It revolved around the woman. The cops have her name and RV details. Whatever, she was missing along with Jeffrey and Shaggy. All adults and all traveling, as far as is known, of their own free will.

She wondered if the plot of land which the woman bought was on public record. Without further details, she would have to remind Aranda to look it up. No wonder Danzig was supervising his ass.

She tapped on her cell phone, brought up a map, and examined the pin symbol pointing to her location. Zooming and narrowing the map, she orientated herself first before gaining the longitude and latitude coordinates. The area needed to be researched, which would be better with a cold drink in her hotel room.

Shit. No Jeffrey at the end of the rainbow. But there was something. She could not shake off the feeling that Jeffrey was in danger. The last few days had stirred it all up again.

As she rode off, she realized she didn't know the best route back to the hotel, as she was too caught up in following the police cruiser. She headed down the track intending to find the name of the first proper road.

Ahead, a white box truck trundled towards her. At first, she slowed, then on calculating the width between the truck and the edge of the road, she stood up bent her knees and road up and over a sandy ridge.

She braked, tilted over, and skidded the bike to a stop. Three men were in the front cab. One man, sitting in the middle seat, talked into a cell phone. The men, who appeared to be Hispanic, did not take any notice of her.

Where was it going? Billie spotted the license plate and tapped it into a memo note on her cell.

There must be a business facility or a farm further up the track from where the cruiser stopped.

At first, she was tempted to follow the truck, but considered it best to retreat and take stock. Everything was becoming a whirl of questions and concerns. She was in danger of overthinking and wasting time chasing redundant leads.

She found her way back to the hotel.

Billie watched the grains of sand disappearing down the plughole with the swirling shower water. It seemed to have got in every crevice during the bike ride. She sat in her bathrobe and drank half a bottle of soda while waiting for her laptop to fire up. She sent Lil an update text and received one back. Lil and Stratt were back in Spokane and sitting in the Crankshaft.

Billie opened two separate browser windows and lined up different search engines. Thankfully, the hotel's Wi-Fi signal was strong.

The more Billie researched and studied the satellite and normal map surrounding the coordinates, the more intense she became. The sandy track led to an area surrounded on three corners by high ground. There was a vague outline of a house and outbuildings.

The "sit up" moment came when Billie searched on a land sale website, filtering results by "sold" only. The standout property was an old homestead with a barn and small outbuildings, sold last year for $500,000. It advertised the land as being private, with no overlooking houses and its own water source. Also, it was about a mile further along the track. Was that where the box truck with the three men were headed?

What had this to do with Jeffrey? Probably nothing. That's why she needed to start over, write out a timeline and a list of known facts.

She was tired and hungry. Once dressed, Billie went downstairs and worked her way through the buffet. Whilst eating, she swapped texts with Lil, who ended by telling Billie it was past her bedtime and therefore grounded for the rest of the week.

Billie returned to the room and watched TV. Once ready for bed, she performed one of her relaxation routines and fell asleep.

# Wednesday, June 20

## i. What was she doing?

Billie woke, sweating, in the early hours. She had relived the salvage yard incident. The cousin appeared at the foot of her bed, followed by Weasel, before the scene morphed into the shootout by the crusher.

She got up, stretched, and padded over to the window. There was a gloomy light outside as dawn broke through. Were her ex-colleagues working the graveyard shift at the Millennium? If so, Vincent would be tucking into a box of doughnuts while the two dickheads careered around in a buggy doing as little as possible.

An Advil later, she returned to bed. On waking, the white box truck was on her mind. After due consideration over breakfast, she was soon back out to the sandy track, with a shoulder bag full of fruit taken from the buffet.

Bored after watching the track for two hours, Billie rode around an area of spare land. Having accelerated up and over sandy inclines and performed a few braked turns, she stopped.

What was she doing?

It was time to ride up to the end of the track.

As suggested by the online map, the trackway was lined with shrubs and trees, and there were no visible residences or turn offs. A substantial modern metal gate lay at the end of the track, set between two brick pillars. There was nothing to see through the gate bars except a rutted track curving around a clump of trees.

A high wire boundary fence ran each side of the gate. The impressions of many wheel marks were visible in the sand. Billie noted the width of the tire marks; they were like those of a box truck.

Another bloody intercom, Billie thought on examining the console set in a pillar. She kicked out the bike's stand and walked to the gate. The camera lens stared blankly at her. She pressed the red button and waited.

A crackle sounded.

Shit. "Err ..." she grabbed at her shoulder bag. "Delivery for Wilson. Err ... Buena Vista farmstead?"

" _Wrong address_ ," a heavily accented man's voice said.

The intercom clicked off.

"Thank you," Billie said and returned to her bike.

On reaching a point two hundred yards back down the trackway, she pulled off to one side. Something nagged at her. With hands on hips, she walked around and studied the landscape. The hills on either side of the homestead's location were like steep raised berms. Behind the estate was a series of hills, which Billie believed were low-lying formations leading eventually to the higher slopes in the distance. The perimeter fence ran behind a line of bushes and trees.

A flash of light, like a reflection from a mirror, from the hill on the left caught her attention. She walked for a few yards, turned, and glanced up again. Another flash.

It was time to leave.

On the journey back to the hotel, Billie could not shake off thoughts of the property, the last cell phone location, the voice, the reflections, and the white box truck from yesterday.

She stopped at a gas station, filled up the tank, and bought a sandwich and a cold bottle of soda. With her bike wheeled over to an area in the shade near an air pump, she sat down on a paving slab. While trying to prize the packaging open, she watched a couple arguing by the gas pumps. The man was leaning down shouting through the car window as the driver was trying to park nearer to the pump. A woman got out of the car, slammed the door, and stomped off into the gas station, leaving the man with his arms outstretched.

Billie chugged back the soda and put a hand over her mouth whilst she burped. The locals are the same all over, though here it was pleasantly warm. Sunny Tucson versus cloudy Spokane. Her brief opinion of Tucson was a good one.

Having devoured the sandwich, Billie wiped her mouth, and sent Lil a text.

Checking in. All good here. Eating a sandwich at a gas station in the sunshine xo

Lil replied:

Stratt's visiting an auto garage later, may be work available. Same old shit here. Been raining. Take care, call me later xo

Billie phoned officer Aranda. He didn't pick up the call. No surprise, he could be on a day off or not on duty yet.

Unsure what to do, Billie entered the gas station, used the bathroom, and grabbed a coffee. Her cell rang. It was Officer Aranda.

" _Hi. Saw that you called. Just finished a 911. On late shift today. Anything happening?_ "

"After you left yesterday, I stayed behind, and a white box truck drove up that trackway. I have the license. Three Hispanic men inside."

" _Could be a burrito business starting up. Or something else._ "

Billie wasn't sure if it was an attempt at humor or deflection because the men were Hispanic, like Aranda. She continued. "I rode up the end of the track and there was a solid new metal gate there. Very secure fencing. And ..."

" _Hold on_."

Billie heard muffled voices. Aranda had put the phone down to talk to someone.

" _Hello?_ "

It was Danzig. She didn't sound happy.

"Yes?" Billie said.

" _Look. Appreciate you have concerns, but people poking their noses into stuff get into trouble_."

"Okay sergeant. But can I add something?"

Danzig huffed. " _Look ..._ "

"I know, I know. I'm sorry to trouble you."

" _Your brother is probably digging a hole somewhere in a field_."

"I have a gut feeling," Billie said.

" _And I have a gut feeling that you leave this to us. Stop meddling, Miss Jansen_."

"Okay. But let me send through the license plate of the truck I saw to officer Aranda."

" _If you must_."

Danzig handed the cell back to Aranda. " _Have to go_ ," he said.

"I'll email you some details."

" _Yep, yep, bye_."

Billie wiped at her eyes. Life went on, and her brother was missing. The cops had lost interest and the sergeant was angry. Lil and Stratt were getting on with their lives while she had sat on her ass, enjoying the sun, watching the Tucson world go by.

Come on, Billie, stop fucking about. What were her true feelings, not the sensible ones which told her to leave everything to the cops? In a flash, she recalled herself zigzagging along her father's course, then the backdrop changed to the salvage yard. Alert, weapon in hand, finger on the trigger, she had the courage to take risks.

Her thoughts became clear.

Action was needed and it must be tonight.

If she found nothing up at that secure area, then she would place adverts in local papers and on local websites and go back to Spokane.

To save fiddling with her smartphone, she asked a gas attendant for directions to the nearest Walmart.

A while later, back in her room, she laid out the clothes and equipment on the bed. All was in dark colors, from the camo jacket and pants to her underclothes and balaclava.

She emailed the box truck details to officer Aranda and sent Lil a copy, together with the officer's contact details. Not wanting to phone Lil, she sent a text instead.

Lil. Sent you an email. Going up to a place, tonight, to investigate xo

Lil replied within a minute _. I understand. Is there anything I can do for you? xo_

My location will be on the GPS app. I'll try to check in, but cell will be on silent xo

Okay, will keep my eyes on you! Take care, Wilhelmina xoxo

Thanks, Lillian xoxo

Billie couldn't quantify how much the contact with Lil meant. It was the way she didn't make judgements or take pity on a poor girl who had bad things happen in her life. No, it was a type of friendship which Billie had never experienced before.

Practically, it was reassuring to know Lil would monitor her movements tonight. She didn't feel so alone.

Having filled up on pasta from the restaurant buffet, she returned to her room and put her cell phone on charge. She undressed, folded her clothes and jumped in the shower. Tilting her head out the stream of water, she managed to keep her hair dry.

Once dressed she filled her jacket and pants pockets with snack bars, a bottle of water, mint candy, an army-style combined day and night pair of binoculars, a flashlight, and a Swiss Army knife. Before leaving, she sent Lil a text to confirm she was setting off. Lil replied immediately with an "okay."

## ii. Into the darkness

Twilight was changing into darkness as Billie left the city and headed into the desert. The temperature was cooler as she found her way to one of the last residences before the land transformed into unoccupied scrub. This, in her judgment, was safer than riding up the trackway. The road was also surfaced, making it smoother to ride on. Before reaching the house, she slowed and rode off the road into the sandy brush for twenty yards. She waited. Nightlife chirped and clicked around her. She pushed the bike into a bushy outcrop and poked the crash helmet behind the front wheel.

She checked her position on her cell. It was as she planned. To her left was the last house, to her right was the trackway. If she walked ahead in a straight line, she would reach the front perimeter fence of the homestead, away from the gate. Loath to take out her flashlight just yet, she squinted her eyes and navigated her way ahead. Shadows and darkness surrounded her. The moon was her friend this evening; it glowed brightly in the clear, cloudless night sky. She estimated it was about a mile's walk.

Apart from the sound of twigs and brush crackling under her boots, her journey was interspersed with wildlife scurrying through the undergrowth. She scratched her nose and pulled on her balaclava.

It took nearly fifteen minutes to pick her way through the underbrush until the outline of the high fence came into view. Bearing left, she continued along until reaching the fence corner. The fence line continued ahead of her, along the bottom of the incline. Billie reasoned that the whole site was surrounded by the metal fence. Satellite images suggested a square boundary around the buildings and land. Perhaps the images were out of date and showed an old wooden fence, which had been recently replaced by the landowners.

Despite the security, the mirror reflection, had come from the top of the berm, outside of the fence.

Her stride pattern changed as she began making her way up the hill. Lights glowed from inside a large building and its surrounding compound; she was on the right track. Within a short time, she reached a ridge which took her up towards the higher ground.

Careful, she thought. Spotters or hidden spy cams could be nearby. It was clear that this elevation provided a good vantage point, both during day and night.

A man coughed. She froze. It sounded ten feet away.

The man spat on the ground as static crackled on a radio.

" _Hey, Pedro, tu viejo follador._ Va a comer pronto, aliviar después de que. Bien?"

" _Si, Si_ ," the man said into the radio.

As he spoke, Billie hunkered down behind a tree. They spoke Spanish. Sadly, her knowledge of the language was limited, but she sensed the men's voices were calm. Good, they had not spotted her.

Footsteps crunched on dry leaves.

She stayed still and held the side of the tree.

A silhouette appeared to her right, four feet away. A rifle with a telescopic sight was slung over the man's shoulder. Billie pressed the side of her face against the tree bark, keeping one eye on the man.

He undid his zipper and after a pause, urinated. He peed in an arc, producing a trail of steam in the cool air. The man whistled as he shook the last drops off, zipped up his pants, and walked back to his previous position.

Billie let out a slow breath and waited until her heartbeat slowed. She licked her lips, tasting the balaclava material for a moment.

To gain a better view of the guard, she crouched and stepped lightly to the next tree. The man sat in a garden chair facing the compound, his rifle cradled across his knees. A radio crackled and a male voice spoke.

The man brought the radio to his mouth. " _Si, Si_."

From his voice and the way he moved, Billie considered the man was middle-aged or older.

She moved back below the ridgeline and stepped to the side, placing distance between herself and the lookout. She needed to take stock. Were there other lookouts with night binoculars or trip wires? She had to take the risk. If caught, she would claim to be a nighttime rambler who got lost.

Gauging that the man was fifteen yards away, she regained the ridge. She kneeled, then crawled forward on all fours. What was it about this estate which needed a strong gate, a high fence, and an armed lookout? She rested on her knees, fetched out the binoculars, and studied the area. Dusk had ended, meaning the night properties of the lenses would have limitations. Billie hadn't wanted to spend a lot of dollars on top-range night-only binoculars.

She realized immediately that this was the place she saw in the property lots on the sale website, but with the addition of wide plastic covered greenhouses situated across the yard from the large wooden homestead. With its front veranda, it was straight out of a western movie. The doors of the barn, situated at the far end, were open. A line of solar-powered lights threw a dull glow onto the ground, giving anyone a pathway between the homestead and the barn. Each greenhouse contained a gloomy night light.

Lines of trees and shrubs were dotted around the outer edges of the compound, assisting in retaining its secrecy from ground level. Billie recalled the view from the gate. Nothing much, except trees.

She rubbed her eyes and continued surveying the compound. There was no sign of anyone.

With deliberate movements, she swept the binoculars up and along the perimeter line. The range and definition were better than she expected. In one corner, below and to the side, she made out the roof of an RV through a dark line of trees. Her viewpoint prohibited her from seeing more.

The woman's RV? The one who picked up Jeffrey and Shaggy? Probably a coincidence.

Her gaze moved to a light which appeared at the barn doors. A man stood holding a lantern, which he set on the ground. With a clean-cut, youthful face, he held an AK47 rifle in the ready position. He raised his rifle as a person ambled out of the barn, holding a light-colored bucket. She couldn't tell if it was a man or woman as the guard's position obscured the body and face. The person moved in an awkward trot, Billie noted, and they were hunched in pain or through age. A prisoner?

The person shuffled alongside the front of the barn. As they moved an ankle chain swayed and glinted in the light. This confirmed the person's prisoner status. The prisoner entered darkness and disappeared out of view. The guard stayed in position.

As the prisoner shuffled back to the barn, the bucket swung a little, as if emptied. The guard raised his rifle as the prisoner approached.

Billie tensed. The rifle bucked in the guard's hands. The action was followed by the guard displaying a wide grin. He must be playing a joke on the prisoner, as the person continued walking forward as if nothing happened.

The prisoner now moved into the light. He was a man with a beard, haggard looking, but not too old. From his height, it wasn't Shaggy. At the barn door, the prisoner stopped and turned his upper body. He looked across the compound, towards Billie's position. The guard picked up the lantern and light shone fully onto the man's face.

She studied all the features of the worn down, exhausted face. The man continued staring into the darkness as if searching for a long-lost memory. There was a line across his right eyebrow where hair hadn't grown.

It was Jeffrey. It had to be Jeffrey.

Billie bit her lip to stop herself shouting out his name. Her heart thumped; she felt sweaty and lost herself in thought. The relief and anxiety made her eyes well up.

The guard poked Jeffrey with his rifle and they both disappeared inside the barn.

Billie took a minute composing herself. Her initial thought was to run down and shout out Jeffrey's name, but she knew this was dangerous. Wait, stop, she told herself. It would be best to retreat to safety and call the cops.

With her binoculars in her jacket pocket, she pulled her balaclava off her face for a moment to take a few breaths. She replaced the balaclava, brought up her knees, and crawled backwards.

" _Oye, oye_." It was a man's voice.

Between the silvery shadows and the glow of a lantern, Billie saw a rifle barrel pointing at her.

The guard placed the lantern on the ground and grasped the rifle with both hands. His face was lit with yellow radiance. Tension creased across his brow and his eyes were wide.

He licked his lips before speaking again. "Quién eres?" His voice creaked. He coughed and spoke again. "Quién eres?"

It sounded to Billie like he was asking what she was doing here. She stood up and put her hands in the air, realizing she was taller than the man.

Old, with a paunch and food stains down his shirt, the man stepped back. He glanced to his left and right before pinning the rifle between his elbow and body. With his free hand, he reached for the radio attached to his pant belt, but fumbled, sending the radio onto the ground.

As he bent over, Billie seized her chance. Instead of running away, she leaped forward and grabbed the rifle. Her firm grasp and forward momentum pulled it easily out of his grip. In doing so, she pushed into the man and unbalanced him. They both toppled onto the ground. She threw the rifle out of reach to free her hands.

The man breathed noisily to catch his breath and punched upwards. Billie lay across him in an awkward position with her head touching his. He smelled strongly of booze. A punch connected with the side of her head but lacked strength. Billie breathed hard inside the balaclava as she rolled off the man and grasped the rifle.

She stood up and aimed the weapon at the man's chest.

He stared at Billie's covered face and whimpered. "Mi madre, mi hija. Por favor."

Billie stepped back in case it was a ruse to make a grab at her.

The radio kicked into life with a brief message. She picked up the device and put it in her jacket pocket. With a flick of the rifle, she motioned for the man to stand.

"Up," she said, "up."

The man gazed at Billie's covered face. " _Sí, Sí_."

Billie watched the man roll over and onto his knees. It was an effort for him to stand. As he did so, a bottle of tequila fell out of his back pocket. He put his hands in the air.

What now? Walk him back to the road for the cops? He could run off into the darkness and raise an alarm. Without handcuffs or Weasel-style zip ties, she would need to adapt.

She pointed the rifle at the tequila and tried to stop her hands shaking.

"Drink."

He didn't need to understand her request as he seemed grateful for the opportunity.

"Again."

He took another long swig.

She watched him for a moment then had an idea. She motioned to his pants.

"Pockets."

He pulled out the pocket lining and as he did so, keys attached to a small chain around his belt loop fell out and jingled.

"Belt," she said.

"Qué _?_ "

"Pants belt." She pointed at his belt buckle.

The tequila was having an effect. The man swayed and muttered to himself.

"Mi madre, mi hija."

"Belt," Billie said, raising her voice.

The man's fingers fiddled with his belt. As soon as he undid the clasp, his pants fell down. He bent down to pull them up and tottered to keep his footing. His pants remained around his ankles.

This was taking too long. Billie stepped behind him and pulled at the belt until it was free of the belt loops. In doing so, she touched him in the back. He fell forward onto his knees and brought his hands up in the prayer position.

" _Dios to salve, Maria. Llena eres de gracia_."

Billie sighed and tapped the side of his arm with the rifle.

"Behind," she said.

The man brought his hands around his back.

"Si, si," Billie said.

With the belt looped over his wrists and tightened she made the man move sideways towards a narrow tree. Slipping the belt around the tree, she brought it back through his wrists and tied a series of knots.

The man stretched his legs in front of him, leaned back and muttered to himself. Billie removed his boots and tossed them away. She grabbed the lantern, checked he was secure, and stood up facing him. A pitiful sight of a man with holes in his socks, his pants below his knees and praying.

"Shh," she said and placed a finger onto her mouth.

The man nodded and hung his head.

Relieved, Billie moved to the man's lookout position and sat in the garden chair. She peeled the balaclava off her face and left it on top of her head. It was a relief to breathe freely.

An empty bottle of tequila lay on the ground, together with discarded packets of chips, cigarette packets, and two adult magazines.

She swept the binoculars up to the hill on the opposite side. For a moment, she panicked in expectation of being shot by a man hidden in the trees and shadows. The hill appeared empty. Perhaps it wasn't suitable for a lookout. There was no chair or signs of anyone having been there. Its steep slope may be too much for someone to climb, plus it provided natural security to that side of the compound.

A voice sounded on the radio. She took it out of her pocket and stared at it.

It was the same voice as before.

"Hola, Pedro. Todo bien ahí arriba?"

Billie tightened her throat, coughed, pressed the talk button and said, "Si, si."

" _Bien, viejo bastardo_."

The radio stayed silent.

Billie wiped her face with both hands; her actions had taken her past a point of no return. This was not like her video games. There was no re-spawning or re-trying a checkpoint.

But Jeffrey was alive. Great, but this was a place of illegal activity with armed guards.

She ran through various strategies, from running away to working her way through the compound shooting the shit out of everyone. Whatever, she was out of her depth. To threaten a man with a rifle and tie him up was a felony crime.

How could she free Jeffrey?

She picked up the rifle. It was a type of AK47, Billie believed, fitted with a sniper's night scope. Through the scope, she saw another guard, who had appeared since she last looked. He wore a jean jacket and stood outside the homestead, smoking a cigarette. This was a different man than the one guarding Jeffrey. That makes three.

With the crosshairs of the scope settled on his thin unpleasant face, she knew she could take him down. Though her father talked of rifles, shotguns and breathing techniques, she had only fired air rifles when at Girls scout camp. Despite that, she was the best shot amongst her friends.

## iii. Stay on the phone

Billie's cell phone vibrated.

Carefully placing the rifle across her lap, she examined the screen and answered the call in a low voice. "Yes?"

" _Your friend Jill contacted us_." It was officer Aranda.

Billie stood up, shouldered the rifle and slinked back into the darkness. "Lil called you?"

" _Yes, that's the one. We are coming up to see you. The sergeant is not happy_."

Billie heard the sergeant shouting something.

" _I've put the loudspeaker on_ ," Aranda said.

" _Miss Jansen, I will kick your ass. You are in a big pile of shit_."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

" _Too late for that. Where are you?_ "

"If you are driving up the sandy track from yesterday, don't go to the end. There are men with guns. Pull over before you get there."

" _Mother fucker_."

The sound of the engine changed.

" _We've pulled over. Men with guns? This had better be good_."

"I've seen my brother, he's a prisoner in chains and being kept in a barn."

Silence.

"Hello?" Billie said.

" _Okay, okay. You'd better not be fucking with us_ ," Danzig said.

"I'm on top of a ridge by the side of a secure place at the end of the track. Saw him with binoculars."

" _Can you get back to the road safely? Have you been seen?_ " The sergeant's voice had changed tone.

"Err ... I've tied up a lookout guard. I have his sniper rifle. I don't think anyone saw me."

" _Jesus Christ. Don't shoot anyone or do anything else_."

Billie imagined officer Aranda's eyes widening and the sergeant shaking her head.

" _Move back to a safer position and stay on the phone_."

"Okay."

Billie walked a little down the back of the hill.

" _First, Billie, if you can, describe what you have seen_."

"Yes." Billie swallowed. "There are several large greenhouses, like on a farm. There is a typical homestead wooden building, a barn, and some other outbuildings. An RV, I don't know if it is the missing woman's one, is parked in a corner. My brother, god I hope it is my brother, is in the barn."

" _Any vehicles?_ "

"Can't see everything. If the white box truck is here, it could be parked out of the way. I gave the license plate in my email."

" _Got the number?_ " Danzig said.

" _Yes_ ," Aranda said.

" _Billie. Stay away and hide. We'll call you right back_."

Billie put the cell in her shirt pocket so she could feel it vibrating and walked up the ridge to view the compound. Nothing had changed, and the old guard was asleep.

A few minutes later a call came through.

" _We're coming up to you. Local armed units are busy with a robbery. I've contacted an old buddy from the Border Force. The white truck is of interest to them. They're getting ready but need a police spotter up there to assist in probable cause. What's the best way up?_ "

Billie gave directions.

" _Stay out of trouble. That's an order_."

With her balaclava covering her face, Billie walked along and down the ridge until level with the corner of the perimeter fence. Standing, she used her binoculars and bobbed her head to see past the trees. Officer Aranda eventually appeared first, followed by Danzig. Their police badges gleamed an off-green color in the night vision. Billie pulled the balaclava up off her face and walked forward waving her cell phone screen towards them. Both officers drew their weapons on seeing a figure dressed in black with a rifle slung over a shoulder.

"It's me, Billie."

"Billie?"

"Yes, it's me. On my own."

She heard weapons being re-holstered.

"Shit, you look like a stalker," Danzig said.

Billie led them along a route between the trees, past the lookout position, until they stood by the tied-up guard. Billie took out her flashlight and turned it on. She stood with her back to the compound to shield the light as best as she could.

Danzig checked him over.

"Breathing, he's safe, secure and asleep. Leave him for the moment until we see what's going on. What did you do to him?"

"He found me. We fought, I took the rifle off him and got him to drink tequila."

Danzig held a hand out and Billie gave her the rifle, which was placed against a tree. She then bent her head and made a short series of radio calls in a low voice.

She turned to Aranda. "The control room will contact us directly by our cell phones. Turn the radio volume off, we don't want to hear any other chatter."

"Sergeant."

A voice sounded over the lookout's radio. Billie took it out of her pocket.

Aranda tilted his head. "It's Mexican Spanish. They're asking for Pedro."

"Hola, Pedro. Todo bien?" the male voice said.

"He's saying, 'Hey, Pedro. Everything okay?'"

Danzig took the radio off Billie and gave it to Aranda. "Reply back. Tell him, all is okay."

"He speaks in a low voice and says, 'Si, si,'" Billie said, "and he took a pee earlier."

Aranda grasped the radio and hesitated before pressing the talk button. "Está bien. Tenía una meada," he said in a deeper voice. He turned to Danzig. "I said it is okay, had a piss."

"Good thinking," Danzig said.

The radio burst into life.

"You cold up there, your voice has changed? Been masturbating again, you old bastard?" Aranda said.

Billie knew Aranda would be blushing as he spoke.

"Say back, 'It takes one to know one," Danzig said.

Aranda gave the message.

There was a rapid reply.

"Ha, Ha. You've been thinking of Pendejo's girl again. Just finishing eating, be up in a few minutes. The boss is shouting at everyone because of tomorrow's harvest."

Danzig said, " _Si, Si_."

Aranda gave the reply.

The man spoke again, this time slower.

"Just heard, shouldn't say over the radio. The boss has decided that young fucker Chico will shoot the American in the barn while he is sleeping." Aranda's voice trailed off as he looked at Billie.

Danzig broke the moment. "Say something like my god,' then breathe out, then say, 'see you soon.'"

Aranda gave the message.

The short reply came back. "Okay, man."

The radio lapsed into silence.

"Fuck. This job just gets better." Suddenly aware of what she had said, Danzig turned to Billie. "We'll get your brother out and the others, but we can't go rushing in."

Billie thought of running down the hill and taking her chances in the compound.

Danzig put a hand on her shoulder and stood directly in front of her. "Billie, hold fast. We'll release your brother, but we need to think clearly, okay?"

Danzig shook Billie's shoulder. "Need to hear you say it."

"Okay," Billie said quietly.

"Good, now, where's the best place to view the buildings?"

Billie came back to her senses and nodded. Reluctantly, she knew the sergeant was right. "By the lookout's chair, sergeant," she said, handing over her binoculars. "They're both day and night. Bit limited in dark shadows. The sniper rifle has a night scope, though."

"I'll use these."

Danzig swept the binoculars back and forth. "Your brother?"

"The barn at the back. The RV is in the corner back over to your left, you can only see the roof."

Danzig swung the binoculars. "Got it. Definitely similar RV with that roof shape. What else we got on site? Satellite, wind and solar. Greenhouses, signs of chemicals used on the ground. Must be cannabis being grown. A main house and organized armed guards. This is a major narcotics operation. How many men?"

"One here, young one by the barn, jean jacket and the voice? Four?"

"I've seen this before. Hmm ... Yeah. Have to be very careful." She glanced at Billie. "It's Cassie." She turned her head. "Aranda?"

"Sergeant?"

"Check on our lookout again, make sure he's breathing."

"Sergeant," he said.

"Here we go," Danzig said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her cell. She began speaking in a low voice. "David. This is a major narcotics compound, hidden in the hills. Cannabis farm, armed guards and slave workers. Yeah, yeah. I have a witness who saw her brother in chains. It ties in with another missing person case. The white box truck was seen driving up to the place yesterday, can't see that vehicle. More than enough probable cause. High risk. Yes, search warrant, aha. Tactical channel, yes. ETA? Good, thanks." She ended the call. "Border Force are on way."

Her cell vibrated again. "Control room," she said out of the corner of her mouth. "Yes, Captain. That is correct. Our radios are turned down, we need to be quiet. Probable cause, yes. Major narcotics compound, armed guards. If we don't act now, people will be hurt. Yes, aha. Border Force. Narcotics operation, links in to border investigations."

Danzig pulled the phone away from her ear for a moment and shook her head.

"They are getting a search warrant, as well. My old colleague, David Cardona. They are on way. Sir, no, we can't wait for our own SWAT. Tactical channel awaits. Yes, yes, okay." She ended the call. "Fucker. Aranda, ignore that."

Aranda had just appeared back and was wiping his hands down his pants. "Yes, Sergeant. The man's fine."

"It's gone all political. Told to do nothing until the shift lieutenant arrives in his shiny new uniform with a pole up his ass trying to tell us what to do. Aranda, ignore that as well."

"Yes, Sergeant."

Despite the seriousness, Billie stifled a grin.

Her cell vibrated; she knew it would be Lil. She purposefully rejected the call. Lil would understand.

Danzig was back on her cell. "David. Just had all clear, politically speaking from the control room captain. Okay, okay. Hold on." She turned to Billie. "Can you describe the front gate?"

Danzig held the phone towards Billie's mouth.

"Yes, probably remote controlled via intercom with a camera. Solid, metal bars, I guess it swings or slides open. It's at least fifteen feet wide. Oh yeah, two brick pillars on either side. There's a fence all around the property."

Danzig took the phone back. "Got that? Yes. Hang on. Any other points of entry?"

"There must be a gate or opening in the fence for the lookout to walk through to reach here." Billie thought for a moment. "There may be other fence gates I suppose. And yeah, there are photos on a property lot sales website."

"No. Err ... she's the one who alerted us. No, no, private citizen. Right, okay. Thanks." Danzig ended the call. "Right, armed units are on way. Be fifteen minutes. Tactical channel 35."

Billie fished out a bottle of water and a packet of mints while the two officers fiddled with their radios.

"Are we going back to the cruiser, sergeant?" Aranda said.

"We should, but I'm keeping an eye on the place. Was on a job months back, the perps ran off before we arrived. It was embarrassing. Want to give the guys the best chance. Aranda keep listening to the radio. Let's find a safe spot. They will miss their lookout soon."

Danzig turned to Billie.

Billie saw the sergeant's face in the moonlight. It was not good news. "Billie?"

"Yes?"

"No questions. Go back and stay by the cruiser."

"What about my brother?"

"Billie, you've done well. Leave it to us."

"Okay," Billie said, with resignation. "Keep the binoculars, they may be useful."

Whilst she couldn't argue with the danger of the situation, she begrudgingly picked her way back across the ridge.

## iv. The promise

Thirty feet into her retreat, Billie heard Danzig talking, so she stopped and crouched behind a tree.

Fuck it, she said to herself, Jeffrey needs me. With her face straining at every crunch of leaves, she retraced her steps. Within a few yards of the officers, she could clearly hear Danzig's voice.

"Man with a sniper rifle just came out from the homestead wiping his mouth. Been eating?"

A voice crackled on the radio.

Aranda translated. "Hey, Pedro, you old fucker, coming up. Will leave the gate open for you."

"Si, Si," Danzig said.

Aranda gave the reply.

"He's taken out a key chain and heading towards the side fence. Gone out of view. We need to pull back. Too dark, and the terrain is too difficult to take him out silently. We're not risking it. We'll wait for Border Force."

Pedro was asleep and snoring when Billie found him nearby. At the mention of the side fence being left open, Billie remembered Pedro's key chain, attached to his pants belt loop. She clicked on her flashlight and with a swift yank of the key chain, ripped the belt fabric and stuffed the keys into her pocket.

She carefully trod back to her previous position and hid like a stalker in the woods.

There was a rustling, followed by grunts and a crack of wood. Aranda stumbled, then stood up and held onto a tree. His whole body was outlined in the moon's glow at the top of the ridge. The light reflected off his uniform.

Before Billie could wonder if the men below had seen him, a voice shouted out from the bottom of the slope

" _Pedro?_ Quién es _?_ "

"Aranda, get down," Danzig said.

Aranda hit the ground and spoke quietly. "He's saying, who is that."

Billie heard Danzig let out a cry of surprise, followed by scraping and rustling sounds.

"Sergeant?" Aranda said. "Sergeant?" There was an urgency in his voice.

Billie burst forward her hands out in front of her. "Aranda, it's me, Billie."

Aranda clasped his pistol and bit his lower lip.

Before he could speak, Billie said, "Keep your head down. Watch the men below. I'll check on Danzig."

"Okay," he said without questioning the request. He turned to face the compound and hunkered behind a tree.

"Pedro?" The shout came again.

Billie turned on her flashlight and peered down. Danzig had slipped down a steep incline covered with loose soil, leaves, and twigs. Overgrown roots had eroded the ground, resulting in a landslip.

The sergeant was four feet below the ridge and clinging onto a knotty tree root with one hand. If she lost her grip, she would slide to the bottom, bumping into tree stumps in the darkness, causing certain injury.

"Cassie?"

Danzig gazed up at the light, concern on her face. "Billie? Where's Aranda?"

"Watching the compound. Hold on."

"Doing that."

Billie flicked the flashlight around and spotted a narrow tree near the edge of the slope. She lay on the ground on her front and crooked her right elbow around the tree trunk. With her head and right shoulder dug into the tree, she wriggled her torso so that her legs dangled over the edge. She dug her boots into the earth and lowered her left hand.

A hand grasped her ankle, and soon Danzig was working her way up the slope using Billie's legs and body. Billie grabbed Danzig's hand and helped pull her up and onto even ground.

The sergeant kneeled for a moment and rubbed her hands and face. She felt for her weapon and utility belt to make sure everything was still in place. "Thanks." She blew out a breath. "So, you didn't go back to the cruiser?"

Billie didn't reply; instead, she held out a bottle of water. Danzig spat out some dirt, sipped from the bottle, and spat out again.

"Mint?" Billie said.

"Bloody girl bloody scout," Danzig said, taking the candy. "You are something, young lady." She stood up and pulled at the back of her pants. "Big wedgie."

Billie shook her head, wiped a hand over the bottleneck and took a mouthful of water.

"The man has gone back to the house," Aranda said.

Danzig moved next to him and fished out Billie's binoculars. "He's talking to the man with the jean jacket and pointing up here."

The radio came to life. This time, the voice spoke in a flat tone.

"He says, 'Hi, Pedro. What is the name of your hometown?'"

"Keep pressing the button as if the radio is broken and say a town."

Aranda repeatedly pressed the talk button whilst saying, "Nogales."

The reply was spoken in English.

" _Wrong answer, American cop_."

"The man in the jean jacket was the one speaking on the radio. Must be the boss."

Danzig took out her cell. "David? We've been spotted. We'll stay here as long as we can and keep you updated, then we pull back. Yeah, okay." She ended the call. "They're not far now. Aranda, tactical radio channel."

Danzig squatted by a small tree before speaking. "We keep observing the compound and our surroundings. Get ready to retreat along the ridge. Watch out for that slope." She held up the binoculars again.

Danzig spoke into her radio. "David? Cassie. Are we on comms?"

" _Cassie, have you loud and clear. Sitrep?_ "

"We're still on the side ridge, observing. Hold on."

Billie squinted. She could make out a figure making their way over towards the homestead from the barn.

Danzig continued. "They're regrouping in the homestead. Three armed men inside the compound. Hispanic, Mexican males, AK47s and a sniper rifle. Boss is wearing a jean jacket. Would say they are getting ready to take action or run."

" _Roger that_." The sound of the armored truck was loud in the background.

The muffled _thunk_ , _thunk_ of gunfire sounded inside the farmhouse.

"Sounds like AKs," Aranda said.

"Who they firing at?" Danzig said before speaking into the radio to update the Border Force

Billie believed she saw three figures exit the farmhouse and stand in the shadows on the front veranda. At that moment, a white box truck appeared from the other side of the homestead. The vehicle swung around in a tight curve until parked right outside the building, facing towards the exit gate.

Gunfire erupted towards their position. Bullets pinged and zipped into the tops of the trees.

They needed no telling to fling themselves onto the ground.

Another volley was fired, lower this time but still a few yards from their position.

"Back, back. Could be a sniper," Danzig said.

They crawled backwards a few feet. Danzig waited, then popped her head up and peered through the binoculars.

"Suppressing fire." She grabbed the radio. "Shots fired, shots fired in our direction. Hang on they've stopped. Wait. They're bringing out duffel bags. Back of truck is open and they are loading on the bags."

Billie kept her head down. Being shot at was not an event she wanted to go through again.

"Um ... one man is walking around the truck and continuing towards the barn, I think," Danzig said.

"Jeffrey?" Billie said. Without thinking she got onto her knees and examined the compound. "They're going to shoot him before they leave."

Danzig did not reply.

With each passing second, Billie felt the weight of the moment. "We can't let him get to the barn." She could not restrain the emotion in her voice.

"Stay still, Billie, it's out of our control," Danzig said, reaching for her radio. "David, how long? Concerned for a captive."

" _A few minutes. Traffic hold up_." The armed truck's siren was turned on, drowning out any further speech.

Danzig turned her face towards Billie. "Sorry, Billie, I'm sorry, we can't go down. Too dangerous."

Billie watched the lone figure of the gunman walking towards the barn, his AK47 held in front of him. She could not witness this and do nothing; she had made a promise to Jeffrey.

At once she stood up and ran through the trees and shrubs, ignoring the whip of the branches on her legs and arms.

The sniper rifle was where Danzig left it, resting against a tree.

"Billie, Billie?" Danzig was shouting after her.

Danzig could shout all she liked, there were no other thoughts on Billie's mind except to save Jeffrey.

Without hesitation and with purpose and determination, Billie grasped the rifle. There was no time to lie down. She pulled the rifle tight into her shoulder, her hands settling on a natural strong hold.

She brought the rifle up, sighted it on the young man and caressed the trigger. He walked with a jaunty step. It was the same young man who taunted Jeffrey earlier when he emptied the bucket.

Billie saw the man raise his rifle and pop off single shots towards the barn.

His body was clearly visible in the night scope, particularly in the partial darkness as opposed to the nearby glow of the solar lights. Billie moved the sight upwards to the barn and back to the man.

He was fifteen feet away from the entrance.

With the crosshairs steady, she settled on the man's body.

She took a breath and slowly let it out.

The rifle bucked and jerked as she fired a stream of shots. The loud crack of gunfire broke the silence.

She swung the sights back to the man. His body twisted awkwardly, then he fell to the ground clutching at his backside. He lay sprawling on the ground, his AK47 having fallen out of his hands.

Billie felt neither elation nor despondence. She would deal with the consequences later and plead her case to the court. At this moment, nothing mattered.

With her finger lightly touching the trigger, she waited. If the man got up, she would shoot him again.

As the rattling sound in her ears cleared, she could hear Danzig shouting nearby. "Billie? Billie? Put down the rifle. Put it down."

Billie tilted the barrel towards the ground.

There was a rustling in the undergrowth. "Here, I'm here," she said.

Danzig appeared and grabbed the rifle off her. "Shit, Billie, shit. They'll have my badge for this. I'm already on a warning. Shit. Fuck."

"I had to stop him," Billie said.

Before Danzig could reply, Aranda shouted out. "Sergeant. Quick."

Billie followed Danzig back to their previous position.

Aranda was peering through the binoculars. "The jean jacket man is by the truck, carrying a box and a shoulder bag."

Danzig pointed at Billie. "You stay out the way or I'll handcuff you."

Billie sat on the ground with her back against a tree and wiped a hand across her face. There was nothing more she could do, except await her arrest, court case and prison sentence.

Danzig stomped over to Aranda, took the binoculars and spoke on the radio. "Update. Another guard is out of action. More activity by the white truck. Think they are getting ready to leave."

" _Roger. We are nearing the track to head them off_."

Billie stood up and stared out at the compound. From what she could see, the man she shot remained where he fell. I've killed a man. I've killed a man. She bent over and dry retched.

"Your man is shouting in pain," Danzig said to Billie.

Billie froze. "Can he get to the AK47?"

"Unlikely, you shot him in the ass."

It didn't make her feel any better. From the sergeant's commentary, it was apparent that the guards were leaving. At least when they've gone, the Border Force could enter the barn and find Jeffrey, Shaggy, and the missing woman.

"The box. I can see bottles," Danzig said.

The guard's radio came to life and the somber voice spoke in English. " _Fuck you, American cops."_

"Stand by," Danzig said. "He's bending down to the box and flicked on a lighter. Firebombs."

Billie saw the trail of light flicker as it was thrown onto the roof of the farmhouse. The bottle smashed, sending a plume of flame along the dried shingles. Within moments, it caught fire. The man in the jean jacket took out a grenade from his shoulder bag, pulled out the pin, and tossed it through the front door of the farmhouse.

"Holy fuck," Danzig said.

There was a shattering explosion, making the ground floor appear to lift upwards. He followed it up with another firebomb.

Danzig relayed what was happening on the radio as Aranda and Billie watched the unfolding events.

The man in the jean jacket then threw grenades and firebombs at the greenhouses. The plastic covering melted and dripped onto the cannabis plants. Small rivulets of multicolored flames spread throughout the greenhouses due to contact with chemical containers.

The spectacle of the flames, explosions and destruction was almost mesmerizing. Danzig stopped giving her commentary.

Billie stood up and focused her eyes as best she could through the growing haze of smoke. The truck had moved. "I think the truck has driven off."

Danzig stood up. "Yes. Driving slowly towards the barn and exit. I don't like that, too slow. Um ... I can't see jean jacket. Think he's walking on the other side of the truck, checking on the shot man."

The truck stopped on the track near the barn.

There was a distant rattle of gunfire. "Oh, Christ."

"What, sergeant?" Aranda said, his voice showing strain.

"He's shot the younger man. I saw his body and head move. Leaving no witnesses."

To Billie's horror, two flickers of light, one after the other, landed onto the barn's roof. It erupted into a sea of flame. As she watched, there was a _whoomph_ and a blast as a grenade exploded inside the barn doors. Wooden shards and dust burst into the air.

The white truck sped off towards the exit gate.

"Jeffrey?" Billie said.

She felt a hand on her back. "Billie. Hold on." Danzig talked on her radio. "It's a shit storm here. Destroying everything with grenades and firebombs. The white box truck is driving to the exit."

Billie zoned out of the conversation. That was police business. Jeffrey was inside the barn.

## v. In pursuit

Billie ran forward, adjusting her steps as she skipped down the slope. Tripping on a tree root, she picked herself up, then slid down on her side, using her hands to slow herself.

She reached the fence.

Aware of Danzig and Aranda in pursuit, she grasped the metal fence and worked her way along to the gate. Noxious smoke blew across her. The darkness and the flickering flames were disconcerting.

"Billie, wait up," Danzig shouted.

Billie continued on. Thankful that the guard had unlocked the gate, like he said, she ran through and into the compound.

There was only one aim.

Flames flicked through the windows of the homestead. Smoke billowed into the dark sky on her left. On her right, the greenhouses, or what remained of them, gave off a semi-noxious vapor mixed with heavy scents of burning cannabis.

Despite the sounds of destruction, Billie heard heavy gunfire ahead and to her right by the front gate.

She concentrated on running, pumping her arms and not tripping up. Danzig would be behind her, shouting and swearing with handcuffs at the ready.

Billie focused on the barn. The fire was taking hold; orange embers blew into the air. Creaks and groans sounded as beams weakened and warped.

She passed the man she shot. He lay sprawled on the ground with blood pooling around his head. Resisting the urge to pick up the AK47, she continued running.

A burst of automatic gunfire erupted to her right. Bullets pitted the ground to her side and ahead of her. Her reaction was to slow down.

The man in the jean jacket appeared out of the gloom; he was limping and had difficulty holding his rifle. He must have returned to the compound from the front gate.

As he brought up his rifle, Billie sprinted forward.

There were shouts behind her, followed by two clear pistol shots. Billie snatched a quick glance over her shoulder; the man was on the ground.

She reached the barn.

The grenade had, to some extent, done her a favor by creating an opening into the building. Billie needed no telling that the entire building structure was at risk of collapse. Initially overwhelmed by the smoke, Billie shielded her face with an arm from the heat. The balaclava was still on top of her head. She pulled it down to cover her nose and mouth. Quickly realizing the material would burn her skin, she yanked it off and pressed it to her mouth.

Amid burning and creaking timbers, she knew if she didn't act now, the roof would cave in. Flames rained down on the already burning straw and dry timber structures inside.

"Jeffrey, Jeffrey," she shouted. "Jeffrey."

Smoke to her left and right.

There was no reply to her calls.

"JJ, JJ." Her eyes watered as she coughed. After checking every jacket pocket, she found her flashlight and turned it on.

Which way? The beam of her flashlight landed on a bucket.

Jeffrey had held a bucket. She stumbled towards it through the smoke, noticing that the emerging structures were animal pens.

"Jeffrey?" she said again.

In the second pen, Jeffrey sat back against a side wall, seemingly consumed by smoke. His face was relaxed, his eyes shut and his hands resting on his thighs.

Billie slumped on seeing the long length of chain running from Jeffrey's ankles up to a secure ring on the wall. With frantic movements, she pulled at the padlock. It was no good.

Squinting and coughing, she turned her attention to Jeffrey. He had given up. In frustration and desperation, she slapped him across the face. His eyes flicked open briefly, then closed again.

The smoke and heat intensified. Her breathing was becoming troublesome, and her eyes stung. She reached for Jeffrey's hand and clasped it. His fingers tightened in response.

It was hopeless. The AK47 outside could have been used to shoot off the padlock. Given the state of the roof, if she ran outside to retrieve the weapon, she would never get back in.

She sat next to Jeffrey and laid her head against his shoulder. Her thoughts were becoming blurred and disconnected. Sleep was calling out to her. Jeffrey had been found, that was all that mattered.

Her cell phone, still in her shirt pocket, vibrated against her chest.

She opened her eyes. The vibration continued.

The barn was burning; she was with her brother and ... she wrinkled her forehead ... Lil was ringing her.

As if struck by lightning, she sat up and spat on the ground to clear her throat.

She let go of Jeffrey's hand and scooted down to his ankles and concentrated on the single padlock used to secure the wall chain.

It needed a key, a key? For god's sake, the guard's keys. Pedro.

She fished out the chain from a side pants pocket and clenched the flashlight between her teeth and lips. Five keys were on the ring.

A roof timber crashed onto the floor, two feet away. Sparks swirled into the air. Flames licked along the dry straw.

With shaking hands, Billie inserted the first key. No good. The second was the same. To her relief, the lock sprung open with the third key. She pulled the padlock shank up and out of the ankle chain and tossed it away.

With eyes streaming, she got onto her feet, hunched herself over and grasped Jeffrey's ankles. The flashlight fell out of her mouth as burning roof timbers showered down. Embers fell onto her hair and plunged down under her collar.

She gasped in pain.

"Come on, come on," she said aloud.

Billie yanked at the ankle chain with both hands. Jeffrey moved a fraction. His head bobbled back against the animal stall. To grunts, groans, and swearing, she pulled his body along for three feet until he lay fully on his back. She stopped, coughed, and continued.

It was a fiery hell. Another roof timber smashed down, narrowly missing Jeffrey's head. A lump of wood thumped Billie on the back of her shoulders. In response she released her grip and furiously patted at her hair before continuing.

Sheer willpower and bloody-mindedness were all she had left.

Step by step, she hauled Jeffrey along the ground, through burning debris.

"With purpose," she said to herself with each step backwards. "With purpose."

Her eyes streamed; she could barely see. Her cough came from a deeper part of her lungs.

A whole section of the roof collapsed.

Surrounded, disorientated, she had lost her bearings. Where was the exit?

Without warning, she was forcefully wrenched backwards; her feet scraping along the ground. Out in the open, a pair of hands threw her down. She coughed repeatedly as someone slapped at her clothes. Water was poured over her head and face.

She got onto her knees and elbows and bent her face towards the ground. It was an easier position to cough and breathe. In between retching, she repeatedly spat out the contents of her mouth.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a rifle pointing at her.

"No, no, she's with us," a female voice said.

It was Danzig.

She rubbed Billie's back. "Cough it up Billie, cough it up."

With a rush of awareness, Billie looked around. "Jeffrey?" she said, "Jeffrey?"

Jeffrey lay unmoving nearby. An officer kneeled next to him patting his face while pouring water over his lips. His hands lay relaxed by the side of his body.

Still no movement.

Then, above the commotion, there was a spluttering cough.

Billie sat back on her knees and wiped her face. Another officer joined his colleague and together they hauled Jeffrey into a sitting position. His back was supported while the other checked his airway.

"It's okay, buddy," one said. "Breathe easy."

Danzig handed over a bottle of water. "Here. Drink slowly."

"Jeffrey?" She could barely speak.

Danzig turned to the two officers. "Is he okay?"

"Smoke inhalation. He's breathing on his own. Needs oxygen. Ambulance is on way. He'll be okay."

Danzig leaned in towards Billie. "Hear that? You saved your brother, you dumb bloody girl scout."

Billie tried to laugh but coughed instead. She drank more water and splashed some of it onto her eyes and face. Once feeling more revived, she glanced around what was left of the farmstead.

The compound was flooded with armed officers. Aranda stood on his own. He too coughed. His uniform was covered in black ash and his face showed immense relief. He gazed at Billie and nodded.

A male officer wearing combat uniform appeared. He shouted out orders to a group of officers and turned to Danzig, who went over to talk to him. As they conversed, he placed an arm around her shoulder. She nodded her thanks and wiped her eyes.

Billie didn't want to interrupt the officers attending to Jeffrey. She thought it best to wait until he was more coherent before shocking him with her appearance.

Officer Aranda approached her. "Hi."

Billie coughed. "Hi. What happened back there?"

Aranda shook his head and sat down next to her. "The white box truck crashed into the Border Force's lead vehicle. The jean jacket man escaped, came back into the yard, and fired at us."

"I kept running into the barn," Billie said. She shook her head. "Stupid."

"I won't repeat what Danzig said, but as you ran, you diverted the man's attention. Danzig fired at him and took him down. He's still alive, been handcuffed and driven to hospital. There was a bullet proof vest under his jacket."

"The barn? Someone grabbed me?"

"That was me. I pulled you out and went back in after your brother. Couple of the Border Force guys grabbed you after that."

All Billie thought to say was, "Thanks."

Someone shouted from across the yard, "Watch out, the barn."

There was a rumbling sound as the building tottered briefly before collapsing. Timbers crashed in on themselves in a tumult of orange sparks. It took a while before any police activities resumed.

Aranda pointed to the man giving orders. "That's Captain David Cardona, the one Danzig was talking to."

The captain spoke to two officers in between conversing on his cell phone. As Danzig pointed towards the hill and Pedro, the two officers jogged off towards the fence gate.

An elderly Hispanic woman, accompanied by two officers, appeared in the middle of the yard. As they walked her towards the captain, she struggled and struck out at one of the officers. A colleague joined them and together there was an embarrassing altercation, ending with the woman being handcuffed and led away.

Billie wondered where Shaggy and the missing woman were.

Her cell vibrated. She knew it was Lil.

She fished out her phone and sent a quick text.

Found him. Speak later xo

A reply came back immediately.

Thank god!!! xoxoxo

Billie glanced up to see Danzig walking over to her with the captain. This was not good. But shit what did she care if they arrested her, she had found Jeffrey.

"This is her," Danzig said. "Billie, this is David Cardona, Border Force."

"Hello, miss," the officer said. With chiseled features he was older than his face suggested. "You and your brother holding up okay?"

Billie gave a guarded reply. "Yeah, thanks."

"Ambulance will be here soon."

"Am I arrested?"

"No. But there will have to be an investigation. Cassie filled me in. You did good, young lady." He examined the screen of his cell phone. "Got to go." He made his way to the center of the yard.

Danzig remained with Billie, who noticed how tired she looked.

"You okay, Cassie?"

"Yeah." Danzig wiped her face. "I downed the bastard. Christ knows how he's still alive." She shook her head. "And, Aranda, you did well."

"Thanks, Sergeant."

"Sorry for shooting and running and all that," Billie said.

Danzig rubbed her arm. "There'll be an investigation. We must get our stories straight. May be easier if I said I shot the guard."

"No. I don't want you to lose your badge. I shot him. It was my decision," Billie said.

"They can get funny about citizens shooting people, like this. I should have unloaded the rifle. They'll find something."

"They can throw the book at me, I don't care. I found my brother. That's all that matters."

"You are one fucking dumbass woman, Billie. Where the hell did you come from?"

"Spokane."

Danzig grinned. "Never been there. Must be full of special people. One thing. If jean jacket recovers and talks, he'll be a good source of information, as will the old guy."

"What about the other guards?"

"Taken out of the equation, Billie. That's all you need to know."

"Was anyone else found on the site?"

"Just your brother."

"Shaggy and the missing woman?"

"Sorry. They found the woman shot dead in the farmhouse. That must have been the gunshots from inside. No sign of the other fella."

"Sergeant, the shift lieutenant has arrived," Aranda said.

A stiff looking officer appeared through a swirl of smoke, clipboard in hand, his hat at a perfectly adjusted angle. He wiped a piece of ash off his lapel.

Danzig glanced at Billie. "Billie? What's the story?"

"I shot the guy on my own, Cassie. You were unaware of what I was doing."

Danzig nodded. "Look at this motherfucker; looks like he's never been to a crime scene. At least I'll get some time off." She patted Billie on the shoulder, turned, and walked towards the lieutenant. "Sir. How are you today?"

Aranda followed behind.

In the light of the flames and flashlights, Billie studied her brother. With the weight loss, stress, and god knows what else they did to him, he looked like a burned up old man. The inferno inside the barn had frazzled his beard, skin and clothes. She crawled over to him.

The two officers watched as she brought a hand up and pushed his hair back from his eyes. The eyebrow scar was unmistakable.

He opened his eyes and focused on her. "Sis?"

"JJ?"

With effort, he lifted his arm and brought up his thumb. Billie pressed it with her own thumb.

He grinned. "What took you so long?"

#  In the news: Thursday June 21

Illegal Narcotics operation

Tucson, Az. A police spokesperson has reported that a major illegal narcotics facility was discovered yesterday in a secluded area to the north of Tucson.

There were a number of casualties and the investigation is ongoing.

Further details to follow.

Were you a witness or involved in the incident? Contact our news desk.

#  In the news: Tuesday June 26

Woman who saved brother from illegal narcotics gang faces criminal investigation

Tucson, Az. Wilhelmina Jansen, 25, from Spokane, WA, who saved her brother from the hands of an illegal narcotics gang has been told she will face criminal investigation.

A spokesperson for Tucson Internal Affairs said, "This is a complicated case, involving civilians, shots fired, and fatalities. We must ensure that police officers and the citizens of Tucson are accountable to the law. I can confirm that the DA's office is opening a criminal investigation into Miss Jansen's role in this matter. The two police officers will also face investigation."

#  In the news: Wednesday July 25

No charges to be brought in sister saving brother case

Tucson, Az. Tucson prosecutors announced today there would be no charges brought against Miss Wilhelmina Jansen. Though Sergeant Danzig was cleared of any criminal charges and the unlawful use of force, she will receive a letter of reprimand for failing to take proper precautions with regard to a seized loaded firearm. Officer Juan Aranda was cleared of any disciplinary matters.

Since the story broke four weeks ago, which you can read here, this newspaper has received overwhelming support for the actions of Miss Jansen, which we passed on to the police department.

Miss Jansen's lawyer, Mr. Brodie, from Voden and Blomquist, said, "Miss Jansen put her life on the line for her brother and the police department's response was to perform a witch hunt. We are pleased they have seen reason and decided not to press charges."

A spokesperson for the Justice Department said, "We recognize the personal circumstances of Miss Jansen, and while that does not exclude her from police scrutiny, we feel in this case that her actions should not end up in the courts."

One reader was not so diplomatic. Freedombiker999 commented:

She did more on her own than the whole Tucson Police Department have done in the last year! If the Police spent as much time and effort on proper criminal investigations, perhaps crime levels would be reduced.

Since the announcement that no charges will be brought, the mayor's office have released a brief statement that they will be awarding bravery citations to Miss Jansen, Sergeant Danzig and Officer Aranda.

We asked Miss Jansen for her response, but she declined. A family friend, Ms. Lillian Cooke said, "I am shocked by the investigation into a woman who saved her brother. He would not be alive today without her."

Captain David Cardona from the Border Force said, "This was a significant illegal narcotics operation, involving harvesting cannabis, slavery, and narcotics distribution. If not for the determination of Miss Jansen and the decision making by Sergeant Danzig, Mr. Jansen would most likely not be alive. The illegal operation has been shut down and our investigations are ongoing."

Mr. Jansen is currently in hospital receiving medical treatment with his sister at his side.

# Monday, October 1

## i. Tucson

Billie adjusted the angle of the four photo frames resting on the shelf. Standing back, she examined the alcove. With the small table pushed against the wall, there was enough room for her work needs.

Her new company laptop and cell phone lay proudly on the desk next to a notepad and pen. She sat down and before opening the laptop, she glanced up at the photos.

Next to the original snap of her and Jeffrey on the day he left Spokane was one of Billie sitting with him on his hospital bed. The relief on their faces was obvious.

The next two photos were taken at the Mayoral awards ceremony, where Billie received a citizen's certificate of bravery.

Held a month ago, it was a significant event for Billie. The ceremony marked the end of a very trying year and the start of a new life and career in Tucson. With no idea what to wear to the event, Lil took her to a department store. She chose a dark blue jacket, knee-length dress, and a white blouse. They visited a hair stylist and Billie had her first proper manicure.

"Smart, sophisticated, with a little intrigue," Lil said when Billie stood ready for inspection as they waited for a cab.

During the journey to City Hall, Lil sat in between Stratt and Jeffrey and gave them advice on how to conduct themselves.

"Smile, talk nice, don't overfill your food plates, and for fuck's sake don't get drunk. It's full of cops, important people, and the mayor. This is Billie's night, don't spoil it for her."

"Yes, miss," Stratt said.

Jeffrey grinned.

"And straighten your bloody neck ties."

Billie giggled in the front seat and noticed the cab driver kept his eyes on the road and gripped the steering wheel, not daring to turn around.

On arrival, they entered a large function room full of other recipients and their families. Stratt and Jeffrey made straight for the buffet table after a stern look from Lil. Billie stood with Lil for a moment, sipping at a glass of wine taken from a waiter's tray.

"Okay, Billie?" Lil said.

"Large room full of strangers, what do you think?"

"You deserve to be here just as much as everyone else."

Billie shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, I suppose. Hey, there's Cassie and Juan."

Cassie stood with her partner, talking to Juan and his family. They both wore their dress uniforms.

After introductions, the talk was polite, unlike the time they met up previously. Cassie had invited Billie and Juan to a "police friendly" bar, after they were officially cleared of wrongdoing.

Billie asked Danzig if the reprimand would affect her job.

"No. I accepted it without fuss. I was told afterwards that the discipline board felt they had to be seen to be doing something. The guys were very supportive. Just need to keep my nose clean for a while."

They got drunk and relived the whole episode at the narcotics compound. After Aranda left, Cassie walked up and down the bar, performing a comedy impression of the uptight shift Lieutenant who arrived at the narcotics compound. At this point Lil walked in, having arrived in a cab to take Billie home. Cassie insisted Lil stay for a drink. Two hours and many stories later, a bemused Stratt eventually corralled Billie and Lil out of the bar and into his car.

As they waited in their seats for the awards event to start, David Cardona from the Border Force came over and shook hands with everyone. He was, in part, Billie considered, responsible for Jeffrey's recovery. Once Jeffrey was well enough to leave the hospital, David booked him into a hotel. For three days, Jeffrey gave his account of what happened in relaxed surroundings, as opposed to a police interview room. Lil sent Stratt with him and held Billie back.

"Billie, Jeffrey may say things which will upset you. Stratt will sit with him. If they talk about criminal investigations, Stratt will call a halt to it."

Once the difficult parts of the story, involving Shaggy and Susan, were related to local detectives, David asked about how the gang ran the narcotics network and the type of work Jeffrey was made to undertake. The information gleaned was invaluable, plus it helped Jeffrey unburden himself. It also cemented a friendship between Jeffrey and Stratt.

Cassie kept Billie updated on the narcotics investigation. Ricardo and Pedro were awaiting trial, with the expectation that when presented with strong prosecution statements, they would take a plea deal and supply more information about the criminal network.

The third photo frame on the bookshelf contained Billie's official award ceremony photo. She stood in between Cassie and Juan as they proudly held their certificates.

After the photo was taken, Aranda said, "The mayor made a nice speech."

They both waited for Danzig's reply.

"Slimy fucker," she said. "Wet handshake."

"We didn't hear that, Sergeant," Billie and Aranda said at the same time.

To Billie, the fourth photo marked the end of the whole saga and the start of a new beginning.

Billie insisted the official photographer at the ceremony took a picture of her and Lil standing next to each other, with Jeffrey and Stratt on either side.

Billie smiled as she remembered what she was thinking when the picture was taken. It reminded her of how far she had come in the last few months. Not only from her dingy apartment and security job in Spokane, but in her friendship with Lil.

This was Lil, the bar room waitress who fitted the description of a character in a fiction novel which set off a train of events. A woman who told Billie things about her life, which no one else knew. Events which were humorous, sad, unlawful, and embarrassing. And this was Lil, who arrived in Tucson within hours of Billie's emotional phone call from hospital and took charge.

Lil phoned Avery's sister and secured the services of a top legal firm, who steered Billie through the police interviews and handled press enquiries. It was an emotional, stressful time waiting for the DA's office to make a decision. Without Lil, Billie would be sitting in the corner of a room hugging her knees.

Stratt received daily assignments, including returning Billie's rental bike back to the rental firm and buying goodies for Jeffrey in hospital.

As time passed, it occurred to Billie there was no reason for her or Jeffrey to return to Spokane. She could see herself living and working in Tucson. She talked it over with Lil, who felt the same. It transpired that Stratt's salvage yard had been purchased at auction by the family who ran the business repair and body workshop next door. Randall had withdrawn from the purchase because of ill health.

"I didn't tell you," Lil said one day. "Randall, apparently, received an anonymous letter with the words, 'Weasel kept a copy of everything, I know where it is.' That may have changed his mind." Lil shrugged her shoulders.

Billie became nervous at the mention of Randall.

"Don't worry, Billie, it was weeks ago. A man like that will suddenly become humble and keep his head down. He has too much to lose, particularly as he doesn't know what information is out there. Apparently."

Stratt had over $20,000 in his pocket after fees, staff payments, and taxes from when the business was eventually sold. Spokane was not his "go-to" place, either, and Lil was used to moving around, so they decided to make a fresh start in Tucson. Lil found a three-bedroom apartment to rent and transported Billie's motorcycle in the back of a self-haul truck. They agreed to try living together for six months in order to find work and settle in.

Billie's gaze went to her copy of _We Have Seen Better Days,_ which she intentionally placed in amongst other books, rather than in a prominent position. Initially, she tossed the book in the trash, but retrieved it. The novel served as a reminder of the dark days of Weasel, Taco, the cousin, the salvage yard, and unrolling Avery out of the trunk.

Of late, there had been a news item regarding Avery writing again. He had regained his "mojo", the report said.

Billie stood up, grabbed her personal cell phone, and took a picture of her work alcove.

She sent it onto a shared social media site.

My new work place!

Lil replied straightaway with an image of a large empty canteen.

Just waiting for the students! Little darlings xo

Since moving to Tucson, Lil and Stratt were both noticeably more relaxed. Lil easily found work in a high school cafe restaurant, which she said would be a change from bar work. Billie smiled at the stories Lil recounted of the difference between working with teenagers and beer-fueled men. Not a lot, apparently.

Stratt took a job as a mechanic at the civil departments transport division with regular pay and family medical benefits. Being a worker rather than a boss took a weight off his shoulders.

He replied with a photo of a Tucson Police Cruiser with its hood open.

Just servicing this one

Jeffrey sent a selfie of himself standing on Susan's land by one of the cabin's corner posts.

Looking good!

After Jeffrey left hospital, Billie helped him recover and assisted in his criminal compensation claim for medical bills and counseling. There were tears and arguments, but their relationship had matured and changed. Billie never doubted that what she went through to find him was worthwhile. Jeffrey, in turn, said he would never forget Billie's perseverance and love.

Billie paid for Jeffrey to attend Shaggy's funeral, which was delayed because of the criminal investigations. He didn't speak for two days after his return.

Susan's parents gave Jeffrey permission to enter Susan's plot of land to complete the log cabin she had so dearly wanted. He would spend days at the site, living out of a tent while continuing the building work as per Susan's instructions. Stratt often joined him at weekends.

It was strange for Billie, but the conspiracy of silence with Lil and Stratt over the salvage yard incident was empowering, like a hidden secret which no one else could guess. Sure, there would be months of bad memories, but she had done that one for ten years with her mom and dad. Also, she had twice broken a promise to herself of not handling guns.

She had come through a whole series of scrapes and it was time to acknowledge that everything was in the past.

Billie opened her laptop and stared at the company browser.

Milford Investigations.

Before getting drunk in the bar that evening, Cassie asked Billie what her plans were, now that they were in the clear.

Billie couldn't give a confident answer.

"If you don't want to be a cop just yet, I know some retired guys who run their own private investigation business. They're in need of young female investigators to bring themselves into the twenty-first century."

Billie contacted the firm, and after a successful interview, was invited to become an apprentice investigator. It seemed Danzig's recommendation and Billie's recent exploits impressed "the guys." The starting pay was enough to cover monthly bills with a little left over, which was timely as Avery's money had dried up.

There was a lot of studying ahead, but she looked forward to it.

She logged into her email account; a new message had arrived.

Hi, Billie.

I would like you to look at this missing person case, we've just got in. See attached.

It's a missing female university student. The parents are concerned their daughter may have gone off the rails and run away with her boyfriend. It involves drink and drugs, etc. 15 hours of work paid for up front.

Send me an outline of your thoughts and actions and swing by the office tomorrow to discuss the next steps.

Sincerely,

Jim.

Billie opened the attachment and read the standard enquiry form. It was an interesting case with many lines of investigation. The parents would only know half the story, Billie guessed. The woman's university buddies would provide a truer account.

She typed out a list of initial actions in numbered paragraphs, then paused over people and equipment resources.

She sent Lil a text.

Lil. Got my first missing person case. Know anyone who's worked in bars, clubs, and dives? I need a consultant to assist me, free tomorrow? xo

# Dedication

To present and future grandchildren.

# About the author

Stuart's career in law enforcement involved fights, drama, boredom, and working an unhealthy number of shifts.

The years passed, the family grew up and eventually he published his first novel in 2015. Many of his ideas are inspired by work experiences and travelling around Europe, S.E. Asia, and the USA.

Born in North London, England, Stuart enjoys family life, cinema, video games and swimming.

Also by the author

Brell Sturlach adventures – Sci-fi

Deep Yellow – (A Brell Sturlach Adventure) - published 2015.

The Search for Locardum – (A Brell Sturlach Adventure) - published 2017.

The Fight for Locardum – (A Brell Sturlach Adventure) - published 2018.

Further information and contact

Website: www.stuartfdodds.com

#  We have seen better days

"A storytelling masterpiece."

**The Milton Recorder**

"Alan P Fournier is the king of contemporary science fiction."

**Mr. Carpenter Says**

"A masterful commentary on society."

_11811 Magazine_

# _Table of contents_

Copyright

Part 1

Monday, April 16

Tuesday, April 17

Wednesday, April 18

Thursday, April 19

Friday, April 20

Saturday, April 21

Sunday, April 22

Monday, April 23

Tuesday, April 24

Wednesday, April 25

Thursday, April 26

Part 2

Aftermath

Part 3

Sunday, June 17

December 1 to April 6

Saturday, April 7

April 8 to June 16

Sunday, June 17

Part 4

Sunday, June 17

Monday, June 18

Tuesday, June 19

Wednesday, June 20

In the news: Thursday June 21

In the news: Tuesday June 26

In the news: Wednesday July 25

Monday, October 1

Dedication

About the author

We have seen better days

Table of contents

