Cadillac Payback by AJ Elmore (scary books to read .txt) 📗

brown as we roll away from Abuela's plantation. It's just Josh and me and the infernal fucking heat. We both know the AC won't cut it, so all the windows are down. We haven't said a word since we left. To his credit, he didn't object when I said I was driving.

I can taste the dirt in the air. It sticks to my sweat-streaked skin, a layer of grime to welcome me back into the underworld. Josh is a tight ball of emotion in the passenger seat. I can tell because he has completely ignored me since I put the car in drive. His thoughts have been directed out the window and his expression a hard set that's not quite anger. It'd be amusing, if I hadn't had that same expression just a few nights ago at the funeral – when she put me on guard duty.

It's just as well he doesn't want to talk. The situation is heavy enough. When I said I could do this in a day, I wasn't lying. But doing so will require a certain amount of precision among a broad range of possibilities. Worst case, Izzy's right and I get myself killed. Best case, it's no holds barred and I pull it off. Goddamn, but the middle – the middle is vast.

The feeling of the wheel in my hands is soothing, despite the journey's first destination. I don't get to drive the old ship very often, but when I do, it's art in motion. I've loved her since the moment I saw her, this ancient Cadillac. Then I got to work on her. Charlie got a lot of respect points from me because of this car. He kept her in perfect shape. She sails so smooth for me.

I never told Charlie that it was Derrik who turned me on to mechanical knowledge, the one who took me in at fifteen. I was a foul-mouthed product of an absentee dad and a crackhead mother. I didn't get much parenting, didn't have any manners, but Derrik saw that I was smart and damn near fearless. He saw a rare mixture of callousness and cunning, traits he could definitely use to his advantage, which he did. So he taught me about guns, engines, and certain not-so-scholarly points in chemistry. When I talked back, he knocked me off my feet.

Derrik taught me the ropes, showed me all the glamor of feeding the masses, as he would say. He was Gram's right-hand man at that time, and he needed a lieutenant he could control. Also, I didn't want shit to do with most drugs. I wouldn't become my mother, so I didn't partake in the product. They never knew the why part, so I was a perfect tool for them. They could trust me not to dip, and I got very deep in the network fast.

After a few dozen times of getting my ass kicked, I learned to control my tongue. I still slipped up here and there, but the change was legendary. I was smart, after all, and I realized the best way to learn everything I could was to behave. Except the beatings didn't stop. Sometimes he'd get wasted and pick a fight just so he could throw me around. It wasn't all the time, but it would come out of nowhere, like he was possessed.

Eventually, Derrik fucked up. He had his hands in too many pies and it came around to bite him on the ass. Well, it almost came around. He didn't die like my whole crew did. He gave us bad information that waltzed us into a death trap. And he failed to realize there was a traitor among us. I guess some would call it divine intervention that I had to hang back, that I was stalled by the shop owner who was our contact. She tried to seduce me. I was nineteen.

Derrik was exiled from the territory and I split before anyone could lay a verdict down on me. I managed to steal a few fat stacks of cash and some expensive artillery when I went. By then I had an impressive list of contacts, even after I scratched off everyone tied to Gram and Derrik. When word got around that I’d cut ties with the Reaps, I found those contacts to be friendlier. It kept me alive for over a year.

I hit the brakes in order to ease into some ruts. The Caddy just purrs as I shift her down. Josh's attention switches from the scenery to the road as we cut through the well-worn grooves. The change of pace doesn't sit well with him, it's too slow and there's too much weighing on him. I know because I've been there. Without looking directly at him, I see his hands ball into fists on his knees, then straighten to grip his legs.

My previous experiences have taught me the patience of a monk, so I wait for it. Something in him is about to snap – a cord of innocence, maybe. The vibrations of the tires against the dirt make my sunglasses slide down my nose a little. It itches, but I ignore it. The seconds tick by.

“What is it that no one's ever told me?” he says, his words more measured than I expected.

I knew he was about to speak, but his voice makes my hands tighten on the wheel. The left tires scrape the wall of the rut. My jaw clenches. What he said occurs to me moments later.

“Why does everyone get all tight-lipped when Gram is mentioned?”

So Josh has finally cut the shit. Maybe. For a long time, I just navigate the shallows, creeping the Caddy along. Soon we'll be on the highway, all paved and soulless. Of course he wouldn't appreciate the noises of nature. He wouldn't know that we only pass here because the swamp allows it. A moment of conflict plagues me. Is it my place to finally initiate this prick? Is truth betrayal?

I wait until