The Tempest by A.J. Scudiere (story read aloud .txt) 📗

“Your big truck?”

“Paul, they were huge! Have you been listening to the radio?” Joule almost laughed. What she wouldn’t have given to have been listening to the radio.

“It’s off the side of the road, ass down in a ditch,” Paul replied, though again his tone sounded impatient.

“But it's all in one piece?” Jerry asked, almost as if marveled by the idea that it hadn’t been torn limb from limb.

“Yeah, it is. And so is what’s inside.” Paul's impatience was now something that couldn’t be ignored. “It’s got three bricks of cocaine in the back seat.”

Holy shitastic fuckballs! Joule’s head jerked back, even though she wasn’t down there in the conversation herself. She almost scrambled backwards from the shock, as though she could backpedal from the accusation. But she stopped herself at the last minute, glad she hadn’t made any noise.

Could Jerry explain that?

Joule had not been prepared for that possibility. Silence met Paul’s accusation. She was glad that she hadn't blurted anything out or yelped, giving herself away.

Was Jerry running with the Larkins? But that didn’t make sense. He could have easily turned around when they fled through the woods. He hadn’t seemed really shocked when she found the bricks of coke in the cellar… was that because he was with a counter cartel? Had she not only landed herself in the middle of a drug running operation, but a drug war?

“Are you shitting me?” Jerry finally snarled, and she wondered how real the accusation was.

“There were three bricks of that shit, taped up, and wrapped in plastic.”

“What color was the plastic?” Jerry asked, now sounding curious more than anything. “No. Wait!”

Joule had no idea where he was going with this. She pressed her back into the hay bale behind her and waited. But she was ready to bolt and run as soon as she heard anything that let her know she was in real trouble.

Jerry continued. “Let me tell you first what we found at the Larkins.”

Crappety Crap! Jerry had just said “we.” He'd outed her, seemingly without knowing it. She could only hope that Paul hadn’t caught the slip as Jerry continued.

Jerry sounded pretty smart as he told Paul about getting stuck in the cellar during the storm and trapped by what they'd eventually seen was a large tree that had fallen right across the back of the house.

“We found bricks of cocaine in the crawlspace,” Jerry told the old man. “Wrapped in plastic. Green plastic, but still clear.”

Okay, Joule thought, that was smart. Name the color first.

“So, if that's what you found in my car, my guess is the Larkins planted it.”

She could almost hear Paul rubbing at his chin as he thought it through. “If I believe your story, then how did the Larkins know it was you in their house?”

“Well, they know I was out there, and they clearly found my truck, just like you did. Maybe they were just planting the coke on me to keep some of the suspicion off of themselves.”

Shit, Joule thought, sighing out her displeasure as quietly as she could. It had been a good lead. But Jerry was losing the upper hand.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Paul asked.

The question struck Joule as dumb, but Jerry answered right away, and sincerely. “No. That's why I'm down here talking to you now. Because I trust you. The reason I'm in your barn is because I fled from the Larkins last night.”

Joule almost raised her hand and comically wiped it across her forehead. He had been smart enough to say I this time.

But her relief didn't last for long.

“You say you won’t lie to me, but you're lying to me now.” Paul’s tone was low and angry—not the accusing sound from before, but something deeper. “There's two horse blankets missing. And you said we.”

Damnit Jerry! He kept putting her in these situations. She clutched Toto closer to her chest and waited.

59

“Come on down, Joule,” Jerry called up. “It's okay. I trust Paul.”

Well, she thought, still clutching Toto to her chest, that was it. It didn’t matter if she trusted Paul yet or not. Jerry had decided for her. So she stood and walked closer to the edge where she could look down and wave before following Jerry's earlier actions and slowly stepping backwards down the ladder.

As she hit the bottom rung, though, she turned around and learned that Jerry was wrong. No one should be trusting Paul at all.

Paul stood with his feet planted wide, the shotgun pressed into his shoulder and his eye aimed down the sight right at her.

Her—inappropriate—first response was to turn to Jerry, as if to ask, Did you know about this? But Jerry's expression was equally incredulous. He hadn’t seen this coming.

“Paul, what are you doing!”

It wasn’t a question, and Paul didn't answer. Instead, he reached back and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.

It was remarkably high tech, considering the overalls and hunting jacket and old ball cap that had seen better days. He looked to be dialing someone.

“I've got them,” he said into the line as soon as someone answered. “Come on back.”

Shitgibbons. For someone to come back had to mean he was talking to the Larkins.

“What are you doing, Paul?” she asked, purposefully using his name. It felt odd rolling off her tongue for the first time in an accusatory tone, but she was not a fan of the shotgun aimed at her.

Her heart was racing, her muscles tensed and ready to go, Toto still clutched to her chest. And she wished to God she had left him up in the loft. He could have been a barn kitten for the rest of his days, happily hunting mice—if he was old enough to catch them and feed himself… she wasn’t sure. Her fingers squeezed around his tiny, soft body involuntarily.

She wondered what would happen if she said Don't hurt my kitten. Would Paul let Toto go? Or would he shoot him just to make a point? Clearly,