Washed Away - Jess Wygle (list of ebook readers .txt) 📗

you personally need, but you’ve got other souls to provide for.  Lead by example, that’s what I do.  Get your kids what they want and need, but do so through regulation.  You can’t give in to every whim or they’ll think that’s how life is, which you and I both know isn’t true.  You’ve got to teach them by showing them.”

 

Dave paused for a moment as he turned the car off the main road and onto a side street.  I had never gone this way to get to the Grove.  Maybe it was a short cut that I didn’t know about.  The rain was still beating down on the car, creating a sort of muffled drumline serenade.  There were very few street lights on this road and no headlights or taillights in either direction.

 

We had the road to ourselves.

 

My phone vibrated again.  It was Crane.  “DJ where R U? Call me now.”

 

“I’ve got three kids,” Dave said.  “Three boys, one a bit older than you.  There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for my boys.  But if I want to be true to them and better them, I have to control the urge to give them everything because they’ll never learn.  It’s hard, man.  I’ll tell you, it’s hard.  You’ll find that out when you’re a dad.  I would lie down and die for my boys.  Hell, I’d kill for them if I had to.  That’s the kind of commitment I have to them.”

 

He was getting deep, uncomfortably so.  A shift in the air seemed to have occurred due to the conversation.  He looked at me for a second.  I tried to avoid his gaze, but it wasn’t easy.  He and I stared at one another for the shortest of moments ending with me pulling my eyes away first.

 

My phone vibrated yet again.  This time it was a call from Crane, not just another text.  He was getting impatient since I’ve pushed off his texts.  The phone caught the attention of my driver.

 

“If you need to take that, by all means,” Dave said.  “You won’t offend me.  I’m guessing someone is just worried you might be caught in the storm.”

 

I shoved the phone back in my pocket.  “Nah, it’s nothing.  I’ll hit him back later.”

 

“I’m kind of talking your ear off.”

 

“You’re good,” I mumbled quickly.

 

“What do you do, Ty?”

 

I shrugged.  “This and that.  What I need to, I guess.”

 

Dave chuckled with a condescending undertone.  I had to ignore it, especially since I may not have read him properly.  I don’t know this man, after all.  “I did a lot of that when I was your age, too.  Of course I had a family by then, so I guess I was a bit more desperate for work.”

 

My jaw was clenched down on my tongue.  People don’t ever jaw off to me like this, not unless they want to meet my fists or my boys or my piece.  Whether it’s his intent to belittle me or not, I wasn’t appreciating it.

 

“I did bartending and construction work and telemarketing and, you know, I even delivered and picked up port o’potties just to keep food on the table in my youth.  I may have been desperate, but I never did anything illegal.”  What was he implying?  “I never turned to drugs or anything, though.  I was aware of how good the money was.  I could’ve sold or moved or manufactured, but I had too much to lose.  I, personally, just couldn’t risk it.  I had buddies making a lot of money selling some stuff, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

 

I remained silent, not wanting to let any offense in my words slip through the cracks of my response.

 

“There were so many other opportunities I decided to take. I mean, I moved shit-shacks for pennies, but at least I could look at myself in the mirror at night.”

 

The car kept on rolling, dipping into overflowing sewer grates and sending a wall of rain water onto the darkened sidewalks.  The distance between buildings seemed to grow as we drove on, approaching a sparser, more rural area of town.

 

“I hear what you’re saying, man,” I offered, holding my tone at cordial.  "What is it you do, Dave," I asked, feeling I needed more information to pass my own judgment about this man.

 

"Well, I own a few convenient stores in the area and I'm a pastor of a local church."

 

I nodded slowly.  That made a lot of sense.  "A man of the cloth, I can see that."

 

"Do you practice religion?"

 

"Nah."

 

"Do you believe in the God almighty?"

 

"That's a pretty personal question, wouldn't you say, padre?"

 

Dave shrugged sideways.  "I can be for some who are actively avoiding the Lord.  The ones who welcome Him into their lives find the question as welcomed as any other.  How long has it been since your last confession?"

 

"I didn't know pastors did confessions."

 

"I'm always willing to lend an ear."

 

I shook my head.  "Nah, man.  I'm good."

 

Dave gave his offer a second to soak in before trying again.  "It's very freeing, Ty.  It can make you feel so much better than you think, especially if you've never done it before.  And you may be surprised to know that everybody needs to confess, even me."

 

I sighed heavily running my hand over my leg.  "There's nothin', man."

 

"Not a thing?  In the twenty-three years you've been breathing, you haven't sinned once?"

 

I turned and looked right at him.  He was surprisingly difficult to read.  "Look man, I ain't no saint, that's for damn sure, but that don't mean I'm gonna spill everything.  That just ain't me.  I don't do that," I started chuckling lightly.  "I don't even know you, man."

 

"All the more reason to release.  Don't be afraid."

 

I chuckled again.  "I ain't afriad.  I ain't afraid," I said firmly.  Dave nodded slowly. I started shaking my head.  "Don't get it twisted.  I've done shit.  I've done so much shit that I can't take back and shit I regret, but talking about it ain't gonna change the fact that it's done.  It's done.  The deed is done and ain't no confession gonna make it better."  I found my voice rising as I got a little defensive.

 

"You never know until you try," Dave said easily.  He was probably used to this kind of denial and he was probably used to overcoming it, but that wasn't going to work on me.  My phone rang again.  I knew without looking at it who was calling.

 

Dave heard the hum of the phone in my pocket and glanced in the direction.  “You should answer that.”

 

“Nah, it’s all good.”  Turning down another road, now I was really wondering where Dave was going.  “Eh man, you know the way?”

 

“I know where I’m going,” he replied bitterly.  The silence was unnerving now.  The weather report came on the radio, warning travelers of severe flash flooding in the area with standing water covering sidewalks and roadways, making some routes impassible, most specifically in low-lying areas and areas near bodies of water.

 

“It’s a good thing I found you,” Dave said, pausing for a moment.  “You could’ve drowned out there.”  He was putting me on edge now.

 

Right after the weather report, a news bulletin came over the air.

 

“Police are searching for a man in connection with a shooting earlier this evening in Midtown.  A young male, who still hasn’t been identified by the authorities, was shot four times outside his apartment complex.  Police say the male, in his early twenties, was unresponsive when they arrived on the scene and was later pronounced dead at the hospital.  It is believed the altercation may have initiated over drugs.  Police Chief Jeff Martens reports the victim had empty pockets which may suggest the shooter took any money or any drugs that may have been on him.  Though there were few witnesses, no one could identify the shooter.  According to police, the shooter is a black male in his early- to mid-twenties, about six feet tall, wearing black pants, a black hoodie, and a green vest.  He was seen fleeing on foot toward Main Street.  If anyone has any information regarding the shooter’s identity or his whereabouts, please contact the Midtown police department.”

 

My chest tightened.  I stole a glance at Dave out of the corner of my eye, hoping to read his reaction through the darkness.  To me, it looked as if he hadn’t put two and two together.  He continued to navigate through the storm, keeping a sharp eye on the road.

Despite Dave’s calm, oblivious demeanor, I carefully slipped my hand into my vest pocket, cupping my fingers around my gun, waiting for a reaction out of Dave.  I think the lack of reaction was more unnerving than the idea of him confronting me about the news bulletin.

 

Dave sighed heavily, dropping his head back onto the seat.  “It is really coming down out there.”

 

The tension was suffocating.  “You know, you can just let me out here, man.  I got a buddy on the phone who can come get me.  You don’t need to go out of your way.”

 

“Ah, I’m already this far, might as well go all the way.  I'm  man of my word.”

 

I exhaled deeply.  My phone rang.  This time, I yanked the phone out of my pocket, but before I could answer, the call dropped.  It was dead.  “Where are we?”

 

Dave didn’t answer.  He kept pushing his Taurus deeper through the rain on a seemingly desolate road.  There weren’t any more street lights or buildings, no markers telling me where we were or where we were going, since I had a feeling it wasn’t towards the Grove any more.

 

Even though he hadn’t reacted to the news story over the radio, I had a feeling Dave knew it was me they were looking for.  If that was the case, I was still confused as to where we were headed.  If he wanted to turn me in to the police, he wasn't heading towards any police station in town that I knew of.  My grip tightened on my weapon.  I tried to find the door handle with plans of bailing as soon as he slowed down enough.

 

Suddenly, Dave whips a gun out of nowhere and jabs the barrel to my temple.  “I need to see your hands,” he says carefully, slowing the car as he speaks.

 

“What the fuck, man?” I spat, pulling my hands up slowly.  Did he want to rob me?  He could've assumed my pockets were full based on the news bulletin.  Worst case scenario, I'd be empty handed and stranded in this storm.  The way I saw it, I wasn't with the police so I was still ahead of the game.

 

“Shh,” Dave hushed me as the car came to a stop.  “Take your gun out of your pocket and throw it out the window.”  With his free hand, Dave rolled down my window.  The rain started pouring into the car.

 

I did as I was told, hesitantly, our eyes entangled in a vicious stare down.  With a good heave, I whipped my gun out of the open window and, even through the sound of the rain, I could hear the gun splash into what I thought was a puddle.

 

“Now, we’re going to get out of the car.”

 

“I don’t have anything on me,” I started.

 

“Shut up and get out.”  Dave pops his door open first, not breaking his gaze.

 

Again, I do as I’m told, hoping that once Dave realizes I don’t have any cash.  My feet dropped into ankle-deep water when I stepped out and the rain persists, showering down on the two of us.

 

“Move to the front of the car,” Dave shouts over the top of the car.

 

“I’m telling you, I don’t have anything on me,” I said, still holding my hands in the air.  “I just threw away the only thing I was carrying.”

 

“Stop talking.”

 

I could barely see Dave as the heavy rain drops trickled down the top of my hood and over my eyes.  It almost felt as if the water was rising by the minute.  By this