Page 8 of Loving Trent (Love in the Bootheel #5)
Stomping up the stairs, I grab the two gas cans I brought and start with the basement.
I make sure that there is enough gas on the floor, walls, and all the furniture.
I don’t want the fire department to be able to save anything.
I want this place to burn. I don’t light the gas.
I give it time to soak in and repeat the process with every building.
Slowly, I light a match and set every single building on fire.
Ending with the church. The flames might not burn hot enough to crumble the buildings, but the scorch marks will serve as a reminder of the dirty things that happened here.
Then, I return to my bike and drive away from my past.
I can’t go back to the town that saved me when I was fifteen.
While I’m not done with this part of my past, I’m done with this place.
Instead, I head in the opposite direction and hit the gas.
My hand never lets off the throttle until I look down and find my gas gauge sitting dangerously close to that red capital E.
Pulling off at the next exit, I find the nearest gas station.
While I’m filling up, I check my phone and find a message from Demon waiting for me.
Demon
Leon got back to me. I told him what you are doing and why. He said he can’t travel right now but is definitely interested in meeting with you. Here is his number and address. Give him a call.
Lean Dawson Contact Card
Me
Thanks. I definitely will.
After paying for my gas and grabbing a bite to eat, I figure I better call Uncle Joey before heading out again.
He deserves to know that I’m alive since I can’t bring myself to tell him why I took off.
Like he has done for the past ten years, he picks up on the first ring, even though by the sounds coming through the phone, he is still at work.
No matter what time or where he is, he has always answered my calls or texts.
“Boy, it’s nice to know you’re alive. Where the fuck are you?” His voice sounds like home to my ears. It settles over me like a warm embrace.
“Right now, in the middle of nowhere. Sorry, Uncle Joey, I know I shouldn’t have gone quiet, but I wasn’t in the right mindset to talk.” Turning toward the beams of sunlight, I let it warm my face.
He sighs and says, “I get that, Son. Next time, send me something to let me know that I don’t need to put out a missing person bulletin.”
“I will.”
“Are you headed home?” Someone in the background calls his name, but he never answers them, giving me his undivided attention.
“Not yet. But I will be soon. I’ll let you go back to work. Don’t want another person to shoot themselves in the balls with a nail gun.” I smile at the memory. About a month ago, one of the workers got distracted by a girl running by and nailed his sack to the roof instead of the shingles.
“Fucking idiots. Love you.”
“You too.” The line goes dead, and the guilt that always settles in my stomach when he tells me he loves me hits.
I believe him, but he loves the Trent that he knows, not the real me.
Guilt also eats at me because I still can’t bring myself to tell him it back.
I do love him; I just can’t make my tongue create those much-needed words.
I haven’t said those words to anyone since I was fourteen and Sandy made me say them to her.
She tainted them, and I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to say them.
Like always, I hope that he can see how much I care for him through my actions.
I transfer over Leon's number and hit call because I need to finish this. It’s beyond time to make Tom and Sandy pay for what they did.
“Hello,” a male voice comes through the speaker.
All the fine hair on my body instantly stands straight up.
I’ve had enough interactions with the police to pick out one from the way they talk.
I clear my throat and say, “My name is Trent. I’m looking for Leon. Demon gave me this number.”
“That’s me. Jackson said you would be getting in contact. Look, I’d love to help you, but I can’t get away from home right now. Got some personal stuff going on. Would you be willing to meet me?” Ah, Demon’s real name is Jackson. Although that name doesn’t really fit him, not like Demon does.
“I’ve got a few questions.” I don’t add on the words if you don’t mind because I don’t care if he minds. Either he answers them, or I move on.
“Shoot, kid.”
“You police?”
“Retired FBI. How’d you know?”
“You all have this authoritative tone in your voice. Demon said he told you a little about what I’m looking for…”
“Sure did. If you’re worried about me turning coat tail, it won’t happen.”
“Noted, but I don’t just trust people from the word go.” I shove my hand in my pocket and ignore the woman walking past with her eyes glued to me.
“No smart man should. I can prove it, but in order to do that, I need you to meet me. If you need some proof now, look up Michael Tilkens, murder in the Bootheel of Missouri.”
“Give me a second,” I say. I unhook my bag from the back of my bike and pull out my laptop.
I don’t pay attention to the people walking around me, or if someone needs the pump I’m blocking.
They can kiss my ass. I open Google and type in the name, and read a short article about a man who was killed a little over a year ago.
It’s listed as unsolved, and Leon Dawson is mentioned as the FBI agent looking into it. “Why is it unsolved?”
“Because he not only beat my wife, but he kidnapped her and our daughter-in-law.” His voice turns dark, cold, and deadly.
“You did it?” I shut my laptop and place it back in my bag.
“No, my son-in-law did.”
“You covered it up?”
“Damn right I did, and it isn’t the first time. No one fucks with my family.”
“But I’m not family.”
“It doesn’t matter to me much, not after hearing the story about your friend and what happened at that place. Whatever you need, I’ll get it, and nothing will fall back on you.”
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, hanging up and picking up my helmet. Jumping back on my bike, I hit the road, but it isn’t until hours later that I realize that to get to Leon, I’m going to have to go through the town I never thought I’d see again.
My old hometown.
Cape Girardeau.
The place where he lives.
The one guy that stole my heart when I was thirteen, and I’m not sure he ever gave it back.
Shawn Foster.