Page 17 of Texas (Route 69 #1)
Seventeen
T he sun’s high in the sky by the time I roll into town, with heat coming off the pavement in waves.
My shirt is stuck to my back, and the road dust clings to my jeans.
I keep the throttle low as I cruise down Main, the Harley’s rumble low and steady beneath me.
Kristin’s at the clinic already, and I told her I’d spend the day “riding to get my mind off things.” Which is technically true.
Just not the kind of riding she thinks. I’m not here for tacos and window-shopping.
I’m here to ask questions and not the friendly kind.
I’m here to ask the kind that piss people off and shines light into places folks around here work hard to keep dark.
Parking in front of Dog-Eared & Dusty, I kill the engine and swing off the bike.
The shop’s the same as before with the sun-faded awning, little bell on the door, and the smell of old paper and cedar that hits me the second I step inside.
It’s cooler in here, thank fuck. The AC’s struggling, but it’s trying.
The cat’s asleep in the same spot, curled on a sun-warmed cushion like it owns the place.
Hank’s behind the counter with a book cracked open in one hand and a glass of iced tea sweating onto a coaster beside him. He glances up, sees me, and gives me a knowing nod. “Reggie,” he says, closing his book with one hand. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”
I shrug. “Didn’t think I’d still be here.”
He gestures to the stool across from him. “But here you are.”
Sitting, I stretch my legs out and let the silence hang for a beat. Then I say, “You recognize two trucks? One black, new. One white, older. Both full-size. No plates showing because they were mud-caked. They boxed me in yesterday on the back road to Austin.”
Picking up his tea, Hank doesn’t flinch at my question and takes a slow sip. “You all right?”
“Bruised,” I say. “Bike’s a little worse but I can still ride it.”
“Shit,” he mutters, then he sets the glass down. “I got a good guess who those belong to.”
“I figured you might.”
“Cody Mathers drives a black Silverado. Used to work for Will’s development company. Got canned for skimming off the top, but Will kept him close. That kind of man keeps his dogs hungry.”
“And the white one?”
“Could be Denny Voss. He works maintenance for the golf course. Will’s cousin on his mother’s side.” I nod. I don’t know these names, but I know the type. Small-town muscle. Loyal to whoever pays their bills and keeps their secrets.
“They live around here?” I ask and Hank nods slowly.
“Mathers has a place out near the old mill road,” Hank says. “Voss is in the trailer park east of town. But they drink at The Hollow on Friday nights. You want to see them up close, that’s your place.”
“I’m not looking for a bar fight.”
He raises a shaggy white brow. “No? Could’ve fooled me.
” Then he reaches under the counter and pulls something out.
A .357 revolver, nickel-plated, classic as hell.
He sets it on the counter between us like he’s offering a menu item.
“Just in case you were wondering, I’m not worried about trouble coming through that door. ”
I stare at it, and it looks old, heavy, and familiar. “You keep that loaded?”
“Five rounds. I keep the hammer on the empty chamber. I may be old, but I’m not dumb.”
Leaning forward, I rest my arms on the counter. “You sure you want to be this close to it, Hank?” I ask. “This thing with Will, it’s not smoke anymore. It’s fire.”
Slipping the gun away again, he shrugs. “I’ve lived in this town for forty years.
Watched it get swallowed by people like him,” he says.
“I’ve seen high school librarians get fired for putting Toni Morrison on a shelf.
I’ve seen women run out of town for leaving their husbands. I’m not scared of Will Cleveland.”
“But you’re worried about me.”
His eyes meet mine. “You’re not from here,” he says. “You don’t know how deep his roots go. I don’t want to see you get buried under them.”
Taking in his words, I nod. “I appreciate that. But I’m not leaving. Not just yet.”
“You should.”
“I can’t.”
Wiping away a bead of sweat from his glass of tea, he exhales. “Then be smart,” he says. “Don’t let him decide the terms.”
“I’m working on it,” I say, tapping the counter once.
“Thanks, Hank.” He nods again, and when I stand, he holds out a hand.
I take it and his skin is raspy and tough against my palm, but there’s a lot of strength in it too.
I’m not afraid of crossing Will Cleveland, but I’d think twice about messing with Hank Martin.
“Watch your back,” he says. “I hope to see you again.”
“You will.”
Back outside, the heat slaps me in the face.
I climb back on the Harley and ride four blocks to the Dogwood Bluff Public Library.
The building’s a squat brick thing with a newer annex attached.
Some glass and steel try to make the place look modern, but the bones are still old.
There’s a mural on the side wall that I like.
Kids reading under a tree, painted in bright colors that have started to fade.
The parking lot’s half full, mostly sedans and minivans and I park under a tree, kill the engine, and head in.
The sun feels like a punishment, pressing down from above while the asphalt radiates heat from below.
Inside, it smells like dust, paper, and lemon polish.
The floors creak under my boots. There’s a kid’s section to the left, filled with bean bags and low shelves with a few teens whispering over laptops in the back corner.
Donna Lennox is at the front desk, pulling a stack of books from the return bin.
She’s in a sleeveless blouse and wide-legged linen pants, silver bracelets jangling softly as she moves.
Her hair’s pulled back, and she looks like she’s in her element among books and eager minds.
She sees me and smiles, like she’s not surprised, just pleased.
“I was wondering if you’d come see me.”
I raise a brow. “That obvious?”
“Only to people who pay attention,” she says as she pulls the last book from the bin and wipes her hands on a cloth.
“Come with me.” We walk down a narrow hallway lined with posters.
Banned Books Week, author signings, and a flyer for a queer book club that I bet Will’s friends hate.
She unlocks a small conference room with frosted glass walls and a round table in the center.
Shutting the door behind us, she gestures for me to sit and settles across from me. “How bad is it?”
“Worse than you think,” I say. “He’s got cameras on the property. GPS on my bike. Sent two trucks after me yesterday. Tried to run me off the road.”
Although her face pales a bit under the tanned skin, she doesn’t blink. “Are you all right?”
“Still standing.”
Donna folds her hands on the table. “Then it’s only going to get worse.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and then she sighs.
“Will has power here, Reggie. Not only money. Not just the Cleveland name. He’s got fingers in everything,” she says.
“The zoning board. The sheriff’s office.
Half the town council. He doesn’t threaten people.
He makes them offers and if they say no, he finds a way to make their lives very, very hard. ”
“And they let him.”
“They don’t see another option.”
I stare off into space for a minute. “There’s really no one in town who will stand up to him?” I ask. “No one he can’t threaten?”
Donna leans back, eyes narrowing. “The only one who could ever keep Will in his place was Charles Cleveland. Will’s daddy.
He’s not like Will. He’s old money, yes, but he had a code,” she says.
“Lost his wife ten years ago, and something in him went soft. He stepped back. Moved to Florida. Left Will to run the empire.”
“And now?”
She shakes her head. “Now he plays golf and writes checks for charities. I wish he’d come home and see what his son’s become.”
“Would he care?”
“I think so,” she says. “But he’s tired. And Will is... persuasive.”
Running a hand over my face, I nod slowly. “So who do we trust?”
For a beat, Donna doesn’t say anything. “Me. Hank. Maybe the mayor, if you catch her on the right day and she’s not worried about re-election. But that’s it.”
“Not the cops?”
She laughs, but it sounds bitter. “The sheriff owes Will more than money. He’s not going to lift a finger.”
I grit my teeth. “Then we’ll have to do this ourselves.”
Again, Donna doesn’t talk and simply studies me. “Who are you, Reggie?” she asks quietly. “And why are you risking your own skin over this?”
“Just a lonely stranger with nothing better to do.”
That makes her smile, then her phone buzzes, and when she glances at it, her face changes. “It’s from Denise,” she says. “Something’s happening at the clinic.”
Going cold at her words, I’m on my feet before she finishes the sentence. “What kind of something?”
“She didn’t say. Just trouble.” I don’t wait. I’m already moving. Donna stands too. “Be careful, Reggie.”
I don’t answer. I’m out the door, down the steps, and on the Harley in seconds.
The engine roars to life, and I twist the throttle hard.
Gravel spits from the tires as I peel out of the lot, heart hammering, every nerve on alert.
I don’t know what’s waiting for me at that clinic but if Will sent someone, they’re about to learn exactly who the fuck they’re dealing with.