Page 5

FIVE

GAbrIEL

Tuesday

Gabriel knew he was stalling—less than an hour out from Heartstone Island and the butterflies in his stomach were having a rave. This was a bad idea; he had no clue what he was heading into. It was a case of the devil he knew or the one he didn’t, and Gabe didn’t know which was worse. So he’d pulled into a gas station that stood at a crossroads, figuring that filling up the Honda’s gas tank would give him just a few more minutes to prepare for whatever it was he was preparing for.

He’d have to go inside to pay, but that was unavoidable when using cash. Ducking the store’s security would be impossible as well. Gabriel tugged the itchy wool cap down closer to his ears and hoped that would be enough. The chance of having been followed from Seattle was low—the creep he’d ditched had never seen the Honda as far as he was aware—but the chances also weren’t zero .

Attempting for nonchalance, Gabe walked around the back of his car, glancing across the two-lane highway toward the only other business close by, a taco truck with its shutters drawn and locked.

“It’s fine, there’s no one.” He was just fucking nervous.

Of course, someone was watching him. He was at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, for fuck’s sake.

He twisted the car’s gas cap open, grabbed the hose, and jammed the nozzle inside. Glancing down, he realized his fingers were clamped around the handle, tight enough that his knuckles were white. His jaw was also clenched, so hard that his teeth hurt. He actively tried to relax.

Gabe was pissed off at himself, at Peter, and at those stupid-ass blond dude-bros they’d pulled a con on. But right or wrong, a hefty chunk of Gabriel’s ire was directed at the universe in general.

Never let your guard down, Chance. I’ve told you that hundreds of times.

Great, more advice from the grave.

The beauty of a successful con was that the marks never realized they’d been duped until it was too late. As Heidi had explained over and over, a talented con artist knew when to quietly pack up and depart, leaving no one the wiser. Both Peter and Gabriel had chosen to ignore the memo and stayed too long.

You have to know when to walk away, Chance.

Gabriel shook his head. He needed to stop obsessing about what had brought him to this point and figure out what he was going to do about it. There was no time to sit around and contemplate the current shitty state of his life. Or acquire an earworm like The Gambler .

“Fucking rookie move.”

The pump handle popped with a violent jerk, an exclamation point to his thoughts. Setting the nozzle back on the hook with a clank, he headed inside the station to pay.

“Wow, somebody has no impulse control,” he muttered under his breath. Gabriel wanted to squint against the visual barrage of goods greeting him. The interior of the tiny store had so much crap for sale that he felt claustrophobic.

Gray cinder-block walls were barely visible behind the mishmash of items on display. From off-brand candy and energy drinks to neon hair ties and knock-off Zippo lighters illustrated with impossibly large-breasted naked women in silhouette. A sign announced that night crawlers were for sale in a cooler beside the front counter and another pointed to a stash of luridly colored flies and lures. Meanwhile, a dispirited display of snack-size potato chips and beef jerky sat almost directly on top of an electronic card reader.

“Nice ride. Looks like a sleeper. Is that a 2016? I’m supposed to make you pay first, but I like your car, so I let it slide,” the man behind the counter said with unbridled enthusiasm. He was a stocky guy and hardly had any space to move back there.

Gabe’s gaze was drawn to the impossible-to-ignore ragged slash that ran down the left side of the guy’s face. As he stepped forward, wallet out and in hand, he noted that the eyebrow-to-chin injury had healed poorly; the scar drew the corner of the man’s eye downward, ruining the symmetry of his face.

Knife? Bottle?

“Thanks, it’s reliable,” Gabriel responded in what he hoped was a noncommittal tone. He was trapped between wanting to be done with the exchange and on his way and wanting to drag the conversation out as long as possible. In only a few miles, he might have a better idea about what his mother had gotten him into this time and that sounded promising and horrible in equal measures.

“2016, for sure.” The guy sounded thrilled as he again peered out the window at Gabe’s car. There was no name badge affixed to his oil-stained coveralls—at least, Gabriel hoped it was oil and not blood. Maybe hot chocolate?

“Yeah, I guess it is,” he agreed, “but I’m not planning on getting rid of it anytime soon.” He regretted driving a vehicle that somehow attracted the attention of a car geek, but it’s not like he’d known that was the case. Car knowledge had never been a skill of his; luckily, the Honda was still safely registered to his dead mother.

And it would stay that way for as long as possible.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’m always on the lookout for cars like that one. Me and some of my buddies could hop it up into a rally car. Not a real rally car, but, you know.” He laughed. “Massive engine, cool paint job. It could be bang.”

Bang? Rally car?

Gabriel eyed the man; the eagerness wafting Gabe’s way almost got him to smile. Mentally, he moved the guy’s estimated age back to early thirties at the most. It was the scar that made him look older. “Yeah, probably not this car. You live around here, then?”

“Not far,” the cashier replied. “You local too? I haven’t seen you around before, but most folks I used to know have moved away.”

Gabriel got the impression the guy was lonely and bored. But maybe he just liked to meet new people? He could relate.

“Not many jobs for somebody like me,” McChatty continued. “I’m supposed to feel lucky the station’s owner was willing to hire me and pay minimum wage.” Leaning across the counter, he whispered, “I was in jail for a couple of months, almost ninety days. ”

Eyeing the angry-looking scar again, Gabriel was sure he was telling the truth—who would lie about being in jail? It must have been hell for someone like him, with his air of naiveté.

“I guess it’s good that you have a job.” Gabriel couldn’t think of anything else to say. Yay for getting out of jail? Was there a card for that? He was starting to feel edgy again. He needed to get moving.

“I suppose.” McChatty tapped the counter with a meaty finger, the broken nail encrusted with the kind of filth that comes from working on engines. “But I’m always on the lookout for extra work.”

His expression turned wistful, as if he was hoping Gabriel would be his new best friend and happen to have that extra work he needed. Gabriel wasn’t even friendly neighbor material, but the air of desperation and eagerness that clung to him had Gabriel feeling oddly protective of this complete fucking stranger.

Quit stalling, Chance.

“Sorry, I don’t know of anything.” Gabriel experienced an irrational stab of guilt when the cashier’s smile fell away. The fuck was wrong with him? Now that was a question he’d never been able to answer. He had no idea how he was going to support himself for the foreseeable future, so why did he suddenly want to help out a random gas station clerk who’d done jail time? What would the guy do for him anyway, wash his car? “I’m new to the area.”

The man’s expression brightened just as his attention flicked somewhere behind Gabriel again, followed by the sound of the bells on the door jingling as someone new pushed inside. Cue Gabriel’s exit.

“Yo, yo, Gordo,” a deep voice called out, too loud for the small space .

Gordo—Gordon, Gabriel was going to assume—didn’t seem thrilled by the newcomer’s arrival. In fact, he looked terrified.

Gabriel turned slightly so he could see who was there. There were two men, and both of them were definitely bad news. Local boys, based on their familiarity with the cashier, who thought they were the top of the heap, which may have been a slag pile, but they owned the whole pile.

“Gordo, are you feeling so-so?”

Gabe’s stomach sunk toward the floor; it wanted to sink lower but there was nowhere to go. Everything about these two spelled trouble.

Both men were broader, heavier, and younger than Gabe. The guy who thought he was a poet had a beard long enough that he had braided it, but the hair on his head was noticeably absent. In its place were several tattoos that, at a glance, had nothing to do with each other. Just the thought of having tattoos inked into his scalp made Gabriel shudder. A bit of dirt was smeared across the man’s nose and one cheek. The guy was spoiling for a fight.

The silent one had a dark, close-cropped beard and a handlebar mustache, plus tattoos on his neck and face. Gabriel supposed Silent Bob could have had them on his head too, but they were hidden by his long, thin, brown hair if that was the case. Said hair needed a wash, and both of the new shoppers could’ve used a shower.

Unintentionally, Gabriel caught Bad News Two’s gaze and wanted to look away immediately. The lack of… anything made Gabe’s skin twitch, but he wasn’t giving any ground to these two and simply stared back.

Silent Bob looked away first. Good.

Looking out the front window toward his Honda, Gabe saw an enormous black pickup truck, complete with extended wheel wells and fatty tires, parked by the pumps. In case onlookers weren’t already horrified by its very existence, twin confederate-style flags fluttered from the side mirrors. Nice.

“Calvin, Dwayne. Just a minute, let me finish up here.” At Gordon’s words, Gabriel turned back and handed him two twenties. Gordon’s hand shook as he accepted the bills, confirming Gabe’s suspicion that the two assholes made him uneasy.

Just leave, Chance. They’re looking for trouble.

“You want a receipt?” Gordon asked, one hand resting on the till while his thumb tapped restlessly against the keypad.

Gabe heard the two men shift around behind him. One—or both—of them were rifling vigorously through the candy display. He was tempted to suggest travel-sized toothpaste or shampoo, both of which were available.

“Nope, I’m good.”

He turned to leave, but the two shifted again and partially blocked his departure. Accident or assholery? Gabe put all his chips on asshole behavior. He also sighed inwardly. After yesterday’s events, he had no fucks to give, not for these two wastes of humanity.

He’d give them one chance. One. “Excuse me.”

Moving to the side as if to step around them, Gabe paused and assessed the situation. A quiet meep of distress escaped from the cashier. As he’d suspected they would, the two men moved again, making it impossible for Gabriel to leave without shoving his way between them.

“Oh, sorry,” the one called Calvin said insincerely. “Are we in your way?” He moved forward now, his shoulder banging hard against Gabriel’s chest.

Some behavior needed to be nipped in the bud. Lessons needed to be taught. Gabriel was no mystical Jack Reacher, but he knew how to fight and he knew that some people didn’t deserve second chances. If these two wanted a fight, he’d give it to them, but it would be dirty.

Never start soft, Chance. If words fail and you have to fight, never let the bully get the first strike .

Sure, he’d run last night, and for good reason. But this was different. This Calvin guy was the kind who wanted everyone to justify their existence around him. Gabriel refused.

Gordon hadn’t been born yesterday, either. “Guys, just let him go,” he squeaked. “You’re going to get me fired if you start something in here.”

Gabriel had to appreciate the effort. Had anyone done something like that for him before? Not that he could recall.

“Who says we’re the ones starting something?” Calvin sneered. “Dwayne and me, we just need some night crawlers, don’t we, Dee-wayne?”

Dwayne’s eyes remained dark and flat, but something flickered in the depths of his gaze. He was Calvin’s tool, that was certain, but so was the fact that he didn’t appreciate the way Calvin said his name.

“Are you going to let him do that? Pronounce your name wrong, disrespect you?” Gabe asked Dwayne.

“He don’t care, City Boy. Right, Dee-wayne?”

Why were some people so predictable?

The quiet man imperceptibly moved his head. Whether it was a yes or a no, Gabriel had no idea. From behind Gabriel came more scuffing sounds; maybe Gordon was trying to ease his way out from the back of the counter. Gabriel really wished he wouldn’t.

“Hold it right where you are, Gordo. See? It’s all cool.” Calvin moved a step closer. In the small space, the lack of personal hygiene was unfortunate.

“This is between us and City Boy.”

“I’m calling the sheriff, Calvin.” Gordon sounded scared, and Gabriel figured he had the right idea. This wasn’t going to end well.

“Sheriff Rizzi is busy,” Calvin said in a singsong voice. He followed that up with a creepy snicker.

“Look, you have one more chance,” Gabriel said. “I’ve had a long twenty-four hours and I’m out of patience. Gordon here politely asked you to let me leave without making a scene, and I think you should know the suggestion is a very good idea. My mother taught me to fight and?—”

Rocking his head back, Calvin released what Gabe thought was supposed to be a laugh. The rasping noise, which also managed to sound like the braying of a donkey, filled the small store and had Gabriel registering that, on top of everything else, he had a headache.

“Your mama taught you to fight? A city boy and a mama’s boy.” He pretended to wipe tears from his eyes. “We all know about mama’s boys, don’t we?” Calvin shot a glance toward Gordon and grabbed the front of his jeans.

Wow, the misogyny was strong enough that Gabe could almost smell it. This guy must bathe in it.

Heidi hadn’t been perfect. She’d lied more often over her life than she’d told the truth. She’d stolen from the innocent and the guilty without discretion.

His mother would already have had this shit-heel on the floor and regretting his life choices.

Quit stalling, Chance. Hurry up and get it over with .

“Yes, I am my mother’s son, but unlike her, I am giving you one more chance to step aside, please.”

The warning was answered by another one of Calvin’s brays.

A sharp intake of breath from behind him told Gabriel that Gordon understood that things were about to get real.

Without further ado, and mentally apologizing to his new friend Gordon, Gabriel stepped into Calvin’s personal space and landed his right foot squarely on top of the asshole’s worn motorcycle boot. Pressing down with his full body weight—those few extra stress-related pounds were paying off—Gabriel snaked his hand down, grabbed Calvin’s junk, and wrenched, squeezing as hard as he could through the man’s camo cargo pants. The asshole’s body odor was eye-watering; Gabe was going to need a long, hot shower after this.

Calvin shrieked, “What the fuck! Stop!”

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” Gabriel asked. “I tried to tell you that my mama taught me not to fight fair.”

Dwayne, caught off guard for a few seconds, came alive and tried to grab Gabriel in a bear hug, but the small space worked against him and Gabriel was ready. He swung his head around and smashed his forehead against Dwayne’s face. A juicy crunching sound was followed by a garbled grunt of pain. Dwayne rocked backward and his hands flew up to cover his undoubtedly broken nose as he tried to stop the gush of blood.

That move was going to leave a mark on both of them. “I hope I remembered to pack ibuprofen,” Gabe commented. “And you’re gonna want to ice that.”

Calvin moaned.

With Calvin’s hammer and nails still firmly in his grip, Gabriel tightened his hold and slowly twisted his wrist further.

“You assholes are pissing me off,” Gabriel snarled, letting his anger flow. “All I needed was gas, and instead I got this. You two really take the cake.”

He calculated that he had about five seconds before the duo would come to their senses and try to wipe the floor with him. In a move his dead mother would have been proud of, Gabriel stepped forward and, without letting go of Calvin, used his momentum to jam his other knee up and into Dwayne’s crotch. The man moaned and dropped to the ground. Gabriel felt a teensy bit of regret that Dwayne was taking the worst of the punishment, but he didn’t have a choice.

“P-please stop,” Gordon begged. “Please, they’ll leave you alone. I p-promise.”

Gabriel knew Gordon couldn’t make that promise and keep it.

“I’m letting go,” he ground out, staring directly into Calvin’s beady, piggy eyes, “and then I’m walking out of here. If you lay a hand on me—or on Gordon, who was an innocent bystander in this—you will regret it.”

Gabriel released his grip and, as expected, Calvin immediately tried to rush him. The confined area made the move a little difficult, but Gabriel elbowed him in the chin, snapping Calvin’s head back, then followed up with a not-so-gentle nudge to his already sensitive groin. With a wail, Calvin backed away and into the snack display, sending candy and bags of chips to the floor with a crash.

“I said you’d regret fucking with me.” Gabe slowly shook his head. “It’s almost as if I can predict the future.”

The distant sound of police sirens reached his ears.

“Nice to have met you, Gordon. Sorry about the mess.”

“Fuck you,” wheezed Calvin. “You’ll be sorry for this.”

“That’s what they all say. You’ll be sorry . So passé.”

Spinning on his heel, Gabriel pushed back outside and jumped into the Honda. The exchange hadn’t taken more than two minutes and the police cars still weren’t in sight.

And, dammit, he hadn’t had thought to ask about Elton Cox, but those two knuckleheads weren’t going to forget him anytime soon, so maybe not asking questions had been good.

“Lie low, you said. Don’t make a fuss, you said,” Gabriel mocked the man in the rearview mirror. “How’s that going for you? ”

The man reflected back at him rolled his slightly bloodshot eyes.

“Yeah, that’s about what I thought.”

As he accelerated away from the gas station, the two bullies staggered out of the building. One of them stared down the road at the Honda while the other bent over and vomited. Nice.

He hoped he was wrong, but the way his luck worked, Gabriel suspected this would not be the last time he and those two Mensa members crossed paths.