Chapter 8

Bad liked driving the Cadillac. Five years ago he knew he would die in prison. He knew it wouldn’t be from old age. He was a three-time loser and killed a man in prison. He’d nearly killed that fucking screw. Would have too if they hadn’t hit him with Tasers. Then they did what they did with their batons and boots. He was three months in the prison infirmary. Now he had a new face, beautiful teeth and was driving the fastest production sedan in the world into the fucking sticks.

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This trip should be easy. The old lady wanted her grand nephew to live. That wouldn’t be a problem. How did people live in places like this? Dave, as usual, was listening to his stupid fucking music, reading a book, stoned on reefer. Useless fuck. He didn’t say that out loud because no matter how bad he was, he knew Dave would have one of his knives out and gut him before he could choke him out. And now the fucker could see at night! Imagine that freak sneaking up on you in the dark.

David said, “Turn right at the next dirt road.”

Stupid fuck, Bad thought. He had the GPS right in front of him. He didn’t say anything and made the turn. The beautiful car bounced all over the place. He slowed down and made the turn. A cloud of dust followed him. He slowed even more as he got closer to the trailer. He knew the old lady had dogs. The waitress almost shit herself when they said they were going to visit the old woman. She begged them not to mess with the dogs. Bad knew the old lady needed her dogs, but he still wanted to kill them. When he was eleven, a fucking nigger set his dogs on him when he was beating his boy’s black ass. He’d killed his first dog that day and it felt good. Fucking freak Dave actually liked dogs. How could anybody like dogs?

So he would stay in the car. He stopped the car and honked. Dave looked over at him like he was stupid or something. The old lady came out after a while and told the dogs not to jump up on the car and to go on under the house. The dogs went under the house. He hoped the dogs hadn’t scratched the paint.

“What do you want?” she yelled out, balancing on the walker.

Dave yelled out, “I want to talk to you about how to keep Kenny alive and untouched in prison.”

The old woman sagged against the walker. Bad thought she was going to fall, but she didn’t. The dogs whined and ran up onto the porch, then started down toward the car. The woman whistled them back under the house. The old lady didn’t look so good. The boss would be pissed if she didn’t sign the papers.

Dave waited. The woman straightened and said, “Come on up.” Dave got out of the car slow, the papers in his left hand and his right hand resting casual like on his belt. Bad thought the fucker might have a knife in his belt and now he knew. He knew he had one in his sock and in a wrist sheath, the fucking freak.

Dave walked slowly up the steps. Bad switched the satellite radio to one of the comedy channels, turned the AC up and squeezed the rubber ball while he waited.