Page 31 of Weatherman

“That’d be nice. I’d love to meet your baby. Please come by for some food later, even if you only pick it up and take it home. Cuttin’ up them vegetables takes a lotta time, so you should get the reward, right?”

I smiled as Natalie settled into her big recliner and leaned back. “You bet.”

She tucked a colorful crocheted afghan around her legs and gave a big sigh as she closed her eyes. “Nice to know my boy has friends like you. Thank you for taking care of me and him.”

Friends? When did that happen?

I hadn’t really thought about it, but something had definitely changed between Weatherman and me. Any anger or hatred I had toward him wasn’t there anymore, but I couldn’t call us friends. Acquaintances? That didn’t sound right either. I didn’t have a word to describe the relationship between us and couldn’t really define it.

I put it out of my mind, as I had things to do. I’d started my day with coffee and Robert, did a favor for Weatherman, met Natalie and helped her for a while, and still had my errands to run. “No problem. You have a nice day, and I’ll see you soon.”

CHAPTER 15

Clem’s gasstation was so old, it still had dial pumps rather than the more modern digital ones. Not surprising, as the machines hadn’t pumped a single gallon of gas for decades. The whole place exuded an air of neglect and wear.

Mute and Weatherman rode up on their bikes, the noise only briefly masking the tinny radio crackling out an old country station. Weatherman took note of his companion’s curled lip and expression of distaste. He understood that completely. Years of collected junk and refuse lay in piles all around the dilapidated building. Rusted oil cans, crumbling cardboard boxes, engine parts in plastic crates, random car parts—the entire scene was one of misery and abandonment.

Clem Gustler appeared from behind the old station, wiping his hands on a dirty shop cloth. He was somewhere in his midforties and built like a Ford truck: lean, tough, and ready to fight. His eyes darted to the rockers on their cuts, and his wariness ramped up. “Help you two?”

“Brick sent us over to ask about a lawn tractor he heard you had for sale. Still got it?” Weatherman asked.

Clem grinned and shoved his thumbs in his jeans belt loops. His faded T-shirt showed a few grease stains over a faded CoorsLight bottle. He wasn’t a bad-looking man, but his demeanor gave off an air of caution.

He moved the wad of chewing tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other and scratched the gray scraggle on his chin. “Yeah, I still got it.” A ropy muscled forearm with a blurred Navy tattoo jerked a thumb behind him. “’S’out back. Make you deal for cash money.”

“We need to look at it first.”

“Sure, sure. Come on, I’ll show it to you.”

The tractor was pristine, totally opposite of the shack it was housed in.

“Ain’t been used a lot. Got it off some stupid fucker over in Whittier. Owes me money, but he’s broke, so he gave me this instead.”

Weatherman was sure the mower was stolen, but he kept that thought to himself. “Blades need sharpening, but otherwise, it appears to be in good shape.”

“I ’spect so. Sellin’ as is, though.”

Mute walked around the building. Clem eyed him before spitting a stream of brown on the ground. “You boys lookin’ for something?”

“Mute likes to scout around wherever he is. It’s in his nature as a bouncer. You know, to prevent trouble before it happens.”

“Not sure I like him scoutin’ my place.”

“You got something to hide?”

The grin came back, showing Clem’s stained teeth. “Not at all. Brick ain’t someone to cross. Folks ’round here know better’n to tangle with him or his boys. My trailer is over yonder down in the holler. My cousin’s down there too. Bet he got some ’shine for sale. Might give you some if you wanna buy that tractor and all.”

Clem seemed too sure of himself, as if he had one up on the Dragon Runners in his yard. Weatherman didn’t trust him at all.Going down that narrow dirt path might lead to the clues they wanted or bullets in the back. These mountains could swallow a person whole, and no one would ever find the body.

Mute came from around the other side of the building and approached the two men. He ignored Clem and twirled his finger in the air in a “let’s ride” gesture.

Weatherman took the cue. “I think I’ve seen enough. Mute doesn’t drink, and he’s ready to go. We’ll tell Brick about the tractor and let you know what he decides.”

“Don’t take too long. Buck Melford is interested too.”

Both Dragon Runners mounted their bikes and took off with Mute in the lead. The scenery flashed by, mostly bare trees as the drought had taken effect. The normal vibrant colors were dull, and the leaves fell quickly this season. The big Halloween party was happening this weekend, and the campground where it was held had already shed down to bare.

Weatherman followed Mute as he pulled off at an overlook. Both men took off their helmets and gloves. Weatherman could tell Mute was upset and probably wanted to get back to his pregnant wife, as she could pop anytime now. If this business weren’t so serious, he’d be home right now enjoying being a father. Instead he was out dealing with garbage like Clem Gustler.

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