Page 73 of Lone Star

She’d spent the last few years trying to become a proper Texan. Her Texan husband would want to bash heads and lay down proclamations. Her first instinct, now, was to go bold.

But that was a new instinct. A Texas one.

The London girl in her bones said, “I think we need to be smart about this.”

He nodded.

“How’d you like to play a rat?”

One corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Twenty-Seven

Benny was pushed down into a chair at a round common room table with Jesse and Eric from the gas station, and all three of them were given one drink – one stiff enough to loosen their tongues, but not so strong that they’d get sloppy.

Candy paced, sipping coffee. He’d sent Darla back to the sanctuary to tell Michelle and Jenny that they were back, and that it would be best if they stayed in the back for the next few minutes while they ran an interrogation.

“When did they approach you?” he asked. “And how?” He paused, and pointed at Benny.

A few sips of whiskey had put some color back in his cheeks, but he was still shaking, the chains dancing against his chest and glittering with caught light. “It was, like, two weeks ago? Maybe?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I had a lotta stuff going on, okay? There was that party at – nevermind,” he said, hurriedly, when Candy lifted his brows. “It was two weeks ago. I remember, ‘cause I was at the Oasis. Lunch buffet, you know?”

“Salmonella buffet,” Blue muttered.

“And I was having some chicken, and a drink, and when Sheila got off stage, I was gonna see if I could have a private dance, you know? And this guy comes up to me. Sits down at my table, like we were friends or something. And he takes out this little vial.” He held up his thumb and forefinger a few inches apart to indicate size. “And he looks at the stage, not at me, you know, like you do when you’re trying to play it cool, and he says, ‘Heard you like to move stuff.’

“And I said, ‘Hey, no offense, but you heard wrong, buddy. I do a little business here and there, but I don’t fence.’ And the guy, all calm like, just pushed the vial closer, and said, ‘Try it.’”

Candy asked, “What was in it?”

“Coke. Good shit, too. But that’s how they do it.”

“Quality sample, then a shitty brick for you to move,” Candy said, motioning for him to move it along. “I’m familiar. What then?”

“I told him ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ and he said, ‘Okay,’ and he got up and left.”

Candy waited. Not so patiently.

“I think it’s over, right?” Benny shrugged and drained the rest of his whiskey. “That sorta thing happens all the time. Anybody who wants to sell anything can find a hookup at the Oasis.”

“Benny.”

“I’m getting there. You got anything else to drink?”

“No,” more than just Candy said, the word ringing off the walls.

Jesse and Eric seemed to lean in toward one another, trying to duck down into the collars of their Citgo polo shirts.

“Alright, alright.” Benny swiped a hand through his hair, and let out an unsteady breath. “When I left the club later – that night. I stayed around for a dance or two, a few drinks. I walk out to my car, and first I notice that the street light over it is out, right? And I thought, ‘Damn, that’s kinda spooky.’ So I get there, in the dark, and I can’t see to put the key in the damn lock, and I’m trying to use my phone as a flashlight, and suddenly there’s somebody behind me. Like this.” He clapped a hand over his nose and mouth, briefly, in demonstration. “And there was a needle in my neck, and then it was lights out.”

A quick glance toward Jesse and Eric proved they’d lost all the color in their faces, gazes skittering across the tabletop, both of them not just nervous, but traumatized – whatever had happened to Benny had happened to them, too, and they were reliving it.

“When I came to,” Benny said, and his voice was different, now. The accent softened – Candy had always suspected it was fake anyway, a way to try to sound exotic down here in Texas. His tone had shifted, too: the faint, oddly placid rasp of someone who couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. “I was in this room. I don’t know what kind. I think it was a garage. A warehouse, maybe. Someplace with metal walls, and the water pipes were exposed. The light was really bright. Up high, beating down on me, and I could tell there were people all around me, but I couldn’t get a good look at any of them. I was on a table,” he said, hushed, gaze withdrawn and glassy.

“I was strapped down. My arms and legs were out like…” He started to demonstrate, but his arms seemed limp and uncooperative.

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