Page 81 of More Than Nothing
Dean grunted and smirked. He pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket, tore open one end, and bit into it.
“Asshole.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Any chance we can go home now?”
“One more stop first.”
Half an hour later, Dean signaled and took a turn down a long, sandy track that led to a rustic campground in the woods. He pulled over in a deserted passing place and asked Elenie to hand him the package from under her seat. She tensed. Would he notice it was wrapped differently than before? But Dean barely glanced at it before casually pulling out the drugs and handing her back the plastic bag with the gun inside.
He gestured through the windshield. “If you follow that path for a bit, you’ll get to the lake. Chuck this as far out as you can.”
Elenie blinked at him. “I’m sorry?”
He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Throw this,” he pointed at the bag, “into the lake.”
“Why?”
“Because it needs getting rid of.”
“But it’s dark.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“I’m no good at throwing.”
“Just lob it good and hard.”
“What if it doesn’t sink?”
He looked exasperated. Even under these circumstances, it was entertaining to see how far she could push Dean. Thinking on his feet wasn’t one of his greatest talents.
“Of course it’ll fucking sink! It’s made of metal.”
“You said you didn’t know what’s inside. Why don’t you do it?”
“Because I’ve done the goddamn driving and so far you’ve done zip.”
She took a gamble. “And if I tell Frank you didn’t do it yourself?”
Dean’s mouth twisted into a sloppy grin. “I don’t think you will. And I’m not gonna. Dad doesn’t need to know everything.”
Elenie considered that and shrugged. “I might be a while.”
He put his feet up on the dashboard, tipping back his head. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
She grabbed her backpack as she climbed out of the truck. Oh God, she hoped she’d done the right thing in sending the photos to Roman. Without the second cell phone, she had no idea of the contact details for Special Agent Dorsey. What to do now was the question.
Five minutes along the trail, out of sight of the truck, Elenie tugged off her hoodie with just enough light from the waxing moon to see what she was doing. Clouds loomed ominously above, threatening to take even that away if she didn’t hurry. She wrapped the bulky material around the package containing the gun and pushed the whole bundle into the bottom of her bag, burying it beneath two library books. The cool air tugged at her shirtsleeves but adrenalin had her blood pumping like a diesel engine. She fumbled with her cell, saw that Roman had received and viewed the photos, prayed he’d saved or forwarded them immediately, and pressed Delete. Then she erased them from her camera roll and from the trash folder too. He’d also sent her a message asking if shewas OK. With the allotted time ticking by too fast, Elenie deleted that without answering.
When she returned to the truck, she was out of breath, her sneakers were muddy, and her phone was stashed safely back in her bag. Dean was asleep.
She slammed the door with a little extra force. “All done.”
He pushed himself upright, and started the engine. She felt as if the backpack was glowing red as she tucked it between the door and her legs.
When they reached home, the lights were still on in the living room, the flickering of the television visible from the driveway. A wave of sickness churned in Elenie’s midriff. Dean crossed the hallway, lounged against the doorframe and gave his dad a chin lift.
“All OK?” Frank paused with a glass of whiskey halfway to his mouth. Her mother was asleep—passed out?—on the couch, one hand trailing on the carpet.
Dean gave a huge yawn, showing all his teeth. “Fine.”
