Page 9 of Halfway to Hell
Texas combedthrough the aisles of second-hand clothes, searching for plain, non-descript items. He wasn’t trying to grab everything he needed at once, just a few pieces here and there. If you don’t want to get caught, you spread purchases across multiple stores, multiple towns. Luckily, the small towns along his route to Sudbury made that easy.
He pulled a pair of dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt from the rack and headed toward the counter.
“Is that all, sir?” the young woman behind the register asked.
Texas glanced around, scanning the ceiling corners for cameras. None were visible. It was the kind of small town where people still believed nothing bad would ever happen here.
“That’s all I need today,” he replied, trying to sound casual.
Then, the cashier’s voice lowered to a teasing giggle. “Are you Jack Reacher?”
Texas froze for a second. The question caught him off guard.
“No,” he said, arching a brow. “Do I look like someone named Jack Reacher?”
“I was kidding,” the girl said, rolling her eyes. “It’s from a movie where the character only buys one change of clothes at a time from a second hand store.”
“Why?” Texas asked, curious how far she’d take it.
She stared at him like he was dense. “He travels light,” she said, clearly annoyed.
Texas chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m working on my Halloween costume,” he said smoothly, not missing a beat.
The cashier folded the jeans and shirt, stuffing them into a plastic bag. “Oh yeah? What are you going as?”
“A killer,” Texas smiled, catching her eye as she rolled hers again.
“That’s so last year’s costume,” she shot back, scanning the tags.
“Okay, then. I’m going as SWAT.”
“Swat what?” she asked, tilting her head as he pulled out his wallet.
“SWAT. Special Weapons and Tactics. A cop,” he said, his patience thinning. He regretted getting tangled in this back and forth.
“Fifteen dollars,” the cashier said, eyes on the register, bored. “You’re weird.”
“And you’re not?” Texas shot back, handing over the cash.
Grabbing the bag, he nodded. “Have a nice day.”
Her quick retort followed as he walked off, “Jerk.”
Walking back to his bike, Texas’s phone rang. He answered quickly, seeing it was Monday.
“Sunday called?” he asked without hesitation.
“Yeah. I’m about to text you where she’s staying. But she has to be out by ten in the morning.”
“Send me the info. I’ll be there.”
“Anything you want me to tell her?”
“I’ll text you. Find out if there’s a diner nearby, just in case I’m late.”
“I’ll send everything as soon as I get it.”
“Sounds good. And Monday?”
