Page 58 of A Little Luck

I put the car in park, and as we exit the vehicle, the door opens. I’m surprised by the man who steps out onto the dusty porch.

“Adam Stone? What the hell are you doing in this neck of the woods?” Willie “Bender” Cartwright is an old friend of my late pop’s, and he likes to drop in and drink bourbon with Alex when he’s in town.

He’s an old-school tastemaker with longish gray hair and a beard. He’s usually smoking a cigar, and he reminds me of the cowboy version of Jeff Bridges. He’s plugged into the luxury liquor and tobacco world, but his past is shady. Still, I’m surprised to see him at the Jones residence.

“I could say the same to you,” I reply. “Does Alex know you’re in town?”

“I came for the wedding, so he knows I’m on my way.” He puts a cigar between his teeth and sets a bottle of Stone Cold special reserve bourbon on the porch railing. It’s Alex’s most expensive and sought-after product. “Care for a snort?”

“It’s a little early for me.” I stop midway between the car and the porch, and one of the dogs hops down and walks over to sniff my leg. It has one blue eye and one brown eye. “Is Bull or Raif around?”

“They’re coming.” Ben’s boots make hollow thumps as he walks down the steps to where we’re standing in the yard. “You must be Marshall Gregg. I heard you were in town looking for Rosie McClure.”

My eyebrows rise, and I glance at Marshall. His eyes are narrow, and he’s sizing up my old friend. “How’d you know that, Mr.Bender, is it?”

“Willie Cartwright, but folks call me Bender or Ben, if I’m lucky.” He sticks out a weathered hand. “I used to drink too much.”

I drop my face, doing my best not to grin at the flat way Ben puts his past indiscretions out there. I guess his attitude is there’s no point in hiding what everybody knows.

The door opens, and Raif walks out onto the porch in jeans and an unbuttoned short-sleeved shirt. “Hey, Adam. What are you doing here? Something happen in town?”

His chest is bare, and he looks like he just rolled out of bed. He walks down the steps to where we’re standing, reaching down to pet the dog’s head.

“No, nothing like that. We were just looking for someone, and I thought you guys might have heard something.” I glance at Marshall, wanting him to take the lead.

“I’m starting to think your friend here has some ideas.” Marshall is mellow, but I can tell he’s annoyed by Ben.

Ben isn’t bothered. “No ideas here. I knew Rosie, but that’s about all.”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“Hmm…” Bender slides his hand down his mustache and beard. “Couldn’t say.”

“But she was in this area?” Marshall clarifies.

“Yep. Right here in Eureka.” Bender takes the top off the bottle of Stone Cold and pours an inch into a skinny glass. “Sure you won’t try some? It’s the best in the country. Hell, in the world, I’d wager.”

“No, thanks.” Marshall seems done here, and I’m more confused than when we arrived.

“I have an idea,” Raif pipes up, and we all look at him.

“What’s that?” Bender clears his throat and spits before sipping the bourbon.

“I saw that story about the hog attacking Terra Belle in her pickle patch,” Raif points to the edge of the yard where two burn barrels are located, and where the sand-filled grass fades into palmettos and palm trees. “We had a hog rooting around in the woods a few nights ago. They’re getting out of control with no natural predators here.”

“It’s true.” I wonder if he’s going to tell me it dug up human remains.

“I shot it and dressed it. The meat wasn’t too bad. That’s when I got my idea.” Raif’s smarter than people think, but I’m not sure he understands why we’re here. “I could kill the motherfuckers, find a local processor, and sell them as free-range pork. I bet folks would buy it. Market it with Terra’s pickles or whatever.”

We’re quiet a minute, and Marshall glances at me as if I might connect the dots.

Bender looks up at the trees, rubbing his chin. “It’s an interesting idea. Don’t think it’s what these fellas are looking for, but there might be a market for it in the city.”

Raif exhales a short laugh, glancing down at his bare feet. “Maybe I’ll be the next Eureka millionaire.”

It’s a half-cocky, half-humble brag, but I’m impressed he actually has ambition. I’m starting to think he might be the one planting flowers in the tires, and it makes me want to root for him.

“Stranger things have happened.” I glance over at Marshall. “Ready to head back to town?”

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