“What’s it like down there?” he asks. “The land?”
Oh, right. I told him I was here to look at land—for an investment.
“Looks good,” I lie. “Dirt cheap.”
“Far from Atlanta?”
“Nah, not very.”
“When’re you going to get down there to do the hunting?”
Hunting? Oh—I guess he thinks that’s why I want the land.
“I’ll take off time when the app is functioning cohesively.”
He laughs. “That’ll be at least two years, with all the moving parts we’ve got. Too bad fucking Gurung won’t buy in. He’s got some of that infrastructure that could really expedite this.”
“No shit.”
I ask the questions I called to ask Aes’ very own Captain Obvious and smirk to myself as I make one final phone call, letting the company I booked with know that I still need their services this morning.
“What time would you like it set up?”
“Hmm, let’s say in about an hour?”
“At the address we have on file?” the woman asks.
“Yep.”
“Thank you, sir,” she says. “You have yourself a nice mornin’ and we’ll see you then.”
“Perfect.”
I grin, then give a low laugh, feeling pleased with myself. I can’t wait to see June’s face when she gets her eyes on this.
The dirt road from my rented cabin to the nearby county road is fucking jarring on the car. Rocks pop up against its underbelly and a hazy dust cloud rises up around it. I grip the wheel and turn the radio down, stealing glances at the woods around me. These tall, skinny pine trees aren’t as picturesque as the east coast with a coat of autumn or the snow-slung evergreens out west, but there’s a kind of magic to them. Understated, maybe you would call it. Doesn’t feel like anywhere special, I decide as I turn left onto the narrow, paved road; its faded asphalt is veined by cracks.
You could see a murder happening out here. I glance up at the blue sky, pale with white clouds peeking in between the walls of pines on both sides of the little road.
Maybe crazy shit happens in a place like this, but you can kind of see things going the other way, too. Maybe this place is a place that people love, despite its lack of everything.
Maybe all the things it doesn’t have are things nobody really needs. I wonder if Heat Springs has things like food delivery and laundry service. I try to imagine going to some job here—the farm supply store or the police station. Or maybe doing carpentry. I bet they always have a need for that in parts like these. And what about June? What the hell is her day-to-day like? By herself out in that little farmhouse. Does that make her happy?
I remind myself that I don’t care. June is no one to me. After I take Margot and Oliver back home, she’ll be someone I see once or twice a year at most. And I will take them back with me.
I know I can make her see things my way. I just have to get her past that bite of horror she felt when I mentioned giving her money in exchange for guardian rights. To someone like her, it probably sounds sinful. Maybe even like a lie. But I’ll show her that it isn’t. I’m going to show her today that I’m a cool dude, that Oliver and Margot know me—probably better than they know her—and I have all the money needed to make them happy. Plus some for her.
There’s nothing wrong with needing help, and I’m a helpful guy. She’ll see. I turn onto the dirt road that leads toward her house, and there’s a dust cloud right in front of me. I think the evidence of how fun I am is en route to her house, just like I am.Chapter 5JuneShould I go for the satisfaction of a hands-on killing—maybe good old-fashioned strangulation—or will this be a hit job for the sake of the kids? Either way, I’m going to have to kill him. Burke Masterson is going down town Charlie Brown—something that my mother used to say when we were kids, though I have no idea why. What was Charlie Brown going to do to us once we got downtown? Or were we going downtown like Charlie Brown? Did he go downtown a lot? I know surprisingly little about the famous comic strip star.
Whatever. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Burke sucks.
I narrow my eyes at the scene before me—a scene in which his suckage is at center stage. Burke is sitting on a mossy rock below a pecan tree in my front yard. Mario and Peach, the puppies, bound around his black-jean-clad legs and shiny new black leather boots, while Oliver and Margot the humans climb all over his broad back and shoulders, frolicking around him like sad orphans who just found the family member they like best. Which is exactly what they are—maybe.