Page 31 of A Handsome Devil

Truman stood tall. “Sure. Just let me grab some shit from the glovebox.”

“We’ll leave the plate on to let ol’ Jack Hoffman know we’re gone.”

“I think the question is,” said Denmark, “where do we sleep? It’s already three. If this guy noticed us, everyone else will.”

I said, “We’ll split up. We go ditch the Honda and steal something else. You guys already had your plates switched out, so you’re good. Gunning and Erin can buy food. Erin, you can ride bitch with Gunning. Go ahead and find a motel and we’ll, uh, just…”

I guess I faded out then, because Truman propped me up. “We’ll find somewhere to sleep. It’s only October, and it’s always warm, with no rain.”

Erin actually saluted me. “Good show, sir.”

“But Denmark,” I said, as they rustled toward the door, “do everyone a solid. Ditch that black studded visor. You’re like a mark with a whole army shooting at you.”

Denmark tipped his visor at me. “Yes, sir. I’ll get another sort of visor.”

“Let’s bail now, then,” said Gunning, taking Erin by the arm. They had another room with all their shit in it. Soon Truman and I were alone. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I had to lean down a little to look him in the eye.

“You know we’re gonna find Les Moore.”

“Yeah.” He seemed pretty reconciled to it.

“We’re gonna find out who his source is, and go to that guy next.”

“Definitely.”

“You’re in.”

“I’m in.”

Squeezing both his biceps, I nearly picked him off the floor when I kissed him. He wrapped his boot behind my knee, fingers entwined behind my neck, and opened his mouth on my lips. He was merging with me, in agreement, the lush lapping of his tongue telling me everything I needed to know.

He was mine.

CHAPTER 13

Truman

I had the motel guy mail the postcard and we were on our way.

“But who do we steal the next car from?” I asked Alessio as we headed south on 99 toward Bakersfield. Erin informed us they’d be staying at the Stumble Inn in Tulare, so we’d have to find some barn to snuggle up in. Eat something that didn’t need to be cooked. Problem was, we’d spent almost all of those forty bucks we’d gotten from the dealer, so we needed to do it again. “Preferably someone with money.”

“I’ve got my Glock,” said Alessio, “so we could do a gas station.”

“We don’t want to hit up the average everyday guy, you know? I think we’re building a Robin Hood rep. We should keep it.”

“Definitely. Let me google the worst part of Tulare and we’re bound to find the dealers.”

That’s exactly what we did.

We drove to a rundown section of town with homeless tents lining the sidewalks, people staggering everywhere, not giving a shit if they were doing deals in plain sight. Nobody cared. What would cops do about it? They’d be back on the street the next day unable to pay their fine but somehow able to pay the dealer.

Alessio looked tougher than me, so he was elected to ask around, “Who’s got fentanyl? Who’s got meth?” I really needed to steal some less square clothes. Listen to this. Less square.

Then the squeal of a few cars doing donuts a block away. A takeover. These sideshows were popular, full of drugs, and dangerous for bystanders. And. Lots of cars were left with keys in the ignition as people waited their turn to do spins.

Alessio casually returned to me, loping along. “Excellent. I got about five hundred. One customer protested ‘Hey! I need those drugs!’ when I took them from the dealer. I said ‘No, you don’t.’”

I stopped him by gripping his bicep. “Hey. Listen.”