“Yeah.”
Wasn’t it obvious? “His computer didn’t have anything to say about us.”
L.J.’s eyebrows slid up. “How could that be? He had us, man.”
“He didn’t even know our real names.”
“What about the plates? We stole this truck a week ago.”
Ink leaned out the window as far as his back would allow. Mild as the summer was here in the mountains of Montana, this was the hottest part of the day. “Guy we stole it from must not have reported it—or this would’ve ended very differently.”
L.J.’s baby face registered a frown. “I can’t imagine the owner hasn’t called the cops.”
“Maybe he hasn’t missed it.”
“How do you not miss your own vehicle?”
Where was the damn tow truck? Sitting here baking in the hot sun was making Ink angrier by the minute. Angrier than he normally was. “By having too many to begin with,” he snapped. “By having one that’s such a hunk of junk you don’t give a shit that it’s gone. Hell, maybe it’s not even his. Maybe he was storing it for his son, who’s in the military or away at school or in rehab. You saw where this baby was parked. Way out on the south forty, mostly hidden by storage. I’ll bet whoever owns that property doesn’t walk there every day. Another week could pass before anyone notices.”
Fidgeting was how L.J. dealt with his nervous energy, but Ink had a hard time tolerating the repetitive movement. Actually, it wasn’t just the movement that drove him nuts. It was the constant questions. L.J. was so damn green. That was the problem with growing old in prison. The fresh fish soon seemed like mere babies, and yet they all wanted to join The Crew. Ink had promised to sponsor L.J. if he helped him break out, but there was no way he’d follow through. L.J. wasn’t worthy.
“So why the hell didn’t he sell it if he didn’t care about it anymore?” L.J. asked.
Ink shot him another glance. This was what he had to work with.
But he’d managed so far. They’d busted out of prison, hadn’t they? Of course, it’d helped that, after four years of good behavior, they’d transferred him to a medium-security facility. No one expected someone as handicapped as he was to cause any trouble. And L.J. had gone to prison for possession. He’d only had a year left. No one expected him to bust out, either. If he wasn’t trying so hard to impress the leaders of The Crew, who wanted to see Laurel and Virgil dead as badly as Ink did, he probably wouldn’t have.
“Are you going to answer?”
The impulse to bash in L.J.’s head nearly overwhelmed him. But he wrestled with it, subdued it. Thanks to his tattoos and his limp, he was too distinctive, too memorable. He needed a front man. So what if this boy had shit for brains? It was probably better that way; he’d never challenge Ink. At least the kid’s body was strong and healthy.
Just like Ink’s used to be—before Rex, Virgil and his bitch of a sister came along.
“Who gives a rat’s ass why he wouldn’t sell it?” Ink said. “Quit with the dumb questions, okay?”
L.J.’s voice was sulky when he responded. “They’re not dumb questions. You think everything’s dumb.”
Ink let his head bump against the back window again. “I think you’re dumb, that’s for sure. You’re like a five-year-old. The owner didn’t report the truck stolen or we would’ve been arrested. It’s that simple. Happy now?”
“No, I’m not happy at all,” L.J. grumbled. “You said if I helped you break out we’d have one hell of a good time. But here we are, after almost a week of camping in the woods with no bathroom or shower, sitting on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. It’s a miracle we didn’t get arrested by that hick sheriff! If he’d dragged us off, we could’ve been charged with the murder of that guy you killed. If that ever happens, they’ll give us both the death penalty, even though I had nothing to do with it.”
Lowering his eyelids, Ink skewered him with a malevolent glare. “You were there, weren’t you?”
“Unfortunately.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “That Realtor was harmless. He reminded me of my grandpa.”
“The old bastard had it coming.”
“For saying you had to have money before he’d rent you a place?”
Ink heard the deep rumble of a diesel motor. Cautious to avoid causing himself more pain, he twisted around until he could see the tow truck chugging up from behind. “I offered him some money, but it just wasn’t enough. If he wasn’t going to give us a place, he had to give us something. I wasn’t going to come away empty-handed.”
“You think anyone else would’ve let us take the cabin for fifty bucks?” L.J. rolled his eyes. “And you call me dumb.”
“He didn’t have anyone else in there, did he? Fifty bucks would’ve been better than nothing.”
“It wouldn’t even have covered the maid service.”
A blue placard was affixed to one door of the bright yellow tow truck: Harvey’s Tow, 133 North Main, Pineview, Montana. There was a phone number below, then a saying, written in script: “I Will Follow the Good Shepherd.”
Ink rubbed his temples. “Great. A religious fanatic.”
Harvey, or whoever was behind the wheel, came parallel with them and waved before maneuvering his truck in front of theirs.
“How do you know he’s religious?” L.J. asked.
“Just shut up, will ya?”
“What are we gonna do about the gun?”
“What do you think? We can’t leave it in the truck. Stick it down your pants.”
The diesel engine died, ending the vibration humming through the earth, the vehicles, the air.
“Are we going to ride back with him?” L.J. whispered as Harvey’s door opened and two work boots came into view.
“Hell, no. What if someone’s reporting that truck stolen right now? And what if the sheriff gets wind of it and radios Harvey? We’ll be at their mercy.” He shook his head. “Now that we’ve been connected to this truck, we can’t head back with him.”
“Great. So…where do we go from here?”
Ink shifted too fast. He had to clamp his jaw shut to cover a groan. “We just beat it. I’ll figure out what happens later,” he said when he could speak. “Whatever you do—” he drew a ragged breath “—let me handle this.”