‘Yes. I’ll do anything you want me to, Smoke. I promise.’
Smoke tucked the pistol back under his seat. He turned up 2 Pac and started rapping along. There was no further conversation as Smoke headed across the river toward Huguenot Road, winding here and there, cutting over to Forest Hill, avoiding tolls whenever he could. Weed had gotten very quiet. He dried his eyes and kept his legs tightly crossed. The kid was so puny his Nikes barely touched the floor. Smoke knew all about timing. He knew exactly how to make people do what he wanted.
‘Feeling better?’ Smoke asked, turning down 2 Pac.
‘Yes,’ Weed answered politely.
They were on Midlothian Turnpike now, passing German School Road.
‘You know what an oath is?’ Smoke asked.
He was nice now, relaxed and taking his time, as if they were going out for a hamburger or just cruising.
‘No,’ Weed answered softly.
‘You need to speak up,’ Smoke said. ‘I can hardly hear you.’
‘I don’t know what it is,’ Weed said more loudly.
‘You ever been a Boy Scout?’
‘No.’
‘Well, to be one you got to take an oath. On my honor I promise to do my best and on and on, whatever. That’s an oath. Something you swear to, and if you break it, something really bad happens.’
Businesses along this stretch of Midlothian Turnpike were all about cars and trucks and everything that went with them. A Cheers restaurant had gone out of business, and an adult bookstore had only one car in the lot. Smoke cut up an unpaved side street and drove through the middle of a trailer park, where balding, muddy yards were littered with metal chairs, flowerpots and ceramic lawn ornaments. Scrawny cats darted out of the way. Wind chimes tinkled, and parked trucks reflected the sun.
They turned into the cracked, weed-infested parking lot of the Southside Motel, which had been out of business and boarded up for years. A chain was strung across either end of the drive leading into it, air conditioning units outside the rooms rusted, a breeze sucking dingy white curtains in and out of broken windows. Junipers had grown out of control in clumps, shielding entire blocks of rooms, and grass was dead and treacherous with broken glass. Smoke drove around to the back of the motel and parked next to a Dumpster.
‘Remember when I drove you through here last week?’ Smoke said. ‘Remember, the first rule is, nobody parks back here. You see all the No Trespassing signs?”
‘Yeah,’ Weed answered, looking around and scared.
‘Well, the cops don’t come here, but I can’t take the chance. They see your car, and you’re fucked.’
He put the Escort in gear and drove back around to the front. Weed was quiet as Smoke backtracked and parked on the side of a rutted, muddy road on the outskirts of the trailer park.
This is how I go in,’ Smoke said, cutting the engine and reaching down for his Glock. ‘You gonna have to come in another way because they don’t have nothing in here but white trash and you’ll attract attention. They might even call the cops.’
‘Then what do I do?’ Weed asked, climbing out and casting furtively about.
‘Cut in through Fast Track, Jiffy Tune, Turnpike Auto Parts, one of those other places on the strip, and just come through the woods behind the motel,’ Smoke said, sticking the pistol down the front of his jeans and pulling his Chicago Bulls sweatshirt over it.
He kept a good pace along the unpaved road, Weed limping along as fast as he could, obviously hurting. Smoke knew his latest recruit was wondering if he was going to get his brains blown out behind an abandoned motel in the middle of nothing, and Smoke let him worry. Smoke understood fear. The gratification was instant when he made something suffer. He had learned this as a little boy when he could see panic in the eyes, when he could feel terror in the rapidly beating heart of the weaker creature he tortured to death.
Smoke came from a better home than most, one of comfortable, open-minded parents who had never gotten in his way or tried to hold him back or believed their son could be bad. They preferred to give permission rather than force the child into clandestine behavior. They believed if they were trusting and fair-minded, their three children would make the right choices. Smoke’s older brother and sister had seemed to prove the philosophy right. They were making good grades in college and associated with nice people and had normal ambitions.