die.
“Help you?” Davey said, his voice an attempt at casual. Casey hoped the man couldn’t hear the underlying nervousness.
“Hope you can,” the man said. “I believe you met some of my friends last night, and you didn’t show them any of our famous Midwestern hospitality.”
Davey took a bite of donut and chewed it. “Don’t recall as I’m supposed to be charming to folks who trespass in the wee hours of the morning.”
The man smiled. “The middle of the night—just when people might need your help the most.”
Casey glanced around the small room where she found herself. There were two small windows, and a larger one probably meant as an emergency exit. She studied it, hoping it could be opened without noise.
“You have something I want here in your junk yard,” the man said. “A semi, would’ve come in yesterday, late afternoon.”
“Sounds familiar,” Davey said. “What’s your business with it?”
“Don’t think I need to tell you that, do I?”
Rachel had gotten up from her chair to join Casey, and she pinched two buttons together on the right-hand side of the window. The pane slid quietly sideways, to reveal a screen. With another pinch the screen lifted up and out, squealing. Casey froze.
“If there’s something in it you’re looking for, I could tell you if we found it or not,” Davey said. “We’ve been through it pretty good.”
“And?”
“Didn’t find much. Nothing unusual, anyhow.”
Casey let out her breath. The man hadn’t heard the screen. She stuck her head out the window, hoping he didn’t have an accomplice standing just outside. No one there. If he had a partner, he was probably out front.
“I don’t think you’d find what I’m looking for,” the man said. “It was probably hidden.”
“Well, then, I don’t guess you were meant to find it, were you?” Davey took a loud a sip of coffee.
“I think I was,” the man said. “And you’re going to help me.”
Davey and Wendell both exclaimed, and Casey dashed back to the crack in the door. The man was pointing a gun across the counter, directly at Davey’s face.
Casey mouthed a thank you at Rachel, who was punching 911 into her phone, and eased the wastebasket liner, along with the papers and photos, from the trashcan. She tied the top with a loop and held it, climbing onto a chair to ease out of the open window, right leg first. She swung her left leg out, then hung onto the window frame, dropping quietly to the ground. She held her breath, listening. No movement outside. Not even Trixie, who lay motionless in the driveway.
On her hands and knees, Casey crawled to the back of the trailer, and saw no one there. A stack of crates sat at the front corner of the trailer, so she couldn’t see around to the front. She lay on her stomach and looked underneath. Two sets of feet. She sat on her heels. The man inside had a gun, so she had to assume these two did, as well. The first man would be bringing Davey and Wendell outside soon, and she wanted to get these others out of the way before she dealt with him.
Quietly, she slid the bag of papers as far underneath the trailer as she could, then looked around for something to use as a weapon. Bricks. Rocks. A shop broom. She grabbed the broom and twisted the head until she freed the stick. She stood and balanced it in her hands. Heavier than the Bo she used in hapkido, but about the same length.
Taking a deep breath and centering herself, she stood with her left side against the crates, her back against the trailer. She held the broomstick against her right side, her right arm extended along underneath it, resting the stick on her fingers, the back of her left hand flat against her right shoulder, the stick balanced on her palm.
She scraped her foot along the ground, the gravel loud in the quiet afternoon.
One of the men out front said something, and she heard footsteps. He came around the corner, turning toward her when he cleared the crates. Casey
Kristen (ILT) Adam-Troy; Margiotta Castro