All Kinds Of Mess
Miriam / Emma
"Castillo here."
Now that we had made it to safety, and I was standing on my own by the pay phone, the fear returned to me in a wave. My free hand, the one holding the phone receiver, started trembling beside my leg. For a moment I didn't say anything.
"Hello?" Castillo said.
"Marshal?" I hated how my voice trembled.
"Emma?" His voice was tense, surprised. It was a huge breach of protocol, using my real first name. "I was concerned," he said. "I went to the address you gave me and couldn't find you."
I took a long, shuddering breath. "Marconi's men got to me first."
"Oh my God. Are you…are you okay?"
There was something about his tone of voice. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something seemed off. "I'm fine. There was a—" I almost told him about Ryan, but decided better of it. "I got away."
Marshal Castillo blew out a long breath. "Good. Good. Just tell me where you are and I'll come pick you up."
"I'm scared—"
"I know—"
I stared at the card Ryan had given me. When I had dialed the number, I had made up my mind to trust Castillo, to just give him my location and wait for him. But something—his voice, maybe, or just a niggling doubt at the back of my mind—told me to trust Ryan’s instincts. "I have an address. Write this down." I read in the address of the card. "One hour. Meet me there in one hour."
"Okay. Emma — Miriam, are you—"
I hung up the phone.
I climbed back into the truck.
"Well?" Ryan said.
"He'll meet us there in an hour."
"Then let's go." We pulled out of the parking lot and Ryan pointed the truck east, toward Haltom City. We drove for about twenty minutes, crossing over the Trinity River and then under Interstate 35W. A bit past that, Ryan turned south onto Beach Street.
The place we pulled into wasn't the muffler shop. The building was about as nondescript as they come. Just an old, brick storefront, dusty windows, and a single neon sign advertising beer. Another sign hung over the door. It was a simple thing, black lettering on white background and said "Jack's Place". There was a small parking lot in front. A driveway extended from the parking lot around the back. Ryan pulled his truck behind the building and into a large garage garage in back.
"What is this place?" I said.
Ryan took my hand. "I have friends here," he said. We got out of the truck and he led me out of the garage and lowered the door. We stood in a lot that was dirt and gravel and some more dirt. Tufts of grass grew along the edges of the eight foot privacy fence that enclosed the lot and rear of the building, but mostly it was just bare, packed Texas earth. Beside the back door of the main building was a barrel full of sand with a score of cigarette butts snubbed out in it. Ryan opened the door. He stood there for a moment, looking at me, and it didn’t register at first what he was doing.
He was holding the door open for me. After the morning we had been having, he stood there holding the door open as if I was wearing a tiara and we were walking into a fancy restaurant. He smiled at me and touched my shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said. “This place is safe.”
My vision blurred just a bit when he said that.
“All the same,” I said, “this still isn’t a date.”
If anything, his smile widened.
He motioned through the door with his free hand. “My lady.”
I went inside. Cool air blew over me, and we walked into a dark interior.
It took some time for my eyes to adjust, but when they did I saw that we were in a bar. Unlike the dingy outside, the inside of the place was clean and shiny. There was an old-school jukebox on the back wall and a row of pool tables in front of it. A small stage in the corner for local bands to play live music. A dozen square tables for patrons who didn't want to sit at the bar. Then there was the bar, complete with brass railing. I half expected to discover an old brass spittoon propped in a corner.
Behind the bar, a man was wiping out glasses with a cloth. He was as tall as Ryan, but the width of his shoulders made him seem almost squat. He had a broad, deep chest that strained his T-shirt, and his forearms rippled with muscle and vein. He looked to be about thirty years old.
When he saw us he raised his hand in greeting. "’lo there, Calder."
"Ho, Reggie." He leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Wait here."
He left me to stand awkwardly by the door and went to talk to Reggie. Their conversation was quiet and matter-of-fact. As if they were discussing the weather. At one point Reggie's eyebrows drew together and he looked angry, glancing over at me and nodding. Ryan nodded back, apparently confirming something.
A moment later, Reggie said loudly, "All right then. We'll get it taken care of." He clapped Ryan on the shoulder and came out from behind the bar. Draping his towel over his shoulder he waved for me to come over.
“I’d imagine you’re a little bit nervous,” he said.
I nodded. What else was I going to say?
The corners of his eyes crinkled in sympathy. “I understand. But there’s nothing under the sun that can’t be fixed, and you happen to be in a room with two of the best fixers on the planet.”
I arched an eyebrow at him, skeptical, but he was already turning away. "Y'all come with me."
We followed him around the corner of the bar through a door in back. It opened onto a short hallway. At the end of the hallway was a door with a panic bar and an exit sign. A flight of stairs branched off to the side, and he led us up those. The stairs were very closed-in and musty-smelling. Dark. The heavy shag carpet had been worn down to the padding in the center.
""I live up here," Reggie drawled, "so don't y’all be making a mess."
"I don't reckon we’ll be here long enough to make a mess," Ryan said, looking back to make sure I was following.
Reggie snorted. "When I was your age it didn't take me long at all to make all kinds of mess."
It took a moment, but I finally caught on to what they were talking about. I'm certain my cheeks flushed a bright crimson.
There was a small apartment at the top of the stairs. Similar in layout to Ryan's apartment, and just as spartan. A small living room with a couch. A kitchen. A short hallway to what I presume was the bedroom.
Reggie walked over to the window beside the sofa and pulled open the curtains. "You can see the street from right here." Ryan went to stand by his side.
He glanced at his watch. "We’ve got a few minutes," he said. He motioned for me to come to the window. "Look down there."
It took me a moment to understand what he was pointing at. When I saw it it seemed obvious. Across the street was the muffler shop listed on the card he had given me. That was where Castillo would go to meet me.
“I should go down there and wait for him," I said.
Reggie shook his head. Ryan said, "No, I think it might be a good idea if he waits for you this time."
"What do you—"
He put a hand on my shoulder. “Let's just watch and see for a minute."
Reggie went to the kitchen and came back holding two dining room chairs. These he sat in front of the window. "Make yourselves comfortable. When you see what you need to see come on down and talk to me."
Ryan motioned for me to take a seat at the window. Then he turned and shook Reggie's hand. "Thanks, man."
"Anytime, my brother. You know I look out for my own." With that he turned and headed back down the stairs.
Ryan sat in the chair next to me. The window was small, and for us both to see out it we had to sit very close to one another. Without even realizing it, I had pressed the length of my body up against him.
I felt his eyes on me, and when I turned I found his smirking face inches from mine. "If I had known all it took was a couple of armed kidnappers, I could've arranged for something days ago—"
I slapped him again and his mouth dropped open in feigned shock.
"So how do you know this Reggie guy?" They seemed to have known each other for quite a while.
Ryan turned his attention back to the street. "I served with him briefly. In Afghanistan."
So Ryan was military. That actually seemed to explain a lot about him. "You were in the Army?"
He looked at me as if I just pissed on his shoe. "Marine Corps.”
“Isn’t that basically the same thing?”
He turned and looked at me for a long moment. “I don't know if I even like you anymore."
I laughed again, and it occurred to me how much I enjoyed laughing with Ryan Calder.
His back went rigid. "Oh. Look there." He tapped the glass.
I looked out at the street. "What am I looking at?"
He pointed, not at the muffler shop, but toward the street itself. His finger traced the path of a car that was moving down the road. A black Lexus.
I felt my blood go cold. "It's probably not them," I said. "There are lots of black Lexuses."
He nodded, his lips pursed. "Maybe so." But his eyes followed the Lexus until it was out of sight.
Three minutes later, it appeared again, this time from the other direction. I did not need Ryan to point it out to me this time.
As we watched, it drove by twice more. Castillo’s Dodge never stopped at the muffler shop, nor so much as drove by.
Ryan turned to me and took my cold hand in both of his. "Whoever your friend is, this guy you've been calling…he isn’t your friend."