Carter
Carter looked around the cabin's interior, trying to think of some way to get them both out of this alive. They were hopelessly outgunned if the men decided to force their way in, and even if they could somehow make it to the horses, they'd still be dead meat when the ATVs came after them. For them to live through this, they'd need to buy some time and figure out a way to make a deal, and the guys with guns didn't seem inclined to talk.
Unless...
“So, you seem pretty eager to collect some scalps today, huh, chief?” Carter called out.
Billie elbowed him hard in the ribs, giving him a “What the fuck?” expression. He held out a hand for her to be patient, then pointed to the gas can and the packages of weed. Her eyes widened and she smiled, creeping over to the can as the man answered.
“First of all, I ain't no chief,” the man said. “So calling me that is racist as fuck. Second, despite what those bullshit movies would have you believe, the Indians weren't originally in the habit of scalping. We learned that from the white cavalry officers and bounty hunters who were paid by the number of Indian scalps they returned with.”
Billie opened the gas can and tilted it over the bricks of marijuana, looking at Carter questioningly. He nodded and she started to pour the fuel out.
“And third,” the man finished, “if you think stalling is going to save your ass, you can think again.”
“Yeah, I'm sure sorry about that,” Carter retorted. “I guess that was a pretty obvious move. But to be fair, we just needed a few extra seconds so we could slosh all this gasoline around the cabin.” By now, the plastic-wrapped bricks were thoroughly doused and Billie was tossing more of the gas around the room.
“Save a little bit of it,” Carter whispered. “We'll need some on our way out.”
“Fuck you,” the man outside said. “You're bluffing.”
“The weed looks like it's wrapped tight enough that the gas won't get down into it,” Carter said. “Which means so far, it should still be fine to sell. But once those flames start up, hoo boy...I'd give it about twenty or thirty seconds before it's all burned to hell. Another thirty before the rest of the cabin goes up.”
“You must think I'm stupid,” No Chief countered. “If you light the place up, you'll both die too.”
“We come out, we die,” Carter shrugged. “You come in, we die. If we're going to croak anyway, I figure we may as well go out with our lungs full of pot smoke. All these outcomes are the same to us, but for you, it'll mean losing about...well, let's see. A brick's about a pound, so sixteen ounces at about three hundred per ounce is...?” He frowned, looking at Billie.
“Almost five thou per brick,” she chimed in.
“And we're looking at, what, about two dozen bricks here?” Carter continued. “So that's, wow, over a hundred thousand up in smoke. If I were you, I'd be trying pretty fucking hard to hear another way out of this situation.”
No Chief sighed. “And I suppose you have a perfect solution to offer me?”
“We sure do,” Carter said. “You let us both go, and you toss us the keys to one of those sweet-looking ATVs. In return, not only do you get to keep your cabin and your weed, we'll even throw in those two horses outside. How about that?”
No Chief laughed incredulously. “First all that scalping shit, and now you think I want to trade for your fucking horses? You really have seen too many movies, you insulting paleface cocksucker. What's next? Are you going to offer me some beads or something?”
“I don't have any beads,” Carter said. “And I didn't mean any insult. We stole those horses from the Tiller farm. I'm guessing you've heard of it?”
“Sure,” No Chief said. “Best animals in the state, or so they say.”
“Best animals in about three or four states, according to the 4-H judges,” Billie said. “Those ATVs probably cost you, what, five hundred? You could get two grand for each of those horses easily if you sold them. Or you could keep them, or even return them to Old Man Tiller for a reward if you want. Either way, you'll be getting a lot more than one of those shitty four-wheelers is worth, that's for sure.”
“Well, shit,” No Chief grunted. “I guess you've got me over a barrel. Fine, come on out and I'll hand over the keys.”
“Good,” Carter said. “Thank you. You've made a wise decision today.”
He walked over to the bricks of pot, picking one up. Then he took the gas can from Billie and started to dribble it in a line across the floor until they'd both reached the door. “Stay close,” he told her. “We're not out of this yet.”
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a disposable lighter.
“Why do you have that?” Billie asked. “I've never seen you smoke.”
Carter favored her with a roguish grin. “I don't. But sometimes, when a cute girl needs a light for her cigarette...”
“That's corny as fuck,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Maybe,” he admitted, “but you'd be amazed at how often it's worked.”
They stepped out of the cabin, Billie clinging to Carter's side as he held the lighter under the brick of weed. No Chief and the Native American next to him had their shotguns aimed at them.
“Hey, now,” Carter chided them. “Shouldn't one of you have a set of keys in his hand?”
“What's all this?” No Chief asked, gesturing to the brick in Carter's hand.
“This?” Carter asked innocently. “This is just a friendly reminder that only you can prevent forest fires. You even twitch, and I'll light this sucker and toss it into the cabin. Now lower that gun, reach for the keys, and toss them to the woman standing next to me.”
No Chief hesitated for a moment, then slung the shotgun over his shoulder and yanked a set of keys out of his pocket. He slid one of the keys off the ring and tossed it to Billie. She fumbled it for a moment but managed to hang onto it.
“Thank you,” Carter said. “Pleasure doing business with you. I have to admit, I've never been in a Mexican stand-off with an Indian before.”
“You're welcome,” No Chief said evenly. “I'm sure I don't have to tell you that if either of you ever come anywhere near Taysha lands again, we'll stake you out over a fucking ant hill and call it self-defense.”
“Sounds fair,” Billie agreed. “Which of these rides is ours?”
No Chief jerked his thumb toward one of the ATVs. Carter climbed on, rested the brick of weed on the narrow dashboard, and started the engine. Billie got on behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist.
“What about that brick you're carrying?” No Chief yelled.
“Call it a tax,” Billie called back.
“I told you before, you're on a goddamn reservation,” said No Chief. “We ain't big on taxes around here.”
“And she told you before, the Taysha reservation's a mile that way,” Carter replied, jerking a thumb in front of him.
Laughing, they sped away on the ATV with shotgun blasts hitting the trees and bushes around them, and shrapnel from the wood and bark pelting their hair.
Carter
“At this rate, we'll probably hit that desert again in a few minutes,” Carter said, raising his voice over the loud engine. “Do you have any idea what direction we should be going in?”
“Sure,” Billie answered. As she leaned in closer to him and spoke directly into his ear, the feeling of her warm breath against his neck sent a shiver down his spine, and he realized that he was stiffening in his jeans.
“Take a left when we get to the edge of the woods,” she continued. “After about forty minutes, we should run into Clay Allison Road. That'll take us around the edge of Caddo Corners and toward the border. Should we stop to grab another car soon? I mean, I know those Taysha back there won't be reporting this thing stolen or anything, but it's not like we can keep buzzing around on it without attracting attention.”
“Very true,” Carter said, shifting in his seat. He was suddenly conscious of her hands pressed against his midsection and her breasts against his back. The feeling made him wish they were both on his motorcycle and he felt a pang of longing, knowing he'd never see his beloved bike again. “You know the area. Are there any good places for us to boost a new ride?”
“Well, I haven't been around here in a long time,” Billie mused. “But the last time I was, there was an outlet mall with a pretty big parking lot. We could try for that.”
“Sounds good,” he said.
Once they'd finished riding up the edge of the woods, they continued for another twenty minutes on the narrow country road until Billie pointed to an intersecting highway. “The mall's about a half mile down that way.”
“Cool,” said Carter. “We should probably leave this thing by the side of the road and go the rest of the way on foot. Otherwise, people are bound to notice us.”
Carter stuffed the brick of pot into his bag and they left the ATV at the crossroads, shielding the sun from their eyes as they walked. Carter felt the sunburn on his cheeks heating up again and glanced over at Billie. She seemed fine, but he knew the sun's rays were probably hurting her too.
“Now that we're back in civilization,” Carter suggested, “maybe we should think about stocking up on a few essentials before we get a car.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“Like for starters, a tube of lotion to treat that sunburn of yours. And mine, too,” he added quickly. “Also some new clothes, while we're at it, to make both of us look a little less conspicuous.”
“But wouldn't it be a risk for us to go inside and buy stuff?” Billie pointed out.
“It would,” he agreed. “But the longer we keep walking around with me looking like a biker and you looking like...well, you, the riskier things are going to get for us. This might be our last chance to pick up new duds for a while.”
“I guess you're right,” she said. “I'm assuming you've got the loot from your bank robberies stashed in your saddlebag?”
“My shares from the first four, anyway,” said Carter. “We didn't really have a chance to split the cash from the Cactus Hollow job, not with Hazmat having a fucking conniption and threatening to kill you.”
Billie's jaw dropped and she gaped at him. “That's Yorick's real name? Fucking Hazmat?”
Carter kicked himself inwardly. He couldn't believe he'd let Hazmat's name slip like that. Still, he'd already told her his own name, so he figured it didn't matter much at this point. If she ever did end up telling the cops who he was, they'd probably be able to figure out who his companions were anyway based on the known associates listed on his rap sheet.
“Heh. Yep, that's his name, all right,” Carter admitted. “Not the one on his birth certificate, of course, but it's what everyone's always called him since I've known him.”
“'Hazmat' like hazardous materials?” she asked. “That might be the dumbest fucking nickname I've ever heard. How did he get it?”
“He loved to tell a bunch of different stories whenever the younger guys asked him that,” Carter said. “Usually, he'd say it was because of his temper, on account of how he could split open and unleash it at any time like a flood of deadly chemicals. One time, he even claimed it was because he'd been a stunt rider and he once jumped his bike over four hazmat trucks. But the president of our last MC once told me that the real reason he was called that was because of how he used to get so drunk he'd puke, piss, and shit all over himself.”
Billie laughed. “Seriously?”
“That's what I heard,” Carter chuckled. “When he'd pass out and prospects tried to move him, the older guys would say, 'Caution! Hazmat! Don't get any on you.'”
“He'd have been better off with Yorick,” she said. “So as long as I already know your name and Hazmat's too, how about the third musketeer?”
“Oiler,” he replied. “Which isn't nearly as bad as Hazmat.”
“Like the old Oilers football team from Houston?” Billie asked. “Is that where he's from or something?”
“Nah, it's because he's good at smoothing things over when shit's about to get confrontational,” Carter said. “A lot of guys in our line of work get off on escalating things for no reason, but Oiler has a knack for chilling people out. You know, like 'oil over troubled waters.'”
“Sounds like a useful guy to have around,” she said.
“Both of them can be,” he answered. “Depending on the situation. Anyway, if you're still around when we meet up with them again, don't bring up the whole name thing with Hazmat. He's pissed off at you already.”
“If I'm still around?” Billie asked, grinning. “I figured that would be up to you.”
“Maybe it is,” Carter said. “Maybe I just haven't decided yet. Looks like we're here.”
Sure enough, they had reached the edge of the massive parking lot. It was surrounded on three sides by colorful stores with eye-catching posters advertising huge sales.
“Here, give me some of the cash from your bag,” Billie said. “Smaller bills. And make sure you crumple them up before giving them to me, so they don't look like they came straight from a bank.”
“You're going in alone?”
“Well, I'd better, right?” she said. “If people are looking for me, then they're probably looking for some badass outlaw to be standing right behind me, holding me hostage. If I'm alone, it's less likely they'll think it's really me and report anything to the cops. Besides, it'll give you a chance to figure out which car we should grab and switch out the license plates. You should probably lift a couple of extra plates, too, so we can throw off anyone who's looking for the car without having to steal a bunch more of them.”
“You're getting to be a pretty sharp outlaw,” Carter said uneasily. “Seems like you've thought of everything.”
Billie rolled her eyes. “You don't honestly believe I'll just walk in and call the cops on you or something, do you? After everything we've been through so far? If I really wanted to get away so badly, I could have made a run for it last night while you were asleep.”
Carter had to admit that she had a point. “All right,” he said. He reached into his saddlebag, peeled a few twenties from a bundle of bills, and crinkled them thoroughly. “Will that work?”
“It should,” she replied. “Keep an eye out for me coming out of the mall, so you can wave to me or something and let me know which car to go to.”
And with that, she turned and walked toward the shops.