Truth or Beard Read online

  “Right. Well, we all agree.” Cletus rested his hands on his hips, nodding thoughtfully. “But no amount of wishing is going to change the fact the Jackson James is unsavory and that Catastro…I mean, Miss James is his sister.”

  “So what’s your point?” I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned at my brother. He always had a point—usually it was a good one—but it just took forever for him to get there.

  “My point is that you need be cautious of Jackson. Because once he finds out your intentions toward his sister, things will not be pretty.”

  “I have no ill intentions.”

  “I know you don’t, but—”

  “But nothing. The truth is that girl is it for me.”

  “I know, Duane.” Cletus’s expression flattened, like he was losing patience. “She’s your 1968 Plymouth Barracuda. Everyone knows that, well…everyone that matters. All I’m saying is, don’t expect him to give you his blessing.”

  “I don’t need his blessing.”

  “Cletus is right.” Beau’s tone turned uncharacteristically serious, his wide eyes drilled into mine. “Jackson ain’t gonna like this one bit. And he’s a right sneaky bastard. Just watch your back.”

  “He’ll make problems for you, if he can,” Cletus continued. “So just let me know if you need help making problems for him in return.”

  This statement surprised me. And by the looks of it, this statement surprised Beau as well.

  Beau mimicked my stance, crossing his arms over his chest and leveling Cletus with a narrowed stare. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just what I said.” Cletus shrugged, looking and sounding innocent. That’s one of the things about Cletus, he’s real good at looking innocent. Sometimes I forgot Cletus could spot a sneak so well because he was the king of sneaks. I was just glad he was on my side this time.

  “Now, Beau, enough of this dilly-dallying.” Cletus stole Beau’s rag from his front pocket and wiped his hands, glancing around the shop as though he were making sure everything were in order. “Are we going to Nashville today, or what?”

  CHAPTER 7

  “In a day, when you don't come across any problems - you can be sure that you are travelling in a wrong path”

  ― Swami Vivekananda

  ~Duane~

  I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings because I was distracted by pleasant thoughts.

  And I suppose that’s why I didn’t hear the motorcycles park around the back of the shop or know I had company until they were already inside the garage. I heard an obnoxious laugh, loud and long, alerting me to the unexpected arrival. I lifted my eyes just in time to see Repo—one of my deadbeat father’s biker brothers—pick up Cletus’s favorite socket wrench, and toss it back to the toolbox with a loud clang.

  Just behind Repo was Dirty Dave, the owner of the obnoxious laugh, another member of the Iron Order, and a real jackass. He was called Dirty Dave because he was dirty. And he stank.

  I sighed my aggravation and set down the carburetor I was fixing. As enjoyable as Jessica’s visit had been that afternoon¸ I knew without a doubt these callers were going to inspire my ire.

  Dirty Dave was just a douchebag lackey.

  But Repo was a man of importance within the Iron Order. I’d known him since I was little. He even had dinner at my momma’s table on occasion, and gave each of us boys a bowie knife for our tenth birthday. Once upon a time I looked up to this man.

  But as an adult, I considered him a con man and pariah.

  “Hello, son,” Repo said, lifting his chin in my general direction as his eyes scanned the shop.

  I reached to the side to switch off the Bluetooth speaker for my iPhone. Repo had a real raspy voice. I could barely make out what he was saying half the time in a quiet room. The shop was suddenly filled with the quiet sounds of a Tennessee night and the unwelcome sounds of motorcycle boots scuffing on cement.

  “Repo. Dirty Dave. What do y’all want?” I didn’t bother to wipe my hands because I had no plans to shake theirs.

  “Now, is that any way to speak to your Uncle Repo?” He smiled, his salt and pepper beard framing bright white teeth. This one reminded me of my daddy, all the charm of a snake in the grass.

  I glanced at the wall clock behind him; it was almost 11:30 p.m. I’d lost track of time.

  “You aren’t my uncle, old man,” I answered flatly.

  No. This man was most assuredly not any family relation of mine. Though my daddy considered the members of the Iron Order to be his brothers, these men were less than nothing to me and I wanted them to know it.

  “Ah, you’re not Beau,” Dirty Dave chirped from his spot next to Repo; he seemed to be looking at me with new eyes. “We were hoping for Beau. He’s so much nicer than you, plus he knows when to show respect.”

  “Be that as it may, I’m trying to finish up here. So if you two will get to the point?” I set my hands on my hips, lifting my eyebrows, hoping they’d get my message to hurry-it-up.

  “Now hold on a minute,” Repo rasped, lifting his hands up as though I needed to calm down. “We’re here with a business proposition. One I’m real sure you’re going to want to hear.”

  “Not interested.” In an effort to show the alluded-to respect, I decided not to say, Not interested, asshole. Now go fuck yourself.

  See? Very respectful.

  “Just listen up.”

  “No. You can leave the way you came in.” I flicked my hand toward the back of the shop then turned back to the carburetor and the well-lit table where it rested.

  “You can’t say no to money, boy.” Dirty Dave lifted his voice.

  “I’ll say no to anything involving the Iron Order.” I shrugged, showing the boredom I felt. I knew they were used to seeing fear and inspiring awe, the Iron Order wasn’t a joke; the club president was a criminal mastermind and a crazy fucker to boot. These weren’t good guys. But I’d never been able to muster up even the slightest trepidation where dumbasses were concerned—even dangerous ones.

  “Why’s that?” This came from Repo. In my peripheral vision I saw the pair halt their slow progress into the shop, standing close and to my right.

  “Because everything you do is illegal.”

  “So? You race cars at The Canyon, right? Rumor is you’re one crazy motherfucker in the pit and make buckets of cash doing it. That sure as hell ain’t legal.”

  “Racing for easy money is one thing, getting involved with your kind is another. I’m not my worthless father and I’m not interested in making money off other peoples’ misery.”

  “How about making money to keep your family safe?”

  A chill spread down my spine, making me stand straighter. I turned a questioning glare on Repo first, then Dave. I found Dirty Dave giving me a dirty smile. I faced them.

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No,” said Repo.

  “Hell yeah,” said Dave.

  Repo cut in before I could order them out again. “Now hold on. We’re not planning to hurt anybody. But you want to keep your family out of jail then you need to hear us out.”

  “Keep my family out of jail? What are you talking about?”

  Dirty Dave nodded once as he said, “Jethro.”

  “Jethro?” I scowled at this. “No, no. I ain’t buying it. He washed his hands of y’all years ago.”

  “Yeah, but before he did he stole us a lot of cars.” Dirty Dave said this with measured glee.

  “So, what?” I spat. “You’re going to turn him in now? If you do that then you’re admitting to your own guilt.”

  “Boy, didn’t I say listen?” Repo’s words were clipped in an unusual display of exasperation.

  I threw my hands up and leaned my hip against the table, figuring that letting the man say his peace was the only way I was going to get them to leave. “Sure. Fine. Speak.”

  “So your momma…” Repo paused. My eyes must’ve betrayed my spike in anger at the mention of my mother because he held his hands
up again like I needed to calm down.

  “I’m not down talking your momma, boy. I’m just saying, your momma died a month ago, rest her soul.”

  I swallowed a lump of emotion, unable to stop thinking about my momma’s last days, how the cancer had taken her from us. I missed her; her kindness, her sweetness. I rallied against a sudden flash of nostalgia, knowing now—with these morons—was not the time to dwell on these thoughts.

  “This is not news to me, Repo.”

  “Yeah, but we been keeping our distance out of respect, giving you and yours time to grieve. We gave you a month. She was a good woman.”

  “I’m not interested in your thoughts on my momma.” These words arrived through clenched teeth. He needed to wrap this shit up.

  “Okay now, but here’s the thing, Brick and Mortar, the two Iron Order brothers your sister got arrested after your momma’s funeral—”

  I cut him off. “They got themselves arrested because they were trying kidnap Ashley and Billy from the funeral.”

  “And Brick and Mortar were only there trying to help your daddy because your momma tricked him out of his money.” Dirty Dave pointed his thick index finger at me. I wanted to snip it off with number twenty-four gauge wire cutters.

  “That’s not how it happened. That money doesn’t belong to Darrell Winston. It never did.”

  “Darrell is your daddy, boy. He and your momma had seven babies together, were married for years. That’s a long time, a lot of history, and a lot of kids for a man to wait for his fair share. Then your sister’s boyfriend, that park ranger—”

  “Drew Runous isn’t Ashley’s boyfriend and he isn’t a park ranger. He’s a game warden.”

  “Whatever. Drew Runous swoops in and sweet-talks your momma into signing over all her money. Now, how can you blame your daddy for trying to get what’s his?”

  I had to grit my teeth to keep from hollering. Dirty Dave’s version of events was far from reality.

  The truth was my daddy, Darrell Winston, was a no good, rotten, sonofabitch. In addition to riding with the Iron Order, he was a con man and an abuser. He’d married Momma for her money when she was sixteen—because she came from lots of money. He’d also beaten her and cheated on her. Habitually. And every time she tried to divorce him he’d used us kids to keep her from following through.

  Finally, she outsmarted Darrell by filing for a separation from him, then selling all her belongings—her family’s house and all possessions therein—to a family friend named Drew Runous for a thousand dollars, thereby removing it from my father’s reach. She also signed over all her bank accounts and our trust funds.

  That left Darrell spitting angry. But there was nothing he could do because Momma was already dead by the time he found out. So he showed up at my mother’s funeral with two of his Iron Order brothers—Brick and Mortar—and tried to kidnap Ashley and Billy; he’d likely been desperate and couldn’t think of another way to get his hands on Momma’s money.

  Luckily he and his biker friends were stopped, but not before Ashley shot one of them in the leg. All three—Darrell, Brick, and Mortar—were presently awaiting trial and would hopefully serve serious prison time.

  “What does Brick and Mortar trying to kidnap my family have to do with anything? Why are you here?”

  “Cause, Duane, Brick and Mortar were our mechanics. Now they’re gone, we’ve got nobody to take over their work. That’s where you boys and this shop come in.” Dirty Dave gestured to the inside of the garage.

  “So, what? You want me to fix your bikes?”

  “No, son. You might not like it, but your daddy is one of us, that means you’re family too, and you owe us. Brick and Mortar were our mechanics…”

  I blinked at Repo, knowing I was missing the point, and waited for him to fill in the blanks.

  When he saw I didn’t understand his meaning, he huffed then spelled it out. “They ran the chop shop. They dismantled the cars. They took our stolen goods and made them transportable.”

  “You and your brother Beau, the two of you are going to take over running our chop shop.” Dirty Dave connected the dots for me even as the picture Repo painted clarified in my head.

  A sound of repulsion and disbelief escaped my mouth before I could stop it, followed by, “Oh, hell no.”

  “Hell yes, boy.”

  “Hell. No. And stop calling me 'boy'.” I was three seconds away from punching Dirty Dave in the jaw.

  Repo must’ve seen my patience snap because he stepped forward, between Dave and me, again holding his hands up. “Now, you need to listen to reason. We got evidence against your brother Jethro that’ll put him away for life. Not for years, for life.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No. No bullshit,” Dirty Dave denied from behind Repo. “This shit is real.”

  My attention was split between them; I was looking for any sign of subterfuge. “Like I said before, you incriminate him for those stolen cars then you’re incriminating yourself.”

  “No. Not with this.” Repo reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a thumb drive. He offered it to me.

  I glared at him instead of taking it. “What is it?”

  “Jethro got out of the Order three years ago, and the video on this drive will show you how he bought his freedom. In the scheme of things, it was a small price. But this small price carries a hefty federal sentence if the police were to find out what he did.”

  I narrowed my eyes, feeling equal parts suspicion and panic. “What did he do?”

  Repo pushed the thumb drive against my chest, forcing me to take it. “Watch this. Then you’ll know. Then, when you see things our way, you call us.”

  The flash drive landed in the palm of my hand and I glared at Repo, wanting to crush it under my boot and despising the fact I couldn’t.

  The older man scratched his goatee as he studied me, the solemnity of his expression increasing until, with grave severity, he added in a low voice, “Don’t be stupid. There’s no reason to include your brother Billy in this. He don’t need to know.”

  I didn’t say so, but I agreed with Repo on this one. Billy’s answer would be to go directly to the police, all the while waving his middle finger at the Iron Order. Billy loved Jethro, but he hated the Order more. In fact, I was pretty sure Billy hated the Order more than he loved anything—except maybe our momma. But with her death, Billy’s regard for Momma was a moot point.

  “But,” Dirty Dave stepped around his biker brother and waved his fat finger at my chest, “you got two weeks, Duane. Two weeks to decide, or else we send an anonymous tip to Sheriff James and you can visit Jethro on the weekends…at the Federal Correctional Institution in Memphis.”

  ***

  I did nothing with the thumb drive at first except hide it. When I got home that night I researched thumb drives and whether they could be used to install spyware or cause mischief on my personal computer. Everything I read made me nervous.

  I thought about calling Jethro or Drew, but decided against it. Jethro was now a law-abiding park ranger for the National Forest and Drew was his boss. They were currently together on a trek in the mountains some two hundred miles away, and only reachable via satellite phone.

  I was also feeling paranoid and didn’t think it prudent to have a telephone conversation about my brother’s previous illegal activities. Discussing matters with Jethro would have to wait until he got back from the mountains.

  In the end, I decided to talk to Beau—and only Beau—about everything when he and Cletus arrived home on Saturday. There was no reason to include my other brothers in the discussion. Worst-case scenario, if it turned out that the only way to keep Jethro out of prison was conscription of the Winston Brothers Auto Shop, then Beau and I would have to do it alone. I didn’t want anyone else getting caught up in this tangle.

  The fewer people who knew about this business with the Iron Order the better. Billy, Cletus, and Roscoe could plead true ignorance if Beau and I were caught.

&nb
sp; Before I went to sleep, I further decided to drive into Knoxville in search of a pawn shop as soon as dawn broke the next morning.

  On my way into town I grabbed a doughnut and caffeine fix from Daisy’s Nut House, an early riser café for locals of Green Valley. The warm, jelly-filled pastry paired with her drip coffee did a bit to settle my uncommon nerves. Though I still felt cautious, so I decided not to search for a pawn shop using my iPhone or computer, deciding it was better to leave no computer trail of my activities…just in case.

  Thankfully, I found a shop that looked promising called Discount Larry’s Gun and Pawn. Because these places always have surveillance cameras, I parked across the street, and pulled on my brother Roscoe’s Yankee’s baseball hat (something I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing) and non-descript blue hoodie.

  I kept my head down as I entered and did a fast sweep of the merchandise, finding what I was searching for almost immediately. I paid in cash and left the shop quickly, having shared no words with the proprietor.

  I jogged back to my car. I then took the long road back to Green Valley, but stopped by Mr. Tanner’s junk yard on my way. It was there, down the tree-lined dirt road to one side of the junk yard, that I opened the old laptop I’d just purchased from the pawn shop, and watched the video.

  What I saw made me want to murder my oldest brother.

  And when Beau got home on Saturday, he could help me figure out how to hide Jethro’s body.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Men read maps better than women because only men can understand the concept of an inch equaling a hundred miles.”

  ― Roseanne Barr

  ~Jessica~

  Nobody ever expects a Mustang convertible.

  Especially not Duane Winston leaning against a dark blue Mustang convertible with a white top and racing stripe. The convertible had a white top and racing stripe, not Duane. He was wearing faded, bootcut blue jeans that fit nice and snug over his hips, and a charcoal colored thermal. As I approached—after I recovered from my surprise—I noticed the shirt’s color made his eyes appear almost gray.