SELMA WAS WATCHING a boring George Clooney movie – “Syriana” as you probably need to narrow down from that long list of possibilities – when the Black Hills hotline rang.
“What is it now?” she snapped into the cell.
“Umm, it’s Reuben.”
“Oh, hi Reuben. Sorry, I thought it was someone else.”
“I thought only we had this number?” he asked, flumoxed.
“Yes, but I’ve been getting nightly calls from your burly sidekick and I figured it was him.”
“Who? Buster?”
“Yes. Buster.”
“What’s he calling you about?”
“Seems all is not hunky-dory between him and his honey in the cramped confines of their love mobile.”
“And he’s calling you?”
“Yep. I’m doing my best Dr. Laura impersonation.”
“That’s odd,” Reuben said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she said.
“And don’t want to. I’m just calling with an update.”
“Things alright between you and missus?”
“Sure.”
“Good. I prefer to stick with calls regarding future felonies rather than marriage woes anyway. Everything on target?”
“Pretty much.”
“Need anything from this end?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, we just need to line up a couple trucks and we should be good to go.”
“You’ve prepared a back-up plan?”
“I always do,” Reuben said, a bit perturbed that she thought he might not have.
“Good to hear.”
“And you have things arranged to unload the merchandise?”
“I do.”
“Then I think we’re good to go. I’ll call you the night before to confirm all is well.”
“Good, and Reuben?”
“Yes.”
“Please keep an eye on that little tart of Buster’s. I’m afraid she could screw up more than just Buster.”
“I’ll do that. And tell him ‘hi’ next time he calls.”
Chapter 21
IN STURGIS, Candy found the tattoo shop recommended by the 18-year-old high school drop-out who sold her and Buster nightcrawlers at the bait shop the previous day. The purple-haired girl sported six studs in her left ear, a gauge the size of a quarter in her right ear, a ring through her nose, lip, two in each eyebrow, both nipples and a whispered “one down there” too. “And cheap” she’d added with the two words every person wants to hear when seeking medical procedures.
It was like asking about a good body shop and getting advice from a demolition car driver.
With blacked out windows to the storefront, only a neon sign glowed in the glass doorway: “Scar’s Tattoos and Piercings.” Candy smiled and entered.
An unpainted counter made of two-by-sixes stood at the entrance. A cash register sat atop it. Behind it were a couple beauty shop-style chairs and a table that looked like it’d been rescued from an Asian massage parlor. But there were no people in the dimly lit room.
“Helloooo,” Candy cooed. “Anybody home?”
She heard some scuffling from a back room and finally a heavily tatted Amazonian woman entered snapping up her denim shorts and pulling down what must’ve a been a recently removed black “Sturgis Rally” tank top. She looked pissed.
“We ain’t open yet!” the woman yelled. “Can’t ya read?”
“Read what?” Candy yelled back, undeterred by anyone’s size or demeanor.
The lady walked up and pointed at a yellowed piece of paper taped to the counter. “Open noon to midnight every damn day.”
“It’s 11:30!”
“Maybe you should have that sign on the door, lady!” Candy said. “Or keep your door locked until you are open.”
“Most people who know us know our hours. Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Candy Odney and I’m here to get my nipples pierced.”
With that she pulled up her shirt to unveil her chest.
“I know where nipples are located, dumb ass. Pull your shirt down. Jesus H. Christ. Let me go see if Scar feels like opening early.”
Her name was Alex. She spun on her six-inch heels and returned to the back room. Candy couldn’t hear what was said, but it was basically a recitation of the conversation followed by Scar peeking through the cracked door. He whispered to his gal: “That’s her. Call Zeke.”
As Alex began thumbing the numbers on her cell phone, Scar entered the front room or, as he called it, his laboratory.
Candy was caught off guard by his appearance, exactly the opposite of her preconceived notion. Scar was short, pudgy and Hispanic. He wore a white wife-beater tank top and black Adidas shorts that hung below his knees above white high-top basketball shoes. There wasn’t a tattoo or scar on him that she could see.
“Good morning,” he smiled, a gold tooth trying to glimmer in the shadowy room. “I’m Scar.”
“I’m Candy. You seem much nicer than your secretary.”
“Ah, never mind her. She’s not a morning person … or an afternoon person for that matter. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to get my nipples pierced.” She pulled up her tank top again despite the previous admonishment.
Scar was okay with that and put his face six inches from her chest and eyeballed each one. “I won’t lie to you. It might hurt going through those babies.”
“No problem. I’m tougher than nails.”
“I bet you are. So take off your shirt and get in the chair.”
She watched Scar wash his hands, which she was thankful for, and then put on a pair of latex gloves. He set an equipment tray next to him and sat on the stool.
He unwrapped a package of gauze and a new piercing needle. He dipped it alcohol and grabbed the piercing tongs that held the nipple and provided holes on each side to guide the needle through.
The door opened again and Zeke and Snake entered. Arms folded across their chests, they stood in front of the door. “Mind if we watch?” Zeke said.
“Don’t bother me,” Scar said.
“Enjoy the show, boys,” Candy chimed in.
Scar slid the needle through with a little more effort than he was used to. True to her word, Candy didn’t scream, grunt or even flinch. Same for the second breast, but Scar did notice her eyes water up a bit. Still, he was pretty impressed.
After the studs were inserted in each, he used surgical tape to keep the gauze in place. He offered her instructions on how to care for them in the coming weeks and said: “Eighty bucks.”
She stood and fished four twenties out of her shorts and handed them to Scar.
Then she saw Zeke nod to Snake who turned and locked the dead bolt on the door. Candy heard the click and the “uh oh” part of her brain clicked as well.
“What the hell?” she said.
Zeke nodded again, this time to Scar and Alex who obediently returned to whatever was in the back room.
Zeke stepped in front of Candy, put his hands on his hips and said: “We need to ask you some questions before you leave.”
“Up yours,” Candy spat back.
“Here’s the deal,” Zeke said. “We know your man and his two doofus buddies are up to something and we want to know what it is.”
“Didn’t you hear me the first time? Up yours.”
It took everything Zeke had to keep from slapping her across the face but didn’t want to go there.
“Listen, you know the old saying about the easy way or the hard way? Why don’t you give the easy way a chance. You’re probably use to that anyway. What are they up to?”
Candy bounced it around in her head a bit and figured she’d play along.
“All I know is they’ve been dealing with your boss about something and I stay out of their business.”
“For starters, he’s not our boss anymore. He’s in the clink. So I’m the boss.”
“So why aren’t they dealing with you.”
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“Well it ain’t that complicated to me, because I don’t know shit.”
Zeke stared at her for a few moments, giving her his meanest stare. She stared back as vacuously as possible, which wasn’t hard for her to do. Finally, he said: “That’s unfortunate. But I believe you. If I was up to something important I probably wouldn’t share it with a ditz like you either.”
Candy almost bit on the bait but held back on showing them that indeed she was in on the plan.
“So I guess we gotta do this the hard way,” Zeke said.
“Which is?” she asked.
“Which is you stay with us until we figure out what they are up to.”
“You’re kidnapping me?”
“Oh, you make it sound so illegal. We’re simply letting you hang out with us. It’s a privilege for most chicks.”
“Yeah, I bet they’re beating down your door.”
“Go along with us and we won’t beat you down,” Snake chimed in from the doorway.
“Put on your shirt,” Zeke said, tossing it to her.
While she was slipping it over her head, he grabbed her hands, stood her up, pulled her arms behind her back and slapped a set of handcuffs on her.
“Not a first, I’m guessing,” he said. “And if you start screaming we’ll tape your mouth shut and throw you in a closet in the back. Now your choices are the hard way or the harder way.”
“It’s gonna suck to be you,” she said. “Buster’s gonna mess you up.”
“He’ll probably welcome the vacation,” he said and steered her to the back room as Snake unlocked the front door.
Chapter 22
NOT SURPRISINGLY, Reuben wasn’t a church-going soul. As far as summertime thieves go, he was a pretty decent guy but his heart rested in the nuts and bolts world of chemistry and he’d never been able to coalesce that physical science with the theological idea of Heaven and Hell. Besides, Reuben figured, if there were a Heaven and Hell, he assumed the button on his elevator had already been punched and there was no unpunching it.
He found his Sunday solace in his rose garden and was deep in thought with pruning shears in hand when his back pocket started to vibrate. The infrequent buzzing on the gang’s hotline startled him and he fumbled around a bit before finally extracting it.
“Yo,” Reuben answered, taking a seat on a white wooden yard chair beside his hummingbird feeders. The warm morning sun had cheered his demeanor. Buster’s voice ruined that.
“Reuben, I’ve got a problem.”
“Just one?”
“One big one.”
“What is it?” Reuben asked.
“Candy’s gone.”
It took him a couple seconds to remember what “Candy” Buster was talking about. “Your wife?”
“Yes, my sweet Candy.”
“I prefer Skittles,” Reuben said.
“No, seriously man. She never came home yesterday. I figured she ran into an old girlfriend and was partying late. I fell asleep and when I woke up this morning she still wasn’t here.”
“Maybe she’s at church,” Reuben tried.
“Not really much of a chance of that,” Buster said.
“No note? Hieroglyphics? Nothing?
“Not a thing. I’m worried.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll come in hootin’ and hollerin’ at any moment,” Reuben said.
“I have a bad feeling Reuben.”
“Did you happen to have a fight?”
“No more than usual lately.”
“Now Buster, don’t take this wrong, but have you noticed her making eyes at any other campers, fishermen or bait shop owners?”
“Never!”
“And really don’t take this wrong, but you didn’t maybe do something to make her want to get away for a while or ...”
“No.”
“You could tell me if you did something. We’d help you, cover for you if something went down between you, even if it’s not what you had planned.”
“Oh Jesus no,” Buster said. “Nothing went down. I’d never hurt her.”
“Okay, I believe you. Still, why don’t you just give it a few more hours and I bet everything will be fine.
“But if she doesn’t show up, should we call the police?” Buster said.
“Are you crazy man? We can’t call the police now! Our big day is Friday. We can’t be drawing attention to ourselves.”
“So I just wait?”
“Ya. And listen. I’ll call Larry and we’ll see what we can come up with. She’ll show up or we’ll find her.”
“Okay Reuben.”
“And Buster.”
“Yes.”
“No police.”
Chapter 23
REUBEN HUNG UP and speed dialed Larry. He answered on the first buzz.
“Tis Big O. Talk to me,” Larry said.
“Is that your latest attempt at a new nickname Laurence Olivier?”
“Ya like it?”
“No.”
“Well you’re the last guy to ask an opinion on trend-setting matters.”
“Then let me ask one of you,” Reuben said.
“Shoot.”
“Are you currently enjoying the company of a certain Candy with freshly-pierced nipples?”
“Oh God, Reuben, don’t make me throw up my French toast and strawberries.”
“Though both thoughts don’t make a pretty picture, it would’ve made our life easier if you had been.”
“Yours maybe. Not mine! Why do you ask such a goofy-ass question?”
“Buster just called me and said she’s missing.”
“Missing?” Larry repeated.
“Like Atlantis.”
“Since when?”
“Yesterday.”
“Hell, she probably can’t find the exits at Walmart. Have you checked the tube top department there?”
“I’m with you,” Reuben said. “My guess is she’s partyin’ it up somewhere or flew the coop back to Chamberlain. But my concern is Buster and our operation.”
“Why?”
“He’s convinced she’s missing and he’s babbling about calling the cops.”
“Shit!”
“Yup. That about sums it up,” Reuben said. “Why don’t we meet up at the Mine Shaft to sort this out. I need a drink. I should probably get Buster up there too so we can keep an eye on him.”
“Maybe you should call Selma as well.”
“I’m guessing he’s already looped her in via speed dial, but I will. Seems they are phone friends.”
“Kinky like?” Larry asked.
“Just weird like,” Reuben said. “In other words, Buster like.”
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