A Powerless World | Book 1 | Escape The Breakdown Page 6

  “Ah fuck ’em. Listen to me. This asshole is the reason dad is dead. He’s also the one that knows who did it. Just remember, hang back, stay out of sight, and remember the plan.” He slapped the cylinder into place.

  “And if it goes wrong?” Dylan asked.

  “It won’t.” He leaned across the console and slapped a hand around his neck, bringing his head toward his. “Have a little faith, brother. We’re doing this for dad. It’s what he would have wanted.”

  “We should wait.”

  Jessie twisted in his seat.

  “And let this shit bag bounce? Hell no.”

  “I meant, we should wait for Colby.”

  “Who?” He acted like he didn’t know him.

  “You know who.”

  “We don’t mention that name in this family. You understand.”

  “He’s still a part of it,” Lincoln said.

  “He stopped being a part the day he left. Besides, how the hell would he know about dad? Did you call him?”

  “No, Miriam did. He’s supposed to be coming back tomorrow for the funeral.”

  “Great.” He closed his eyes and sighed, bringing a hand up to his forehead, and then looked back over at Trent who was laying down and swigging beer with five guys and three girls. He was having a grand ol’ time — acting like his father’s life meant nothing.

  Well, he was just about to piss on his parade.

  Dylan drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “Do you think this is smart? I mean, waltzing over to him if you plan on killing him?”

  “I’m not planning on killing him. Just having a conversation.”

  Zeke laughed. “Brother, we know how your conversations go.” He hit the joint hard and handed it to Dylan in the front before blowing a plume of smoke out his window.

  Lincoln continued. “We should wait until he leaves the group.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  Dylan backed up his brother. “People talk. They’ll see you going off with him. C’mon. Be serious. You’ve been gone three years. Things have changed. Humboldt’s new sheriff is a different beast. He doesn’t take crap like the old one did or look the other way. He’s not afraid.”

  “Isn’t he? About time one of them grew some balls.”

  “Do you even know who he is?” Zeke asked.

  Jessie wasn’t paying attention. His mind was running through different scenarios. “Who cares? Another chump in a uniform. Big words. It’s all a show.”

  “He’s a cousin of the Stricklands. Dan Wilder.”

  That got his attention. “He got in?”

  “No one else wanted it. He was the only one up for the job.”

  “Well isn’t that convenient? They put one of their own in and take out our pops.”

  “Like I said, things have changed.”

  “Nothing has changed!” he said loudly, twisting in his seat and eyeing them all. “Where the hell are your balls? If dad was here now he would slap all of you.”

  “Well he isn’t,” Dylan replied without fear. Jessie stared back at his younger brother. His swept-back sandy hair was the only tidy thing in his appearance. The guy was a hipster, given to the arts, cigars, whiskey, reading, and triple shots of espresso. He walked the line between order and chaos, most prominently seen by his Tom Hanks Cast Away beard. The damn thing swallowed the lower half of his face like an overgrown weed. He liked to think he was a ladies’ man but they all know he swung both ways. No one said anything. No one dared to. Dylan was a wild card. The last guy that commented on his sexuality wound up naked, face down in the river.

  You never quite knew what you’d get.

  “Yeah, and who’s to blame for that?” Jessie asked.

  None of them were afraid of him. Long before they exchanged blows with locals or the likes of the Stricklands, they’d toughened up by taking out their frustrations on each other, like many brothers. Except when they fought, one of them was liable to walk away with something broken.

  Lincoln, aka Bones, was still sporting a wonky nose from one too many fists to the face. He was a good-looking kid, early thirties, blond, sharp jawline, he could have been a damn model if it wasn’t for Dylan rearranging his face. Still, the looks were deceiving. Harmless to most, he had a short fuse. “I could say you, being as you got yourself locked up,” he said.

  “You want to say that again?”

  “Geesh,” Zeke said. “I’m getting some air. You guys need to chill.”

  Zeke was your typical stoner: a long-haired, Tarzan wannabe who was rarely seen wearing a shirt or shoes when he was up on the mountain. He’d been like that ever since he was knee-high. He’d rather get laid and snort a line than get into a fight. Though despite his easy-going nature, he wasn’t one to be crossed. The largest and most muscular out of the group, he’d taken some guy’s eye out in a barbershop with an old-style razor because he’d commented on their mother.

  That was one line no one crossed.

  Blood was everything. Reputation came second.

  “Just stick to the plan. Okay?”

  He got out and tucked the revolver into the back of his jeans and covered it with a dark shirt. He took a six-pack of Miller Lite and threaded his way around the groups of people huddled together, separated by six feet. What his brothers didn’t know was he planned on using some reverse psychology. He’d observed it in the pen. In there you were surrounded by men. Out in the yard, everyone was watching.

  Shanking a man was common, but there were easier ways to get the deed done without spending time in the hole.

  If you wanted to gain the confidence of someone, even if they had wronged you, it was simple. You gave them something they wanted. When Trent wasn’t stoned he drank like a fish. He had no off switch and he would never pass up a beer.

  While others had taken a dislike to him, Jessie had been inside. He’d missed all the drama. In his mind that gave him an advantage.

  As he got closer to the group, one of them nudged Trent and he glanced at Jessie. Trent’s hood covered his ginger buzz, his face looked like a fish, all lips and bulging eyes. His cheeks were gaunt from unhealthy eating. The entire group went instantly quiet. They knew his reputation. Jessie saw the fear in Trent’s face, the admission of guilt, but he didn’t get up and bolt. It was a public place. He knew Jessie wouldn’t try anything there. His eyes scanned the area, looking for the rest of the family.

  “How are you?” Jessie said.

  “Good. When did you get out?” he asked.

  “Four days ago.” Jessie looked around casually, one beer already open, the other five dangling from his right hand.

  “Heard about your pops. Sorry.”

  He shrugged, tried to act as if it didn’t bother him. “Shit happens, right?” He had a flashback of finding his father, staring at the hole in his skull. His fingers tightened around the plastic beer holder as he tried to push it from his mind. He had to stay focused, on point. He slung the five toward him. “Want a beer?”

  “Got my own.” Trent raised a bottle. “But thanks.”

  “Mind if I join yah?” He sat down before he could say no, squeezing between Trent and some busty broad.

  Trent took a hit on what remained of a joint. “You here with family?”

  “No. They’re making preparations for the funeral. It’s all gotten a little too much for me. Been locked up so long, I needed to get out. Get some air. Have you seen Carla?” He threw out a name of an old girlfriend. He had no reason to find her but he wanted to make it look like he was there for her.

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “Ah, I was told she’d been down here. Wanted to catch up.”

  An awkward beat followed before Trent spoke up. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Huh?” Jessie said, looking at him, thinking — to kill you — but he didn’t say it.

  “Now you’re out. You going back to work on the farm?”

  “No, I was thinking of starting my own thing. You know, branching out, it
’s about time I paved my own way. What about you? What are you doing for money?”

  Trent acted calm but Jessie could see it was a front. “Little construction here and there but with the pandemic, it’s gotten harder.”

  “That it has. I feel like I’ve awoken into an apocalyptic world. All these masks and shit.”

  “So you going into business with your brothers?”

  “No. Though I’ve bought some property up on the mountain. You wouldn’t know of anyone looking for work, would you?”

  It was the carrot on the end of the stick. There was good money to be made depending on how fast someone could trim weed. Working in the black market to avoid all the additional taxes that had put most of the farms out of business, trimmers could get paid around a hundred and fifty bucks a day to trim weed and even more if they were fast.

  “Can’t say I do.”

  “Alright, bud. Well, I’ll see you around. Enjoy your night.”

  Casual. Everything was kept casual. It would be the last memory they would have if they could remember him at all with the way liquor was being passed around.

  He got up and tapped Trent on the shoulder before walking away. He’d only made it thirty feet away when Trent called out to him. “Hey, Jessie. Hold up a minute.”

  Without turning, Jessie smiled. There were some things you could always count on in this town. Greed, desperation, and stupidity, and this guy had all three by the truckload. He turned. “That job. I could use the money.”

  “Then you’re hired. C’mon, I’ll show you the land. Maybe you can give me your advice on how we could improve the crop.” Okay, he was laying it on thick. Wanting him to believe he gave a damn about what he had to say.

  “Uh, I should probably tell them where I’m heading,” Trent said, thumbing over his shoulder. Jessie placed a hand around him.

  “Ah, you’ll be fine. I’ll drop you back in an hour.”

  Trent looked hesitant but he knew the quality of the crop, the benefits of working for the Rikers. He’d indulged himself in everything they had to offer before Jessie’s father got rid of him. And now, Jessie would indulge himself before he got rid of him for good.

  Forty minutes later, after Jessie had finished beating the crap out of him, he wiped his bloody knuckles on Trent’s shirt and stared at his pulp-like face. He barely moved. His brothers stood by watching as the headlights from their truck illuminated Trent. Jessie extended a hand back without looking. “Get me the hammer,” he said.

  “I think he’s had enough, Jessie,” Lincoln said.

  “I never got what I came for and he sure as hell isn’t giving it up this way.” He pressed a hand against Trent’s face and spat on him. “Did you honestly think I would hire a sack of shit like you?” A moment later Dylan sauntered over and handed him a claw hammer. Jessie flipped it around in his hand a few times and tapped it lightly against Trent’s forehead. “Wakey, wakey. Light shines on marble head.” He tapped him again a few times and Trent let out a groan. Through swollen eyes Trent looked at him, struggling to breathe, choking on blood.

  “Look, I’m going to make this easy for you. I know you told the Stricklands we murdered Hank’s brother. The question is why?” Trent didn’t reply, he stared back as if he’d already accepted death. No answer. Bellowing in his face, he exploded. “You sold him down the river, now I want answers, and you are going to give them to me.”

  He let out a gasp, a few words. “They’ll kill me.”

  Jessie let out a laugh. “You’re worried about what they will do?” He flipped the hammer around until he had the claw end facing him. “I will claw your fucking eyes out and make you swallow them if you don’t tell me who killed my father.”

  Trent said something but it came out as a whisper.

  Jessie put his ear closer to hear. “What was that you said?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  It took everything in him to withhold the violence he wanted to inflict on him. But he was no good to him screaming. “Let’s just say I believe you. Then who killed Ryland Strickland?”

  He said nothing.

  Jessie looked back at his brothers, teeth gritted, breathing heavily. They knew what was coming next. He couldn’t hold back any longer. Jessie lifted the hammer and brought it down on Trent’s right kneecap with such force that it shattered instantly. With a hand clamped over his mouth, Trent bolted upright, his scream muffled as Jessie forced his head back to the ground. He held it there for a minute or two before he got close. “I don’t believe you. You told the Stricklands that you had witnessed one of our family kill him. Now either you were lying to get back at my father or you were telling the truth. Which is it?”

  His eyes bulged and he said something but Jessie’s hand was still over his mouth. He removed it and after gasping a few times, and groaning with tears streaming down his face, Trent repeated what he’d said. “I wasn’t lying.”

  “Then who was it? Because I sure as hell know it wasn’t us.”

  “It was…”

  “Go on!”

  “Your mother.” The words shot out.

  Jessie stared at him in disbelief.

  There was no way in hell that she would bring this kind of storm down on their heads. He looked back at his brothers and their faces mirrored his. Shock. Denial.

  Dylan shook his head. “He’s lying.”

  “I’m not. I saw her do it with a .22.” He groaned loudly, gripping his leg. “Please. I’m telling the truth. I don’t know who killed your father but it was your...”

  “Don’t you say it! Don’t you fucking say it!” Jessie bellowed in his face as he tightened his grip on the hammer. All of them worshipped the ground she walked on. She loved their father. She protected them. There was no way in hell she was behind this. Without a second thought, he rose, reached behind his back, and took out the revolver. Trent put his arms up, pleading for his life. “No. No. Please…”

  Jessie didn’t fire one shot, he emptied the entire cylinder into him.

  When he was done, he turned and walked past his brothers who looked on, speechless. He was just about to get a shovel to dig a grave when the engine shut off, and the area was swallowed by darkness.

  “Turn the damn engine on,” he said as he walked back with the shovel.

  Zeke hopped in and tried but it never spluttered once. “It’s not starting.”

  Jessie stabbed the earth with the shovel and looked back. “Get it started.”

  “I’m trying. It’s not starting.”

  “If you’re messing with me…” he said as he walked back and Zeke showed him. “When did you last take this into the shop?”

  “It’s brand-new,” Dylan replied. Jessie took out his phone to call Asher, and have him bring over his truck, but the phone wouldn’t power on. “Give me your phone,” he said to Lincoln. Lincoln took it out and handed it over but the same thing happened.

  Nothing. No power. No communication. No transportation.

  “What the hell?”

  SIX

  COLBY

  Los Angeles

  Day of Event

  Daisy Mitchell was a hothead. She was an Asian chick that had been fired from three different bail bond companies before Manny scooped her up. Long, bright red hair stuck out the back of her camo baseball cap. She was geared up in tactical clothing like she was about to go to war. Truly a sight to behold, she was hard to describe, better experienced. Her reputation for thinking outside the box had made her unpopular; her actions had landed her in hot water more than once. Male bounty hunters familiar with her track record found her either intimidating or a complete joke. The last asshat who tested her mettle soon changed his tune when she put him in one of her infamous chokeholds. Poor fool didn’t know where he was when he came to.

  Five-foot nothing, a hundred and twenty pounds, it was fair to say she was a bit of an anomaly. She was a loose cannon with daddy issues, all about the gear, the guns, and the monster truck that
she drove on weekends.

  A longtime friend with benefits for her prowess in the sack, she’d taken him for a ride more times than he could remember, well, that was until she’d gotten a little too possessive. That’s when he cut ties.

  Colby liked her but she was a little psychotic.

  Squeezed into the back of the souped-up, custom 1984 Chevrolet K5 Blazer with 46-inch tires, Colby leaned forward. The truck roared. “How did you know where we were?” Colby asked. He then added when she didn’t reply, “Manny.”

  “And Bingo was his name,” Daisy replied.

  She glanced at him in the rearview mirror before taking a moment to flip down her visor and apply a fresh layer of red lipstick. She’d had the truck custom made with rear seating. They roared past car after car. Many occupants looked confused, others stuck their thumbs out for a ride, but she wasn’t slowing for anyone.

  “I appreciate the ride,” Colby said.

  “You’re welcome, and by the looks of it I arrived just in time.”

  He nodded.

  Alicia stared at her. “So you want to tell me how your vehicle is working while all the others aren’t?”

  “EMP proof, baby.” She slapped the wheel with both hands like she was beating on tom-tom drums.

  “A what?” Colby asked.

  She chuckled, shooting back a glance to check his expression. “Oh c’mon. Are you telling me you don’t know?” She laughed. “Of all people you should know.”

  “Daisy, just spit it out,” he said.

  “An EMP. An electromagnetic pulse. That’s why all the vehicles are dead, the phones are down and Zuckerberg is probably cursing like a banshee right now. While most of the idiots in this city were spending their money on overpriced lattes and Botox shots, I invested my green in this beauty. Besides the weekend fun, I figured it would come in handy once America decided to screw the wrong pooch. No offense, Kane,” she said, glancing in her mirror. “You see, it doesn’t have all of that computerized crap that most vehicles today have, and so when all this happened,” she clicked her fingers, “mine kept on running… like a champ while all the sheep of society’s premium models died a horrible death.” She let out one of her high-pitched cackles. It was the one thing that Colby couldn’t stand to hear. It was like fingernails going down a chalkboard. “I can just see all the valley girls now, blaming their daddy for buying them a sports car that no longer works. They probably think it’s run out of goji juice.” She cackled again. “Morons.”