The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 22

The two hay bales have names. Solid, Christian prairie names. Doesn't matter now.

Les calls them Tor and Abe for whatever reason. Has since the meaty brothers washed up at a truck stop in Williston.

The three ride in Joe's truck. Abe at the wheel. Tor riding shotgun. Literally. He holds Wil's – Joe's, actually – pump-action spray stick in his lap.

Les sits in his wheelchair perched in the bed of the truck. Hangs onto railings on the roof. Talks to Tor and Abe through an open window into the cab.

"Drop me off at the hospital. I need to check on something," Les says. "Bring this truck to the shop. Fix it. Like how you normally fix trucks. Got it?"

Abe drives the truck to the expressway. Pulls over at the Minot hospital.

Les hoists himself out the open tailgate. Wheels around to the cab. Wags a finger at Abe.

"Make sure you and your brother do a good job. No pissing around this time," Les says.

Abe grunts in response. He's the smarter of the brothers. Not that that means much.

Abe drives off after Les scoots through the hospital doors. Pulls around to a side street. Stops in front of a large, metal shipping container. The kind trains haul across the prairie. It lays crooked in a vacant yard. Carried there by the flood. Forgotten.

The shop.

It doesn't look like much from the outside. That's the point.

"Go inside. Get the tool belts and a box cutter. The ones we used last time," Abe says. Strokes his curly, red beard. "I'll work on the cab. You start under the hood."

Tor hops out. Unlocks the chain securing the shipping container doors. Hits a switch on an extension cord. Grabs a box cutter and two tool belts hanging on the wall. Brings them to Abe.

Abe cuts along the seams of the bench seat. Makes taping it back together easier. He pulls out a wad of stuffing first. Then dips his hand inside. Feels around.

"Anything?" Tor says.

"Nothing," Abe says. "Get under that hood."

They spend an hour going through every detail of the truck. Tool through anything not welded shut.

"Nothing?" Abe says from the cab.

"Nothing," Tor says. Hits his head on the open hood as he says it. "Ouch."

"Out-staters are almost always holding something," Abe says. "Meth. Speed. Weed."

"Yeah, but this truck has NoDak plates. So probably the guy was telling the truth. Only the one was an out-stater," Tor says. "So maybe there's no dope."

"Les will be happy either way. Doesn't like competition drifting in," Abe says. "Let's put everything back together. Get the new plates on. Give it a quick coat of paint, too."

Abe and Tor have the process memorized. The shop keeps a set of license plates handy. Rotate them out with each truck they "fix." Only takes one set of stolen plates to start the cycle.

They have the entire process down to a science. Abe primes the paint gun while Tor swaps the plates.

Abe moves the truck away from the container. Starts the paint job. It's the same color each time. Tan. Like prairie camouflage. Makes the truck look like a hay bale from a distance.

Abe's paint gun is too quick. Too sloppy. It's good enough, though.

"There. It's fixed," Abe says when he finishes. "Time for lunch?"

No response.

Abe walks around the truck. "You there?"

"Don't move," comes a reply from behind him. Voice is unfamiliar. Genderless. Almost metallic.

Abe spins around. Fists clenched. No one there.

"Paint fumes got me hearing things," Abe says under his breath.

He heads back into the shipping container. Opens the door. Lights are out.

Abe reaches for the switch attached to an extension cord. Stops.

Something's squeezing his ankle.

Abe's first thought is it's a raccoon. They're known to hole up in shipping containers. But raccoons can't squeeze like this. Like it's trying to cut off his circulation.

Abe hits the switch. The lights flicker on. He looks down. Sees a hand on the floor.

At first it looks like it has paint on it. Only it's not tan. It's bright red. He follows it to an arm. It wears a coat of red. Then to a face. Tor's face.

Tor tries to say something. Voice won't work.

That's when Abe feels another hand. This time around his neck. It's coming from behind.

He watches as a second hand reaches up. Hits the switch. The lights go out.

"I told you not to move," a voice in the darkness says.

*** PLEASE SUPPORT MY WRITING! ***

This story will only be posted on Wattpad for a limited time. If you'd like the full version, head to your favorite online e-book/book retailer and pick up your own digital/print copy. Search for "Invisible Hand Sobieck." Or leave a review of the book on Amazon once you're finished reading on Wattpad. Thank you. ~Ben