The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 37

                 

My first thought is the shadow person is at the door. It's a stupid thought. It's what I feel before my better sense takes over.

Sam backs into the hallway. Watches me answer.

I open the RV's side door. I do it slow. Like a coyote creeping up on a covey of sharpies. The right way.

Learned that after shaking down an out-stater farm hand. Stole a year's supply of tractor hydraulic fluid. Expensive shit. But that's what you get for hiring out-staters.

The fucker knew I was coming. Had a hatchet ready to go on the other side of a door. Only he didn't count on one thing. You can see a whole helluva lot through a quarter-inch crack. I got the drop on him.

I do the same thing now. Only I don't see a hatchet. I see a scrawny bastard with a body that looks like the shotgun in his hands. He's leaning on the gun. Like a construction worker on the side of the road with a shovel. Idiot will get himself killed that way.

I open the door the rest of the way. Nice and slow. No surprises.

"What?" I say.

The scrawny guy shoulders the shotgun.

"Heard some noise. There a problem here?" he says.

"Who the hell are you?" I say.

Was he the shadow person?

"I'm the night watch. Make sure everyone's safe," the scrawny guy says. Cranes his neck inside. The bulbs in his eye sockets light up when he spots Sam. He calls to her. "You OK?"

"I'm fine," she says.

"Oh, yeah? What's the knife for then?" the scrawny guy says. His shoulder leads his way into the RV. "Maybe I should come in."

I stick a hand up. Stop his advance.

Here's another thing I learned as a shit shoveler back home. No one who shows up with a gun in hand and says, "I'm here to help," ever does. Not cops. Not neighbors. Not random guys with shotguns at a Man Camp in the Bakken.

Honest folk, they just help. They don't announce it. And they don't need guns to do it.

"We're fine," I say.

He backs off. That was easy.

"Well, if the lady ever needs it, I can be a helpful person," the scrawny guy says. Turns to leave. Looks over his shoulder before heading out. Gets another look at Sam.

"Bummer. That's twice now I didn't get to use this knife tonight," Sam says after he's gone.

"Then let's break the streak. You hungry?" I say.

"Always," Sam says.

I dig out a loaf of bread. Jar of peanut butter. Use the knife to glue a couple sandwiches together. Haven't eaten anything since lunch.

"So what makes your raccoon penis lucky?" I say. Just making conversation between bites.

"Funny story about that," Sam says.

What she tells me next is hard to hear.

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