Money, Guns and Lawyers

Money, Guns and Lawyers

We had been in the car for nearly sixteen hours, making our way home from the desolate New Mexico wastelands. Gas was low and tempers were high. Well, at least one temper was high. We had all been pushed to our limits on this last job; at least one temper was dangerously close to the breaking point. Our fearless leader was slowly coming to the end of his rope, and some of us wanted to strangle him with it. The rest of us more or less just suffered in silence. The cramped condition of the vehicle, in no way designed for 6 adults and one stray dog, wasn’t helping things either. We were running out of cash and out of time. There was a job to finish, and Josh was determined to get it done on time, whether it killed us or not, otherwise, our rag-tag little family would not get paid this month.

I can’t tell you how many times Josh’s pride and hubris had caused us no small amount of suffering (in silence or otherwise), not to mention the complications that would occasionally arise because of his insistence that our reputation was always the most important thing in this “business”. More than once our little familia had disagreements over our priorities. I guess all families have some level of functional disfunctionality that way; we just seemed to have more than most.

Jay was the first one brave enough to break the silence.
“Hey, Josh, there is a 7/11 in the next town. Maybe we should stop and get some food and gas.”

My stomach rumbled in agreement, feeling nearly as empty as the gas tank, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to speak up in agreement. I glanced over at Josh as his grip tightened on the steering wheel, each knuckle cracking in a sharp staccato burst that sounded like muffled gunfire. Knuckles whitening until I thought for sure he would snap the wheel. His gaze shifted from the road to the rear-view mirror. His brown eyes narrowed and a slight sneer curled at the corner of his mouth. “Do you know what town is next Jay?” He said between clenched teeth, nostrils flaring slightly with anger, always the first sign that he was pissed.

“Sure, it’s…”

“Nooooooo, don’t say it!” Cat and I yelled in unison, hoping to drown him out.

“Don’t ever say the name of that town, especially when we are in the car.” I finished for the both of us, eyes wide and flicking towards our quickly disintegrating driver, hoping that Jay had not forgotten (again) and I wouldn’t have to elaborate on the subject.

I was in the front seat with Josh at this point, shoe-horned in between him and Cat and I noticed that the speedometer was slowly creeping upwards. This could be a problem. The whole reason we don’t ever say the word "Raton" is because Josh had been pulled over there far too many times to count, not to mention the ill-timed breakdowns and off road excursions our vehicle had taken due to adverse weather conditions. To make matters worse, we were on a return trip and the trunk was full of “merchandise”.

He glared at Jay's reflection in the mirror and hissed “You dumb-ass. You know we never speak the name of the place of evil while on a road trip. What in the hell are you thinking? We don’t stop there, we don’t even slow down there. Ever! In fact, don’t even think of the name. Clear your fucking mind of where the fuck we are right fucking now man, ‘cause I’ll be god dammed if I’m gonna spend one more motherfucking minute in this area than I fucking have to!”

“Umm, Josh.” I said, patting him gently on the arm” if you don’t slow down, we are going to have to stop and not of our own choosing” I said as quietly and calmly as I could all the while watching the speedometer, noting that we are now going upwards of 90mph. I realized, that despite what ever calming words I might try on Josh, he’d not eaten anything in over eight hours which likely meant that I was wasting my breath; he was going to be even more unreasonable that usual.

That’s pretty much when the proverbial shit decided to hit the fan. In rapid succession, the low fuel indicator turned on, sirens began to howl, red and blue lights began flashing behind us, Josh took to cursing a blue streak, Cat started throwing empty soda cans and beer bottles at Jay’s head, and the dog started to bark.

Then Greg woke up.

“Hey” He said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes “We’re not stopping in Raton are we?”

The tires squealed as Josh slammed on the brakes and simultaneously turned around throwing punches at Greg. “Fuck! I told you that fucking word was fucking cursed! Now we got the fucking cops on our ass and a trunk load of fucking goods in the fucking truck. Fuck!”

“For god’s sake Josh, knock it off, put your hands on the damm wheel, and pull the fuck over!” I said, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest. “All y’all need to just shut the fuck up and let me think. After all, that’s what I get paid for.”

I had been getting paid to be the brains of our little family operation for nearly ten years now. Josh, our leader, was in charge of the brawn. Cat and Shay were the beauties (distract and redirect if you know what I mean) of the group, not to mention the fact that Cat did most of the cooking and it was Shay’s job to keep us all looking fabulous. Most times, Jay and Greg were just along for the ride, and like all good henchmen, ready to back up whatever play was in motion. And what rides we had. Come to think of it, all of this…this operation, started with just a simple road trip that took us through Raton. God we were young back then, and stupid. We thought we were invincible.

At the moment though, our invincibility seemed about to be tested; or perhaps our dumb luck was running out. Cat would've argued karma over luck, but the fat lady hadn't hit the stage yet and despite having everything go wrong that could go wrong there was still a slight chance that we could pull our butts out of the fire once again; hopefully, with a minimum of explanations, bloodshed or bodies to dispose of.
Explanations were easy. I'm pretty sure that I could come up with something plausible enough for the small town yokel driving the police cruiser behind us. Hell, I'd boggled enough redneck brain cells in my time to know their type, and this one hopefully wouldn't be any different. The main thing was to avoid any sort of "confrontation" that would lead to the other two less desirous outcomes. Bodies were an awkward but sometimes unfortunate part of our family trade. Out here in the wilderness, allot of mistakes get lost, if you know what I mean. The middle of nowhere is the middle of nowhere after all, and the local wildlife would probably enjoy the unexpected addition in their food chain.

Bloodshed was far more frequent than I would've liked sometimes, even if it wasn't mine. Bullet and knife wounds being hard to explain to the doctors at any given hospital, some of us had turned into rather good field medics out of necessity. Hell Shay could stitch up a knife wound as well as she could sew on an errant button. Personally, I tried to avoid the blood and other unpleasant aspects of our less than satisfactory jobs; which is why I was really going to have to come up with something good this time. I had "that feeling”, again.
Something was about to go very, very wrong...

Cat would’ve been so proud of my assessment. I always write those moments off as gut feeling and paranoia, while she has a more eclectic approach to matters of what she calls intuition and coincidence. To say I wasn’t surprised when the front tire blew would be an understatement. There’s and old saying, “expect the worst and hope for the best”. That should’ve been our family motto emblazoned on the side of our car and permanently etched into the skin of at least one family member with ink.

Josh, who was still trying to punch Jay, while Cat finished throwing whatever assorted detritus she could find in the front seat at Jay, had now completely lost his shit. The last thing he screamed was “Gawwddamn Fucking Raton!!!” as he dove into the back seat to presumably kill Jay while the car started to swerve off the road unmanned and as out of control as Josh.

Its times like this I think about asking for a raise. For fuck’s sake how the hell does our little band stay together when shit like this goes down? Oh yeah, that’s right…it’s me that holds the shit together. I’m so demanding a raise if we get through this, but right now I have to pull a Duke’s of Hazzard and get this metal beast back under control.

With a deep sigh, I slid over into the driver’s seat; dodging Josh’s flailing legs in the process, wrestling with the steering wheel, and forcing the car to straighten out as we barely miss clipping the cement barrier separating the road from the cliff. “Fuck” I muttered as I hauled hard to the right and regained control of the car. “Think fast Sunshine” I thought to myself as I brought the car to a grinding halt.

Cat had the dog up in the front seat with us by the time the dust settled, holding him by the smiley bandana I had tied around his neck, marking him as one of the family. Glancing into the rearview mirror, I noted that Shay and Greg seem to have Josh subdued. Of course, he’s pretty easily subdued when Shat chokes the living shit out of him while Jay and Greg hold him down. His violent twitching gives me just the inspiration I need as I see the County Mountie amble up along side the car.

“You were going awful fast there little lady” His breath stinks of stale coffee and cigarettes as he leans into my open window. “I’m going to need to see your license and registration.” I can see his beady little eyes behind his ridiculous aviator glasses, flicking between the front and back seats. A brow arched as he caught a glimpse of Josh in the back seat, arms and legs pinned down, body twitching, eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

“I’m very sorry officer…” I glanced at his badge scanning for his name nearly choking on my own tongue to keep from laughing aloud “Officer Daubwattle.” I say, leaning across the dog in my attempt to reach the glove box for my ID and paperwork for the car. “You see, my brother is epileptic and he’s having a seizure. We are trying to get him to the closest medical facility and I panicked.” I looked up at him, with what I hoped was my most innocent smile. “Do you know if there is a hospital in this town?”

A low moan issued from the back seat, and a quick glance at Josh’s face with his flaring nostrils told me that stopping in Raton was not an option as far as he was concerned. “Fuck that, not….stopping…fucking Raton….motherfucking…”

Officer Daubwattle’s gaze shifts to the four adults jammed into the back seat of our car, pupils widening as our “patient” begins to swear incoherently.

I stammer…”Ummm….he also has a mean case of Turrets; it comes on strong whenever he has a seizure. It’s really very embarrassing.”

At this point, I’m starting to sweat a little. It doesn’t usually take this much for me to sweet talk our way out of trouble with the local yokels. I’m beginning to wonder if talk isn’t going to get us out of this tight spot. We’ve disposed of a lot of “trouble” in the desert before, but never a cop. The thought of it is making my stomach churn.

I’m just about to make a plea for my brother’s health and beg Daubwattle for an escort to the nearest hospital when he hands me back my ID and paperwork. “You slow it down young lady. Your brother seems to be doing just fine right now. I’m sure he’ll be ok until you can get into town and get him some medical attention, next time you got to be prepared. Don’t know what you young folks were thinking, driving all the way down here from Denver and with no meds for his affliction. Always be prepared missy, if it’s good enough for the Boy Scouts, its good enough for you hippies. Now then, you need any help with that there tire?” He said as he gestured with his thumb at the right rear tire.

“No Sir.” I said as calmly as I could, the last think I needed at the moment was for that cop to get a look inside our trunk. “We can handle it, thank you Sir. I promise we’ll be more prepared next time. After all,” I say “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail, right officer?” If this jerk only knew how prepared we were at that moment. Hell, we were prepared for World War III if it cam right down to it, but he didn’t need to know that.

I’m pretty sure even the dog breathed a sigh of relief as the cop turned around and headed back toward his car. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hug Josh or kick his ass. Maybe I’d do both, but first I we had to wait for that cop to get on his way so we could change the tire and get back on the road. I only hoped that we weren’t going to be too late.

As Officer Daubwattle walks back towards his own vehicle part of our merchandise, which was apparently awakened during what I like to think of as Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, started pounding out a lively 4/4 beat back in the trunk. “Fuck, why can’t anything be simple anymore” I sigh to myself as I see our friendly neighborhood cop stop in his tracks and look down at our pounding trunk.

“What in Tarnation…” Officer Daubwattle turned on his heals and walked back to front of the car. “I’m going to have to ask you to exit the vehicle miss. I need to take a look inside your trunk.”

“Fuck” I say more to myself than anyone else, my mind racing for a reasonable explanation to the racket emanating from our cargo area. “Would you believe, Officer, I have one hell of a sound system back there? That’s just my bass, it always kicks in like that when turn the key in the ignition…”

That’s when things went from bad, to worse.

Apparently, Sycamore had reached the end of his tolerance for this cop harassing his pack, and chose that moment to start barking again. From the trunk muffled cries for help sounded and the cop pulled his gun and leveled at me. “Step the fuck out of the vehicle!”

Well, we were well and truly fucked now. Slowly, I reached for the latch and opened the door, sliding out onto my feet. Just an instant was all it took, the cop took his eye off of me, to check on the back seat, and Sycamore leapt at him. When the shot rang out, I’m not sure who was more surprised, me, the cop, or the dog.

It was all the time Josh needed. In a split second as Daubwattle was distracted by the sight of a huge wolfhound-mastiff mix leaping at him from the front door, Josh had the passenger door open and the cop by his throat on the ground. In an instant Greg and Jay rolled out behind him, looking for a fight.

Shay, always calm and dangerously cool in situations like this’ had slipped out the other door and come around behind the cop. By the time Josh had him on the ground, Shay had picked up his gun and had it pointed at Daubwattle’s head. “You picked the wrong family to fuck with ass hole.” She said, and her voice had an edge to it that was as cold as ice.

By now, Cat had climbed out of the car as well, and was trying to hold the snarling dog back. Let me tell you, Sycamore wanted a piece of that cop all right, and I think if I hadn’t spoken up at that moment, he would have had it.
“Guys,” I said, looking down at the slowly spreading red stain crawling its way across the arm of my jacket “I think we are going to have to call Mr. M and let him know we are going to be late.”

“Good idea Morgi, you go ahead and do that, while the boys and me take care of Mr. Fuckwattle here.” Josh said as he pulled the stunned cop to his feet.

I make all the calls to Mr. M. For some reason, he only wants to hear from me, probably because if I’m not the one calling, then things have gone terribly wrong. It’s one of his rules. I make and receive all the calls. Josh, Shay and I then work out the details and we make things happen for Mr. Money. Today, that wasn’t going to happen.

“I’d love to Josh, but….”I swallowed hard, trying to keep my eyes focused on my family, none of whom had turned their attention on me yet. “…I just….don’t think…I can….”

“Why the fuck not?” Josh snapped.

“Well, because…that fat bastard fucking shot me, that’s why.” I could barely get the words out. I’m sure I mentioned before that I try to stay as far away as possible from the less pleasant aspects of our job. I don’t like guns, and knives are ok, as long as I’m the one throwing them. I had been cut plenty of times, but I had never been shot before. This was definitely a day for the record books.

I’m fairly certain that’s when I hit the ground, my legs having finally decided not to keep me in an upright position any longer. I’m also fairly certain that’s when Officer Daubwattle’s death warrant was signed. I remember flinching as I heard the retort of the gun reverberate off the side of the car, I also remember how deathly silent it became after that second shot was fired. Even the merchandise grew silent.