Free The Carrier by Preston Lang Page A

that disgusting fool. Disgusting fool,
not a sweet village idiot. Tony deserved whatever he had coming.
Duane wasn’t one of those froth-at-the-mouth human missiles, the
kind of guy who prays for a fistfight every morning. Okay, maybe
he’d once been like that, but that was as a kid, a teenager. Guys
who kept that up were put away for the safety of everyone. That’s
what prisons were for.
    Duane was hoping he wouldn’t
smash in the face of some poor pizza deliveryman, some sucker
working an overnight for eight dollars an hour. But if it
happened—if he hit the wrong man—well, a lot of people had some bad
luck. Duane’s father had choked on a barrette—choked to death. Two
AM at the home of Mrs. Fanchetti, a friend of Duane’s mom. Duane’s
dad had a tendency to put things in his mouth: pens, buttons,
bottle caps. At the hospital in the insane hours of the morning,
the nurses treating Mrs. Fanchetti like she was the wife of the
deceased, Cyril crying like a baby, Duane’s mom sitting quietly way
up on the cloud, Duane had to take control. Mrs. Fanchetti, you go home and stop being a slut; Cyril stop
crying and be a man; and mom, your husband is dead, how about you
let that seep in? Duane hadn’t thought
about any of this in years. There was no point to it. He had to get
his head back in the game.
    He heard the buzz of the door release.
In came the footsteps, not too fast. It sounded like someone had
put down a box—cardboard on the hardwood. It didn’t sound like he
picked it up again. It was Tony Braxton—had to be.
     

CHAPTER 15
     
    Cyril walked two paces in front of
Willow like it was the custom of their people. There was no traffic
along the road and no one else walking along the
shoulder.
    “ Do you think there’s anyone
following us right now?” Willow asked.
    “ Maybe.”
    “ What do we do?”
    “ We should split up. You go
ahead, and I’ll see if anyone follows you.”
    “ I don’t think so, my
dear.”
    “ You have my cell phone and
I don’t have a car. I can’t take off.”
    No, Willow couldn’t let Cyril out of
sight. That wouldn’t work.
    “ No, we’re not doing that,”
she said.
    A car approached from behind them, and
they walked away from the road. As it got closer they could hear
music, loud metal. The car had Iowa plates and at least six college
kids inside. This was not the Death Car. It rolled past.
    “ If they are out there, why
don’t they just jump us?” Willow asked.
    “ Because they know I haven’t picked up
yet.”
    “ Who are they?”
    “ I told you I don’t know.
They could be anyone.”
    Another car drove past them. This one
was driven by a single woman, but it also had Iowa plates. Not it
either.
     
    ***
     
    “ You’re absolutely sure it
isn’t your boss’s tracker?” Willow asked.
    For the first time Cyril really
considered this possibility. Maybe they’d decided to keep tabs on
him. Maybe Tony was sitting in a bar, watching the car on a screen.
But if that was true, why hadn’t anyone told him anything about
what was going on? Usually Cyril got the precise location and
amount when he went somewhere. Other times he didn’t get an
address, just a city and instructions to wait for a call. This time
he knew he was going to the Midwest and there was nothing to drop
off. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get him moving on Monday
morning. He’d called Tony a few times but didn’t get any answer.
Maybe they’d called the whole deal off and forgotten to tell him.
Here he was in Iowa without a clear idea of what to do, and now he
was walking two paces in front of a gun.
    A third car, a Ford, drove past them,
with a single driver, a wide-shouldered man who glanced over twice.
The license plates were Massachusetts.
    “ That’s got to be him,”
Cyril said.
    “ Maybe.”
    “ You saw him, the way he
slowed and looked at us.”
    “ Just one guy,
though.”
    “ That doesn’t mean he’s
alone.”
    “ We’ll go straight to my car
and get out of