Free Piggyback by Tom Pitts

thin, fake smile, but Jimmy thought it sent goodwill.
    Jimmy looked down at the suitcases on the cement floor and said, “ So, what ’ s going on? You girls having a fight? ”
    Nobody spoke. The three young people caught in a game of freeze-tag. Nobody knew what to say. Jimmy knew that meant all they were doing was trying to come up with a lie.
    “ I ’ m not one for kidding around, Tristan here ’ ll tell ya. Now, where is that stuff of mine? I know you girls have it, and we don ’ t need to waste anymore of my time, do we? ”
    It took a few more uncomfortable moments of silence before Shelly said, “ We can ’ t find it. ”
    She said it so plainly, so quickly, that it sounded like the truth. Jimmy knew it, the girls knew it, and now Tristan knew it. It was what Jimmy was afraid of the moment he saw those suitcases littering the floor. A frightened breath escaped Tristan ’ s lungs.
    Jimmy stood there for a moment trying to decide what to do. His first impulse was to shoot one of them, one of the girls, but that was just anger. He didn ’ t know who knew what. There was still the mother inside the house. Now he had four people he had to worry about. Five including Paul. Six, if you count the dead body.
     
     
    Damon Lafleur had pulled off the freeway into a Denny ’ s parking lot. He walked in and was seated, ordering a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie before the hostess had a chance to leave the table.
    “ You know what? Forget the coffee, make it a coke. With a straw, please. ”
    When his order arrived he grabbed the straw and left the rest to sit and went straight into the bathroom. There he stood in a stall and carefully poured out a small pile of coke on the toilet paper dispenser. Taking a credit card from his wallet, he chopped out two fat lines. He unwrapped the straw and sucked each line deep into each nostril. He put the straw back into his pocket and flushed the toilet and left the stall. He washed his hands in the basin with the abrasive powdered soap and dried them by running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. As he was standing in front of the mirror admiring himself, he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He looked at the number. San Francisco—caller unknown. He hit the green answer button and held the phone to his ear.
    The voice on the other end had a thick accent.
    “ You never called me back. ”
    “ I ’ m still on the road. Things are under control, ” said Damon. He was sucking in his cheeks and turning his head ever so slightly, seducing himself in the mirror.
    “ Things are not under control, my friend. You should have called us. ”
    “ I ’ ll be back home in about an hour. I ’ ll call you from a safe line and we ’ ll see what ’ s what. ”
    “ What ’ s what? I don ’ t know what that means. I hope you will have good news for me, my friend. ”
    “ You know I will, ” said Damon, but the voice was gone. The call was over before he finished his sentence. He looked at his phone and saw the word disconnected . Damon shrugged, lifted his head up just enough to examine his nostrils for any traces of white powder, and then exited the bathroom.
    He sat in his booth near the window with the pie untouched in front of him. He sipped at his cola without the use of the straw. He was looking out the window at the lights of the interstate, but couldn ’ t help being distracted by his own reflection.
     
     
    “ Oh sure, I was born and raised in Southern California. I didn ’ t come up north till my twenties. You mind if I smoke? ”
    Jimmy listened to Paul giving the mother his life story as he tailed Tristan and the two girls up the stairs toward Shelly ’ s bedroom. When they got there, he said, “ All three of you, on the bed. Shut up and sit still. ”
    He pulled out Tristan ’ s cell phone and went directly to recent calls and dialed Shelly ’ s number. The phone rang in Shelly ’ s pocket.
    “ I ’ ll take that, please. ”
    He repeated