Cash Braddock Page 7

  “Didn’t work out? Kid, I got game. She kissed me and we have another date. I promised it would be nonviolent.”

  Nate descended into very manly giggles. “So she’s totally cool?”

  “A little too cool. She took it really well.”

  “Don’t do that. Get your head out of your ass.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Don’t do that thing where you get all skeptical and think the man’s out to get you. She likes you. End of story.”

  I sighed. “Fine.” I realized my hair and the collar of my shirt were damp. I pulled the ice pack away and inspected it. Cold water dribbled down my hand and dripped off my wrist. I tossed the ice pack into the sink.

  “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads-up about Jerome.” I grabbed a fresh towel and dried my neck and hand. I tossed that towel in the sink too, then went and stretched out on the couch. Nickels jumped up and settled on my chest.

  “What do you want to do about it?”

  “Not sure yet. He wants us to give him the drugs.”

  “That’s dumb.”

  “Right? I’m going up to see Clive and Henry tomorrow. I’ll run it by them.”

  “Works for me. Let me know what they suggest.”

  “Will do. ’Night.”

  “’Night, man.”

  It wasn’t even midnight and I was exhausted. I petted the sleeping cat on my chest and closed my eyes. This dealing stuff was hard.

  *

  Clive’s farm was at the base of the Sierras. The freeway was basically a straight shot from Sacramento, but the last thirty miles gained almost two thousand feet in elevation. The moment I hit hills at the county line, the temperature started to drop. I rolled down the windows, opened the sunroof, and let the wind destroy my hairstyle. It was worth it to feel air movement that wasn’t hot.

  Just past Placerville, the freeway narrowed to two lanes and stopped resembling a freeway. Massive pines lined the road, miniature neighborhoods spit their traffic directly onto the highway with little more than a stop sign, and fruit stands were erected in precarious turnoffs. Through gaps in the trees, I could see the vibrant green of the apple orchards. Some trees boasted early, reddening apples. Others held fast to their dying pink blossoms.

  The sign for Braddock Farm popped up a quarter mile before the nearly invisible turn. Another mile off the freeway, the road curved sharply and ascended. Our fruit stand at the entrance to the farm was open. The teenager inside perked up when they saw my SUV, but settled for a friendly wave when they realized I wasn’t stopping.

  I parked by the house, just out of view of the road. Henry’s Mustang was already parked. I grabbed the grocery bag out of the back and I let myself into the house.

  “Cash?” Clive called from the kitchen.

  “Hey.” I followed the rumble of their voices and found them sitting at the kitchen table. Clive jumped up to hug me, and I was reminded how much taller he was than me. The feeling should have faded sometime in my teen years, but it stuck. The familiarity of his broad shoulders and firm chest, the warmth that seemed to always radiate from him, those things were expected, but his height never stuck in my mind.

  I sat at the table and Clive set a cup of coffee in front of me. Even with the breeze from the windows, it was too warm for coffee, but I wrapped my hands around the mug and breathed deeply. Clive’s coffee couldn’t be duplicated. It was always rich and perfectly balanced. I’d tried imitating it, but I was pretty sure he used magic to brew it.

  Clive unpacked the growlers out of the grocery bag I’d brought. He read the tags tied on top with the descriptions, then put them in the fridge.

  “How was the drive?” Clive sat across from me and smiled. I smiled back. This was home.

  “Good. It’s too hot down the hill.”

  “You said there was some sort of issue?” Henry looked at me earnestly across his own cup of coffee.

  “Yeah, Jerome St. Maris.”

  “He’s the boy who sells street drugs?” Clive asked. I managed not to smile when he called Jerome “the boy.” Jerome was in his thirties. There was only a scant decade between them.

  I nodded. “He’s angry that Nate is selling Molly. Says it’s his territory.”

  “So we tell him to back off,” Henry said.

  “I did, but I don’t think he got the message.”

  “Wait, what is Molly?” Clive asked.

  “Ecstasy,” I said. Henry studied his coffee mug.

  Clive looked at me like I’d said heroin. “We don’t sell drugs like that.”

  “Hey, talk to Henry. He bullied me into it.”

  Clive looked back and forth between us. “He bullied you into it? You can’t make decisions for yourself?” Instead of yelling, his voice got lower and lower. “Are you in fifth grade? He bullied you?” Disappointment dripped from every question. “And, you.” He turned to Henry. “Why would you bring her ecstasy? You know we don’t do that sort of thing. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Henry and I were silent. I was really hoping that he might speak first, but no luck.

  “You’re right. I should have said no,” I said.

  “Yeah, I shouldn’t have taken ecstasy from the evidence locker. It’s just so popular right now.” It seemed like Henry was only saying what he thought Clive wanted to hear. Which was fine with me. If Clive could shame him into behaving, more power to him.

  Clive shook his head. “Tell me exactly what happened with Jerome and what you think we should do about it.”

  “I was on a date—”

  Clive looked up sharply and grinned. “We are discussing that later.”

  “Is this the same girl?” Henry asked.

  “Henry knew you were dating?” Clive looked hurt.

  “We’ve only been out a few times. You’ll like her though.”

  Clive nodded. “If you like her, I’m sure I will.”

  “So I was out with Laurel and I went into the bar to get us fresh drinks. Jerome showed up and strong-armed me into talking to him.” Clive’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. “He said he knew Nate was dealing Molly and asked if prescriptions were fair game. I said no, it was a onetime thing. He suggested that we should have given him the ecstasy. I disagreed. He punched me.”

  “What?” Clive yelled.

  “In the stomach. No big deal. Then Laurel showed up. Jerome elbowed me.” I pointed at the faint bruise on my jaw. “Laurel punched him. We left.”

  “This is a lot of information.” Clive spread his hands on the table and studied them. Then he looked up at me. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “And tell you what? Hey, come beat up this boy who was mean to me?” I laughed. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

  “I know you can take care of yourself. I just would like to be kept in the loop. That’s all.”

  “Can we go back to your girl punching Jerome?” Henry waggled his eyebrows. “’Cause that’s kind of hot.”

  “She’s not my girl,” I said. “But it was super hot.” I grinned. Henry laughed.

  “Are you two finished?” Clive asked. I sighed. Henry nodded. “How would you like to handle this?”

  I shot a look at Henry. He wasn’t going to like my suggestion. “I think Nate and I should meet with Jerome and offer to sell him the leftover stock at a very reasonable price.” Henry made a dissatisfied noise. “We make it clear that there’s no more and we won’t step on his toes again. It’s a show of good faith.”

  “Okay. That seems workable to me,” Clive said.

  Henry groaned. “But X is such a good investment right now.”

  “So is blow, but we don’t deal certain drugs.” Which is what I should have told him initially. I hated that I felt more comfortable standing up to him with Clive acting as mediator.

  “You know that. Don’t play around.” Clive pointed at Henry.

  “But, Clive—”

  �
�Henry Brewer, do not make me have this conversation again. We have been over it too many times,” Clive said.

  “Fine.” Henry wasn’t cute when he pouted.

  “Good.” Clive nodded once. “Now, tell me about your new friend.”

  *

  I followed Clive through the newest section of greenhouse. When I’d visited last, the pallets held paper cups filled with soil. Now, hopeful leaves spread over the edges of the cups, a wash of delicate green.

  “Through here. I’ve got a surprise for you.” Clive waved me ahead of him to a low table of seedlings.

  “What is it?”

  “Guess.” He seemed very exited.

  I looked at the plants, which looked identical to the million other seedlings we had just passed. The leaves were vaguely heart shaped, uniform green.

  “You know I’m terrible at this game.”

  Clive shook his head. “Cucumbers.”

  “Shut up. You’re growing pickles for me?”

  “I’m growing cucumbers.”

  “That’s what I said. Pickles.” I shrugged as if he was missing the point.

  Clive sighed. “Yes, I’m growing pickles for you. Shelby is already experimenting with recipes.”

  “Does this mean I get to sample pickles?”

  “You are very strange.”

  “Says the man who reads poetry to plants.”

  “I don’t need to justify my methods to you.” Clive tilted up his chin. I laughed. “Come on. Shelby offered to put out lunch for us. To go with your variety of pickles.”

  I led the way back out to the private patio behind the house. Through the trees, we were afforded a view of the valley and rolling foothills. I caught sight of Clive’s farm manager. Shelby was wearing slightly baggy, artfully torn jeans. The pants were cuffed to boot level, but the boots must have been lost between her car and the patio because she was barefoot. Her long, blond curls tangled in the breeze. When she saw us walking toward her she jumped a little and waved excitedly.

  “Cash,” Shelby shouted. “Where were you? The greenhouse? Did Clive show you the new plants? He told you about the pickles. Right?” She hugged me, didn’t notice or didn’t care when I didn’t hug her back. She kissed me, didn’t notice or didn’t care when I didn’t kiss her back. “He showed you the pickles. You better be excited because I had to work my ass off to convince him.” She squeezed my arm, then dragged me to the table. “I’m working on two varieties to start with. Dill, obviously. And a hot variety. I’ve got one version with habanero that you’re going to love. Oh, my God, it’s so good to see you.” She hugged me again.

  I looked over at Clive, who had stopped walking. He was shaking with silent laughter as he watched Shelby.

  “Hi, Shelby,” I said.

  “Oh no. I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. You’re excited. About life. I love that you’re so excited about life.”

  Shelby rolled her eyes, tossed the curls out of her face, and continued with her excitement. I wasn’t even sure I needed to be there as a recipient of the excitement.

  “I’m using dill and garlic from the herb garden, obviously. But I’ve worked out a trade with a vendor at Apple Hill to get the rest of the pickling spices. He blends his spices and they are just exquisite. And, oh, my God, he’s dreamy.” Shelby forced me to sit at the patio table. The entire surface was covered in bite-sized food. Baguettes and cheese. Olives. Cold sausage on a marble slab. She proceeded to hand me various foods. Chewing slowed me down, but not Shelby. “If we start selling pickles, I’ll put his name on the label, you know? But right now he is giving them to us at cost.”

  “Shelby,” I interrupted.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m pouring a beer.” I stood to go in the house. “You sit.” She did. “Clive, you want a beer?”

  “Yeah, let’s do the amber ale you brought.” Clive slid into a chair next to Shelby. “Shelby, you want one too?” She nodded emphatically.

  I stopped myself from asking if she was legal. But I still had to think about it. Her birthday was in spring, which meant she was twenty-one now. Not that it really mattered, but I didn’t want to deal with telling her parents that I was the one who let her drink. They were lovely people with a misguided impression of me. They actually thought I was a good person. I wanted to live that lie just a little bit.

  I brought three glasses and the growler with amber out to the patio. Shelby started to stand, but I waved her back down. She waited patiently while I poured. I handed her the first glass, but she gave it to Clive. So polite.

  “Okay, now that we’re civilized, pickle me.”

  Shelby giggled and handed me a small cutting board with sliced pickles. “These are the dills. The hot ones aren’t ready yet. You can try those next time. I did two varieties of the dill, so tell me which you prefer.”

  “What’s the difference?” I asked.

  “The darker one has more vinegar in the brine and the spice blend is more balanced. And this one has a more even blend of salt and vinegar. I doubled the dill because the sprigs look so nice in the jar. See?” She held up a very lovely jar of pickles.

  “Gorgeous.” I tried that one first. It was salty and biting in all the right ways. The garlic rounded out the vinegar with a little kick. “Holy shit. That’s amazing. You guys try.”

  Clive took one of the slices and popped it in his mouth. “Very nice.”

  “Yes, I win at pickles,” Shelby said.

  I ate another slice. “Good bite. And I like the hint of peppercorn. That is peppercorn, right?” I inspected the jar.

  “Yeah. Peppercorn. Oh, I’m so glad you like it. Okay, try the other one.”

  Clive and I each took a slice of the other dill. As soon as I crunched down, I knew I’d made a horrible mistake. My eyes started to water, and I was very aware of the air moving in and out of my nose. Clive’s face reflected my horror. “It’s so good, Shelby. Try one.” I held out the cutting board. Clive turned away so she couldn’t see his expression.

  “Thanks.” She took a bite, then looked at me like I’d kicked her puppy. She swallowed loudly. “My God. This is what sin tastes like. Why would you let me eat that?” She took deep breaths through her mouth.

  Clive started to laugh which made him cough. “To be fair, you made us eat it first.” He took a sip of beer. “That helps. It kills the vinegar just a little bit.”

  Shelby and I each took a long drink.

  “So, the first one?” Shelby asked.

  “Unless you want to kill someone,” I said.

  “Shut up.” Shelby handed me a slice of baguette with creamy herbed cheese. “Try this.”

  “You’re not making cheese now too?” I was skeptical.

  “No. I’ll stick with brining, thank you. I traded with the woman who makes cheese at that little farm outside Camino. She wanted produce; I wanted cheese.”

  “I told you she’s bringing the barter system back, right?” Clive asked.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know she would be so sincere about it.”

  “Sure. Mock now. You haven’t tried the cheese yet.” Shelby gave me a look so I took a bite. I tried to tamp down my Shelby-like excitement. “Well?” she asked.

  “You might be on to something with this barter thing.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  After a long debate, Nate and I decided to arrive at the coffee shop early. He had suggested that we arrive late to show that we were in control, but then we realized that we were definitely not in control. Jerome arrived on time. We waited while he ordered a pink iced tea, poured a pre-diabetic’s worth of sugar in it, then finally joined us. Our table was outside. No one else was dumb enough to sit outside in the heat, so we had relative privacy.

  “What do you want to talk about?” Jerome slurped his tea.

  “We’re sorry,” I said.

  “All right.”

  “As a show of good faith, we want to sell you the remaining X. It’s yours,” I said.r />
  “How do I know it’s any good?”

  “Come on. I know you’ve asked around. It’s awesome,” Nate said.

  “What if I don’t want to buy it?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll flush it.”

  Jerome looked at me skeptically. “You’ll flush it? What, you only got half a pill left?”

  “No.” I set a paper bag on the table.

  Jerome opened the bag, dug around in it. “There’s a grand worth of X in here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you expect me to believe you’ll flush it?”

  “It’s a peace offering, not a measure of trust.”

  Jerome grinned. He liked that response. “How much you want for it?”

  “Eight hundred.” I was being downright charitable.

  “Five hundred and I promise not to poach on your customers,” Jerome said.

  “Eight hundred. I’m knocking off two for the promise. It’s not worth much.” We were drug dealers. We had a modicum of honor, but most of our loyalty was tied up in opiates.

  “And your promise is worth something? I’m not the one who moved in on someone else’s territory. I’ll give you six.”

  “Seven. I’m basically giving you free drugs.”

  “You know, last week a narc approached me in a bar in Davis.” Jerome played with his straw and gave me a look that bordered on coy.

  “Huh. You don’t say. Was that the same night you followed me into a bar and threatened me?” I asked. Jerome wasn’t the only one who could feign demure.

  “Six fifty.”

  “Deal.” I held out my hand. Jerome shook it. Nate gave me a look, but kept his mouth shut.

  “Follow me out to my car.” Jerome nodded to the silver Cadillac parked on the street.

  Nate and I stood and let Jerome lead us to the street. He popped the trunk. We stayed back a respectful distance until he nodded me forward. Jerome handed me a wad of cash. I unfolded it and started counting.

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “I thought we had already decided that we don’t trust each other,” I said. I finished counting. It was all there. I gave him the bag of ecstasy. “Pleasure doing business with you.”