How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back Read online

  He’s expecting me, I reminded myself. He wasn’t stupid enough to have Carol Ann here when he knew I was coming by. Randy might be totally fine with watching two women fight in a bar, but he didn’t like a lot of drama in his own place.

  I climbed the three steps and knocked. He opened the door a few seconds later and peered at me through the screen. “What happened to you?”

  “Car trouble,” I said, keeping my eyes on his face so that I wouldn’t have to look down and see the oh-so-sexy view of his old, dingy tighty-whities—the only clothing he had on at the moment. And, knowing Randy, I couldn’t even chalk it up to some sort of sad attempt at a come on. It was completely normal for him to come home and strip down to underwear.

  He pushed open the screen door. “C’mon in and get cleaned up.”

  “Thanks.” I stepped in and took a look around. Not much had changed in the year since I’d last been here. The game system had been upgraded, and the recliner looked brand new, but the rest was as familiar as home. The smell of pot and cigarettes and bacon grease hung in the air. A bong sat on the TV stand beside the big screen, and the remnants of a couple of joints lay in the ashtray on the coffee table. “I just need a wet washcloth,” I told him, looking down at my jeans and shirt—both wet and muddy from lying in the marsh. “Not sure how much good it’ll do, but worth a try.”

  “Sure thing.” He stepped to the kitchen, pulled a washcloth from a drawer and wet it, then wrung it out and handed it to me. “Where’s your car?” he asked as I started wiping the mud off my knees. “Stuck or broke down?”

  “Um, well my car is parked down the street from Top Cow because I couldn’t get it to start earlier today.” I worked at cleaning off the worst of the gunk but gave up on getting the ground in stuff. “I was in a different car tonight that sort of got stuck.” Sighing, I swiped at my shirt. “It’s kind of why I wanted to talk to you. I need to borrow a car.”

  Randy didn’t have any education past high school, but he wasn’t stupid. “You mean that’s what you came to Pillar’s for?” Hurt flickered across his face. “To get a car from me?”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. Crap. Now I felt like a heel. “I’m sorry for misleading you. A couple of friends of mine are in some really deep trouble, and I, uh, need a car that can’t be traced to me.” I met his eyes. “I know we didn’t break up on the best of terms, but I . . . I hope you don’t still hate me.”

  He reached for a pack of cigarettes. “Well, ain’t that some shit.”

  Grimacing, I rinsed out the washcloth then set it on the counter. “I’m sorry. If you want me to go, I will.”

  Randy lit the cigarette, took a drag from it. “Who are these friends of yours? And what kind of trouble?”

  “Not sure you’d believe me if I told you.”

  He picked a stained coffee cup off the counter and tapped ash into it. “Why don’t you try me.”

  I remained still for a moment while I ran down my options, possible lies, what portions of the truth I could tell. In a weird way I missed the simplicity of my old life. No big secrets that could destroy other people’s lives. Simple goals.

  More like no goals, I reminded myself. Wanting more out of life was hard work but worth it. “You can’t tell anyone,” I finally said.

  His brows drew together. “Shit. What kind of trouble you got yourself into?”

  “Swear to me you won’t repeat anything I tell you tonight,” I said. “I mean not one fucking word to anyone. I’m not exaggerating when I say my life depends on it.”

  He took a pull off the cigarette then held it out for me. “You know I can keep my mouth shut.”

  I took the cig and thought about that for a few seconds. Despite his many other faults, he wasn’t one to blab secrets.

  Well, this would be interesting. I took a drag, not even minding that it would use up brains. “Okay. So, I have this medical condition, and I have to take a certain kind of supplement about once a week or I get really messed up,” I began. “Problem is that this supplement is illegal, but there’s an organization of people who all need this same kind of supplement, and we all work together to get it. But there’s also this big corporation who wants to control it and study what it does to us, because some of the stuff about this certain medical condition is kind of good, as long as we get the supplement. I mean, like, we don’t really get sick the usual way anymore.” God this was all kinds of fucked up, but I was in too deep to stop now. Taking a deep breath, I plowed on. “And now the big corporation has kidnapped the head of our, um, group, as well as the main scientist who studies this medical condition. And if we don’t get them back we’re all pretty much fucked.” I took another drag and handed it back to him.

  “Damn.” He took the cig, frowned. “You know that sounds crazy, right?”

  I gave him a crooked smile. “I toldja you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Funny thing is, it’s too crazy to be made up.” The frown stayed on his face. “You know I’m not one for calling the cops, but kidnapping sounds like a big deal.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s that whole illegal supplement part of it,” I pointed out. “If we call the cops, these guys are in even bigger trouble.” Cripes, it sounded like I was working with a cartel. Then again, in some ways I was. Just not the kind of drugs Randy expected.

  “Makes sense.” He put the cigarette to his lips, then lowered it. He looked suspiciously at it and then to me. “How do I know I haven’t caught this shit from you?”

  “Doesn’t work that way,” I told him. “Promise. I mean, it’s not contagious just by being around someone or fucking them. It’s pretty rare.”

  Apparently satisfied, he sucked on the cigarette then headed to the hallway. “Y’know, since you’re done with that cop, it’d be all right if you hung out here again some.” He stopped in front of the dryer, picked a t-shirt and a pair of shorts out of the pile atop it and tugged them on.

  I couldn’t keep the slight smile off my face. “I appreciate the offer. I’m gonna try being single for a while though. I really haven’t been since I was a teenager.”

  He didn’t respond to that, simply walked back to the living room and tamped the cig out in the ashtray on the coffee table. “Let’s go find you a car.” He dug a ring of keys out of the sofa cushions then headed out the door. I followed, relieved.

  He paused to flick a switch at the end of his trailer then continued on. A floodlight above the garage flared on, drowning out the yellow of the bug light. Faded brown paint peeled on the big sliding door.

  “What kinda car you need?” he asked over his shoulder as he fiddled with the lock on the garage door.

  “I need something big enough for four people, that can get us to . . . Chicago.” I caught myself barely in time from giving away our real destination. I trusted Randy, but there were limits to every trust.

  He wheeled around, surprise and worry on his face. “Goddamn, Angel. What the hell you gonna do with yourself in a city like that?”

  The worry I’d been holding back finally rose up in a smothering wave. “I dunno,” I said, slumping. “Stick close to the people I’m with, I guess. Jesus, Randy, I’m scared out of my fucking mind.” I could talk to him about this, I realized. “I’ve never been that far from home before. New Orleans is the biggest city I’ve ever been to, which isn’t saying a whole lot.”

  He slid the garage door open with a screech of tired metal. “These people you’re with, they got your back?”

  “Yeah, they do,” I said without hesitation. “They’re totally cool.” But then I sighed. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be though. They pretty much have to bring me along because of another guy’s, er, health condition.” I shook my head. “Hard to explain, but I definitely feel like a fifth wheel.” I tried to laugh it off, but it came out weak and humorless.

  Randy turned to face me. “You’ll be okay, Angel,” he said with utt
er conviction. “You always are.” One side of his mouth kicked up in a smile. “Just take some of that good ol’ Louisiana coonass mojo with you, and those city folk won’t know what hit ’em.” He pivoted and flicked a light on inside the garage, while I stood there gaping at the completely unexpected show of support.

  “This one ain’t pretty but it runs good,” he continued as he pulled a cloth off a dark green Ford Taurus sedan with a long dented scrape down the driver’s side. “Rebuilt engine and new tranny. It’ll get you up north.”

  I quickly wiped my eyes before he could see my sniveling, then stepped up to examine the car. “That’s perfect.” I slanted a quick look at him. “It’s not hot, is it?”

  “Nah. This one’s cool. You won’t get in trouble driving it.” His eyes ducked away, obviously remembering the time I drove a car that wasn’t cool, thanks to him, and got busted for possession of stolen property. “Guy gave it to me couple months ago in exchange for work I did on his truck and other car. Wasn’t nothing but a piece of scrap to him. It’s legit. Promise. I was gonna get it painted and then sell it.” He unwound a key off the ring and handed it to me.

  “It might be at least a week before I get it back to you,” I said as I took it.

  His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It was just gonna be sitting out here anyway.”

  I held the key tightly in my hand and gave him a smile. “Randy, thanks for not holding a grudge against me.”

  “We had some good times.” He shrugged again.

  He missed me, I realized. He didn’t know how to say it, but there it was. And I missed him too, in a weird way. Not in a let’s-get-back-together kind of way. At all. No way. But it was silly to think I could simply turn off a whole chapter of my life and stick it in a drawer to never even think of it again. For better or for worse, my time with him helped make me who I was.

  And, even though I knew getting back together with him was impossible on any number of levels, I found myself missing some of the closeness we’d shared. Hell, date someone for four years and you fucking get to know them.

  “Yeah, we did have some good times.” I shoved the key into my pocket, then didn’t know what to do or say.

  “I guess this is it.” He shifted his weight. “You wanna take a few joints for the road?”

  I hesitated. “Can’t. Sorry. My condition gets a lot worse if I do stuff like that.” It was a flat-out lie. Pot burned up less brains than cigarettes, but that wasn’t the goddamn point. Thanks to my parasite keeping my system squeaky clean, I could smoke a whole joint and not get even the teensiest hint of a high. Truth was, I didn’t want the joints around because they’d only remind me of how fucked up I used to be. Besides, what was the point of having them if they didn’t do shit?

  “Damn. That sucks,” he said, making an appropriately sympathetic face.

  “I’m used to it.” I knew I needed to leave, but I couldn’t let go of the sense that we had unfinished business between us. Being with him had been a seriously unhealthy rut for me. It bugged me that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—get out of the rut as well. “Hey, I passed my GED a couple weeks ago,” I blurted. “Finally got that high school diploma.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” A slow smile touched his mouth. “Never seemed you gave a shit about that.”

  “I didn’t give a shit about anything.” I shook my head. “I didn’t see any reason to. I mean, my life was a fuckup from top to bottom.” I dragged a hand through my hair. “It’s weird but getting, um, sick was what finally made me realize I could do more with my life.”

  “You sure look good,” Randy said, voice warm. “Don’t look sick at all.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but you don’t want to see me if I haven’t had the supplement in a while.” I glanced at my watch, surprised at how late it was. “Shit. I gotta go. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” He lifted a hand to my cheek, stroked his thumb over it, then let his hand drop. “Guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

  I stepped forward and gave him a light kiss. He tasted like beer and nicotine, smelled faintly of motor oil and whatever cologne he’d worn to the bar. Familiar and oddly pleasant.

  He returned it just as lightly, then I turned away, got into the car, and left.

  The others stepped out of the woods as I left the gravel of Randy’s driveway. I gave up the driver’s seat to Kyle then joined Naomi in the back.

  “Took a long time,” Philip said as he took shotgun.

  “I hadn’t seen him in almost a year,” I replied. “I couldn’t exactly say, ‘Hey, gimme a car. ’Kay, thanks, bye!’”

  Naomi looked over at me, a frown line between her eyebrows. “He didn’t try anything, did he?”

  “Nah, he was cool,” I said, and shrugged. “We talked a bit, that’s all.”

  “You okay?” she asked, lowering her voice. “You don’t exactly look okay.”

  “It was weird seeing him again,” I confessed.

  She sat back. “I’ve never been in that situation.”

  I shot her a look of surprise. “Really? No exes?”

  “Pathetic, huh?”

  “Stop that,” I ordered. “It’s not pathetic. Hell, if it makes you feel any better, Randy’s my only ex.” Except as soon as I said it I remembered it wasn’t true. Nope, you got two exes now. I hadn’t told Naomi about Marcus yet. Everything had moved so quickly there’d been zero time to slow down and talk. Pour my heart out. Whine. Now wasn’t the time either, not in a crowded car when a hell of a lot more than my love life was at stake.

  “I also have half a decade on you,” she pointed out, but she had a bit of a smile now.

  “And last time I checked, it wasn’t a contest,” I shot back along with a light punch to her arm.

  She chuckled softly, then looked ahead at Kyle. “I’m not going to be trying to win the ex competition, that’s for sure.”

  I reached and gave her hand a squeeze. “Good plan. And I think you’re safe there.”

  “Damn straight.” She lifted her chin. “Okay, folks,” she said at a more normal volume, “let’s get the hell out of town.”

  Chapter 12

  I knew better than to ask if we could swing by my house so I could throw some stuff into a bag for the trip. Maybe I wasn’t a hotshit experienced operative like the other three, but I had enough brainpower to know the Tribe most likely had my house staked out. Of course, if I’d been a hotshit operative like the other three, I’d have had a jump bag packed like the others, and wouldn’t be silently trying to figure out how the hell I was going to buy basic toiletries and enough clothing for several days with the eighteen dollars and ninety-four cents I currently had in my purse.

  As stealthily as possible, I counted my money again, clinging to the stubborn hope that one of the bills would magically turn into a hundred dollar bill, or even a twenty. When that failed to happen, I quietly dug through my purse, searching every nook and cranny for cash.

  Crap. Eighteen dollars and ninety-four cents wasn’t going to get me very far. “I know y’all are going to say No,” I said, “but I need to hit an ATM. I won’t ask to do it again after this, I promise.”

  Kyle met my eyes in the rear view mirror. “Not a problem, Angel. We’re still close enough to Tucker Point that the location won’t give anything away.”

  Naomi turned to look at me, frowning slightly. “But you don’t need to. I can cover anything.”

  “I have money,” I replied, a bit defensively. “I don’t have much cash on me, that’s all. I need to get it out of the bank.”

  A hint of annoyance crept into her expression. “Okay, but we haven’t even been on the interstate five minutes.”

  “Which bank?” Kyle asked, not exactly ignoring Naomi, but not quite taking her comment under consideration either.

  “Lake Pearl Bank,” I said, avoiding Naomi’s eyes. “But any ATM�
��ll do.”

  Naomi gave Kyle a Seriously? look, then made a small frustrated noise in her throat and flopped back into her seat.

  What the hell was her issue? I didn’t think I was being obnoxious by insisting on paying my fair share, but I was so out of my depth I couldn’t be sure. Where was the line between being a moocher and accepting help?

  “There’s a BigShopMart about ten minutes ahead,” Kyle said, “You can use the ATM, and we can pick up a few supplies at the same time.”

  “Thanks,” I said, relieved, and even Naomi seemed somewhat mollified.

  We made it off the interstate and to the store without incident. The others headed off to shop while I stopped at the ATM.

  I stuck my card in and hit the button for express withdrawal of two hundred dollars, then stared at the “Insufficient funds available for this transaction” screen, which might as well have said “Haha! Fuck you, loser!”

  A second attempt for a hundred dollars got the same obnoxious screen. Baffled, I did a balance check—which I probably should’ve done in the first place, but I’d thought for sure I had close to three hundred dollars in my account. Sure, I’d paid some bills recently, but those checks had all cleared, hadn’t they?

  The slip of paper spat out at me like a tongue, with $13.42 listed as my balance.

  I crumpled the paper and flung it into the trash can, then grabbed a handheld shopping basket and stalked into the store. For a bizarre several seconds I felt like I was back in high school, trying to scrape out a way to buy clothing that didn’t suck, and knowing that the cool kids would snicker behind their hands at me. Hell, the uncool kids as well.