J. Fynn - The Long Game

“Okay,” Jimmy Boy said, gripping the door through the open window. “He’s coming down to have a look. All you need to do is give him a good story about why we’re selling this thing in such a hurry and at such a good price. Got it?”

I nodded. “So what’s the story?”

“I don’t know, but you better think of one quick,” Jimmy Boy said, wrenching the door open and pulling me along with it. “Because he’s coming.”

Panic began to well up in my throat, and I fought to keep my breath even. Don’t fuck this up, I reminded myself. This is your shot.

“You’ll be fine. Tell him you knocked up your girlfriend and need the money to help her with the baby.” Jimmy Boy chuckled when I scowled at him. “Whatever you tell him is fine as long as you make it sound good and convincing.”

I moved away from the truck and shut the door, then turned to see a heavy-set man plodding down the driveway. He had thin black hair that hung over his forehead in greasy strings. He reached us and ran a hand through it, extending the same hand to me. I hesitated a moment, then took it and gave it a quick shake, afterward surreptitiously wiping my palm on the leg of my jeans.

“So you’re the one selling the trailer, that right?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, though the words came out louder than I’d intended. I glanced at my brother who relaxed against the front of the truck with his arms crossed. He urged me on with a jerk of his head. “It’s a real wrench to give her up, especially for so much less than she’s worth, but it’s the only thing I have that I can get any money for. You know how the economy is. No one’s buying trailers these days.”

The man leaned back to have a better look at the travel trailer still hitched to the old truck. He narrowed his eyes and shifted his head from side to side. “Looks brand-new. Why you in such a hurry to sell it?”

I thought quickly. “My wife and I,” I said, slipping my empty left hand into the pocket of my jeans. “We’re expecting our first baby this winter, and you know how it goes. Kid’s costing me a fortune, and it ain’t even been born yet.”

The lie rolled off my tongue as easily as the thick twang I used to speak it. I glanced at Jimmy Boy, who flashed an amused grin before putting up a hand to hide it, pretending to scratch at the scruff on his jawline.

Feeling bolder, I pressed on. “You wouldn’t believe what doctors charge just to keep us waiting for an hour, and that’s a bargain compared to the price of this fancy baby carriage my wife wants. I’ll be broke in a month if I don’t pull in some more money soon.”

“That’s just awful,” the man said, though nothing in his tone indicated he actually felt sorry for me. He continued his appraisal of the trailer as he spoke. “So if you ain’t got money for the baby, where’d you get a trailer so state-of-the-art?”

From a scrapyard, I thought, though obviously I wouldn’t tell him that. In truth, the trailer was only worth the five to six hundred that had been put into making it appear as though it were worth thousands. This was why it was so important I made the sale quickly before the buyer decided to take a closer look.

“Wedding gift,” I said. “From my in-laws. They’ve got money and offered to help with the baby, but I don’t take charity.”

The man finally looked at me. I knew I had him on the hook, and now all I had to do was reel him in. “So, you get a good deal, and I get to buy my wife all the baby stuff she wants. It’s win-win.”

“Women, eh?” he said, and I grinned. Something had told me this particular buffer didn’t think much of the fairer sex, and I was glad to see I’d been right. “Well, son,” he went on, “it looks like she’ll be getting her over-priced buggy. Though if you were smart, you’d tell her I jewed you down some and pocket the difference.”

I forced a laugh as I took his greasy hand in mine again. We shook on the deal, and as soon as he handed me the money, I jumped in the truck and slammed the door, happy to be out of his company.

* * *

“Brother, you are slicker than owl shit.” Jimmy Boy shot me a look filled with both pride and wonder before returning his eyes to the road. “I thought you’d lost him at first, but he sure came around fast.”

“Yeah, well, imagine what I could do if you actually gave me a heads up before I made the sale.”

“It’s good practice for thinking on your feet. Quick thinking is a Traveler’s best asset.”

The first few notes of “Brown-Eyed Girl” came through the truck’s speakers. My hand shot out and turned it off almost as a reflex.

“What was that?” Jimmy Boy asked. “I thought you love Van Morrison.”

“I do.”

“Then why’d you turn it off?”

“The man had almost forty albums, but somehow ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’ is the only song anyone knows. It makes me sad.”

“Aww, how sensitive. You gonna cry about it?”

“Shut up.” I smacked the thick envelope in my palm, wanting to change the subject. “This is the biggest score we’ve brought in so far. How much you think Pop will let us keep? A thousand—maybe two?”

“I wouldn’t go making any big plans just yet. We weren’t much more than errand boys. We’ll be lucky if we get back the gas money we used getting down here and back.”

I made a faint noise of disgust at the back of my throat. “Seems like a waste if that’s the truth. I know it wasn’t our trailer, but we should get paid for our time at least.”

“You should be happy Pop trusted you to do this at all. You’re never satisfied, Shay, and that’s going to get you in trouble.”

I STOOD ON the postage-stamp-sized front deck of the trailer and stretched muscles that were stiff from another night spent in the foldout bed I’d outgrown years ago. The events in Terrebonne Parish had boosted my confidence. My indiscretion with Rosie hadn’t come back to bite me in the ass, and my reputation as a buffer was fading, too. My cousin, Pete, had already stopped by to congratulate me on a job well done, and he’d heard about my success straight from Pop Sheedy himself.

A ladybug landed on the front of my shirt. When I brushed it away, it took flight, heading northeast. I couldn’t help but think of Mary Sheedy’s confidence that her husband would be from Georgia, thanks to a ladybug that probably hadn’t made it past the woods before getting eaten by a bird. I chuckled to myself as I stepped off the porch and crossed to the picnic table.

The day promised to be a scorcher, and I made a mental note to sleep outside that night rather than in the stuffy confines of the tin can Maggie called a home. I straddled one of the benches and blew a sharp whistle through my teeth. Yeats padded over and slipped his head into my lap, patiently waiting for a scratch.

“Morning, boy.” I dug my fingers into the folds behind his ears. “Where’s Beckett?”

I’d named the dogs after discovering the Irish writers in a freshman English class. With their grizzled and scraggly appearance, the names seemed fitting. Yeats lifted his head and huffed, clearly annoyed he was once again tasked with finding his errant companion. I chuckled as he lumbered away and disappeared around the side of the trailer.

The sound of an approaching vehicle made me turn in my seat. A black car pulled up to the trailer, slowing to a stop in front of our blue pickup, which looked even older and shabbier next to the glittering Mercedes. All the doors opened, and Pop Sheedy hoisted himself out of the car with aid of the doorframe. He was soon followed by all four of his sons. Judd was the last to appear from the car, glowering as he emerged from the driver’s side. The age range of the Sheedy boys spanned almost two decades. Mike, named after his father and so referred to simply as “Sonny,” was the oldest at 38, but his plump face made him look only a few years older than his youngest brother. His young appearance was even more stark when he was next to his craggy wife, who thankfully wasn’t with him today. All four of them seemed to be cut from the same cloth, each hovering right around six feet tall, with broad shoulders; coal black hair; and the same wide-set, milky blue eyes.

Apprehension prickled at the back of my neck. Something had to be wrong. Maybe Pete had been exaggerating when he’d told me how happy Pop had been with my efforts the day before, or—worse yet—maybe a police officer had come around asking questions about my quick-change. Whatever it was, this unannounced visit could only be bad news because Pop Sheedy never came to you.

I stood in a show of respect to the clan leader who sauntered toward me at a painfully slow pace. The boys hung back a little, though they trailed after their father in an effort to get within earshot of the conversation. Probably looking forward to the reaming I was about to get, the bastards. They’d all decided to tag along to get a good laugh at the buffer.

I didn’t take my seat again until Pop had settled himself on the opposite side of the table.

“Morning.” I sat stiffly across from the old man. “I’m honored you decided to pay a visit. Can I get you anything? Maggie made a new batch of tea.”

I half-stood again as if I were about to go inside and put a kettle on. I was stalling, of course, trying to delay the inevitable.

“Sit down, Shay,” Pop said.

I slowly lowered myself back to the bench. “Pop, I think I know why you’re here, and I can explain.” It was a lie. I had no explanation because I had no idea what I’d done wrong. Still, it seemed like an apology was the best way to start.

“You don’t know why I’m here and have nothing to explain, so shut your trap and let me say what I’ve come here to say.” Pop’s eyes were full of cold appraisal.

“Yes, sir.” I dropped my eyes to the table and kept my mouth shut as instructed.

“This trailer of yours is a bit of an eye-sore,” Pop said after a moment. “It should’ve been demolished years ago. Why you continue to live in that when you’ve got a perfectly good house sitting right there I’ll never understand.”

I felt my cheeks burn. “You’d have to ask Maggie about that, sir. She’s pretty fixed on the old notion that sleeping under a real roof takes away your soul.”

Judd scoffed loudly. “It’s sad how some people are so stuck in the old ways,” he said to his brother Pat, in a voice intentionally loud enough to be overheard. Pat was four years Judd’s senior but could have easily passed for his twin if it weren’t for his left eye, which turned inward slightly so that it looked like he was constantly trying to examine his own nose.

Pat guffawed but was quickly silenced by his father’s sharp tone. “There’s nothing sad about it,” he said over his shoulder. “There’s a lot to be said about keeping to the old traditions. Now shut your gobs or wait in the car.”

My mouth twitched as I tried to repress a smile. I caught Judd’s angry glare and allowed the corner of my lips to turn up into a faint smirk, then dropped them just as quickly when Pop Sheedy turned back to me.

“So I suppose you’d like to know why I’ve stopped by,” Pop said.

“I’d be happy to know if there’s anything I can do for you, sir.” I laid it on thick as molasses.

The door of the trailer opened, and Jimmy Boy stepped out, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He stopped when he saw the gathering in his front yard, and for a second, it looked as if he might turn around and flee back into the safety of the trailer. Instead, he forced his feet down into the grass, taking a few hesitant steps toward the picnic table. He didn’t speak but crossed his arms over his chest, hovering behind me like hired muscle.

Pop Sheedy continued on without acknowledging my brother. “Then you’re in luck, Shay, because that’s exactly why I’m here. Sending you out with that trailer was a little test. An experiment, you might call it.”

I nodded to indicate I understood. I glanced at Pop’s sons, standing in a line behind their father just as Jimmy Boy stood behind me. It struck me that this meeting would present a pretty strange picture to anyone watching.

“And it proved exactly what I guessed it would, which is that you are an asset to this clan. I have a very special job, and you’re the only one who can pull it off.”

I’d been leaning forward, listening, but hearing this sent me reeling back several inches. “I’m honored, Pop. What did you have in mind?”

“I’m sending you up north to Pennsylvania. A place near Philadelphia called Balanova.”

“Balanova?” I’d never heard of the place. And I couldn’t think of a single person I knew who lived in Pennsylvania. “What’s in Balanova?”