Stuff Dreams Are Made Of (17 page)

“Skip, I know what it’s like to be followed. I’ve had several stalkers in my life.”

I thought about that for a moment.

“You know, you almost get used to it. Some guys think it’s their right to stalk a blond with a good figure. It happened in high school, it happened in college, and it happens now. It gets
old, but I know when I’m being followed. I’ve been stared at, gawked at, ogled, and stalked. I know what it feels like, and I’m telling you with a great degree of certainty that I was being followed. No question about it, okay?”

I was working with the idea that other guys stalked her. How could I relate? “Because of us?”

“Two guys in their thirties, one black, one white.”

“What does it mean? You think they’re after you? Predators? They want to kidnap you?” I couldn’t bring myself to say the rest of what I wondered.

“Could be. But I think it has something to do with you and James.”

“So what do we do?”

“I don’t know. I really wasn’t going to tell you about it. But I do have the license number.”

“Damn. You come back, and the first thing that happens is I involve you in —”

“In what? You don’t even know what you’re involved in.”

I glanced over at the truck and James was watching us. The light from the sky had faded and he and Styles were standing by the truck, smoking cigarettes and apparently waiting for me to join them.

“So what are you, what are
we
going to do tonight?”

“Help Daron.” I didn’t want to tell her the rest.

“Help Daron what?” She knew something bad was coming. I could tell by the tone of her voice.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I never do. However, it seems we’ve piqued someone’s curiosity.”

“Piqued?”

“I’d like to know why someone is following me. And I’d like to know why someone is threatening you.”

“Well, we’ve got a plan.”

She was getting impatient. “Skip, what is it?”

“Break into Cashdollar’s office, go through Thomas LeRoy’s computer, his files, and see if we can find any evidence.”

“Jesus, Skip. You have lost your mind.”

“We’re not going to ‘break in.’ I mean, if we did breaking and entering, we’d do prison time.” Styles tugged on the brim of his hat, finally pushing it back on his head. It seemed to me that the hat was an extension of his personality, whatever personality he had.

“I believe you either said that or certainly insinuated it.” Making me look like an idiot in front of Em. To be fair, she already knew that.

“Listen, I understand what goes on back there. Usually, the security guy walks from midnight till maybe twelve thirty. That’s it. He doesn’t expect any trouble, he doesn’t get any trouble. I would guess that the security man on the rev’s office has never once — never once in all the time he’s been doing this revival meeting — had to deal with someone who tried to break into the trailer. No money is kept in there. That’s all taken to the bank and night deposited.”

“So what are you saying?” James tapped his cigarette, knocking off the ash. I wished I had something to smoke, but Em frowned on it.

We all stopped talking as three people walked up the path, talking in low voices, and smoking cigarettes. A female voice laughed out loud, and when they passed, Daron responded.

“Whoever is patrolling parades back and forth in front of the office for half an hour, then goes into the trailer, stretches out on the office sofa, and spends the rest of the night sleeping. The appearance is of tight security, but whoever is in charge just crashes, leaves the door unlocked. It only locks with the padlock from the outside.”

“You’re kidding.” I couldn’t believe things were that lax.

“I’m sure it hasn’t changed since the last time I was here.”

“So you’re suggesting —”

“That we wait until he’s asleep, and we go in and see what we can find.”

I studied him in the dim light. He was serious. “So, that’s not a crime that will put us in prison?”

“Skipper, if the door is open, I consider it an invitation. If someone wakes up while we’re there, we leave. Tell him we were looking for Thomas LeRoy. Tell him we were looking for a rent receipt.”

“On LeRoy’s computer?”

“It makes no difference. Here’s a better idea. Have five hundred bucks on you and tell him you were going to drop it off on the desk for tomorrow’s payment. Hell, he can’t get mad if you were going to give them money.”

He had a point.

Em rolled her eyes. “Boys, you could go to jail for what you’re doing.”

“Could.” Daron smiled at her from under the brim of the hat. “Won’t.”

I realized I was dealing with a guy who walked out of airports with other people’s stuff. Under the eye of Homeland Security, the airport cops, the TSA, and probably two or three
other security companies I don’t even know about. If anyone knew how to get away with shit, Daron Styles was the guy.

“I’m going down to play cards.” James dropped the cigarette on the gravel and ground out the hot tobacco with the heel of his shoe. “You guys can handle the rev’s trailer.”

Was everyone crazy except Em and me?

“Skip? You okay with this?”

“No.”

“We’ll get it done. Look at the big picture, amigo.”

“You’ve got money?” I thought I remembered giving him a stake. I still thought they would hand him his ass tonight, but there was no way to convince him. The game was fixed. I was sure of it.

“I’ve got enough, pard. I’ll come back with another five hundred.”

Daron shook his head. “They control the game, James.”

“Last night, I was hot.”

“You only win if they want you to.”

“Bullshit.”

Daron seemed to bristle. “Well, you live your fantasy. I’ve been in their games, and the full-timers don’t ever let you win unless they want you to. Stan does some pretty impressive card tricks.”

For the first time in my life I was impressed with Daron Styles.

James just smiled, flipped him the bird, turned, and walked down the path, whistling some tune. Whistling in the dark. The phrase was never more appropriate.

I wanted to say, “he’s always right.” But I didn’t. The truth is James thinks he’s invincible most of the time. And most of the time he is.

“It’s about ten thirty, Skipper. We’ve got a couple of hours to kill.”

I saw Em smile. I’m sure she was amused that Styles was calling me Skipper.

“So you think we can just walk into this trailer, and —”

“If we want to get a look at what’s inside, that’s the way to do it”

Em was tapping her fingers on the truck bed. An irritating rhythm.

“Just how are you going to break into this computer? On top of having someone with a gun inside the trailer, it seems highly likely that there’s a code or password to get into the information you want.”

She leaned in like she was trying to read his eyes, which were hidden under the narrow brim of his strange little hat.

“I’ve got it all worked out, little lady.”

She didn’t like that. I could tell by the steam coming from her ears. I don’t think she liked the arrogance or the little lady quip. My turn to smile.

“How’s that?”

He gave her a hard look. “I know the code. Took me a while, but I figured it out.”

“You’ve done this before. What are you —”

“Skipper, I think it’s important we get this information. Now if you don’t want to know what’s going on, I won’t do it. If you want to find out, then just let me do my thing.”

This guy was as cool and confident as anyone I’d ever met. And everything he did was illegal, immoral, and risky as hell. I was almost starting to see what James admired about him.

“What if we get caught? You haven’t addressed that.”

Styles reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out one of those little brown cigars. He took his time lighting it with a match.

“If we get caught, we cover.”

And, as I pointed out, Daron Styles knew how to cover.
He’d been covering ever since I knew him. I pointed to Em.

“Tell him about the car.”

“No. It’s silly.”

“You didn’t think so a couple of minutes ago.”

“What car?” Styles asked.

She shrugged. “Someone’s following me.”

“In a Cadillac.”

“Does that have to do with this situation?”

Styles leaned up against the truck, flicking his cigarette butt into the dark.

“It didn’t happen until I saw Skip this morning.”

“You didn’t recognize anyone?”

“No. I got the license.”

“Give it to me.”

She reached into her pocket and handed him a piece of paper. Without saying a word, Styles walked around the truck and I lost sight of him in a few seconds.

“What good is that going to do?” She looked up at me.

“I just think that everyone needs to put their cards on the table.”

“Speaking of which, is James going to be all right by himself?”

“I’m sure he will be. There are six other guys down there. And when did you start worrying about James?”

“Skip, you told me there was a note that may have threatened your lives.”

“I know. But I don’t really think there’s anything to it. It’s a long way from shooting out someone’s tires to killing someone.”

She sat down on the wooden bench between the donut wagon and our truck. We didn’t speak for a couple of minutes. Then, as quietly as he’d left, Styles reappeared, folding his cell phone and holstering it to his belt.

“FBI.” He sat next to Em on the bench.

“What?”

“It’s an FBI car.”

“Em’s car?”

“The car that’s following her.”

“Daron, why the hell is an FBI car following Em?”

“I have no idea. A guess, maybe. And I’m not supposed to know it’s them, but there’s no question about it. It’s the FBI.”

“As in the Federal Bureau of Investigation?” I wasn’t sure that this made any sense.

“What do I have to do to convince you?”

Em spoke up. “Tell us why the FBI would follow me.”

“I can only guess.”

“Guess.” I stared at him, tired of his games.

Styles pulled the hat down and peered out from under the brim.

“Three years ago, somebody gunned down a senator in Washington, D.C.”

“We’ve been over that. Fred Long from Nebraska. Walking to a favorite lunch spot and somebody shot him. What does that have to do with Em?”

“Killing a senator constitutes a federal crime.”

“And?” We almost said it together.

“It’s federal, brother. That means the government gets involved. The FBI has jurisdiction and they’ve been watching this sideshow ever since.”

Em looked at me for clarification.

“I told you, Em, there were rumors that Cashdollar was behind the killing of Fred Long.”

Styles nodded. He was almost a shadow in the dark, but I could see his head bob up and down. “The FBI thinks it’s more than a rumor.”

“But,” Em sounded totally confused, “why me? I’ve been gone for three months. I just got back.”

“This shooting was three years ago.” I waited for Styles to reply.

“It makes no sense.” She sounded mad.

“Hey,” Daron raised his voice. “You said guess. I’m guessing, okay?”

“Go ahead.” I didn’t want to stop him. Actually, some of what he was saying made sense.

“The Feds have been watching the rev’s tent meetings for all this time. For three years. There were even some rumors that the FBI had planted an informant or two with the traveling troupe. The government thinks that the rev’s rant on the senator was responsible for the murder. When I was here, selling my religious artifacts, there were subtle intrusions.”

“Intrusions?” It was obvious Styles loved word games.

“Intrusions. The FBI kept monitoring the events. They’d occasionally send agents to record the services, interview people like Thomas LeRoy, stuff like that. It was pretty quiet, unobtrusive. But I think most of the people associated with this carnival know that they haven’t given up. And, the FBI thinks that everyone who is new to this camp — this freak show — might be a link to the murder.”

“New to the camp? Why wouldn’t they look into all the old-timers? After all, this happened a while back.”

“I think they’re watching the old-timers, too. But if you’re new, they’re definitely interested in you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Conspiracy stuff. Like maybe you worked on the outside, now you’re working on the inside. Who knows what goes through the little brains these guys have? All I know is that the FBI watches anyone who works for the rev. I’m not guessing. That I know.”

I studied his face in the fading light. I never knew how much to believe.

“Okay, but what about the shooting this morning? Somebody taking shots at Barry Romans? Explain that.”

“Explain what?”

“That wouldn’t be a federal crime.”

“Doesn’t matter now.”

“Of course it matters.”

Styles lit another brown cigar, the flame from his match dancing in the dark.

“Anything that might lead back to the senator’s death is fair game.”

“So the FBI can investigate anything they want to?”

“Son, they are the FBI.”

“But why me?” Em looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders.

“Probably just curious. And you two were right near the shooting.”

All this time I’d been thinking about Crayer being near the shooting. Em and I were there too. And Styles was telling me that a federal bureau was following my girlfriend because we had breakfast this morning? Or because I was new to the traveling freak show? Or maybe because she’d come back to town? It was too cryptic for me.

“My God, Daron,” I was in awe of the situation we might be finding ourselves in, “you’re telling me that it’s possible I got Em roped into this because we are doing a three-day tent meeting? Selling burgers and brats is reason for the Federal Government to put a tail on us?”

“Friend,” Daron stood up from the bench, “you asked me to guess.”

“With some degree of certainy.” Em spoke up.

“I have no degree of anything.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

“All right,” I urged him on. “You sound like you know one helluva lot about this for a guy who just spent one three-day meeting with these guys.”