The Grim Reaper's Dance

Casey gritted her teeth and climbed into the truck. Death stayed on the hood.

“So, you leave something in the semi?” Wendell turned the key, and the truck roared to life.

“Yes.”

“Figured you were in it when it got wrecked.” He turned out of the lot and made a point of looking at her clothes. “You must be the one who got away. News said you walked out of the ER.”

Casey jerked backward, her hand going to the door handle.

“Don’t worry,” Wendell said. “I figure you got your reasons for skipping out. I hate hospitals, myself. But are you sure you’re okay?”

Casey looked at the man, trying to figure out whether he was driving her to the junk yard, or making a bee- line to the police station. “I’m fine. This isn’t my blood.”

“The driver’s?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Poor guy. You know him?”

“Just a little.” She pulled Evan’s family photo from her pocket and held it out so Wendell could see. “That’s him and his ‘girls,’ as he called them.”

Wendell glanced at the picture. “They got a bad visit last night.”

Casey nodded, her throat tight, and studied the photo a bit more before sliding it back into her pocket. A rush of anger welled up in her chest and she glared at Death, who now lay sideways across the hood of the truck, whistling, as if ushering someone to the other side had no more meaning than assisting them across the street. If only Casey had been able to help Evan, or even been at his side when he died, instead of getting wrenched away by those men who had pulled her out of the cab.

Casey thought back to that moment. Who were those men at the crash site? They obviously weren’t cops, as they had disappeared as soon as the real law had arrived, and cops wouldn’t manhandle her the way that guy had when he’d frisked her. The men were looking for something. Something Evan had.

“You know,” Wendell said. “The police don’t know why those construction vehicles were on the road like that.”

“I’d assumed they weren’t supposed to be.”

“Yeah. They’ve been doing some work out on that stretch of highway, but the machines had been parked way to the side, since Sunday’s a day off. Somebody moved them. Don’t know why someone else hadn’t seen ’em or crashed into ’em before you folks. That may be a quiet road, but it’s not that quiet.”

So they’d been watching. They’d known where Evan was traveling and had picked a place to waylay him. From the first man’s attitude—Goddammit, Evan, don’t you dare die on me—they hadn’t wanted him to die. At least, not until they’d gotten their information, whatever it was. It just so happened it was raining, and a semi plus a slippery road didn’t make for good stopping.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Casey shuddered. “Yes, I’m all right.”

Death regarded Casey with amusement, obviously hearing just fine through the windshield.

“How far yet?” Casey was ready to be out of the truck.

“Just up here. See that pile of metal on the other side of the corn field?”

She couldn’t miss it. A stack of car parts, rusty barrels, broken railings, and appliances, reaching as high as a barn. Higher, maybe. Behind it sat more piles, and two crane-like machines, with magnetic pinchers. A metal fence surrounded the yard, enclosing the piles as well as two large pole barns and rows of junked vehicles.

Wendell pulled into the open gate, bypassed a truck scale, and pulled up next to a trailer with “Office” painted on the siding. “Here we are.”

Death had disappeared from the hood, and Casey slid out of the passenger side. A little dog came running from beneath the trailer, yipping and prancing around Casey’s feet. She looked down at it nervously, hoping it wouldn’t choose to make her ankles its breakfast.

“Davey!” Wendell hollered toward the trailer, then stepped up to the door, poking his head in. “Davey? Oh, there you are.” He backed off the cement step.

A man in yet another set of dark blue coveralls filled the doorway, a powdered donut in his hand. “Wendell! Awful early to see you today.”

“Yeah, well, I brought you a visitor.”

Davey turned his attention to Casey, not batting an eye at the state of her appearance. “You had breakfast? Got a dozen donuts here looking for a home.”

“No, thank you, I—”

The dog barked louder, jumping, its nose reaching Casey’s waist at the peak of its leap.

“Trixie!” Davey yelled. “Come on, girl! Leave the poor woman alone. She’s not doing anything to you.”

The dog dropped onto its rump, grinning happily at Casey, its tongue lolling out of its mouth.

“Got coffee, too,” Davey said. “To go with the donuts. It’s fresh. Come on up.” He waved Casey and Wendell in, and disappeared into the trailer.

Wendell held out a hand for Casey to go first. She went up, relieved when Trixie stayed outside.

The trailer was neater than she’d expected. A few chairs, some desks, and a counter with one of those big red “Easy” buttons on it. She fought the urge to push it.

“Have a seat,” Davey said, pointing to one of the vinyl-covered chairs. He handed her a steaming cup of coffee. “Milk? Sugar?”

She shook her head. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, my pleasure.” He held out the box of donuts, but Casey declined.

“No, thank you. Really.”

“You a health nut or somethin’? Got bagels. Granola bars. Fruit.” He said the last like it was a bad word.

Casey perked up. “Bananas?”

Davey rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Should’a known you’d bring me a body Nazi, Wendell.”

Wendell laughed. “She’s here looking for that semi.”

Davey paused, the bowl of fruit in his hand. “That one from yesterday?”

“That’s the one.”

Davey studied Casey more closely. “Sure is a popular vehicle.”

Casey sat up. “Someone else has been looking for it?”

Davey held the bowl closer, and Casey yanked out a banana.

“Few people. Cops, of course. Wanted to see if it’d been messed with. Brakes, so forth.”

“Had they?”

“Not that I could tell. But then, that truck was in bad shape. No telling what could’ve happened to it that we can’t see anymore.”

Casey gestured at him with the banana. “And someone else came?”

“Middle of the night. Set Trixie to barking something fierce. I came right out to see what was going on.”

“You live here?”

He jerked his thumb toward the road. “Across the street. Close enough I hear when something’s going on. Anyhow, I come over and Trixie’s got three men cornered by the scrap picker. One of ’em looks like he might be going for a gun, so I grab a pipe and tuck it under my arm, like it might be a rifle.” He gave a little smile. “Lighting’s not so great out here at night, so I thought it could pass, easy.”

“And what did they do?”

“Peed their pants, probably.” He grinned wider. “But I wasn’t close enough I could tell. I asked them what they thought they were doing, breaking into my property. The one smiles real nice, tells me they just want a look at the semi before it gets hauled away in the morning.” He shook his head once, hard. “Like someone was gonna bother taking that thing out once it finally got in here. Not something you want to do twice.” He took another bite of donut, powder sprinkling his shirt. “So I told them they could see just fine from where they were standing, and that they’d better get their eyefill, because if I saw them again I was calling the police.”

“So did they leave?”

“After a bit. Seems they were finally convinced by Trixie’s teeth and my pipe.” He laughed. “They figured I could shoot them quicker than they could shoot me.”