When Devils Sing(81)
I’m sure they are, Sam thought bitterly. She shifted from one foot to the other, gaze returning to the minnow tank. The real reason she was there. “You think I could…?”
The old man turned his head, following her line of sight. He let out a smoker’s laugh, then waved her inside with the fishing pole. “Go on. Take one home with you, if you want. On the house.”
Sam beamed. “You’re a fine man, Gator. They don’t make ’em like you anymore.”
“Don’t I know it.” Gator snorted, nodding his head toward the screen door.
Sam stepped inside, letting the door rattle shut behind her. Just like the outside, the inside hadn’t changed at all. The walls were wood-paneled and faded. A distinct smell clung to the room, something like gasoline and pond water. There were only a few shelves, but they stood taller than Sam. Each one was filled to the brim in a messy array of fishing equipment and gas station junk food. Some of the candy now looked as old as she was.
Second to the minnows, Sam’s favorite part was this: Somehow, there was never another person in the store. She didn’t know how Gator managed to stay in business, but he did.
For a long time, she stood there, entranced by the minnows. It was quiet, uninterrupted bliss, and it was exactly what she needed. Peace, she thought. All I need is peace.
“Which one?” A man’s voice pierced the silence.
Sam whirled around, fists instinctively balled, only to find Jack standing a few feet away. Her shock quickly gave way to surprise. In the daylight, he looked remarkably human. Like any other man around Carrion. But, she realized, his otherness was in the finer details. The way his outfit never seemed to change, which could’ve been a personal choice of his, but she doubted it. His dust of facial hair that never grew darker, but also, never lighter. Then there were his eyes, black as crude oil, even in the light of day.
“It’s not polite to sneak up on people,” Sam admonished. “Where’d you come from?”
Jack smirked as he pretended to look over a pack of fishing hooks. “That’s the sort of question I can only answer with a drink in hand.”
Sam tried not to roll her eyes. “I mean, I didn’t hear you come in. Did you … materialize or somethin’?”
“Materialize?” Jack’s eyebrows raised dramatically. “I may be the devil, but I’m also a man. I walk the earth same as you, Red. Besides, I have my Jeep parked out back. Don’t you worry.” Jack set the fishing hooks down, then took a few steps toward her. He tapped the fish tank’s glass with a slender finger and said, “You didn’t answer my question. Which minnow you takin’ home?”
A moment before, the minnows had been swimming in synchronized chaos. Sam had spent a long time watching these kinds of fish. She recognized patterns in their frenzied behavior. But as Jack’s palm lingered on the glass, the minnows moved in a way she’d never seen before. They swarmed the opposite side of the tank, clambering over one another in a desperate bid for distance and safety.
“Stop,” Sam snapped as she pulled Jack’s hand away, his skin hot to the touch. “You’re scaring them.”
The minnows stopped swarming, slowly returning to their earlier directionless swimming.
Jack only shrugged. “Fish are much wiser than people give them credit for. They immediately know when they’re in danger. The same can’t be said for most people.”
I know what you are, and I surely won’t forget, she thought.
A beat of silence passed before Sam finally asked, “What do you want, Jack?”
His black eyes narrowed. “The real question here is what do you want, Red? I know it’s more than this.” He gestured lazily to the fish tank, then the bleak view of Carrion out the window.
I want to feel safe, Sam thought pitifully. But that wasn’t an easy answer to give. She needed something concrete. “I want to adopt Ben, but I don’t have enough saved to get us across county lines, much less take care of us.”
“Then what you need is money and time,” Jack mused.
Sam nodded. “That’s what it all comes down to in the end, isn’t it?”
“I can do that,” Jack said simply. “So, I’m here with my offer.”
Sam swallowed. “What is it?”
Amusement danced across Jack’s face. He was neither young nor old, somehow looking simultaneously eighteen and thirty. “Tomorrow night, during your shift at the Tavern, I need you to spike Kiran Singh’s drink with a little sedative. She usually has a drink she’s sippin’ on in a Styrofoam cup. Use that.”
Sam felt sick. “Why’re you askin’ this of me? What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, don’t get all bashful on me now, Red,” Jack said, slowly looking more devil than man. “You sold out your best friend of nearly eighteen years. The mom of your little crush is nothin’ in comparison.”
“I did it to save Ben’s life,” Sam snapped, shame warming her face.
“And you’d be doing it again,” Jack insisted. “You and I both know Ben won’t last long under the care of your daddy. Think of what’s at stake here.”
Jack may have been the devil, but he wasn’t wrong. Sam had saved her brother’s life, but living under Wiley’s roof was the kind of thing that ate away at you with every passing day. There were more ways than one to kill someone’s spirit, and she knew it all too well.