54
On Monday morning, Jason rode shotgun in Satch Tonidandel’s truck into Guntersville. Mickey and Chuck were in the back seat, and there was a security car in front of him and one in back.
Jason felt like Tony Soprano as the entourage turned left onto Lusk Street and then, a couple minutes later, hung a right onto Hustleville Road. When the Alder Springs Grocery became visible, Satch pulled off the road and stopped in front of one of the gas pumps. He hopped out of the truck and began pumping regular unleaded gasoline into the Raptor. Chuck, the middle brother, whose head was shaved clean but whose face had a long scruffy beard reminiscent of the band ZZ Top, went inside the store to get a soft drink. Mickey, the youngest, sporting a stringy mustache and a mullet haircut, got out of the passenger-side back seat and leaned against the tailgate, putting a pinch of Copenhagen under his lip. Jason took a deep breath and opened the driver’s-side back door. At exactly 7:00 a.m. sharp, he took out the briefcase with the money and placed it by the back tire.
At that moment, a rusty sedan pulled into the station and parked by the pump behind the Raptor. A man got out of the truck and started putting gas in the car. He walked to the trash can between the pumps, spat a wad of gum into it, and picked up the briefcase.
“Gracias,” he said and trudged back to the sedan, putting the case in the trunk. A minute later, he was gone. Jason and the Tonidandel brothers gathered around the tailgate of the truck. Jason was about to thank them when his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but he knew who it was.
“Yeah,” he said, putting the call on speaker.
“Good for you, Counselor,” Cade said.
“We’re done, Cade, you hear me? No more money. No more deals. You come after my family, I’m coming after you.”
“Threats are so weak coming out of your mouth,” Cade said, sounding like he was eating something. “And we both know you have one very important promise to keep or all bets are off.”
“And I’ll keep it,” Jason said. “But all bets are definitely off if you harm a hair on the head of any member of my family.”
“Relax, Jason. No one’s going to get hurt, and I didn’t even kill your security person. You’ll find Max walking down Highway 68 coming from the Fort Payne direction right about now. You’ll probably want one of your folks to pick her up. I think she’s pretty hungry.”
“Is this all some kind of game to you?” Jason asked, glaring at Satch, who was watching the phone like it might be a poisonous snake.
“No games, Jason. I told you. That’s not my style. On the contrary, this is war. If I get through your sister’s trial without being touched, I win. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“And if I win . . .”—he trailed off—“ . . . you survive. Victory isn’t going to taste very good if you, Niecy, and Nola are in coffins. Be sure to think about that if you ever ponder going back on your word and putting that crazy bitch on the stand. And tell those Tonidandel rednecks they don’t scare me one bit. I crap bigger than each of them, and they’ll all end up in pine boxes, too, if they cross me. Full military funerals in Guntersville. Now that would be some shit.” He chewed some more of whatever he was eating. “It makes no difference to me who you have in your corner, Jason. If you screw up, they’re all going—”
“Hey, Cade.” Satch’s voice was so low and firm as he grabbed the phone that Jason’s heart fluttered.
“Who’s speaking?” Cade asked.
“Colonel Satchel Shames Tonidandel. One hundred and first Airborne Division. Screaming Eagles. If you’re so lucky as to knock me and my brothers off, both of whom were captains in the same division, we’ll be buried in Arlington National Cemetery. Twenty-one gun salute. Horse-drawn carriages. Definitely be some shit. But if you get out of line and lay a finger on any of Jason Rich’s family and we’re forced to squash your skinny runt ass with one of our boots, we’ll mix your ashes with some ground beef, put the meat on the grill, and have us all a nice well-done Cade burger. Then we’ll shit you out the next day, and you’ll end up as turd fragments at the bottom of our septic tank. Then you, son, will quite literally . . . be some shit.”
Satch ended the call and flipped Jason the phone.
Jason looked at the device and back at Satch. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry or in awe. “You think that was smart?”
“No one threatens us, boy.”
As they got back in the truck, Satch grunted. “That prick has one thing right,” he said, turning the key and bringing the truck to life. “This is war.”