Hellbent

21 Quick and Easy

Central Eastside was an industrial district checkered with low-rent housing. Evan coasted in the stolen Subaru with the switched rear license plate, watching a parade of radiator shops, commercial laundries, and wholesale construction-supply joints march by. The streets were pothole-intensive, shimmering with broken glass. A few spots had been taken over by brewpubs and distilleries, gentrification doing its cheery best, but they were out ahead of the curve here and — from the looks of the clientele and graffiti — in over their heads.

Joey took in the streets and seemed not uneasy in the least.

She wore a half squint, her taut cheeks striking, the youthful fullness of her face turned to something hard and focused. Evan found himself admiring her. She was a medley of contradictions, surprises.

They drove for a time in silence.

“I need a shotgun,” Evan said.

“I’m sure we could rustle one up in these here parts.”

“Last thing we need is to go down the rabbit hole dealing with local criminals and wind up with a rusty Marlin Goose Gun. We need something well maintained, and we need it quick and easy.”

“Where you gonna find a shotgun like that on no notice?”

“The police.”

“Of course. Quick and easy.” She cast a glance across the console, did a double take. “You’re not joking, are you?”

Evan pulled over beneath the green cross of a marijuana dispensary, fished out his RoamZone, and dialed 911.

The cruiser pulled up, and two venerable cops emerged, slamming the doors behind them. The driver hit the key fob, the car putting out a chirp-chirp as it locked.

Joey sat on the steps of the dispensary, holding Evan’s phone and pretending to text. Her dark wavy hair fell across her face, blocking one eye, an artful dishevelment.

“What are you doing here?” the officer said. He had a dewlapped face, eyes gone weary from seeing too much shit for too many nights.

“My pops works here,” Joey said.

The second cop, a tough-looking redhead with sun-beaten skin, stood over Joey. “We had an anonymous report of shots fired on this block.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You hear anything?”

“All the time.”

An annoyance passed between the cops. “Care to elaborate?”

Joey sighed. Pocketed the phone. “C’mere.” She brushed past the redhead, took the driver by the arm, walked him to the curb, and pointed across the street. “See that alley there? There’s a auto-salvage yard at the end of it. That’s where to go if you need a piece on the down-low. A shitty little .22, something like that. That’s what everyone says around here. People test the goods before they pay up.” She stood back, crossed her arms. “So yeah, I heard shots fired. Tonight and every night.”

The redhead let out a sigh that smelled of coffee and cigarettes. “Let’s go.”

She and her partner headed across the street and disappeared up the alley.

Evan emerged from the darkness at the side of the store. Joey flipped him the keys she’d lifted from the driver’s pocket.

Evan thumbed the fob, popped the trunk to reveal a mounted gun-locker safe.

Also remote-controlled.

He thumbed another button on the key chain, and the gun locker opened with a brief metallic hum.

Inside, cartons of shells and a Benelli M3 combat shotgun.

His favorite.

He grabbed two cartons, took the shotgun, then closed the gun locker and the trunk. He pointed at a spot on the sidewalk. “Drop the keys there.”

Joey did.

They walked over to the Subaru and drove off.