Blind Luck (The Technicians Series Book 3) Read online

  “And what if I’m just going to keep rolling?”

  “You can’t,” she said, turning her back to him to get him a refresh on his coffee. “Mr. Pennington lives twenty miles outside of town, and your bandage is bleeding on your leg.”

  “Fuck,” he mumbled. Millicent Perky Tits was right. His wound had started to bleed creating a bright red crimson spot in the leg of his light blue jeans.

  “No, that’s not on the table, but Mister, it sure does sound good,” she said with a wink. Sandy, long curly brown hair framed the lovely caramel colored face with perfectly placed eyes, a cute nose, and lips which would make a man want to come home at night.

  How do I get myself into shit like this? But maybe a good fuck from a pretty young thing like her with lots of energy could change my outlook. Hurt leg or not, I could just hold tight and let her do the work... but the kid.

  It always starts with the damned kid.

  “Sure, I’ll give you two a ride home,” he said, spooning the last bit of grits into his mouth. “I’m going to regret this. I can feel it.”

  MILLICENT CHANNING lived in a trailer park, just inside the city limits of Wentzville, Missouri. The sparse place was clean, the kitchen sink empty of dirty dishes and the fridge full of Waffle House to-go containers. He surmised it was how she and the kid ate on the regular.

  “What’s the story? The boy’s Pap is a cop?” he asked, taking a seat in one of the two kitchen chairs.

  “No,” she said. “Chad’s Uncle is the cop. His father is the Sheriff’s brother,” she said. “You know the type, never wanting to help but always the one to make the rules of what I can and can’t do. You’re a bad Mom sort of shit, while he’s down in St. Louis laid up with a chick with big fake titties and fat injected into her ass.”

  “Maybe some merit to it, you bringing home strangers and all for a ride,” he said it with a double-edged meaning.

  “I said you could sleep on the couch,” she told him.

  “You also said a fuck would be nice,” Yield said. “I gave you the lift home with hopes that once my leg got bandaged, you would come through. I’m a man, that’s how I think. Women don’t think like us. You folks are always planning, six steps ahead of our sluggish brains. What are you hoping to get out of the deal?”

  “Truthfully?”

  “Why not? Lying doesn’t get you very far with me,” he said.

  “Shit, I’m hoping, if I am, to be honest,” she said, biting her bottom lip, “that if I fuck you good enough, that you will take the kid and me with you.”

  “Lady, you don’t even know me!”

  “I sure as hell don’t, which should make you really wonder how completely awful my life must be here if I’m asking to go with you!” Millicent said.

  “Yeah, but where am I taking you?”

  “To your house,” she said. “I am a great housekeeper and a fantastic cook, and Chad won’t be a problem. It’s just for a little while until we can figure out what’s next. If not, and you leave me here, life is just going to get uglier for us. Help me. Help my child. Help us get a new life.”

  “What if I’m married and got a woman?”

  “Do you?”

  “Hell no,” he said almost appalled at the insinuation.

  “Then good, I can be your woman for a while,” she said, getting the first aid kit. “But first, let me take care of that leg.”

  “I can take care of my own leg,” he said. “Plus, I would have to take off my pants.”

  “Well, Mister, I sure as hell can’t fuck you with them on,” Millicent offered.

  Chapter Two – What in the hell

  Damn.

  She was right. The couch was lumpy as hell. It didn’t matter which way he turned, in any position, he found a lump. His six-foot muscled frame barely fit on the couch. On a good note, she’d given him a pillow to put under the aching leg and two acetaminophen tablets to help dull the throb. Millicent, a nice lady with a misguided notion about strangers, washed the bloody pants he wore. It was the last clean pair he had in his truck, what the technicians who worked for The Company called their shop. The other pair of pants with the majority of his blood and the hole from the gunshot rested in his duffel bag on the back seat of the truck.

  Thinking to himself how much he liked the kindness Millicent showed him by washing all the dirty clothes in the bag, he felt appreciative. Not quite grateful enough to take on her and a kid, but he’d leave her a few bucks in the morning when he took off for home. In his line of work, he could easily receive several jobs between here and Titusville, Pennsylvania, where he rested his head.

  Beauty knew his specialty. If something was lost, he was the one to call. Each call always yielded the sought reward. He often considered himself to be lucky that way. People, objects, information or photos, if you lost it and wanted it back, he was the man to call.

  Tossing one more time, he’d double checked the flimsy locks on the doors before settling in to get a few winks. The watch would get dropped off in the morning on his way out of town, and he would be back on the road again. It was time for a rest and to clock out for a few weeks to allow his leg heal. Had it felt better, he might have taken the lady up on her offer, but the last thing he wanted or needed was to have the kid wake up to find him in bed with his mother, or worse, the child’s father to make an unexpected visit.

  That type of negativity, he didn’t need in his life. For a moment, he began to wonder if the kid was accustomed to finding men in his Mama’s bed but dismissed the notion for a peaceful sleep. Those types of thoughts had no room in his head, therefore he pushed them out.

  MILLICENT CHANNING wanted out. Out of the one-horse town with too many cowboys and not enough fillies. Seven years ago, on her way West, her car broke down, leaving her stranded in Wetzberg. Jebbie Colton, the Sheriff’s younger brother, was the best-looking thing she’d seen since butter on toasted thick bread. Too bad for her, the knife used to spread the butter was serrated and cut her deep.

  Pregnant, with few options left for escape, she found herself stuck. The promises Jebbie made to repair her car never happened, leaving her to get a job at the Waffle House with her belly sticking out, showing everyone her naughty deed. Jebbie took pride in her downfall, often cheating, beating, and downright mistreating her. The man didn’t get much better when he became a father. If anything, having a kid made him more reckless and stupid. Grateful for the reprieve when he moved to St. Louis, the relief became short-lived when his brother, the Sheriff, took it upon himself to look after her and the boy.

  The man gave her the willies, and although he was Chad’s uncle, the kid never took to him. Chad’s reaction to Uncle Mike was one of fear as if he could sense evil in the man and wanted no part of him. Even when he brought toys and games, Chad left them in the box unopened and wouldn’t touch the gifts. To her, it was a red flag. She had to get out of town. She had to get away.

  Oddly, although she didn’t know his name, the way the big man had handled Luther, a meth head, said a lot about his character. She’d take a man of character any day over Mike Colton. He also impressed her by not wanting to share her bed. At this point, it would have been a welcoming sacrifice to have a roll with a real man like him, versus a couple of pokes and a grunt by Jebbie, who hadn’t touched her since the child was born.

  Jebbie said she’d gotten fat. Since it was the one thing which turned him off, she allowed herself an extra ten pounds just to keep the wolf at bay. All of it worked out okay in the long run, or it had until the man with a scar on his face walked into her job. The dark stranger looked all kinds of wrong, with the long black hair, the deep blue eyes and the hump in the formerly broken nose, but the kindness of buying the meal for Luther, the tough talk and sexy deep voice, woke up her sleeping lady parts. Hell, she’d scrub his floors if need be, but she was getting Chad and herself out of town and Mr. Sexy Scar Face was their ride.

  Even if she had to sacrifice herself to do so. Anywhere was better than here.
/>   SOFT FINGERTIPS TRAILED along the scar over his eye, making a path through the notched flesh on his cheek down to a resting upper lip. The gentle touch reminded him of better days before he’d become a scarred monster that few women wanted to look at with the lights on. It felt as if angel fingers were prompting him awake, and his eyelids fluttered to see a set of small brown eyes, breathing sweetened cereal breath in his face.

  “Hi,” the small child said, “you aren’t wearing any pants.”

  Yield felt his midsection to ensure the boxers he wore were covered by the blanket Millicent gave him as a coverlet. Secure that all his adult man parts were shielded from the little boy’s view, he sat up. Yield’s long black hair, mushed on one side, stuck up on his head making the kid giggle.

  “Your hair is funny,” Chad said.

  “Your face is funny,” Yield replied, poking the child in the nose with his finger. “What are you eating?’

  “Cereal with milk. Ya want some?”

  “Sure, why not,” he said, swinging the aching leg off the couch. “Make me a bowl while I go to the bathroom and find some pants, please.”

  “Yessir,” the boy said, happy to help out the man. The kid was friendly, helpful and kind of cute in a scrawny way. Dark black curly hair covered the small head attached to gangly arms and legs, giving the kid a weird look of being in between growth spurts and someone trying to stretch him out in his sleep. He didn’t appear to be any older than six, maybe seven.

  In his head, Mr. Yield went over the list of things he had to get done this morning. Call Beauty, let her know the item had been retrieved. Deliver the product to the customer. Get the hell out of town.

  Looking about for his pants, he located them on the armchair, dried, along with all the other items of his clothing, neatly folded. The socks were matched and rolled together military style, and Millicent Perky Tits had even laid out his toothbrush and razor.

  “That’s a mighty fine woman,” he said, smiling as he took the items into the bathroom. A clean washcloth and towel sat on the toilet tank with a brand-new bar of soap. “Yep, mighty fine.”

  He washed his face quickly, wanting the hot shower, but afraid to get the wound wet with so many miles left to drive. As he brushed his teeth, a light tap came at the door from the boy.

  “Breakfast is ready,” Chad said.

  “Be right there,” he called back in a low voice, in case the woman was still sleeping. She sure had a great deal of trust to leave him alone in the house with her kid. He would have a talk with her about that later. Cleaned up, dressed and ready to roll, Yield found the boy at the table. His legs swung back and forth in the chair as if he were waiting for him.

  “Looks good,” he lied. His blood sugar would spike astronomically, and by three in the afternoon, his body would need three Cokes and a cup of coffee to get him up the highway.

  “Ya gotta bless it ‘fore ya eat it. If not, it goes down wrong,” Chad said.

  “Kid, at my age, eating this, it’s going to go down wrong anyway,” Yield grumbled. He closed his eyes and mumbled a few words his Pa used to say before ate each meal.

  “Amen,” Chad said.

  In silence they crunched through the sweetened corn puffs, slurping milk off cheap, shallow spoons. Done with breakfast, the boy cleared the table while Yield made a call to Beauty, securing the address to deliver the watch.

  “That was fast,” Beauty said in the line.

  “You know me, just plain lucky,” he said.

  “I will let the client know to expect you. How soon?”

  “Twenty minutes, tops,” he replied.

  “What next? You want more work?”

  “I need to head home, rest up a bit. If you have anything simple while I’m in route, I’ll take it, but I have an injury that needs to heal,” Yield told the boss.

  “Anything to be concerned about?”

  “Not really, but I could use the extra cash to finish the flooring in my room addition,” he said.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Beauty said. “When I get confirmation of delivery, payment will be wired to your account. I took care of the other matter, and those funds have been released to you.”

  “Always a pleasure doing business with you,” he said facetiously.

  “Take care of yourself. I don’t have a replacement for a man with your skillsets,” Beauty said softly.

  “Lucky for me that you don’t,” he said, ending the call.

  The boy stood behind him, fully dressed as if he were going somewhere. It wasn’t his place to question the kid, but it was a school day. A yellow bus on top of the hill stopped, picking up children and Yield assumed the child was preparing to be ready for when it reached the corner. It was colder than a witch’s clit, and the boy only wore a light, puffy jacket.

  “You’re gonna need a hat. It’s cold out,” Yield said.

  “The bigger kids keep taking them, so I just go without one,” Chad said. “We don’t have a lot of money for Momma to keep replacing the stuff they take.”

  “Okay,” Yield said, trying to find the right thing to say to the boy. “Have a great day in school.”

  “Mister, will you be here when I get home?”

  “No, I have to get going,” Yield said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Chad replied, looking sad. “Good talking to ya.”

  Chad pushed past Yield out the door, his backpack slung over his shoulder, marching as if he were going off to war with no regrets. Yield felt a tug in his chest when he turned to face the trailer. The place looked worse in the daylight than it did at night.

  Get your shit. Leave a few bucks on the table and get going. You should at least put a better lock on the door. For what? Shit, she needs a better door. Hell, forget the door, a solid boot can go through that crap masquerading as a wall.

  “You need to get moving,” he said aloud, closing the front door and picking up his bag. He’d forgotten the hundred he’d given to the meth head last night, which left him only a few hundred remaining in the wallet. He placed two crisp fifties on the table with a hand-scribbled note that read “Thanks.”

  Doublechecking his phone, he found the address from Beauty and tapped it twice, and the GPS came on. The front door closed quietly behind him as he loaded his shop and sat behind the wheel.

  “Man, that place is not really fit for anyone to live in,” he said, starting the truck and putting it into gear.

  He drove in silence, listening to the turn by turn navigation to Oswald Pennington’s home. A sprawling house with lush green grass even in the middle of December, which meant to a man like Yield, that the owner was a rich asshole who lorded his money over others. It was December. The grass should be brown, but Pennington’s home was the only one of the block with a lush green lawn.

  Secretly, he already hated the man. Yield hit the turn signal, maneuvering the Ford truck up the long drive to the house. He wanted to stick the watch in the mailbox and call it a day, but this too was part of the job, delivering the retrieved packages. Waiting behind the steering wheel, he imagined how the conversation would transpire. Prepared for any eventuality, he took out one of the business cards from The Company, scribbling a name and location on the back. In his front pocket of the shirt, he slipped in the card, ready to access it when the subject came up in the conversation, he really didn’t feel like fucking having with the likes of Oswald Pennington. Sighing, he cut the engine and opened the door.

  He barely raised his arm to ring the bell when the front door flung wide, and an older man dressed in expensive clothing stood in the entry.

  “You have retrieved my watch?”

  “Here you are,” Yield said, wanting to throw it in his face, but he waited the required minute in case he had questions.

  “When you found my grandson, was he in a bad way? I specifically requested that he not be harmed,” Oswald said.

  “Sir, I found him at the Waffle House right off I-70,” Yield answered. “I bought him a meal and gave him a
few bucks.”

  “Waffle House?”

  “Yeah, the greasy roadside eatery,” Yield told him, “here.”

  He pulled the card from his front pocket and passed it to the patriarch. The concern on Pennington’s face decreased the high rank of rich, snobby asshole that Yield had assigned before meeting the old man. Seeing the concern for his grandson, the new ranking was just an old, deluded asshole.

  “What’s this?” Oswald asked.

  “The location of a rehab center in the Rockies,” Yield said. “It’s remote. Even if he tried to run away, there’s nowhere for him to run. The price is reasonable, but he can get clean there. They even have a dental plan, and Luther is going to need it. Mr. Pennington, today would be the day to go and get the boy. Have him transported to the facility in Colorado. He is more than likely in his favorite place to cop a high.”

  “I didn’t really ask for your advice,” Oswald said.

  “True, but either you take it or prepare to attend the boy’s funeral,” he gave a tip of his head. “Call The Company to inform them your property has been returned. Have a good day.”

  You are turning into an old softie. I’m not that soft, I’m not going back for the woman. Or the kid.

  He sat at the corner waiting for what, he didn’t know. Movement in his back seat startled him as he turned, looking over his shoulder and spotting a small leg.

  “What in the hell!” he yelled, turning to see Chad hidden under his bag. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m going with you,” the boy said popping up like a fresh daisy in a drying pile of shit.

  Chapter Three – My Name is Brody

  He couldn’t believe his eyes. The backpack he thought the kid loaded with his schoolwork instead held two changes of clothes, a pair of pj’s, socks, undies and a toothbrush. It never once crossed his mind to look back at his truck to see if the kid climbed in, or if the woman had locked it again after she took out his dirty laundry. Cursing under his breath for being sloppy and letting his guard down, he hit the turn signal to get on the interstate to go back to her house.