The Long Game Read online

  THE LONG GAME

  J. L. Fynn

  THE LONG GAME

  Published by J. L. Fynn at Smashwords

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © 2013 J. L. Fynn

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 1301377206

  ISBN-13: 978-1301377206

  To Max. You make everything possible.

  Chapter One -

  Chapter Two -

  Chapter Three -

  Chapter Four -

  Chapter Five -

  Chapter Six -

  Chapter Seven -

  Chapter Eight -

  Chapter Nine -

  Chapter Ten -

  Chapter Eleven -

  Chapter Twelve -

  Chapter Thirteen -

  Chapter Fourteen -

  Chapter Fifteen -

  Chapter Sixteen -

  Chapter Seventeen -

  Chapter Eighteen -

  Chapter Nineteen -

  Chapter Twenty -

  Chapter Twenty-One -

  Chapter Twenty-Two -

  Chapter Twenty-Three -

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author E-book

  CHAPTER ONE

  JIMMY BOY LEANED on the counter and flashed a sweet smile at the cute blonde working the register.

  “I’m sure glad y’all were open this early ‘cause our pa wanted to have the new deck done this weekend.”

  I kept my head bowed, eyes trained on the scuffed tennis shoes I’d pulled on in a rush to make it to the truck before we hightailed it to Slidell.

  My brother and I hadn’t made the ten-minute drive to the hardware store to get parts for a new deck, and we certainly weren’t building one with our da. But, for some reason, that’s what Jimmy Boy’d come up with—as if visiting a hardware store for a box of screws was so unusual it required some kind of grand explanation.

  Lying for lying’s sake never made me uncomfortable. If there was one thing I knew about being a Traveler, it’s that Travelers didn’t truck with being honest with country people, even when being dishonest wasn’t strictly necessary. Besides, it was difficult switching between talking from both sides of your mouth out on the road to being straight with people once you got home. There was just no point in trying to keep track of who you’d lied to and who you hadn’t.

  The girl grinned, taken by my brother’s charm. “Well, I’m sure glad y’all came in.” She batted lashes almost too pale to see.

  I fought the smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. Most Traveler men had their fathers or uncles to show them the ropes. I really only had my older brother, but he’d been enough. Jimmy Boy could piss on your leg, tell you it was raining, and then sell you a broken umbrella. And he’d taught me everything I knew.

  “I’m glad you’re glad,” Jimmy Boy said. He leaned in further, his elbow inching across the counter so his face moved closer to hers.

  She blushed and dropped her eyes, and I saw my opening.

  “All right, lover boy, move it so I can pay, and we can stop wasting this girl’s time.” I nudged him aside with my hip and shoulder as I pulled a ten from my wallet and handed it to her. Her eyes only flickered to me for a second as the money moved from my hand to hers. So far, so good.

  The blonde watched Jimmy Boy through lowered lashes as she counted out my change. A five and three ones. It couldn’t have worked out better if she’d been in on the scam.

  I opened my wallet, making a show of getting ready to put the bills away, then snapped my fingers as if an idea had just dawned on me.

  “You know, I’ve got a ton of ones in here. I wonder if you might be able to change them for a ten?”

  I didn’t wait for her response but slid several ones from my billfold and added them to the change she’d just given me. I left the five on the counter where she’d laid it but handed her the ones.

  “Sure thing. I could always use smaller bills for the register.” Her eyes never left Jimmy Boy’s face as she took the bills from me and handed me a ten, which I put into my wallet right away.

  Jimmy Boy leaned in just a hair closer. “You are sweeter than a speckled pup and twice as cute. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  Splotches of crimson appeared on the girl’s cheeks as she shook her head.

  “You better count that. Can’t never be too careful, darlin’,” he said, and her eyes moved to the money in her hand as if she’d only now realized there was a transaction being made.

  I knew exactly how many bills there were and so did he, but this was the best part of the game.

  “Oops, there’s only nine here.” She counted through the stack of ones a second time to be sure. The poor girl actually looked apologetic, as if it had been her mistake.

  But I didn’t miss a beat. “You’re kidding. Sorry about that, hon. Here you go.”

  I pulled out another one and laid it on the counter. She reached for it, but Jimmy Boy laid his hand over hers. “You know, on second thought, I’m sorry to be a hassle, darlin’, but this one owes me twenty bucks.” He jerked his head at me. “And serves him right for betting against the Saints. I’d rather not have all those bills in my wallet since it’s already so full I can hardly sit down.” Jimmy Boy paused to let that sink in, and I didn’t miss the spark of comprehension in her blue eyes. Her smile broadened a little.

  “Fine then,” I said, coming in right on cue. “How about you give me a twenty instead since Mr. Moneybags is too good for small bills?” I added five more ones and nudged the five dollar bill still on the counter closer to the pile.

  She giggled and let her hand linger under Jimmy Boy’s for a second before scooping up the bills I’d added to the pile.

  “Sorry for eating up half your day with this nonsense,” I said.

  “I can’t say as I’m sorry,” Jimmy Boy said. “It’s been awfully nice taking up your time.”

  The girl was positively scarlet now, and her grin seemed to stretch across her entire face. “It’s been no trouble at all.”

  “You promise?”

  “Promise,” she said and handed a twenty to Jimmy Boy. “I haven’t much minded you taking up my time neither. Maybe while you’re working on that deck, you’ll find you need a few more supplies and come on back to take up a little more of it.”

  Jimmy Boy pocketed the twenty and slid the small plastic box off the counter. The screws inside rattled as he shoved it into his pocket as well. “Oh, I’m willing to bet there might be one or two more things I’ll have to run on back for.” Jimmy Boy winked at her before pushing himself away from the counter. “You have yourself a lovely day, miss.”

  “That’s Tracy to you,” she said. “And I’m here ‘til we close up, so you make sure to ask for me if you need help finding anything.”

  Jimmy Boy nodded and crossed in front of me as he strode to the door. With one last smile to the blonde, he pushed it open, jostling the silver bell that punctuated his exit with a metallic jingling.

  “I hope y’all enjoy that new deck,” the girl said before I had a chance to follow after him. “Maybe I’ll even get to come by and see your handy work.” She gave a shy smile. “You should tell him that I’d love to see it when it’s all done.”

  “I surely will, Tracy.” I tipped my head to her and followed my brother through the door.

  Jimmy Boy was hal
fway to the battered old pickup truck when I stepped from the air-conditioned store into the heat of the late August morning. It was not yet nine, but the temperature neared ninety degrees. I jogged across the parking lot to catch up, and within seconds, the fabric of my white T-shirt clung to the damp skin of my back.

  “Get in the damn truck so we can get out of here,” Jimmy Boy said as I circled around to the passenger side.

  The good ol’ boy accent that had tinged every word he’d said to the store clerk was gone, replaced with the typical Traveler cadence: a clipped Southern brogue. Travelers liked to retain a connection to their Irish roots even in their speech. Still, after living in the South for so long, we couldn’t help but let a bit of a drawl seep in, even when we spoke amongst ourselves.

  Jimmy Boy could move from a Cajun inflection to a country twang to a smooth Midwestern accent and back in the same sentence. I didn’t have quite the same talent for it, but then, I hadn’t had as many years of practice either, being cooped up in school until just two years ago.

  We both climbed into the truck, and Jimmy Boy jammed the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine made a hacking noise. He tried the key again, and the truck sputtered and kicked but still refused to turn over. The statue of Jesus glued to the dashboard trembled with the violent motion. Jimmy Boy wasn’t a devout Catholic like most Travelers (the colorful language that spewed from his mouth every time the old truck refused to start was proof of that), but he’d kept the figurine because it was our da who’d put it there to begin with.

  “This piece-of-shit truck,” I said as Jimmy Boy twisted the key again. “Eddie Sherlock rolled back into the Village with a brand new F-150, and we’re still driving this thing around. Do you know how embarrassing that is? We’re grown men taking a full cut, and Maggie still won’t let us buy a new one.”

  Jimmy Boy laughed. “Aren’t you cute, thinking Maggie would let us buy a brand-new truck. Our mam is a lot of things, but careless ain’t one of ‘em. Sometimes I think you don’t have the sense God gave a goose.”

  “You’re one to talk. You couldn’t pour beer out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel.” Satisfied I’d gotten the better of the exchange, I settled back against my seat only to be jabbed in the ribs by a spring that had worked its way through the upholstery. I swiveled around to glare at the offending piece of metal. “I know you love this piece of crap, but you have to admit she’s ready to be put out to pasture.”

  Jimmy Boy petted the steering wheel. “He don’t mean it, love. He’s just jealous he doesn’t have a girl pretty as you.”

  “There you go. Sweet talk her like you did Tracy, and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Jimmy Boy went back to fiddling with the ignition. “Why’d you do that anyway?”

  “Do what?” I watched him wriggle the key back and forth.

  “You quick-changed that girl.”

  “We quick-changed that girl and did a damn fine job of it. Half of that is mine, by the way, so don’t get any ideas.”

  Jimmy Boy looked up. “Someone had to save your ass, but if Pop Sheedy finds out you pulled something like that so close to the Village, he’ll have your hide and no mistake. Seems like a big risk for a lousy ten bucks.”

  My stomach twisted at the mention of our clan leader’s name, but I recovered quickly. “Which is why he ain’t gonna find out, is he? I’m just trying to keep my skills fresh. Where’s the harm in that?”

  Jimmy Boy hooted with laughter a second time. “Your skills? A clever six-year-old could pull off a quick-change and do it with more finesse. Like I said, you ain’t got no sense.”

  I aimed a quick jab at his bicep but couldn’t help chuckling. “Shut it. You’re just sore she didn’t write her number on that twenty before handing it over.”

  “You might be on to something there,” Jimmy Boy said. “That girl was sex on two legs.”

  “That girl was a buffer. Country people don’t bring anything but trouble. Besides, you’re the one who always says to never let a pretty face get in the way of a good con.”

  He winked. “That don’t sound like me at all.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Just get this thing started before your girlfriend thinks you’re hanging around to take up some more of her time.”

  Jimmy Boy leaned into the steering wheel as he turned the key again. The engine rumbled to life.

  “There she goes,” he said. “See? You take the time to find her sweet spot, and she’ll purr like a kitten.” His mouth spread into a wicked grin. He wasn’t talking about the truck.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JIMMY BOY JERKED the pickup sharply off State Highway 90 onto a side road. Other than a white sign with black letters that warned this was private property, there wasn’t any indication where the road might lead. The truck sped along smooth macadam that was maintained better than any laid by St. Tammany Parish. The narrow lane disappeared into dense woods, but the hot sun beat down on the truck again as soon as we crossed through the line of trees into a section of cleared land.

  From the front, the Village looked like any other trailer park around this part of Louisiana. A little nicer, maybe, since the doublewides were all in pristine condition, but there wasn’t much to make it stand out from the crowd unless you were really looking. Statues of the Madonna, Jesus, or one of the saints guarded each front yard without exception. The statues varied in size and number, but each one was painted in colors bright enough to make a Mardi Gras float look tasteful.

  Every driveway was home to at least one car, usually more, and they were all as bright and new as the statues. A few looked more expensive than the trailers themselves. The wheezing engine under Jimmy Boy’s hood seemed even older and louder in such company, and I mentally rehearsed the speech I’d make to Maggie about why she had to let us buy a new truck this fall.

  I squinted against the dusty air that blew through the open window. The Village was alive with activity—not typical on such a hot day when most would rather stay inside and enjoy the bought air. Today, though, the women were going through their return-from-the-road routine, which went far beyond unpacking a few suitcases. They congregated in small groups, updating one another on their family’s latest purchases or comparing the gifts their husbands had bought them while they were away. They chitted like birds over gold and diamond jewelry in voices so loud I could hear them over the noise of the truck. I could almost see them making mental calculations to determine whose husband spent more.

  Their younger daughters, dressed like miniature versions of themselves in sequins and beads, hovered outside these little klatches, mothering similarly dressed dolls. The older girls, those closer to their teens, attempted to join the conversations now and then but more often quietly observed in an effort to learn the role they’d be expected to play in a year or two. A few boys who were still young enough to hang around with the ladies chased each other with thumbs and forefingers stretched out, shouting “bang!” at one another and irritating the girls who were unlucky enough to be in the way of their game.

  This time of year, the Village would normally only be home to the elderly and a handful of women whose husbands had died or been incarcerated, but the wedding of Pop Sheedy’s daughter had brought nearly everyone back from their summer travels to the north and west. Once word had spread about the newly arranged marriage, the men had left their work on the road and brought their wives and children home a full two months before the end of the season. Most hadn’t arrived until late the night before, but Jimmy Boy and I had been back for a few weeks since neither of us were comfortable leaving Maggie on her own for long stretches.

  “Think those boys need any help?” I asked as Jimmy Boy snaked the truck around the large pavilion that marked the center of the Village. A group of men dressed in dirt-smudged jeans and plaid button-up shirts rolled large aluminum kegs into the pavilion. Another set of men lifted the kegs into tubs of ice.

  Jimmy Boy slowed but didn’t stop. “Nah. Looks like Sc
rud Daly’s got it under control. Knowing him, he’s probably gone ahead and made those kegs a little lighter anyhow.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah. Besides, Bridget’s on a rampage. You better step on it before she sees us.”

  I pointed toward the women who were decorating the support posts and roof beams of the pavilion with white Christmas lights and overworked garlands of colored ribbon. In the center of the concrete floor, a flower arrangement stood so tall its highest point scraped the ceiling. Thousands of blossoms spray-painted in awful shades of pink and red were intertwined to form a massive heart. An older woman, her gray-streaked hair tightly wound around plastic curlers, stabbed a bony finger at it, issuing commands. Bridget Sheedy, mother of the bride, had no doubt paid a local florist a small fortune for the flowers, but there was always room for improvement as far as she was concerned.

  Weddings took the typical Traveler garishness to extremes, and this one promised to be even crazier than most. The goal of each family was to outdo every other wedding that had come before it, and since the Sheedys were the wealthiest family in the Village, this would be the most elaborate we’d seen. Pulling together such a big event was no small feat when you thought about the fact that Traveler engagements lasted for no more than a week or two.

  As we continued toward the back of the Village, mobile homes were replaced by new-ish houses set back at the furthest end of the clearing. Travelers jumped on any opportunity to display their success to one another but didn’t look kindly on drawing the attention of outsiders. If country people saw all these fancy houses, it wouldn’t be long before questions would be asked about where we got all that money, and questions like that were usually followed by visits from the cops.

  Around three-dozen houses had been built over the past 30 years, and like our weddings, they were each larger and more elaborate than the last. One house, the largest mansion in the Village and home to the Sheedys, had a façade of bright red brick interspersed with chunks of black coal that glared in the sunlight.