Reprisal by E.H. Reinhard

Author:E.H. Reinhard [Reinhard, E.H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-27T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Roman took exit 19 off I-22 for Victoria. His destination was just a mile or two away. He made the turn off the exit ramp, and when he saw the old gas station a quarter mile up on his right, he turned left into Bud Reid’s driveway, or at least the driveway that had belonged to Bud a dozen or so years earlier. Roman immediately came upon a metal gate.

“That’s new,” he said.

The headlights of the dead woman’s SUV lit a no-trespassing sign attached to the gate. Below the words No Trespassing, it read, “Violators will be shot. Survivors will be shot again.” He didn’t figure the sign was a joke. In Byhalia, Mississippi—or really anywhere within a few hundred miles of Memphis—it was generally best not to enter someone’s property without an invitation.

Roman dipped his head and peered through the windshield at the pair of trailer homes visible through the mature oaks and pines. On his last visit, only one trailer had been there—an old 1970s single-wide that Bud had called home. The double-wide trailer sitting farther back on the lot, while new to the property since Roman’s last visit, didn’t exactly look fresh off the assembly line. It had to have been moved in right after Roman went away. Only a faint light came from inside one window of the double-wide. The single-wide was pitch-black—as was the rest of the property. The only lights came from the headlights of his SUV.

Roman’s eyes scanned left and right. He looked for anything telling him that the property still belonged to Bud. A couple of cars looking in need of repair sat to the right of one of the trailers. Nothing around there appeared remotely operational. An old rusted shipping container sat off to the back of the lot against the tree line on the left, and some remains of appliances were stacked beside it. Roman glanced back at the cars. The nose of a white one caught his eye, and he got out of the SUV for a better look. Roman walked to the metal gate over the driveway, noticing as he stood before it that it wasn’t locked. He wouldn’t risk entering, though, until he had confirmation on something. Roman stared at the white car that had caught his eye. He squinted, searching for familiarity. Pairs of headlights on the white car bookended a big oval grille. A rusted chrome bumper sat just beneath the grille and lights. While the car had a tarp draped over the back of it, Roman could see the silhouette of what looked like a truck bed. He saw just enough of a big orange stripe down the side of the car to confirm what he’d thought.

“Raunchy,” he said.

It was all that Roman needed to see. The car was Bud’s, and the name “Raunchy” was what Bud had dubbed it. The car was a ’72 Ford Ranchero GT—basically a station wagon with a truck bed. But Bud’s had been built up. He’d hot-rodded the 6.

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