Written by Stephen F. Moloney
Ray woke with a start. Having been enjoying a surprisingly deep sleep, to now suddenly find himself awake left him, momentarily, lost as to where exactly he was. Through blinking, narrowed eyes that were just begging him to close them again and go back to sleep, Ray propped himself up onto his elbow and looked around the room. Though darkness had now all-but-seeped its way into every nook and cranny, there was still just about enough light crawling in through the small window alongside his bed to help him make out some details – and, slowly but surely, Ray began to find his bearings.
The small dresser pressed up against the wall directly opposite to where he was lying down, the reflection of the window shining out at him from the mirror attached to the back of it. The closet door just off to the right of that with a large poster of *NSYNC tacked onto it. The antique, wooden wardrobe looming large in the shadows on the other side of the room, the reddish-brown colour of the mahogany it was made from absorbing what little light there was like a black hole. The framed pieces of crochet hanging on the walls depicting everything from bible verses to quaint images of the United States flag and nightgown-clad figures holding candle-lit lanterns.
As he, clearly, wasn’t back in his trailer – after waking up from some crazy dream – it could only mean that he was still in Lori’s old room in Travis’ house.
With his internal GPS recalibrated, a groggy Ray reached out and, after some initial fumbling around in the gloom, grabbed his phone from off the small bedside table next to where he was lying and typed in his passcode. As his screen burst back into life, however, the brightness of the display seared his still delicate eyes and drew a disgruntled groan from his raspy-sounding voicebox. After giving himself a moment or two longer to try and acclimatize to actually being awake, Ray reopened his eyes and squinted at his screen. His messenger app was still open from where he’d been texting Jeanie before he went to sleep; their chain of messages a reflection of the updates Ray had been sending her as to how Travis had agreed to have Mustang go stay with him, and how the pair of them would be leaving the farm at 11 p.m. to drive through the night in order to make it to Orlando before five the following evening.
Just as Ray let his gaze linger over the ‘x’ Jeanie had signed off her final text with, though, the teenager-like grin it had brought to his face was quickly eradicated by the sound of a car door shutting somewhere outside the window.
Thinking that it was maybe Travis loading up some of the supplies he’d mentioned he’d be gathering together for their trip – and which he’d explicitly told him to leave for him to bring out to the car before he went for the sleep Travis, himself, had insisted on him taking – Ray reached out his free hand and pulled back the edge of the net curtain hanging in front of the window. Though the night had, indeed, well and truly set in over the yard, there was enough of a glow emanating from the half-moon sitting in the star-speckled sky above Hartstone Farm that, amidst the palette of inky blues and navies it was now being cast in, it was still somewhat possible to see outside. And, though initially relieved to see Travis wasn’t risking life and limb by trying to lug a load of water out to the car, that relief was soon replaced by a palpable sense of wariness.
Because Maisie was no longer the only car in the yard.
Though its exact make, model and licence plate were concealed frustratingly well by the darkness, Ray could just about make out the outline of an inky-black sedan parked just behind the Mustang – and its owner was still standing alongside it. Wanting to get a better look at what exactly he was dealing with, Ray swung his legs out over the side of Lori’s bed and squeezed right up against the headboard. He peeled back the edge of the net curtain once again – being sure not to pull it back too much in order to remain hidden – and retrained his eyes on the shadowy figure, clocking up what details he could on this late-evening caller to Hartstone Farm.
He was a man, not an overly large one, but definitely male. He was bald, as evidenced by the way his scalp was ever-so-gently reflecting the faint glow of the moonlight. He was in the process of putting on a blazer he’d, obviously, fished out of the backseat of his car in the time Ray had been getting resituated, so chances are he was here in an ‘official capacity’ of some description.
And that was it.
Nothing else.
The night wouldn’t allow it.
With his blazer now on, Ray watched as the man closed the back door of his car with a bang, pointed his keys at it, and locked it. In the blinking of orange and white L.E.D. lights which greeted this, Ray managed to pick up another few superficial details about the man, like the fact he happened to be wearing a full suit and glasses, but nothing important. Seeing he was now just walking away from his car, Ray decided there was nothing more to be gained from watching the man traverse the yard towards the house, and so kicked into action.
He left the net curtain fall gently back into place and got to his feet. Though he’d no reason to suspect there was any ill-intent behind the man’s visit, the training he’d received in the army was so deeply ingrained into his consciousness that, at times – though it was probably severe overkill on his part – he couldn’t help but slip right back into the patterns which had been his ‘go-to mode’ for so many years. So, because of that, as opposed to switching on the small lamp sitting on the bedside table to help him find his boots, Ray, instead, turned on the flashlight on his phone and used that in order to not give away the fact that there was someone in this particular room; as he had to assume that, whoever this man was, he had an existing knowledge of what was and what wasn’t a normal occurrence at Travis’ house.
Again, maybe overkill; but, at the same time, maybe not.
After spotting his boots lying on the floor, Ray quenched the flashlight on his phone, shoved it into the pocket on his jeans, and moved towards the foot of the bed. Just as he plunged his hands down into the darkness and grabbed them, however, the sound of the man knocking on the front door of the house filtered its way down to Lori’s bedroom. It was a rhythmic, casual knock – like he was rapping out a melody almost – so that allayed Ray’s concerns somewhat about who the man might be, as it hinted at, though didn’t confirm, a pre-existing relationship with Travis.
Without the luxury of being able to delve too deeply into the possible meaning behind the man’s knocking style, however, Ray quickly pulled on his boots and quietly moved across Lori’s bedroom towards the door. He pulled it open as quietly as possible – given the hinges desperately needed some oil – and slipped out into the narrow hallway just outside the door. Just as the man knocked once again – the melodic rhythm replaced with three sharp raps this time around – Ray heard Travis finally reach the front door and pull it open.
“Mr. Greely,” he said, not just unenthusiastically, but downright scornfully as Ray skirted into the small bathroom further down the hallway in order to get the best possible vantage point of the main living area whilst still remaining hidden. He locked the name ‘Mr. Greely’ into his head as he pressed himself up against the wall of the bathroom. It was cool to the touch as the small window just above the toilet was still open, allowing the fresh night air to come and go as it pleased.
“Ah, Travis! Good evening!” replied Mr. Greely, his chirpy demeanour in stark contrast to that of Travis’, and sounding all the more disingenuous for it. “Mind if I come in?”
From the sounds that followed, Ray could tell that Mr. Greely, clearly, hadn’t waited for an answer to his “question” and, instead, had just barged straight past in Travis, the soles of his shoes clicking across the hardwood floor betraying his progress further and further into the living area. Sensing his opportunity to get a first proper look at him, Ray peered around the corner of the door and waited for the newly titled ‘Mr. Greely’ to come into view.
And a few footsteps later … there he was.
Now in the flesh and fully illuminated, Ray could see that Mr. Greely was marginally taller than what he’d first surmised from his initial impression of him, where, though still not as tall as himself, he was probably the same height Travis would be if he was able to stand up straight. He had a very slight and lean-looking frame; so much so, that you’d be afraid to leave him out in a storm in case he got blown over to the next county and wound up like one of those rogue patio chairs you see randomly discarded at the side of a highway after a hurricane. He was immaculately dressed in a perfectly cut, charcoal-coloured suit that complimented his slender frame; a crisp, white shirt highlighted with a silver-tipped bolo tie set with a polished black gemstone; and a pair of black, leather dress shoes that were shined to such an extreme degree you could probably see your reflection in them. And though he was, obviously, older than what he, himself, was, with his cleanly-shaved head and face giving him the appearance of something of an ageless egg, Ray was having a hard time putting an exact age on him; was he in his 40s? 50s? Only his driving licence would clear that up – and, even for him, Ray felt getting his hands on that was, more than likely, going to be a bridge too far.
The biggest thing Ray noticed about Mr. Greely, however, was the energy he was giving off. The way he ambled so confidently across the living area with his hands buried nonchalantly in his pockets; he, clearly, felt in complete control of the situation and wasn’t shy about projecting that sentiment outwards – if anything he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Now, unfortunately …” said Mr. Greely, immediately taking charge of the conversation by sending his clipped, purposefully refined, Texan accent bouncing around the high-ceilinged living area. “Given I’ve some other clients I still need to drop in on this evening, I’m afraid this is only going to be something of a ‘flying visit’ …”. He turned around and looked at Travis, who, in the interim, had made his way from the door to the middle of the living area where he was standing. “I hope you don’t mind?” he smiled, akin to how a rattlesnake might if it were just able to get its fangs out of the way.
“No, that sounds perfectly fine to me,” replied Travis, glaring disdainfully at Mr. Greely. “The less time you’re here, the less time I have to spend airin’ out the place in order to get rid of the stink of that cheap cologne you’ve dragged in here.”
Ray watched as Mr. Greely just laughed quietly to himself. He knew he didn’t find what Travis had said funny, of course – his tightly clenched jaw and the pulsing vein just above his temple two dead giveaways to that fact – but this was all part of the game. Because, clearly, there was no love-loss between Travis and Mr. Greely. This was no social call. This was all business – and serious business at that. And Ray had enough experience to know that when two people were locked in this kind of high-pressure, high-stakes situation, it was all about trying to win control and get the higher ground; because if you’re the one who controls the situation, then chances are you’re going to be the one who, eventually, comes out on top. So, Mr. Greely laughing off Travis’ jibe about his cologne? That was all for show; a mere charade to maintain the sense of dominance he’d swaggered into the house with.
“See, that’s why out of all my clients, you’re one of my very favourites to visit, Travis,” he said, a goading smirk on his face. “Cause we can joke around, you know? Like we’re buddies.”
“And with friends like you, who needs enemies, right?” replied Travis, his stern facade remaining unchanged.
“Oh ‘enemies’ is a bit of a strong word, don’t you think?” rebuffed Mr. Greely, sounding sarcastically offended. “In reality, I’m just like any other professional you might have had dealings with; I facilitated a service that you freely availed of, and now I’m merely looking to collect on the debt that you owe for availing of said service. I mean, if that makes me a bad guy? Well, I dunno what to say to you, Travis – I really don’t.”
Ray could see Travis’ knuckles were turning white on the hand he was gripping his cane with; meaning, he was either desperately trying to keep his temper in check or the mention of his debt had suddenly made him feel cornered.
“Well, I don’t have your money,” said Travis, the previous edge that had been in his voice now softened. “At least, not yet anyway. You will get it, though; I gave you my word and I intend to honour that.”
“Well, forgive my cynicism, Travis …” replied Mr. Greely, who’d now taken to slowly pacing around the living area and casually perusing over the various knick-knacks and keepsakes he came across. “But when you’ve been in this line of work for as long as I have-…”
“‘Line of work’ meanin’ you bein’ a loan shark?” interjected Travis, coldly.
Mr. Greely stopped pacing at hearing this and looked back across the living area from where he was standing at the large, open fireplace.
“I prefer the term ‘Emergency Loan Specialist’ – but yes,” he replied very matter-of-factly before returning to window shopping over Travis’ possessions. “But, either way, you learn two very important things about people’s ‘words’: one, they ain’t worth all that much; and, two, they don’t get you paid …”. Mr. Greely came to a stop in front of a picture frame sitting on the solid wood mantelpiece above the fireplace. He reached out and grabbed the frame – it, too, made of wood – and looked down at the photograph sitting behind the glass. From where Ray was still hidden inside in the bathroom, he could tell which picture was grasped in-between Mr. Greely’s surprisingly pale and slender hands, as he’d browsed over the contents of the same mantelpiece only an hour or two previously.
“Oh, that one?” Travis had replied when Ray had inquired about the photograph. “That’s a picture of me, Dana, Lori, and Oscar from years ago – I think Oscar was only about … three or four? Maybe younger? We were havin’ a picnic down by the river on the other side of the property here. Oscar used to love it down there, so on that particular day, Dana and Lori just decided to whip up some food, throw it in a basket, and off the four of us went – thick as thieves. Spent the entire afternoon just fishin’ and …”. Travis had trailed off at that point and cleared his throat; recalling such a happy memory, obviously, beginning to become too painful. “So, yeah …” he’d said a few seconds later, composure regathered enough to speak. “It was a good day … real good.”
To now see that photograph in Mr. Greely’s hands, however – one that, clearly, meant so much to Travis – made Ray feel surprisingly angry; so much so, in fact, that when he looked down to his sides, he saw that his hands were after balling up into fists unbeknownst to himself. After prising his fingers apart like a set of bear traps – as trouble was the only thing that ever usually followed when he had his fists out – Ray turned his attention back onto the living area just as Mr. Greely continued to speak.
“And if I don’t get paid?” he said, as he haphazardly placed the picture frame back up onto the mantelpiece, leaving it askew and out of line with the others already up there. “Well, my employer gets very upset, Travis. And when he gets upset?” Mr. Greely turned and glared back across the living area at Travis – his eyes locked onto him with all the intensity of a hunter eyeing up its prey. “That’s when things have a tendency to get … unpleasant,” he threatened quietly.
And then there was silence. Travis and Mr. Greely just staring at one another – daring the other not to blink first.
“Of course, that being said,” continued Mr. Greely, his entire demeanour, instantly, reverting back to the relaxed, bordering on chirpy, one he’d been portraying all along. “My employer is nothing if not reasonable; so, if you’re struggling to repay your debt in cash … then I’m sure he’d be open to … alternative methods of payment.”
“Meanin’ what exactly?” growled Travis, already knowing that whatever the answer was, it wouldn’t be good.
“Meaning I couldn’t help but notice that rather fine-looking vehicle parked outside in your yard right now,” replied Mr. Greely. “It’s a ‘65 Mustang, right? Fastback?”
“Yeah …” answered Travis, his stomach suddenly feeling as though he’d swallowed a boulder.
“Thought so,” said Mr. Greely, shaking his head and expelling an impressed sigh. “Well, as luck would have it, my employer has something of a passion for collecting classic cars. And given he’s been in the market for a ‘65 Mustang – especially one in as good condition as that one is – I’m pretty sure he’d be interested in coming to an arrangement where we could consider your debt repaid in exchange for the car.”
Ray couldn’t take anymore – he’d heard enough. He stepped quickly over towards the toilet and flushed it. With the water still gushing loudly down the drain, Ray grabbed one of the folded towels sitting on a shelf beside the sink and proceeded to march confidently out through the door of the bathroom as loudly as possible.
“Now, was I hearin’ things in there, Travis?!” he announced brashly as he rubbed the towel against his face to give off the impression he was drying it. “Or were you just tryna’ sell my car right out from underneath my nose?!”
“Oh, so it’s your car?” asked Mr. Greely, sounding as taken aback at Ray’s sudden appearance as Travis looked to see him traipsing into the living area with his boots untied and dabbing his face with one of his wife’s good towels.
“Yessir,” said Ray, painting a smile across his face as he locked eyes with Mr. Greely for the first time. “Though, to be honest, I’m not sure any man can ever really own Maisie – she’s somethin’ of a spirited one, ya see”
“I can imagine so …” said Mr. Greely, his eyes flicking back and forth between Ray and Travis, as if looking to detect any crack in the story he was being fed. “Well, you’re a very lucky man, Mr. … ?”
“Thackett,” answered Ray, unwaveringly, knowing full well Mr. Greely was fishing for his name. “Ray Thackett. And you’re Mr. Grelly, right?”
“Gr-ee-ly,” he replied, emphasizing the double ‘e’ and not sounding at all happy about having to do so.
“Ah! Sorry!” said Ray, slapping a faux-apologetic expression across his face as he slung the towel he’d grabbed from the bathroom over his shoulder and pointed at his ear. “Hearin’ ain’t been the best since the army.”
“Oh, so you’re a veteran as well?” said Mr. Greely, interest piqued. “I take it that’s how you and Travis know each other then?”
“Nope …” replied Ray, flatly. “As a matter of fact, we’re family.”
Though trying his best to mask it under his, admittedly, impressive poker face, Ray could tell that hearing him say he and Travis were family had rocked Mr. Greely – like a fighter getting caught with a quick straight right to the jaw.
“I see …” he muttered back, attempting to hurriedly shake off his surprise and regain the upper hand. “Well, given I’m so used to coming all the way out here and finding Travis on his own, it’s a pleasant surprise to find he has some company for a change.”
“Oh I’m sure it is,” said Ray, sternly, not even attempting to add some subtlety to the loaded nature of his tone; he wanted Mr. Greely to know that he wasn’t the kind of guy he could intimidate – after all, he’d seen and dealt with far worse than a loan shark, come errand boy, for another loan shark.
“Well … like I said earlier,” began Mr. Greely, after enduring all he could of the momentary tense silence that had followed Ray saying what he did, along with the fact he had then just continued to glare a hole straight through where he was standing. “I’ve other clients I need to visit before the night is out, so … uh …”. He turned to look at Travis, who now appeared far happier than when Mr. Greely had first arrived – he had enjoyed seeing him be the one getting intimidated for once. “Regarding that … ‘outstanding matter’ of ours, partner?” he continued, attempting to bury the reality of his sordid profession in a display of verbosity. “You have until next Friday – understood?”
Before Travis could reply, Ray chimed in from across the living area. “He does …” he said, any and all pretence now completely vanished from his voice, leaving only the disdain it had been cloaking since he came out of the bathroom. “Now get out … partner.”
After glancing over at Ray, only to find he was still staring at him, a wide smile broke across Mr. Greely’s face as he allowed himself a quiet snifter of laughter. Was it because he genuinely found the situation funny? Ray couldn’t tell. With guys like Mr. Greely, who were, essentially, ‘mouthpieces’ for someone else, their proximity to power and influence afforded them a feeling of being ‘untouchable’ that almost immunized them from feeling like they were ever on the backfoot in any situation they happened to find themselves in. It was frustrating to contend with, but to be expected all the same.
Having taken his second or two to savour the moment, Mr. Greely cast his gaze between both Travis and Ray. “Gentlemen,” he smiled, bidding them farewell, before setting off back across the floor of the living area in the direction of the door.
Once they’d watched every step he’d made until he’d pulled open the door and disappeared back out into the night, a still wary Travis and Ray moved across the living area and stepped out onto the porch. Again, they looked on in silence as they tracked Mr. Greely walking across the yard. He pointed his keys off at his car and unlocked it, causing the same orange and white light show to cut through the darkness.
“How much do you owe him?” asked Ray quietly, his eyes still glued to Mr. Greely as he popped open his door and sat into the car.
“Just under ten grand,” answered Travis, sounding almost ashamed to admit it. “See, I’d a bit of a fall a few months back-…”
“What?!” snapped Ray, that revelation more than enough to pull his attention away from Mr. Greely, who’d just started the engine of his car and turned on the headlights. “You alright?!”
“Relax, it was no big deal …” grumbled Travis, quickly looking to dismiss Ray’s concern out of his sheer aversion to anything even remotely resembling fuss. “I just banged up my knee a little – that’s all. What really hurt, though, was when I got a letter in the mail tellin’ me how much my hospital bill was.”
“A bill you, obviously, couldn’t afford,” replied a sympathetic Ray, filling in the blanks pretty quickly.
“No, I could not,” confirmed Travis, again, with the faintest hint of shame colouring his voice. “Hence why I ended up havin’ to go to that snake’s boss lookin’ for a loan to cover the costs.”
After gesturing with his head off across the yard, Ray turned his attention back onto Mr. Greely’s car. He had finished the process of turning it back around and was now just beginning to pull slowly down the track.
“Well, when he comes back,” said Ray, watching as the car’s tail-lights disappeared from view, taking their warm, red glow with them in the process. “He’ll get his money.”
“Well, unless I do actually sell Maisie between now and next Friday,” replied a disheartened-sounding Travis. “I don’t see how that happens.”
“No, don’t worry, Maisie won’t be goin’ anywhere …” assured Ray, before turning to look at Travis. “Cause he’ll be gettin’ the money from me.”
Upon hearing this, a worked up Travis, immediately, took a breath to launch his counter-argument as to why that scenario would not be playing out, but before he could get even a single word out, Ray cut across him.
“No arguments; it’s happenin’ and that’s that,” he said, firmly. “I’ve some money saved up – enough to pay off Greely – and I want you to have it.”
“But-…”
“No, no ‘buts’,” said Ray, interrupting Travis once again. “You said I was part of the family now, right?”
“Well … yes …” replied Travis, knowing he really only had one answer at his disposal.
“Then as far as I’m concerned?” continued Ray, putting his hand on Travis’ shoulder. “Family helps family.”
Though he was trying his best to hide it, Ray could practically feel the relief pouring out of Travis – and he couldn’t blame him. To go through the last few months that he just had would have been hard enough for anybody to deal with; between injuring himself; being left with no alternative but to go to a loan shark in order to pay his bills; and then having to deal with the stress and worry of Mustang going missing – truthfully, it probably would have broken most people. But to go through all that whilst suffering from Parkinson’s and living all alone? Ray could perfectly understand why Travis was feeling as emotional as he, clearly, was.
“Thank you, Ray,” said Travis, obviously steeling his voice to prevent any unwanted catches or cracks. “Truly.”
“Don’t mention it,” smiled Ray, warmly. “Now, come on … let’s go get that grandson of yours.”