Part 3 (1/2)
”Oh well,” she said, ”we tried.”
”Uh-huh,” he said, heading around to the side of the building.
The sliding high bay door was also locked, secured to a metal ring embedded in a small slab of concrete. It was enough of a deterrent to keep out teenagers in search of a six-pack but not nearly enough to stop a determined ex-con looking to wet his whistle.
The decaying body was that of an old man in a dark blue jumpsuit with the name w.i.l.l.y monogrammed on the pocket. Pieces of his body were missing, probably chewed off by foxes or other hungry critters. w.i.l.l.y had been shot in the back, and from the looks of it, at very close range. A ring of keys hung from what remained of his rotting fingers.
”What do you think happened to him?”
”Looks like someone pegged him from behind as he locked up.” Tanner bent over and slipped the keys off the dead man's fingers. ”Luckily, they weren't interested in the beer.”
He used the keys to unlock the padlock that was holding the high bay door shut.
”You ready?”
She slid her rifle off her shoulder and nodded, her face suddenly becoming serious.
Tanner shoved the door up and stepped back with his shotgun at the ready.
The single room building was dark, but enough light shone in to see that the place had been cleared out. Two dented silver kegs were lying sideways in the far corner, and a case of bottles was smashed in the middle of the concrete floor.
”It's times like this I think G.o.d is punis.h.i.+ng me,” he said, slowly entering the building.
”I thought you didn't believe in G.o.d.”
”I don't, but that doesn't keep Him from punis.h.i.+ng me.”
She tilted her head sideways, trying to make sense of his strange logic.
Tanner reached the broken beer bottles and pushed them around with his foot. A big smile crossed his lips.
”Well, what have we here?”
A single sixteen-ounce bottle of Straub lager remained intact. He bent down and carefully pulled the bottle free from its unlucky brothers and sisters.
Samantha watched him from the doorway, occasionally glancing over her shoulder. She seemed especially nervous.
”What is it?” he asked.
”I don't know.” She turned and studied the street. ”It feels like someone's watching us.”
”You see anyone?”
”No, it's just a feeling.”
”You get that feeling often?” he said, walking past her toward the tractor.
”Not really.”
He glanced around as he stuffed the bottle into a side pocket on his pack.
”You're not going to drink it?” she asked.
He patted the bottle. ”Only got the one. Figure I'll save it for a special occasion.”
”What kind of special occasion? Like your birthday?”
”Yeah, something like that.”
”So... when is your birthday?”
”Christmas Day.”
”You're pulling my leg.”
”Nope. I'm a Christmas baby. My mother always said it's the reason I'm so sweet and lovable.” He carried his pack to the truck and set it on the wooden boards lining the bed. ”What about you, Sam? When's your birthday?”
Samantha looked at her feet as if embarra.s.sed by the question.
”It's in May,” she mumbled softly.
”May what?”
”May 10th.”
Tanner furrowed his brow. ”That's in like two days.”
She shrugged.
”And when were you going to tell me this?”
”I don't know. It's not important anymore.”
He turned and faced her.
”Not important? You're going to be turning ten years old.”
”Twelve.”
”Like I said, twelve years old. That's a big day. If you're not back at your mom's by then, we'll try to do something special. Maybe find us some Ding Dongs and a candle.”
”That sounds ... nice,” she said, making a funny face.
He smiled and ruffled her hair.