“I don’t give a shit what’s in the box.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Nope,” Harold said.
“I am.”
Harold laughed. “You’re curious about five hundred dollars.”
“Sure. Why not?” Donnie said.
“He’s not going to let you look in the box anyway. Jesus. A bus station locker? Gotta be drugs.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
“What else could it be? His toothbrush collection?” Harold said. “Just name one thing it could be other than drugs. Hey, if you want to do it, do it. Don’t look to me for permission.”
“I don’t need your fucking permission. Toothbrush collection?”
“I’m going to get back to work now. If you want to wait for Keasey in the office, you can. You can stretch out on the sofa, watch Oprah, and enjoy your last hours of freedom.”
“What are you saying?”
Harold flipped the wrench in his hand. “I’m saying that there’s drugs in that locker and if you’re crazy enough to go get them, then I’ll be sending you cookies in the mail for a few years. And for what? For five hundred dollars.”
Donnie waved his hand, dismissing Harold’s words. “What channel is Oprah on?”
The Ranchero was off the lift and parked in the yard. It was the dark side of dusk when the bronze Silverado crunched gravel and Keasey got out. Harold stepped away from the tool bench he’d been straightening. Donnie staggered, nap-drunk, from the office.
Keasey walked over to Donnie. “What did you decide? Want to take a little drive?”
“What’s in the box?” Donnie said.
“Like I told you, just some personal stuff,” Keasey said.
“Any drugs?” Donnie asked.
Keasey made a show of trying to think, scratched his chin. “Nope, no drugs in the box. I would remember something like that.”
“A grand,” Donnie said. “I’ll do it for a thousand dollars.”
“Ain’t this some shit?” Keasey said.
“It’s a long drive,” Donnie said.
Keasey gave Donnie a long, hard look. He glanced over at Harold, then back at Donnie. “That’s a lot of money.”
Donnie raised an eyebrow and stared back at the taller man. “It’s not all that much.”
“Okay, a thousand dollars.” Keasey laughed. He looked at Harold. “Your boy here drives a hard bargain.”
Harold nodded. “You guys mind discussing your business somewhere else? I’ve got to clean up so I can go home.”
“Right.” Keasey looked at Donnie and signaled with his head for him to follow. “Come on, tough guy.”
Harold watched at they stepped away to the far side of Keasey’s truck. He pulled down the garage doors while they talked. They shook hands. Donnie sat behind the wheel of the Silverado and Keasey sat in the passenger seat. They talked for a few minutes more and then rolled away.
Harold was asleep in his bed in his house on his street when someone woke him banging on his door. His girlfrgend, Shannon, was beside him and made no sign of moving to get up. He looked out and saw Donnie on his kitchen stoop. Harold opened the door and looked at him, then at the sky just becoming light behind him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I drove down to Laramie and picked up Keasey’s box,” Donnie said. He looked back at the big pickup parked behind Harold’s Duster.
“Drugs. I told you.”
“Are you going to let me in?”
“It’s not even morning yet.”
“Harold?”
“Come on in.”
Shannon was tying her robe in the doorway as Donnie stepped into the kitchen. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Hey, Shannon,” Donnie said.
“Go on back to bed, baby,” Harold said.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Everything is fine. Now get some sleep.”
“Okay,” she said. “Night, Donnie. Don’t be long, Harold.”
“Everything is not fine,” Donnie said once Shannon was gone. “Not fine at fucking all.”
“Drugs, right?”
Donnie looked into Harold’s eyes. “No drugs.”
“You looked in the box?”
“I tried not to, but I got this feeling somebody was following me.”
“You saw headlights?” Harold asked.
“No, but I got this feeling. I stopped at the rest area outside town and looked inside. I needed to know if it was drugs. It’s not drugs.”
“What the fuck is it?”
“Come with me,” Donnie said. “You got a flashlight?”
Harold grabbed a flashlight from a drawer and followed Donnie out across the yard to the back of the truck. There was a regular-looking cardboard box sitting in the bed.
Donnie lowered the tailgate and pulled the box to the edge. “Look in there,” he said. “Take a peek in there.”
Harold opened the flaps of the box and looked inside, saw nothing, then remembered his light. He directed the beam into the box and saw a plastic bag but little else.
“Look close,” Donnie said.
Harold did. “Is that a head?”
“It’s a fucking head,” Donnie said. He started to pace on the driveway. “Why is there a head in that box? It was on the seat next to me. I just drove two hundred fifty miles with a head on the seat next to me. Harold, that’s a head, somebody’s fucking head.”
“Well, it’s not drugs.”
“I wish it was drugs.”
“What I am I going to do?” Donnie asked.
“I guess you give it to the guy who paid you to pick it up.”
“You don’t think I should go to the cops?” Donnie sat on the tailgate and looked up at the sky.
Harold sat beside him. “That’s going to be a long conversation.” He looked at the box. “It’s not like this guy can be helped now. I say you give it to Keasey and forget about it.”
“See, that bothers me. Keasey has a head in a box. What’s going to keep him from putting my head in a box? He’s going to see that I opened the thing and then he’s going to know that I know he’s running around chopping off people’s heads. Where does that leave me?”
“Then maybe you should go to the cops,” Harold said.
“You’re right about that conversation. I don’t even know if this is fucking Keasey’s truck. It might be the dead guy’s truck for all I know. And I’m the one with his head, driving his truck. I tell them I went down there to pick up a package for a guy for a thousand dollars. What do you think will be their first question?”
“What did you think was going to be in the box?”
“What?” Donnie said.
“That would be their first question,” Harold said. “What did you think would be in the box?”
“Yeah, right, and what do I tell them?”
Harold yawned.
“Sorry to fucking bore you,” Donnie snapped.
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s morning,” Donnie said. “It’s morning and I’ve got a goddamn head in a box.”
“Let’s tape it up,” Harold said. “Then you take it to Keasey and everything will be good.”
“You’re no help,” Donnie said. He pushed the box back into the bed and shut the gate. “Listen, sorry I got you out of bed. Think about me while you’re banging Shannon in there. Think about your old friend Donnie driving around in a pyscho’s truck with a severed head in a box.”
“What do you want me to say?” Harold asked. “I don’t know what you should do.”
Donnie got in and started the engine. He didn’t say anything else, just drove off into the morning.
Harold was dressed for work and sitting at the kitchen table when Shannon walked in.
“So, what was that all about?” she asked. “Is Donnie all right? He looked like shit.”
“Donnie’s Donnie. Believe me, you don’t want to know what’s going on with him. Sorry he woke you up.”