Skin Privilege

Bart asked, 'Jake, what are we doing here?'

Valentine reached into the cardboard box and threw out a handful of empty blister packs from a box of cold medicine. 'We're making meth.' He tossed more of the empty packets onto the counter, scattered some matchbooks on the kitchen table. The box had everything he needed: medical tubing, beakers, filters. He dumped the box on the table, too.

Bart asked, 'Why are these girls here, Jake? I told you after Charlotte that I was finished with this kind of shit.'

'You're not finished with anything until I say you are.'

Bart kept the gun on Lena, but he said, 'I don't want to be a part of this.'

Valentine chuckled as he opened the cabinet under the sink. Years of cleaning products were stuck to the bottom but he swept them aside with his hand, saying, 'Shit we could've just used this.'

Bart said, 'This is wrong, Jake. This is just wrong. Al never did things like this. Innocent people never got hurt.'

'Al was bringing in pocket change. We got us a real organization here, Fred. We can't let our people down.' Valentine reached under the sink and grabbed the drainpipe, putting his weight into his heels as he pulled on it. 'That ain't moving.'

Clint was just standing there. 'What do you want me to do now?'

Valentine indicated the cans of solvents on the counter. 'Mix ' em up. Get everything ready.'

Clint started opening bottles and pouring them into Hank's ceramic mugs.

Bart tried again, 'Jake-'

'Shut up your whining, Fred.' Valentine groaned as he stood up, cursing, 'Motherfucker, that hurts,' as he held his hand to his side. 'You're not even worried about me, Fred.' Valentine gripped the counter, his hand leaving a bloody print. 'Lookit my damn side. I ripped it open on that stupid door.'

Bart glanced at the bloody bandage. 'You'll live.'

'Thanks for your concern.' Valentine wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was sweating. He picked up the jug of bleach that had been under the counter and set it on the kitchen table with a thump.

Bart said, 'This is crazy, man. What are you going to do?'

'What we're gonna do is handcuff her to the sink, then blow this place to hell.'

Bart shook his head. 'They'll find the cuffs in the-'

'Yeah, I'll be sure to make note of that when I'm filling out my scene of crime report,' Valentine interrupted. 'One pair of police issue handcuffs.'

'What about the compound?' He glanced nervously at Lena. 'Did you clear this?'

'It's all clear,' Valentine told him. 'They took the leash off as soon as she showed up with those pictures.'

Clint said, 'We're ready here,' indicating the ceramic mugs on the counter. Thin plumes of smoke already drifted out of the mugs as the chemicals combined.

Valentine asked, 'How long will it take?'

Clint shrugged. 'The ceramic is pretty thin. I'd say it'll take ten, maybe twenty minutes tops for the heat to crack them. Once the liquid touches the flame, it'll go up like a fucking a-bomb. I'd get the hell out of here as soon as you put them on the heat, though. You never know with these things. The chemicals ain't exactly stable.'

Valentine patted him on the back for a job well done. 'I hear you, boy.'

Bart said, I am so sick of this shit. You think her husband's going to just let this go?' He waved the gun toward the hallway. 'At least shoot her so she doesn't have to suffer through it.' He glanced at Lena, though with less compassion. 'Shoot them both. What harm will it do to show a little kindness?'

Valentine splashed acetone around the room. 'Because that'll leave bullets in the body, Fred. I can pocket a pair of handcuffs but I can't hide a bullet in an X-ray. Even if you dig it out, you can tell when a bullet hits bone. Knives leave marks, too, so don't even think about it, Clint.' He shook his head, telling Bart, 'I thought you'd done enough autopsies by now to know how this shit works. We'll just cuff her to the drainpipe and get the hell out of here.'

Lena finally spoke. 'What are you going to tell Jeffrey?'

He smiled at Lena. 'That Deacon Simms was cooking meth in Hank's kitchen and you and Sara came along at the wrong time.'

She didn't even bother to act surprised that Deacon's body would be found in the ruins. It made perfect sense. 'Jeffrey knows you were here.'

'He'll know that I dropped y'all off,' Valentine countered, splashing ammonia on top of the lye.

'Then he'll know that I went home and had lunch with my wife before she had to go back to school.'

'He'll put it together that you handed in your badge on the same day that his wife died.'

Bart had been following the conversation closely. Lena could feel his body tense. He asked, 'You resigned?'

'Yes,' Lena said, gripping the handcuff in her hand, willing him to come closer. 'Don Cook told me that Jake resigned this morning. Jake got a threatening letter and said he was leaving town before he ended up like Al Pfeiffer.'

'She's lying,' Valentine said. 'I resigned, but I-'

'He said he was leaving town,' Lena repeated. 'Look at this stuff, Fred.' She indicated the beakers, the chemicals. 'They had all of this ready to go. Why do you think that is?'

'Don't listen to her,' Valentine told Bart, a warning in his tone.

Lena pressed on, putting together the pieces. Valentine must have been pretty fucking pleased with himself. Lena had handed him surveillance photos. The right ones shown to the right people would paint Fred Bart as the mastermind to the whole operation. 'They were going to set you up, Fred. They've been planning this all along, just waiting for the right time to bang you up.' He shook his head, and she insisted, 'Think about it, Fred. Look at what's going on here. Jeffrey would've needed an explanation, somebody to blame for his wife dying. Can't you see Jake is setting you up for the fall? You are the explanation.'

'Don't listen to that crap,' Valentine said, but even Lena could tell she'd struck close to home. The man was visibly nervous. He couldn't stop himself from looking at the gun. 'Come on, Fred. Things were just getting a little hot and I-'

Both Lena and Valentine ducked as Bart squeezed the trigger. Instinctively, Lena put her hands over her head and the loose cuff slapped her in the face. She looked up, expecting to see Jake Valentine lying dead, but it was Clint who had been shot. Bart was an excellent marksman. The bullet had gone straight between the man's eyes.

For his part, Clint seemed the last one to realize he'd been shot. He stood there, his eyes staring blankly, body swaying to the side, at least two full seconds ticked by before he collapsed back against the door. It swung open as he fell, the chain looping his wallet to his belt clanging against the wood.

'What the fuck did you do that for?' Valentine demanded. 'For the love of Christ, Fred. He was Jerry's man.' He stamped his foot on the floor. 'You're going to have to explain this, you stupid asshole.'

Bart had the gun trained squarely at Valentine's chest. 'You think I don't know what you're doing?'

'What?'

'She's right,' he said. 'You've never cooked meth in your life, and Clint was too far up the ladder to fool with this shit.'

'That's not-'

'What were you doing with all this stuff?' he asked, indicating the chemicals, the beakers. 'You were planning on leaving me holding the bag while you skipped town with that fat wife of yours.'

Valentine's fists clenched. 'Don't you dare bring Myra into this.'

Bart said, 'Al and I kept this town in line, kept the good people away from the bad, for thirty years. You didn't give a shit about right and wrong. You just offered it around like candy.'

'Money is money, man.'

'At what cost?'

'Them fistfuls of cash I was giving you every week didn't seem to bother you none.'