Chad Sanborn [Sanborn - All Debts, Public and Private

All Debts, Public and Private

Chad Sanborn

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Chad

Saturday

One

T hat hurt?

Pearce not responding to the question, instead keeping his eyes on the house up the street. The details of the house going blurry through the drizzle layering the windshield.

Hey, I said does that hurt? Chubba giving Pearce a hard, no bullshit stare. This freakshow sitting in the drivers seat next to Chubba, fucking with him.

Chubba, real name Horace Self III, in his early twenties. A fat baby who grew into a chunky kid, everyone calling him Chubba long as he could remember, even after hed shed the weight for muscle.

Still a big boy, just solid. Though lately, hed started turning soft around the edges again. Not hitting the weights, eating too much junk. Chubba figuring it was related to the stress of everything going on.

Chubba looking at Pearce behind the steering wheel. Pearce, dressed all in black, metal sticking out of his face here and there. Ink peeking out from under his collar and sleeves. A one-man walking freakshow, Chubba liked to say. Chubba not caring if Pearce was around when he said it. Damn sure no friendship blooming between them in the couple of months since this deal had brought them together. Just about the money. After, both would be glad to move on.

It was Pearces fucked-up earlobes that really weirded out Chubba. Both of the lobes sporting a hole slightly bigger than a quarter. Each hole inset with a black metal ring, as if someone with meaty fingers took off their wedding ring and jammed it in there for support. Chubba unable to stop himself from looking at them and every time he looked at the holes Chubba thinking goddamn.

Chubba saying, Thats got to hurt, right?

Pearce still ignoring Chubba. Reaching up, flicking on the windshield wiper, for a moment resetting the outlines of the stone house theyd been watching for an hour or so. Didnt look like a rich womans house. Comfortable maybe, but not big time lottery winner rich.

Pearce in his mid-twenties but still waiting on the ability to grow a full mustache. Stroking his wispy goatee. The drizzle again began warping the jagged edges of the bungalows front porch. The afternoon gray and damp with a chill that sank into the knuckles.

Pearce bored, finally giving in, asking Chubba does what hurt?

Chubba in disbelief that he has to be specific, saying those goddamn holes in Pearces ears, thats what.

Chubba in his custom-made red and gold Nikes and his bottom lip jutting out thanks to a soggy lump of tobacco. Every now and then spitting brown tobacco juice into an empty beer can between his legs. Chubba was a natural born mouth-breather and with a dip in looking even more like a gorilla than usual.

Pearce lightly fingering the large hole in his right lobe. The barbed border of a black-and-red tattoo snaking out from under the cuff of his black, long-sleeve t-shirt. Chubba watching, fascinated, a little sickened. Not paying attention where he was spitting tobacco juice, missing his spit can, a trace of brown saliva hitting the cloth seat.

Pearce glaring at Chubba, a look warning him to be careful.

Chubba grinning back at him, bits of tobacco lodged in the cracks of his stained teeth. Chubba rubbing between his legs at the spit, driving it deeper into the cloth of the passenger seat.

All better, Chubba said. Chubba spit again into his can. Like I give a rats ass about some stolen piece of shit Volvo. Chubba said. Whered you pick up this piece of junk anyway?

OP, Pearce said.

Overland Park, that checked out. Chubba remembering the Johnson County plate on the back of the Volvo. Pearce had claimed to be from Kansas City but it turned out he wasnt from KC proper. Actually, he was from OP, just outside of Kansas City on the Kansas side. Not a big deal but Chubba catching it when Pearce let it slip a few weeks back, and Chubba thinking it meant something at the time.

This thing got enough trunk space? Chubba said. We get down to it, I dont want to all the sudden find out she dont fit back there. Shes a big girl, you know.

So you told me.

Not tall-big but thick-big. Stumpy, like a fire plug. Shes short but not short-short. Less than average height, you might say. But thick, know what I mean?

Pearce watching the house but giving a fake smile along, a big condescending nod. Yes, I know what you mean. Chubba.

The fucks that supposed to mean?

Whats what supposed to mean?

Calling me Chubba like that.

Pearce turned in his seat to look at Chubba. That your name, right? Chubba?

My name is Horace, like my Daddy. Like my granddaddy. Folks just call me Chubba. Just a nickname. But right then when you said it, I think you meant something by it.

What did I mean, Chubba?

Like maybe you meant who am I to be calling someone else thick?

You said that, Pearce said, laughing. I didnt say that.

Dont act like you didnt when you did.

Neither of them saying anything for a while, Pearce smirking, Chubba fuming. Drizzle quietly covering the Volvo until finally, Chubba suggested they go over it again.

Follow her around tonight, Pearce said, Wait until shes drunk, then toss her ass in the trunk. Not real complicated.

Old hat to a pro like you, right? Chubb said. Chubba plunged his tongue down into his bottom gum and extracted the spent lump of tobacco. Raising the spit-filled beer can, he stuck out his tongue and expertly dropped the wet chunk into the mouth of the can.

Pearce saying oh shit, looking in the review mirror.

Chubba about to tell him not to get all pissy, he didnt spill any on the precious seat of his stolen car. Then noticing Pearce slumping low in his seat. No not that, Pearce said. Fucking cops!

An SUV rolling past them, a gold star and the word SHERIFF emblazoned in gold on the side, two cherry lights on top. The SUV pulling into the wide driveway of the stone house they were watching.

Chubba laughed. Hell, that aint no cop. Thats Billy Keene.

They watched as a young man stepped from the Escalade. Pearce hit the wipers, still not getting a good look at him. Could tell he was tall, though, even taller with the Stetson sheriffs cowboy hat wrapped in plastic to protect it from the rain.

Chubba spit into the can even though he didnt have a dip in his lip. He aint jackshit.

Hes good sized.

Dont make him tough.

Dont make him not tough either.

Billy? Chubba said. He was couple years ahead of me in high school. Big shot athlete. Only reason he won the election is because it aint nothing but a popularity contest. Like high school itself.

Chubba going on, claiming his daddy backing Billy's campaign, thats the only reason hes Caste County sheriff. Hell, aint like the sheriff does anything around here anyway, Chubba said. Other than running county road speed traps and tracking down a lost cow every now and again.