Badlands by C. J. Box Read Free Book Online Page A

Kyle because he’d rarely seen him look that way before. Usually, T-Lock was so laid-back it seemed possible he could drift off to sleep any minute.
    â€œFirst, Kyle, tell me where you found it.”
    Kyle could talk. He just didn’t like to. It was hard, although it seemed to be getting a little easier since he’d started working with the speech therapist and special ed teacher at school. He liked his special ed teacher. She was a kind and roly-poly lady from Mandan. He didn’t like the speech therapist, though. She spent most of their session texting with someone on her cell phone. The special ed lady hadn’t been there that day, though, and he’d spent the whole time in class with the rest of the sixth grade. They watched movies. Kyle didn’t like being in the class with the others because he was a year older than they were and they knew it. All of his old classmates and friends had moved up to seventh grade and middle school and had left Kyle behind.
    â€œIn the grass,” Kyle said.
    T-Lock rolled his eyes. “I mean where, exactly, in the grass? You mean on somebody’s lawn or something?”
    Kyle gestured to the south. “No. Out in the prairie. It was on the ground.”
    T-Lock cocked his head while he thought. “Was this around when that car wrecked this morning?”
    Kyle nodded.
    â€œDid you see it happen?”
    Kyle nodded again.
    â€œAnd you went down there and found that bag? Did it come out of the car when it rolled, is that it?”
    â€œI think so.”
    T-Lock cradled his head in his big hands and held it there for a moment.
    â€œKyle,” he said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice, “Did anyone see you grab the bag?”
    No .
    â€œDoes anybody know? Don’t lie to me, Kyle.”
    Kyle didn’t lie. T-Lock should know that, he thought.
    â€œThe cops don’t know?” T-Lock asked.
    â€œNo one knows,” Kyle said.
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    Kyle nodded.
    â€œYou didn’t tell your mom or nothing, did you? You didn’t tell your grandma?”
    â€œNo.”
    T-Lock seemed to be thinking. When he did that he closed his eyes. Then, suddenly, they popped open and T-Lock grasped both of Kyle’s hands in his and squeezed hard enough that Kyle took in a breath and held it so he wouldn’t cry out.
    â€œKyle, you can’t tell anybody. Anybody. You’ve got to swear to me right here and now you’ll keep your mouth shut about finding that bag.”
    Kyle wasn’t sure. He’d planned on telling his mom about it and then maybe taking it to the police. That seemed like the right thing to do.
    â€œWhy?” Kyle asked.
    â€œ Why? I’ll fucking show you.”
    Kyle thought, That word again. Just like the two men in the second car. He wondered if they, or T-Lock, could speak without it.
    *   *   *
    THE CANVAS duffel bag was unzipped on the dining-room table. T-Lock clicked on the overhead light so it shone down on the bag. It looked like the bag was being interrogated—like on television—Kyle thought.
    T-Lock skirted the table and stood on the other side of it. He plunged both hands inside and came up with a handfuls of small plastic clear glassine baggies the size of a penny. The tiny baggies were filled with crystalline powder that looked like snow crust at the end of winter. The powder was bluish in color.
    â€œDo you know what this is?” T-Lock asked.
    â€œDrugs,” Kyle said. He knew about drugs from drug-prevention movies at school, although he’d never seen drugs in real life. The weed he’d seen T-Lock smoke in the garage didn’t count.
    â€œDamn tootin’,” T-Lock said, letting the baggies sift through his fingers into the opening of the duffel. “Hundreds of little packets. Maybe a thousand, I don’t know. I don’t know how many because I haven’t had a chance to count ’em yet.