Falling Stars by Charles Sheehan-Miles Read Free Book Online Page A

But slow down and be careful.”

Don’t be snarky (Crank)
    “A re you sure this is the right place?” I asked.
    Julia was in the front passenger seat, peering at her map. She’d marked a big black circle with a Sharpie showing our destination, back a million miles and almost as many hours ago when she was planning this road trip.
    She looked at the map, then back up at the gate.   Her face looked frustrated and confused.
    Thirty minutes before, we’d passed a billboard welcoming us to town.

    SEMINOLE
    Gaines County
    #1 OIL PRODUCER
    #1 COTTON PRODUCER
    #1 PEANUT PRODUCER
    #1 PEOPLE ANYWHERE

    The sign was clear enough. The residents of Seminole, Texas, thought they had everything going for them. The left side of the sign even boasted a twenty-foot high number 1, extending well past the top of the billboard.   Not far past the sign, we passed an old, rusted-out hulk of a 1960 Plymouth Valiant. Weeds and scrub grass grew out the rear windows of the car, which was a mottled mix of grey primer and brown rust.  
    The road into town was bordered on both sides by scrawny bushes, scrub grass and dirt all the way to the horizon. For a while, the only sign of human habitation was the power and telephone lines which ran from pole to pole down the left side of the increasingly narrow road.   No stripes adorned the cracked and buckled pavement, and in some places soil and sand covered part of the road.
    Julia stared at the gate beside the road, her face worried. Then she looked back at the map.
    “This must be the wrong place,” Carrie said. “Are you sure we’re in America?”
    Sean offered up some helpful information, as usual. “Actually, even though 85 percent of Americans live in cities or suburbs, more than 90 percent of the land area is rural. This is far more typical than Boston or San Francisco, for instance.”
    “I’m pretty sure this is…it,” Julia said, her voice trailing off.
    It was a parcel of land that looked close to the size of South Boston, scattered with undergrowth, a mountain of discarded and rotting tires covering the ground to the left of the deeply rutted gravel driveway.   On the right, several abandoned vehicles sat rusting in the sun.   A dirty and rusted white trailer sat almost on the horizon at the end of the long driveway.
    “I guess we just go on in,” Julia said doubtfully.  
    I shrugged and turned into the driveway. The car immediately bumped in a deep rut.
    “Can I tell you something?” Sean spoke quickly. “In most states, the Castle Doctrine says that the person inside that trailer can’t be prosecuted if they shoot all of us.”
    Carrie raised an eyebrow. “What?”
    “It’s true,” he said. “In 1992, it even happened in Louisiana. A sixteen-year-old boy was shot and killed because he knocked on the wrong door looking for a Halloween party.”
    Oh, for Christ’s sake. “Sean, knock it off,” I reprimanded.
    “Nobody’s going to shoot at us,” Julia assured us. “We’re at the right place. I’m sure of it.”
    She didn’t look sure at all.
    “Is that true?” Carrie asked Sean.  
    “His name was Yoshihiro Hattori. He was a Japanese exchange student and got lost and knocked on the wrong door.”
    Carrie sighed sadly. “That’s horrible.”  
    “Don’t worry,” Sean said. “Julia’s sure this is the right place.”
    I glanced in the rearview mirror.   Carrie didn’t look happy at all.   The car hit another deep rut, bouncing us all in our seats and probably doing irreparable harm to my car.  
    “It might help if you don’t drive into the deepest holes.” Julia stating the obvious was clearly designed to help me stay calm.
    “Thanks, sweetheart!” I replied, forcing myself to maintain a grin.
    “I’m just saying…” she began.
    “Don’t.”
    She folded her arms across her chest and looked off to the horizon.
    “Who exactly is it we’re going to see?” Sean asked.
    “Barry Lewis,” Julia said.
    “He was her bodyguard,” I