Do Unto Others

By Geonn Cannon

Professional grifter Tinker and her apprentice, Penny Chaplin, have been conning their way across America for the past five years. They rob from the rich and corrupt and give to the deserving: themselves.

There aren't many rules to being a grifter.
Don't get greedy.
Always trust your partner.
Never fall for a mark.

In the summer of 1945, killing time between jobs in Albuquerque, they're going to break all three.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Supposed Crimes, LLC
• Release date: May 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781952150920

Geonn Cannon

Geonn Cannon was born in a barn and raised to know better than that. He was born and raised in Oklahoma where he’s been enslaved by a series of cats, dogs, two birds and one unexpected turtle. He’s spent his entire life creating stories but only became serious about it when he realized it was a talent that could impress girls. Learning to write well was easier than learning to juggle, so a career was underway. His high school years were spent writing stories among a small group of friends and reading whatever books he could get his hands on.Geonn was inspired to create the fictional Squire’s Isle after a 2004 trip to San Juan Island in Washington State. His first novel set on the island, On the Air, was written almost as a side project to another story he wanted to tell. Reception to the story was so strong that the original story was put on the back burner to deal with the world created in On the Air. His second novel set in the same universe, Gemini, was also very well received and went on to win the Golden Crown Literary Society Award for Best Novel, Dramatic/General Fiction. Geonn was the first male author to receive the honor.While some of his novels haven’t focused as heavily on Squire’s Isle, the vast majority of Geonn’s works take place in the same universe and have connections back to the island and its cast of characters (the exception being the Riley Parra series). In addition to writing more novels based on the inhabitants of Squire’s Isle, Geonn hopes to one day move to the real-life equivalent to inspire further stories.Geonn is currently working on a tie-in novel to the television series Stargate SG-1, and a script for a webseries version of Riley Parra.

Book preview

Do Unto Others

Geonn Cannon

Supposed Crimes LLC

Matthews, North Carolina

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2023 Geonn Cannon

Published in the United States

ISBN: 978-1-952150-92-0

Monday July 16, 1945

We were standing next to the truck when it happened. She stopped midsentence and looked over my shoulder.

"What in the world is that?"

Oldest trick in the book, right? Amateur. But neither of us was any amateur, and besides, I could see it in her eyes. Not just her expression, I mean, literally, I saw it in her eyes. Some kind of light, blooming, reflecting. So I looked over my shoulder. There was a line of light along the horizon, spreading out like spilled wine on a tablecloth.

"Sunrise," I said. It was about that time.

"That’s south."

I turned around to face it fully. That’s when we felt it. The ground under our shoes, shaking. Just a real low vibration, subtle enough that I wasn’t entirely sure I felt it until I saw she was looking at her feet. By that time, the whole horizon had lit up. It would be months before we knew the truth. A test called Trinity. A new kind of horrible, awful weapon being exploded by a bunch of scientists somewhere about fifty miles south of us. The sun was still waiting to rise in its proper place. But to the south, it was bright as noontime, because a tiny little brand-new sun had floated up over the desert.

My heart was in my throat. I don’t think I was breathing, and I wasn’t sure if I’d stopped myself or if the air had all been burned away. That bright cloud just kept rising up and up and up, and then we heard it, like the sky cracking open. It knocked me back a step. I felt her hand on my shoulder, and then her other hand slipped into mine.

Despite everything, I gripped it tight. I think she needed it as much as I did. I barely even remembered what we’d been fighting about before the sky exploded.

What could it possibly have mattered at the end of the world?

Chapter One

New Mexico

Monday July 9, 1945

The clouds started rolling in just after lunchtime. They filled up the formerly empty sky and the temperature sank in response. One two-lane road cut through the scrubland. The sun baked asphalt was barely distinguishable from the desert around it, forcing the lone vehicle on the road to straddle the middle lines so it didn’t accidentally drift off the shoulder. It was a sturdy truck, forest green under a thick layer of dirt. The back was loaded with suitcases and boxes draped with a plain brown tarp that was anchored to the sidewalls.

The passenger side window of the truck was down so Penny Chaplin could smell rain on the air. She had long ago gotten bored by the landscape, unchanged by the past hundred miles or so. There were long stretches of desert scrub occasionally spiced up with broken-down fences and small farmhouses set far back from the main road. Sometimes there were bursts of green, but they were just oases that made the harshness around them more noticeable. The horizon was flat and unchanging save for the flat-topped hills that rose up here and there.

The rain would feel amazing after the past few days of driving in the hot truck. Penny was very fair, strawberry blonde and pale, and too much time in the sun made her feel like she was right on the verge of boiling. But Tinker was driving so it was her decision when and if the air conditioning could run. She almost always elected not.

Chaplin didn’t understand why she’d paid so much for the feature if she was never going to use it, but Tinker was adamant. Her truck, her rules, and it wasn’t worth arguing over. Chaplin just made certain her porkpie hat was secure and leaned closer to the window to catch the breeze.

Up ahead, she spotted a filling station. The sign advertised it as SELF-SERVE ONLY. A truck was already parked on the building-side of the pumps. She glanced at Tinker, who acknowledged she’d also seen it without saying a word. The gas gauge wasn’t a cause for alarm yet. It was only a few miles to the next town. But when they reached the small brick building, Tinker clicked on her turn signal and pulled off the road. She rolled to a stop on the other side of the pumps.

Lend a hand? Chaplin said.

Watch my skills, Tinker said.

Chaplin nodded and got out of the truck. She crossed the patch of pavement in a few long strides. She undid the top few buttons of her shirt and fanned out the collar, perfectly reasonable given the temperature. She was in an emerald green blouse with suspenders and houndstooth pants. Not exactly an outfit designed for seduction of any sort, but she knew how to get blood from a stone. She adjusted her glasses, hooked her thumbs under her suspenders, and cleared her throat in anticipation of the speech she was about to give.

She swung open the door and was greeted by a beautifully cold blast. She looked gratefully up at the oscillating fan placed on top of a shelf near the cash register. She took a moment to appreciate the sweat drying on her face before she took in the rest of her surroundings.

A broomstick of a clerk - older, balding, more bone than beef - was casually resting his elbows on the counter. A customer, the driver of the other truck, leaned against the other side of the counter with a half-full bottle of Coke hanging from his hand. The other driver was barrel-thick and squat. They both turned and looked at her. She could sense the silence of a paused conversation.

Afternoon, gentlemen! she said, taking a step toward them with her first word. She gestured with her hands as she spoke. "You know what I miss? What I genuinely miss? Full-service gas stations. They used to be all over the place, but they’re starting to become more rare, it seems. Now, I’m not casting aspersions on you, sir. Not at all. I know how much work you have on your hands running an establishment like this.

But sometimes it’s nice to be treated a little special. You know? You pull into a service station and a man in a tidy uniform runs out and cleans your windshield, checks your oil, kicks the tires, makes sure your carriage is in tip-top shape. It almost makes you feel like royalty, doesn’t it? Just a little?

The men exchanged amused looks. The customer nodded and stood up straighter. I suppose you may have a point there, miss.

Surely I do, surely. That’s why my sister and I like to spread a little of that feeling around when we can. If you’d like, sir, she would be more than happy to wash your windows and make sure your car is in top working order.

They turned and looked outside. Tinker was waiting between the pumps. She smiled and lifted the squeegee in greeting.

No charge, Chaplin added quickly. We just like to spread a little joy around when it’s in our ability to do so.

The customer laughed. Why not. Go nuts.

Chaplin gave Tinker a thumbs-up. Tinker nodded and dipped the squeegee into the water.

While she got started on the windshield, Chaplin took the deck of cards from the back pocket of her trousers. She started shuffling them quick-like, with nimble and confident fingers.

While she’s doing that, gentlemen, how about we play a game?

The clerk lifted his chin and smiled a knowing smile. Ah, here we are. When the carny patter starts, it’s only a matter of time before the game shows up.

Just a game, sir, nothing carnival about it. In fact, if it sets your mind to ease, we won’t even play for money. Just for fun, pride, and bragging rights. She flicked the cards from one hand to the other in a single wave. What do you say, nothing lost but a few minutes of your day.

The customer chuckled and tapped the counter. Let’s see what you’ve got.

I like you, sir, you seem like a very amenable fellow. Always going with the flow, seeing where the day takes you. It rarely takes us anywhere boring, if we’re willing to go.

She shuffled while she spoke. She placed three cards face-up on the counter, seemingly at random, and returned the rest of the deck to her pocket. They were left with a King of Clubs, a Queen of Hearts, and a King of Diamonds. She knocked each card with a knuckle and named them.

Meet Joe, Jane, and Jack. Jack’s strong, he can flex and smile to get Jane on her back. But Joe’s got dough, and you know how easily women are swayed by a man with coin. They’re both after Jane’s heart, but you can win it if you just keep her in your sights.

She flipped the cards over and used both hands to shift them.

Get your girl, sir, find her or find out who stole her away. Jack’s gonna come out swinging, Joe’s got shiny rings and things, but the lady has your heart, and all you’ve gotta do is keep her from getting away. Are you watching, are you paying attention, are you following your heart, my friend? She stopped shuffling them and moved her hands back. Where’s your lovely lass?

The customer pointed to the center card. Chaplin hissed between her teeth and flipped it over to reveal the Queen.

Glad we’re not playing for money. How about you, sir? She looked at the clerk. Want to try your luck? Still just fun, nothing but fun.

Why not.

She shuffled them again. Your friend stole her heart, but there’s still a chance she’ll be swayed by a sharp-eyed clever man like you. A businessman, no less! What’s not to love. But first you have to find her, and she’s a quick’n, just when you think you’ve spotted her, she’s nowhere to be found. Do you think you have what it takes to make her settle down?

He touched the far right card. Chaplin flipped it over. Queen.

You’re excellent at the patter, the clerk said. Maybe if you just get a little quicker with the cards.

Maybe so, maybe so, she said, returning the cards to the deck. I thank you for the opportunity to practice my skills.

She went to the icebox and came back with two bottles of Royal Crown. Before she could put them down on the counter, the customer waved her back.

Put those on my tab, Bud.

Chaplin’s eyes widened behind her glasses. Are you sure? I don’t want you feeling hustled here.

He shrugged, smiling wide. Your sister washed my window and you provided a much needed bit of entertainment on an otherwise dull afternoon. It would be my pleasure. Besides, a gentleman always buys drinks for beautiful ladies.

She grinned. Well, gosh. Thank you, sir.

"The name is Holland. James Holland. And I thank you, Miss..."

Margaret Byrd, sir, lovely to meet you. And I’m sure my sister thanks you, too. It’s been a real hot drive.

I bet it has, young lady.

Chaplin looked out the front window. Tinker was putting the nozzle back on the gas pump. Well, I still owe you for the gas. How much?

The clerk, Bud, looked at the machine. Looks like... forty-five cents.

He seemed to take note of the low price, but he didn’t press it. Certainly a lot of people had come through and only gotten the bare minimum, just what they needed to get home. Chaplin put two quarters down on the counter and smiled to both men.

Thanks again, gentlemen. And I’m going to get better at the game, promise.

You do, then come on back and try your luck again, James Holland said. Next time we may even raise the stakes a little.

Chaplin laughed softly. Wow, exciting! Okay! Have a nice day, sirs.

She carried the bottles out to the truck. The engine was already running when she climbed into the passenger seat. Tinker pulled away from the pumps and got back on the main road. Chaplin used the bottle opener mounted on the dash to open their drinks and handed one of the bottles to Tinker. She took a long swig, swished it around in her mouth, and leaned to her left to spit it out the window.

Get a mouthful again?

The fumes, Tinker said, wrinkling her nose. She took another drink. Like kissing someone with gravestones as teeth.

Blech.

Chaplin twisted to look in the back of the truck. A red jerry can was sitting against the sidewall, tucked in alongside their suitcases and other belongings.

While she distracted the truck’s owner and the clerk, Tinker used the full-service routine to get the can from the bed of their truck. She’d slipped a hose out of her pocket. And under the pretense of checking the air pressure in the tires, knelt down and replaced James Holland’s nozzle with her tube. Siphoning could literally leave a bad taste in Tinker’s mouth, but hopefully the fizzy water in the pop would help wash it away.

How much did we get? she asked.

A couple of gallons.

Not bad. The pops were free, by the way.

Tinker grinned. Did you charm the gentlemen, Miss Chaplin?

I didn’t mean to, Chaplin said. It just happens.

Uh-huh. Tinker laughed. Well, then. We came out better than I thought. We might have a nice fancy dinner tonight.

Chaplin whistled. That would be swell.

They wouldn’t stop in the next town. It was far too likely Holland was from there. It would definitely be one of the first places he’d go when he discovered his gas tank was nowhere near as full as it should be. He might blame the mechanism first, or crawl underneath to look for a leak, but eventually he would remember the lady who had been messing around with the truck at the filling station. It would be very good for them if they were long gone by the time he came looking.

As they left the filling station behind them, the sky opened up and began wetting the road with a nice, gentle shower. Chaplin left the window down and stuck her arm straight out, catching the rain in the palm of her hand.

That’s goin’ to ruin the nice squeegee I just gave his windscreen, Tinker said. Poor guy ended up getting nothing out of meeting us.

Shame, Chaplin said with a smile. Some people are just unlucky, I guess.

Tinker laughed and drove on into the rain.

***

They saw the first sign on the outskirts of Albuquerque: THE HOLY SPIRIT is COMING! Will you be part of His Grand Crusade?? Miracles! Salvation! Eternal Life! AWAITING YOU! JULY 15-20! Chaplin sat up straighter and twisted to look at the sign as they passed it. She didn’t even have to ask. Tinker was ready when she turned back around to face forward.

I’ll start looking for a room to rent.

Are you sure?

Tinker smiled at her. I don’t want you pouting all the way to Arizona.

Chaplin whooped and punched the ceiling of the truck. Tinker couldn’t help but laugh at the younger woman’s enthusiasm. Church revivals were always a great target, and they hadn’t run across one in a few months. They always had plenty of opportunities for fun and profit, more than enough to justify setting down roots for a week or so.

They stopped to get a newspaper to check the listings, then drove through the borderland neighborhoods to take a look at the places being advertised. They didn’t stop at any of them, instead making snap judgements based on what they saw driving past. Too exposed, too far from the heart of the city, too close to the heart of the city, too many neighbors. Tinker would eliminate places with a shake of her head. Chaplin knew better than to ask for explanations. She had been doing this long enough that sometimes she didn’t even need a reason. If her intuition told her to skip a place, she trusted it and kept driving.

Tinker finally settled on an adobe ranch house a few blocks before the city gave way to desert. The room for rent was a detached building on the back of the property, which was enclosed by a low wall. Tinker looked at Chaplin, who shrugged and nodded. Tinker agreed and parked at the curb. Chaplin remained in the truck while Tinker followed the tile walkway up to the front door.

She knocked, took a step back, squinted to the west as she waited. A few more houses like this one, and then nothing but open desert. The horizon was made up of rocky hills that looked close but she knew from experience were probably a hundred miles away. It was the perfect place to make a quick escape if one became necessary.

She was about to raise her hand to knock again when the door swung open. The woman who answered was younger than expected, but clearly the owner of the house rather than a housekeeper or maid. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyebrows, a shade darker than her hair, were thick and knitted together in an almost angry tangle as she squinted into the sun. She gave Tinker an up-and-down examination, judging her as quickly as Tinker had judged the other places offering rooms, and then craned her neck to look at the truck. Chaplin had the brim of her hat pushed up and her glasses perched low on her nose. Her arm was dangling out the window, and lifted her hand in a lazy wave. The woman didn’t wave back, instead refocusing on Tinker.

You’re here about the room?

That’s right, Tinker said, slightly thrown by the woman’s brusqueness. "I’m Edith Byrd and

that’s--"

Don’t bother with all that yet, the woman interrupted. She stepped out of the house and closed the door behind her. Wait until you see the place before we waste time getting to know each other.

Tinker nodded. That seems like a reasonable course of action.

The woman started out along the side of the house. She motioned for Chaplin to get out of the truck. They followed her to the building on the back of her property, the small stones of the yard rattling under their shoes as they walked. Chaplin jogged to catch up with them, hands in her pockets. The woman looked back at her. She eyed Chaplin’s trousers, hat, suspenders, and button-down shirt.

Are you two roustabouts?

No, ma’am, Tinker said.

She’s dressed like one.

Tinker chuckled. Margie likes to dress comfortable on the road.

The woman didn’t respond to that. She unlocked the house and stepped inside, turning on the light as she