Hillbilly Startup

By Gil Miller and Gordon Bonnet

Just when he thinks he's clear of the meth business, Lyle Villines gets busted cold cooking for a friend. After his arrest, he's approached by a DEA agent who wants him to work as an informant - and take down someone high up in a Mexican cartel. It's a tall order for a small-time player like Lyle, but one he can't refuse. If he doesn't do it, he

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gil Miller
• Release date: Sep 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987767696

Gil Miller

Gil had a normal upbringing, which means his parents aren't to blame for him going into crime (fiction). Instead, he blames a steady diet of movies, shows, and books, from Miami Vice and Scarface in the '80s to Breaking Bad and Justified in the '00s. To cap it all off, he discovered authors such as Michael Connelly, Robert Crais, Don Winslow, and the late, great Elmore Leonard. Gil is a member of the Northwest Arkansas Writers Workshop, whose members sometimes wonder where he gets his inspiration. He makes his home outside Fayetteville, where he is at work on the next of his Rural Empires novels.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

THERE AIN’T NOTHING quite so cold as a police interrogation room. If you ain’t ever been in one count yourself lucky. It was my first time, and I was already thinking I’d try to make it my last. Cinderblock walls painted gray, cold gray metal table, and that damn fluorescent light overhead. Not something that made you want to curl up and go to sleep.

And all this after spending about six hours in a cell. Locked up around midnight, then brought in here just after six in the morning, according to the clock in the little booth where all the cops sat.

My future didn’t exactly look bright. Cops’d pulled me over for batching in my car. It wasn’t something I’d done much of, but an old customer called wanting one hit. Just one measly hit. Why the hell he hadn’t called Rusty, I had no idea.

All right. I’ll do it. And I had. Driving along, cold-cooking in an old two-liter Coke bottle. These days, they just throw the things in the ditch and drive off, come back for it later. But not me. Oh no. I never even thought of that. I had it in the backseat, watching it with my rearview, and I’d pulled over to let off some pressure so it wouldn’t blow.

I don’t know if the breeze was blowing the wrong direction or what, but a few minutes after I got back on the road, my mirror’s filled with blue lights. He hit me with the spots right after that, and there wasn’t no tossing it out the window.

Caught, throwed in jail, then led into the interrogation room.

I sat there in that chair, trying not to sweat. That’s what they were trying to get me to do. Cops in my county, they’re down on drugs, and getting caught batching, well, I couldn’t hardly see a reason to even call a lawyer. There wasn’t one on my payroll anyway. I didn’t have that kind of money. Not anymore.

Middle of summer in Arkansas and this room’s colder than a bitch. I shivered in my thin shirt. The metal of the chair was cold against my back. The air coming from the a/c vent was cold. Just a damn cold room. No way I was gonna sweat in that meat locker.

Then the door opened, and a cop walked in. He had on a tie, and his badge was on his belt. No gun, though. Guess they was afraid I’d jump up and take it from him. I wouldn’t. I hadn’t killed nobody—yet.

The cop sat down across from me, laid some papers on the table, then looked at me. Stared at me, more like. His eyes were as cold as that room. I felt like a bug under a microscope. I think they teach that stare in cop school.

Lyle Villines?

I nodded, not sure if I trusted myself to talk yet.

Mister Villines, my name is Detective Ed Walsh.

You know how your mind goes funny sometimes when you’re deep in it? I had to fight the urge to ask him if his folks had really named him Detective. I managed to keep my mouth shut, though.

Howdy, I said.

He smiled. Looked like a lizard. Or a snake getting ready to eat a mouse. You’re in some deep shit, you know that?

I nodded again.

What the hell were you thinking, driving around cooking meth in your backseat?

I shook my head. I was kind of wonderin that myself. Hadn’t come up with a good answer yet, either.

He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. He was a big guy, kinda heavyset, but you could see that there was some hard muscle under the fat. Had big hands with thick fingers. I wouldn’t want him taking a swing at me.

We don’t like people doing that in this county, Mister Villines.

I tried to say something, but had to clear my throat first.

I don’t expect you do. I didn’t say it like a smartass, and he could see that.

Then would you mind telling me why you were doing it?

I sighed, then let my shoulders slump and glanced down at the table. I was getting tired of his cop stare. They make you feel guilty even if you ain’t done nothin.

I just do it to get a little extra money, I said. Times are hard.

His chair creaked, and I glanced up to see he’d leaned back in it. He stared at me for what seemed like a few years, then said, Bullshit.

I’m pretty sure my mouth dropped open.

What?

You knew what you were doing, Mister Villines, he said. That wasn’t something an amateur would do. And that was high-grade methamphetamine you were cooking.

I stared, not sure what to say. They must have tested it while I was in my cell.

You ever use the stuff? he said.

Hell no. I never understood how anybody did. Especially anyone who cooked. But it happened.

He gazed at me for a few minutes more. Then he got up.

Stay here.

I nodded. Where the hell was I gonna go? But I never have mouthed off to cops, and I wasn’t gonna start this late in life. He returned the nod and left.

Sittin in that cold room, I thought about cold jail cells. My day sure as hell wasn’t working out like I’d thought it would.

A few minutes later, Walsh came back in with another feller. This guy had a different look to him that was kinda hard to put into words. Ed Walsh looked pretty good in his white shirt and tan pants. Like he took care to look good, you know? He had his sleeves rolled up to show beefy forearms, and his clothes were a little rumpled like he’d had a long day.

This other guy, though, he was slender and still had his suit jacket on. No rolled up sleeves here. No rumple, either. You coulda sliced bread on his creases. Hair combed just so. I didn’t have any experience with em then, but even so, I knowed he was a Fed of some kind right off the bat. He had that slick look. Not quite like a lawyer, but like he wouldn’t step out of the house without shaving and putting on all his smell-better stuff.

We called it sure-fuck stink-better back in my Army days. And he must have had about a gallon on. I could smell it across the table. I just hoped it didn’t mean I was the one about to get fucked.

Mister Villines, this is Special Agent Dan Robinson, Walsh said, pointing at Slick.

Special Agent? You mean like FBI?

Slick shook his head and smiled. Looked like the cat that ate the bird.

DEA, he said.

Well, that meant I wouldn’t get to ask him if he knew Scully and Mulder. I had to get a grip here. My mind was going in too many weird directions, and I was in the shit. So I looked back at Walsh, my eyebrows raised.

He glanced at Slick, then turned back to me. Mister Villines, how would you like to walk out of here? Just get in your car and drive home. Without your meth, of course.

CHAPTER TWO

I STARED AT him. What he was sayin didn’t make much sense.

I mean, it sounded kinda good, but how much of my soul would I have to give up? This might turn out to be worse than just naming names.

What do I have to do?

Work for us, Slick said. He leaned forward, dark blue suit shining in the overhead light. Help us get the big guys.

Big guys? What big guys? I don’t know any big guys.

No, but we’ll show you how to meet them. Through the users you know. These people are networked, Mister Villines. They run it like a business on Wall Street.

I stared at him, not sure what to think. His voice was smooth, and I got to thinking about deals with the devil.

Why me? I said. You already know how to do it.

He musta used teeth whitener, cause his smile made the room brighter. I didn’t trust it.

Because you’re already selling. I can’t go in there and try to work my way up and neither can Detective Walsh. They know you, though. They’ve bought your meth and they trust you. We don’t want their names because they’re small-time. We want the guys who are bringing in the big shipments.

I glanced back and forth between them. I was hearing the words, but it was like they was in some other language.

Who’s bringin in big shipments? I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Mexicans, Mister Villines.

"Mexicans? You want me to talk to Mexicans?"

Slick nodded. Northwest Arkansas is part of the pipeline Mexican cartels use to move meth up into Missouri and as far east as Virginia. He watched me real close. We haven’t had any luck tapping into it. The people who move it around here are too tight-knit, and the Mexicans don’t trust Anglos they don’t know.

I stared at him some more. Mister, I don’t know any Mexicans, and I don’t speak Spanish. How the hell am I supposed to do what you’re askin? I leaned back in my chair. I couldn’t do this, so I was gettin ready to go to jail. You might as well quit wasting my time and yours and find somebody else.

But that’s exactly why you’re the perfect candidate. The Mexicans don’t know you, but the locals do. You’ve got a reputation. All you have to do is act the part of a small dealer trying to move up in the world.

"You talkin about Miami Vice stuff?"

Slick laughed and I changed what I thought about him a little. Any man can laugh like that can’t be all bad.

"No, not like Miami Vice, he said. The smile disappeared. Do you pay attention to the news?"

Not much.

How about the drug wars in Mexico? Have you heard about them?

I glanced at Walsh, wondering why he was being so quiet. He just stared back at me. Yeah, I heard a little, I said, turning to Slick.

The cartel bosses are hopping their soldiers up on meth, Mister Villines. That’s why all these beheadings and such are happening. It’s an army of tweakers. He stopped and studied me, like he was searching for something. These people don’t fuck around. If they think you’ve betrayed them, they’ll kill you. They have county sheriffs in the Southwest on their hit lists. Joe Arpaio has a price of a million dollars, last I heard.

I knew about Arpaio. He was the guy put criminals in the pink outfits. I thought it was funny as shit. Still do. That ain’t much of a sales pitch, mister.

He lifted his hands. It’s the truth. I don’t intend to lie to you. I don’t have to sell you on this. You don’t take it, you go to jail.

And if I take it?

He smiled again. You go home. The bust never happened. We show you how to work undercover and meet with our agents to pass along information.

I turned to Walsh. What’s your stake in this? I felt a little braver. I might just get out of this yet.

I think you’re basically a good guy, he said, then stopped and looked thoughtful. No, that’s not right. Agent Robinson told you the truth, so I will too. I want to take Washington County out of the pipeline and maybe you can help. He shrugged. But I’ll be happy to put you in jail if you don’t want to do it.

I nodded. I had the feeling they were telling the truth. They didn’t have anything to lose, so why not?

The whole thing was nuts, though. Me, work for the Feds? Crazy. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. And it would beat going to prison. Guess I didn’t have much to lose either.

All right. What do I got to do?

They started in telling me, but they left one thing out: having to call my ex-wife to come pick me up from jail.

HO BOY WAS she mad. She pulled up to the curb in front of the jail and stared straight ahead, her hands at 10 and 2 o’clock on the steering wheel just like the manual said.

I walked around behind the car, just in case.

Sittin next to her in the little Camry was like being right up against one of them old pot-bellied stoves. The heat come off her like she glowed red. I was kinda hopin she’d turn the air-conditioning on.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that mad.

She stayed quiet a long time. Didn’t nod or nothin when I told her the impound lot was in Farmington, a little town west of Fayetteville. She finally spoke up while we sat at the red light by the 540 overpass.

Goddamnit, Lyle.

That wasn’t a good start.

I know. Might be better to just go along with her.

What the hell happened?

An even worse sign. Patty almost never cussed, and here she’d done it twice in less than a minute. I was in for it.

I drew in a deep breath. Here it was. All of a sudden, I was as nervous as any kid who’s gotta admit to his dad he did somethin wrong. You know, broke a window in the shed, started up the tractor when he wasn’t supposed to and drove it through a fence, somethin like that.

This was a lot worse than any of those things, though.

I bit the bullet and told her what had happened. She’d known about me batching since it was how I paid for Kendra’s medical bills when she had leukemia. I let it slip once what I was doing and she’d never let me forget it. I’d said I’d find another way, and I’d really tried.

But it’s a tough business to get out of. And I didn’t get out soon enough.

She was quiet for a long time after I finished. I watched the traffic as she headed for the impound yard. Cars buzzed back and forth, folks headed to work or home from night shifts.

It all looked different to me. Spending the night in jail did it, I guess.

Goddamnit, Lyle, she said again.

That was really bad.

"You told me you were going to stop. You said you’d find another way to do it. You promised, Lyle."

Well, there’s takin it and then there’s takin it. I’d promised myself I’d keep a lid on my anger. But sometimes, no matter how hard you try, the pot just boils right on over, like you’d never been watching it in the first place.

No, I didn’t, Patty. I turned and gave her my hardest stare.

Like usual, it didn’t work the way I thought it should. She stared right back at me.

I told you I’d try, I said. But I was gonna do whatever it took to take care of Kendy. You can’t hold that against me.

I can when you’re doing something illegal. Have you thought about how stupid that is? If you get caught, you could go to jail.

For a second, that one took me by surprise. What did she think had happened? Then I realized it was still really sinking in on her. Heck, it was still sinking in on me, and I was the one who’d spent hours at the Sheriff’s Office. Me and Patty were still friends, she still cared about me, and you always get throwed for a loop when something like that happens to a friend. Especially one that ain’t been in trouble before.

"Patty, what the hell do you think happened to me last night? I did get caught. They offered me a choice. I could work for them or go to prison. They seemed to think I could do some good."

She stared at me, her eyes shooting laser beams or something. My face heated up, and I clenched my jaw. This was getting fucked up. Like I didn’t have enough shit on my shoulders already.

At least if you went to prison, the kids would be safe. Did you ever think of that? Damnit, Lyle, you should have never done this in the first place. If you hadn’t started making that shit, you wouldn’t be in this mess. She took a deep breath like she was trying to get ahold of herself.

She turned and stared out the windshield. What do you think you can do?

Good question.

I have no idea, I said. Haven’t had time to think about it yet. Hard to believe I’d gone through all those years of cooking meth to pay Kendy’s medical bills just to get caught when I was almost out of the business.

I sighed as Patty pulled into the parking lot of the impound yard.

I don’t know what I can do, but I gotta figger it out. If I don’t, the kids’ll have to visit me in prison.

Patty was quiet for a few seconds.

That might be better than having to go to your funeral.

CHAPTER THREE

IT COST ME a pretty penny to get my car back, and Patty was long gone by the time I left the impound yard. Said she had to get back to the kids. They were out of school, and she had a rare summer off from taking some kind of class or other herself.

Her being gone was okay with me. Driving home without cops or an ex-wife pestering me gave me time to actually think about things.

And they didn’t look good.

First of all, I had to come up with something to tell Shaun, the guy I’d been making the hit of meth for. I’d have to make some more or something. No way could I tell him I’d been busted. Everybody would turn their backs on me if I did.

Problem was, I wasn’t that good at lyin. I hated bein lied to, so I didn’t tell em. I had a feelin I was gonna have to learn how.

How to do this? I hadn’t seen Rusty Barnes, my old partner, in quite a while. The first thing I’d done to get out of the business was turn everything over to him.

God, I didn’t want to go back into that mess. I wasn’t cut out for it, not really. I had kids I wanted to see grow up, and I knowed enough about the business to understand a lot of the folks in it didn’t live to collect their Social Security checks.

The players could change fast, so the best thing to do was go and talk to Rusty.

I needed a shower first, though. I’d been up pretty much all night, still wearing the same clothes I’d put on around five o’clock the morning before. Clothes I’d worn to work and then mowed the yard in.

After the shower, I grabbed something to eat right quick, then sat down for a minute. Woke up about three hours later with a crick in my neck and a headache from hell.

Took an hour or so to get goin after that.

When I finally walked out the front door, the heat hit me like a wall. I squinted against the sunlight and stumbled to my car, an old Honda Accord I’d got for next to nothin back when we found out Kendy had leukemia.

The inside was like an oven, and the a/c didn’t work.

I sat there in that hot car and thought about saying fuck it and going back in the house.

I laid my head back against the top of the seat and closed my eyes. A less-hot breeze blew through car, taking some of the oven heat out with it. I already needed another shower.

Best place to start would be with Rusty. He’d been the one who introduced me to Reid Parker back when Kendy had leukemia, so he might still know somebody who could help me.

I wasn’t exactly off to see the wizard, but it was close enough for government work.

I’D ONLY BEEN to Rusty’s house once, so findin it again was a little tricky. He lived on the south side of Fayetteville, not a great long ways from the Marshalltown plant where we’d both worked.

Oh, hell. Work. I’d missed a day without calling in. I’d worked there over twenty years and never done that. Well, they’d have to—

Shit. Tonya. What was I gonna tell her?

Everything hit me at once, and I had to pull over to the side of the street.

Tonya Chambers was my…well, girlfriend didn’t quite seem like the right word when you’re both in your forties, but I didn’t know what else to use. We both worked at Marshalltown, and we’d been together for about three years. We’d talked about living together, but we were both old enough we liked our separate places, so it just kinda ended up with us being together without living together.

She didn’t know about my little side business, though. I’d blurted it out to Patty by accident, while I was mad, and that was the only reason she knowed. I hadn’t wanted to tell anybody because I thought it was too dangerous. Patty was the only one I’d ever told.

What was I gonna say to Tonya? For that matter, what would I tell my boss?

Didn’t help none that it was a Friday. Missing the day after payday wouldn’t look good at all.

Well, there was nothin for it. I’d just have to deal with one thing at a time.

It took me another fifteen minutes to find Rusty’s house, and when I did, I wondered if it was the right one. The yard was all growed up, and the curtains closed. Made the place look abandoned. But the car in the driveway was his.

The gate through the waist-high chain link fence squealed when I opened it, and when I stepped up on the porch, the boards creaked.

Rusty opened the door before I could knock, then stood there blinking at me for a few seconds.

He looked like hell.

Like a dumbass, he’d quit work when I handed the meth business over to him. I’d told him it was a stupid thing to do, that he had to keep it lookin like he had a legal income, but he was too hopped up over the idea of having it all to himself. He was gonna live the high life of a big-time drug dealer.

I figgered he’d watched too many movies.

Whoa, Lyle. How you doin, bud?

No sense beatin around the bush.

We need to talk, I said.

He stared at me a few seconds more, then stepped to the side. Sure, man. C’mon in. Excuse the mess. The maid’s off this week.

Gardener too, from the looks of the yard. But I kept my mouth shut.

Had to when I got inside, cause the place stunk. It smelled of rotten food and cat piss, but I didn’t see no cats. He’d been batching in his house.

Dumber and dumber.

Here. He throwed a pile of dirty clothes off a canvas lawn chair—the kind you usually take to the lake or whatever—and turned the thing to face the one other seat that didn’t have shit piled up in it, a ratty recliner La-Z-Boy would never admit to making.

I sat down in the lawn chair, hopin it wouldn’t break.

So what’s up, dude? Rusty said.

I want to get back in the business.

Oh. Pause. Why?

Good question. I hadn’t really thought about why I’d want back in, since I’d wanted out so bad the whole time I’d been doin it. And Rusty knowed that. So I said the first thing that popped into my head.

I miss the money.

He tilted his head to one side. Dude, you never kept the money when you was cookin. Hell, you’re still drivin that old Honda, man.

I leaned toward him, ready to jump to my feet if that damned chair folded up on me.

That’s just it. This could work. I was seeing all kinds of ways to make it work. I spent all that money on Kendy. You know that was over a million bucks by the time Patty found a way to get her into Saint Jude’s?

No shit?

"No shit. A million bucks, man. And I’m drivin a fifteen-year-old car and still going to work."

Rusty nodded like what I’d said was the wisest thing he’d ever heard. That’s some fucked up shit, man. Then he spread his arms. But I think you can see there ain’t no money in it no more.

Well, he had that right. The place was piled up with shit—no other word for it, really—and with the curtains closed, it was like bein in a cave.

What happened?

"What didn’t happen, man? He acted really pissed off. First off, there’s the Mexicans. They’re movin dope through here like you wouldn’t believe, and they’re sellin it cheap. We can’t do it that cheap cuz it’s a bitch to get pseudo. Sure, you can have a few customers, but it ain’t nothin like it was before.

And then there’s word on the street that a couple of guys who’re maybe tied in with the Mexicans—maybe even one of the cartels—are sewing things up around here, makin it so you can’t sell meth or much of anything else without gettin it from them.

That complicated things. Only way I knowed to try and move up was to go back into cookin. But if somebody was tryin to take over the market it wouldn’t be easy to do.

Who are these guys? I said. Maybe there was a way to make a deal with them.

Rusty shrugged. I don’t know, man. I ain’t been able to get much word on them. Only thing I heard is they hang out with some badass Mexican that’s hooked up with one of the cartels.

That really complicated things. I didn’t know a whole lot about the cartels in those days, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know anything. I’d heard some things on the news, and wasn’t none of it good.

They’re here in Arkansas? I said.

If they ain’t, they’re workin on it. But that’s just rumor, man. You know how that can be. Might all be bullshit.

Okay. But you said it’s hard to get pseudo. That still means you can get it, though, right?

He leaned forward. "I can’t. Well, I could, if I had the money. But I don’t. You got money I could maybe hook you up with a dude, if he’s still in business. I’m out, and I’m stayin out."

Why?

Too scary for me these days, man.

But you can introduce me to this guy who can get me some pseudo?

Sure.

Sounds good to me. But look, in case this doesn’t work, you remember when we went into business first time you mentioned this family named Higgins?

It was like the skin on his face tightened up or something. That’s the only way I know to describe it. His lips got thin, his eyes smaller, and with what he said next, there might have been goose bumps on his arms.

"You don’t wanna mess with them dudes, Lyle. They’re bad news all the way around. Goin into business again is one thing, but you try hookin up with the Higginses, word I heard is that’s a quick way to wind up dead in