“Our truck keeps stalling. You need to fix it."
That was Warren, his voice cold enough to stab someone with. Augustus wanted to reply, but as always, it took him a second or two to push through his initial fear and reluctance. And with these two, maybe even twice as long as usual.
"It's f-f-fifteen y-years o-old. It's g-g-gonna k-keep st-st-stalling." God, he hated that he stumbled over every first letter. His stutter got so much worse under stress, which frustrated him, which in turn only exacerbated it. And when these two showed up, the stress was sky-high.
Warren's eyes narrowed. "Then you need to do a better job of fixing it."
Augustus almost rolled his eyes at him. What did the guy think he was, some kind of magician? That truck had over three hundred thousand miles on it, and moreover, those two drove it like it was a fucking freight train, always gunning it. The poor thing was held together by duct tape, one hard bump in the road from falling apart altogether.
"I c-can't f-f-fix it anym-m-more. You need t-to rep-p-lace it."
"If you can't fix it, you gonna have to give us another car. And when I say give, I mean give. We can't afford to buy another one, thanks to you and your father."
That was what it always came down to with these two. They hadn't lost a damn penny themselves, since they had been far too young, but their father had invested heavily in the resort scheme. He had lost everything, and as a consequence, the bank had repossessed their farm and everything they owned. He had died shortly after of a heart attack, brought on by the stress and shame, as everyone kept repeating.
Augustus forced himself to stay calm. Getting short with these two wouldn't solve anything. "I c-can't g-g-give you an-nother c-car."
Warren took a step closer, and Lucy growled, making him retreat again. It was a public secret that Warren was terrified of dogs, and Augustus had no qualms whatsoever about using that against him.
"Of course you can. And you will. You fucking owe us."
Augustus shook his head. "Only eight-t-teen hundred m-more for y-you. That d-d-doesn't get you a c-car."
The two brothers shared a look, as if they were surprised. Hadn’t they kept track of the amount? Or did they think Augustus wouldn't keep score?
"That can't be right," Warren said.
Augustus lifted his chin. "I can s-s-show you the rec-c-ceipts. You have s-signed for every one of th-th-them."
Another look between the brothers. Then Greg spoke up, "Well, what about interest? We would've earned a lot of interest over the years from that money."
Augustus stepped back intuitively, blinking fast. Interest? He wanted interest over the original amount? His head spun. Greg was crazy. Augustus couldn't be expected to pay interest over all the amounts. That was twenty years of compound interest, and that would easily add another five years to his punishment, to his payment plan. He couldn't. He couldn't do this for seven more years. It was insane. Inhuman. Completely and utterly unreasonable.
"No." The word flew out of his mouth before he realized it, but it felt good, so he said it again. “N-n-o.”
Warren came closer again, apparently forgetting about Lucy for a while. She barked in warning and pulled against Augustus’s hold on her collar.
"Don't c-come c-c-closer. I’ll l-l-let her l-loose."
Warren hastily walked backward, fury firing up in his eyes. "You will pay, or else…"
"Or else w-w-what?"
It struck him even as he asked it. What could these two do to him? Threaten to sue him? He was under no legal obligation to even pay them off. That had been his own sense of honor, not any legal order to do so.
They could threaten him with physical harm, but where would that get them? At some point, even Sheriff McCauley would have to act. He might've turned a blind eye toward bullying, but even he would not tolerate outright violence. Sure, McAuley had all but ignored some vandalism on Augustus’s property, as well as a few break-ins. But Augustus had ramped up his security, and those were a thing of the past now.
No, they had nothing to threaten him with. Nothing else than what they’d tried for years already, which was to make him feel small. Make him feel less, an outsider, a criminal. A felon, that was what he was in their eyes and always would be. And for years, he’d accepted that was how people saw him. Maybe he’d even felt he couldn’t expect more.
But he was done. He had paid his dues. He had borne the weight of his sentence, of the consequences of the sins of his father. And he was done.
These people didn't deserve his honor. They didn't deserve his attempts at making things right. They had done nothing, nothing at all, to ever show him a shred of mercy, of forgiveness.
He laughed, and Warren and Greg looked at him as if he was crazy. God, he had been. He had been batshit crazy, completely deluded to think that if he worked hard enough, if he showed them what kind of man he was, they would accept him.
"Get the f-f-fuck off my prop-p-perty," he said. "And d-don't ever c-c-come back."
"You'll regret this," Warren shouted at him.
"I'm d-done," Augustus told him. "Now l-l-leave before I l-let Lucy have h-her way."
In seconds they pulled off his lot, the pickup shaking and rambling and the wheels creaking with the force of their exit.
He was free.
Three days later, he’d sold the junkyard and his house. It turned out that Bill, the man who had worked for his grandfather, had a son, Jeremy, who had been looking for a business opportunity like this. Jeremy was a truck driver who had recently married and wanted to stop being on the road so much and grow roots somewhere. When they met, he told Augustus he could fix anything, and Bill’s proud look said he wasn’t lying.
Once Jeremy had seen Augustus’s numbers, he didn't need much convincing, especially considering the price Augustus asked. He knew it was well below market value, but he didn't care. He wanted it gone. He wanted to be free.
He told Bill and Jeremy to set up the sale and arrange for all the paperwork, and he would sign whatever he had to. In the meantime, Jeremy could take over the junkyard. It was a gentlemen's agreement, but he trusted Bill to keep his word. If his grandfather had trusted him, that was good enough for Augustus.
Jeremy made a down payment in cash, and Augustus used it to trade his pickup in for a newer, stronger model. Then he rented the largest trailer he could find and packed up everything he wanted to keep. His books, some furniture he was attached to, keepsakes of his mom, the board games. Everything else, he left for Jeremy. He could keep it, sell it, donate it, whatever. Bill wanted the chickens, so they were taken care of as well.
In the space he had left in the trailer, he packed up the metal sculptures he’d made that he loved the most, carefully wrapped in bubble wrap and blankets. Leaving the others behind hurt, but he would make new ones.
He had everything stowed into the trailer on day five, and he did a final walk-through of the house to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important. His body buzzed with energy, with adrenaline. He would be on the road for days, but he’d count down every mile. He was on his way to Quentin, and that thought was enough to make him giddy.
Sheriff McCauley turned into his lot just as Augustus put Lucy on the passenger’s seat, giving her a blanket on the floor and a toy to keep her happy. Augustus bit back a curse. What did he want now?