The spoil of beasts, p.1
The Spoil of Beasts, page 1
part #3 of Iron on Iron Series
THE SPOIL OF BEASTS
IRON ON IRON
BOOK THREE
GREGORY ASHE
H&B
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Spoil of Beasts
Copyright © 2023 Gregory Ashe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests and all other inquiries, contact: contact@hodgkinandblount.com
Published by Hodgkin & Blount
https://www.hodgkinandblount.com/
contact@hodgkinandblount.com
Published 2023
Printed in the United States of America
Version 1.04
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63621-069-8
eBook ISBN: 978-1-63621-068-1
1
Shaw tried to make sense of the words.
There’s been an incident.
Ambyr Hobbs hanged herself.
North’s hand squeezed Shaw’s shoulder, and Shaw felt himself sink down into the moment. It was surreal, sitting in the Cock of the Walk, with country music playing in the background and the smell of fried chicken hanging in the air. John-Henry still stood with the phone pressed to his ear; Emery sat next to Evie, the frozen amber of his eyes catching the light in a way that made them glow. Auggie leaned into Theo, happiness crumbling to ash behind the bandage on his face. Theo wrapped an arm around him, expression grim.
“Jesus,” Jem said.
And then John-Henry spoke again. Even before the words came out, Shaw felt their force—destabilizing, undermining, like backwash dragging grains of sand out from under their feet.
“It gets worse. Someone killed Dalton Weber in his cell tonight. And they murdered Sheriff Engels in the process.”
Tean shook his head. “That’s not—” He stopped, but they all heard the word he hadn’t said: possible. Because, of course, it was possible. Shaw only had to look at John-Henry’s face to see the reality of it.
“I’ve got to go in,” John-Henry said to Emery.
“Go,” Emery said. “We’ll be fine.”
John-Henry ran for the door. In the background, the music changed to Dolly. “Wildflowers.”
“We should—” Emery stood, scanning their table and then looking around the restaurant. Night made mirrors out of the windows, and in the glass, Shaw saw a group of frightened men. “Are the children done?”
“Lana’s finished,” Auggie said in a numb voice.
Pain flashed in Theo’s face, but he nodded.
“Come on, baby,” Emery said, lifting Evie.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asked.
“He had to work,” Emery said, and he sent a meaningful look toward the other men. “And we need to go home now.”
“I’ll check the parking lot,” Jem said. Tean held on to his arm for a moment, but Jem slipped free and pushed off from the table, jogging not toward the exit, as Shaw had expected in that first moment, but toward the kitchen. The girl who had taken their order said something like she was trying to stop him, and Jem said something back. It must have worked, whatever it was, because the girl laughed and waved him on, and a moment later, Jem disappeared from view.
“Guess being slipperier than goose shit has its advantages,” North grumbled.
Tean’s face creased with displeasure, and Shaw elbowed North.
“Uh, that was quick thinking,” North muttered.
“Oh my God,” Shaw said under his breath.
A moment later, Tean’s phone buzzed, and he answered it on speaker.
“Clear,” Jem said.
“Are you sure—” Emery began.
“If Jem says it’s clear,” Tean said, “it’s clear.”
Shaw waited for the argument, but Emery only nodded. Carrying Evie, he headed toward the door. Auggie copied the move, picking up Lana even though she was definitely too big to be carried. It didn’t stop Auggie, though, and he followed Emery. Theo was a step behind, his hand on Auggie’s shoulder. North motioned for Shaw to go ahead with Tean, and he brought up the rear as they filtered out of the restaurant.
The summer evening was hot and waiting for them, like a wet cloth pressed against their faces. It was hard to believe that it was past eight, but the sun had almost set, and in spite of the peach-colored arc in the west, the parking lot had fallen into shadow. It was mostly empty.
“Our house,” Emery said. “Everyone.”
“We don’t have—” Theo began.
“It’s not a discussion. Theo, Auggie, you’re with me. North, Shaw, are you good?”
“Good,” North said.
Theo and Auggie hurried toward the minivan, where Emery was already loading Evie into her booster seat. North herded Tean and Shaw toward the GTO, where Jem waited, hands in his pockets.
Inside, the car smelled like American Crew hair gel and the faint hint of cleaner, whatever North had used last time, and maybe, possibly, just barely, the faintest whiff of cigarette smoke. The engine rumbled to life, and North eased the car forward.
“He thinks someone’s going to try to kill us,” Tean said. Under the GTO’s growl, he was barely audible. “Doesn’t he?”
Jem said, “Let ’em. We fucked them up last time.”
“Last time,” North said, “you and Theo barely got out with your lives, and Theo and Auggie’s house burned down.”
“It didn’t burn down,” Shaw said, “not entirely.”
“And that time, the killer didn’t even bring a gun. How well do you think you’re going to do if four guys step out of an alley with shotguns?”
“We’ve managed to stay alive so far,” Jem said.
“Because you’re lucky. How long do you think you’re going to be lucky?”
“We’ve stayed alive because—”
But when Shaw looked in the rearview mirror, Tean was shaking his head, and Jem cut off.
“Exactly,” North said.
“North,” Shaw said.
North grimaced, and his attention seemed to settle on driving. They rode the rest of the way in silence.
Instead of hotdogging it, as usual, North hung back a few car lengths and let the minivan lead them to the Hazard and Somerset home. He pulled up in front of the house as Emery was still guiding the Odyssey into the garage.
“I’ll clear it,” Jem said.
“We’ll clear it,” North said.
“But I’m lucky,” Jem said, “and you’re just an asshole.”
North barked a laugh. He waited by the side of the GTO after he got out, and when Jem climbed out, North tried to swat him on the back of the head, which made Jem laugh in turn. Their laughter faded, though, as they headed toward the dark house.
Shaw traded a look with Tean. “Do you understand boys?”
Tean touched his glasses like he wanted to resettle them. “They’re nervous, and they’re finding outlets for that nervousness.” Then a tiny smile curled the corner of his mouth. “But no. Not in the slightest.”
They waited in silence. Shaw’s mind began to branch and fork, a labyrinth of possibilities. First and clearest was the one North had suggested: men in the dark, men in masks, waiting with shotguns to deliver a rain of death. But it could be so many things. Gas filling the house, waiting for a single spark to explode. Or the man again, the one with the sickle, who had come before. He pictured North caught off guard, North with nothing to defend himself against that black blade sweeping out of the darkness—
Tean touched his arm, and Shaw flinched.
“You need to take deep breaths,” Tean said. “You’re hyperventilating.”
Shaw nodded and tried to breathe through the chaos of his own mind. For a moment, the frustration was worse than the fear itself: the old, familiar dismay that no matter what he tried—psychotherapy, psychedelics, weed, meditation, even exercise—he was a victim of neural wiring.
But the breathing helped, some, and after a moment, Tean dropped his hand.
Lights went on in the house, and then the front door opened, and North signaled. By the time Tean and Shaw stepped inside, Shaw could hear Emery and the others in the kitchen, where they’d entered through the garage. The house itself looked untouched: no vandalism, no destruction, no ominous threats or messages. It felt right, too, although Shaw knew North would dismiss that as woo-woo; the house still felt safe, comfortable, like a home.
“All good,” Jem said.
“For now,” North said. “Let’s make it through tonight before the victory jackoff.”
“So, cool fact, I actually didn’t know victory jackoffs were a thing until literally right now, which means I’ve wasted, like, at least eight of them—”
“Go on, sweetheart,” Emery said from the living room. “You and Lana go upstairs and play. I’ll come check on you in a minute.”
The little girls’ voices faded in time with their steps. North led their group into the living room.
Theo and Auggie stood near the stairs, Auggie clutching Theo’s hand like his body weight was an anchor to keep Theo from going after their daughter. Emery stood in the center of the room, head down, face empty. Nor
“Is North right?” Tean asked, breaking the silence. “Is someone going to try to kill us tonight?”
“We don’t know that,” Shaw said.
“They’d be stupid not to,” North said.
“We don’t know what they’re doing. We don’t know anything.”
“We know somebody tried to kill those bozos.” North nodded at Jem and Tean. “And someone tried to kill those bozos.” He nodded at Theo and Auggie. “And tonight, somebody killed the motherfucking sheriff. So, I’m going to go out on a limb and say somebody’s cleaning up, and we’re part of the mess.”
“We have no idea what really happened tonight—”
Emery’s head came up, and he broke in, saying, “North’s right.”
“Put that on a fucking plaque,” North said.
“We had two leads that could connect us back to illegal activity at the Cottonmouth Club. Both of those leads are now dead. The sheriff is dead. And those three deaths took place inside a secure facility. We don’t know everything, but we know enough: someone is tying off loose ends, and we—in particular, Theo, Auggie, Jem, and Tean—are a bundle of loose ends.”
Shaw opened his mouth. Then he shut it again.
“Who’s doing this?” Jem asked. “That’s what’s driving me crazy about the whole thing. It was one thing when we thought we’d stumbled onto a wildlife trafficking ring. And then—and then Theo and Auggie got caught up in it, and it turns out it’s more than animals; they’re trafficking people. But who’s doing this? We don’t have names. We don’t even have faces. We’ve got a psycho in a mask, but that’s one guy.”
“That’s not the real problem,” North said.
“It felt like a pretty real problem when he tried to gut me.” Jem touched his chest, where a cut was still healing.
“He came into our home,” Theo said, his voice flat. “He tried to kill my family.”
“North is—” Emery seemed to hear himself and managed to say, “—not wrong.”
North snorted.
“The real issue,” Emery said, “is whoever conducted these killings tonight, they have a reach and influence beyond our original estimation. This isn’t a group of amateurs who have found a way to profit from illegal activities. We’re dealing with people who are organized, who are ruthless, and who can strike into the heart of a law enforcement facility.”
“Where’s Colt?” Tean asked.
“Ashley’s.” Something in Emery’s voice eased. “He’s fine; I called on the drive over.”
North rubbed his eyes. “Anybody want to go to Tahiti?”
Auggie raised his hand.
“What are we going to do?” Shaw asked.
Emery looked at him, but instead of answering, he reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He spoke quietly as he moved into the kitchen.
“You two should go home,” North said with a glance at Tean and Jem. “Hell, I wasn’t joking about Tahiti. Go to Tahiti.”
Jem scratched his beard, but Tean shook his head. “They killed my friend.”
“Our friend,” Jem said.
“They were trying to kill us, and they killed her instead. We’re not running away from that.”
“Even though we don’t exactly have unlimited vacation days. Well, I do. But that’s because I’m a reprobate.”
“We talked about this,” Tean said, his voice dropping as he turned toward Jem. “It’s my choice—”
“I know, I know, I know.” Jem held up his hands. “Look, this is my fault. I’m the one who screwed up. I’m the one who got these fuckers after us.”
“It’s not anyone’s fault,” Shaw said.
“It’s kind of his fault,” North said. He twisted away from Shaw’s elbow. “What? It is.”
“It’s not,” Auggie said. “We stirred the pot too.”
“He’s being kind,” Theo said. “I dragged him into this.”
Auggie shook his head, but he didn’t press the argument. After that, no one seemed to have anything to say. Silence gathered; it was thick in Shaw’s throat, and he wiped his eyes and laid his head on North’s shoulder. Emery’s voice was a low rumble in the background. And then that ended too.
His steps moved back toward the living room, and everyone turned toward the sound. Emery looked at them, face grim. “John asked me to come in.”
Theo glanced at Jem, who nodded, and said, “We’ll keep an eye on things here.”
“Good,” Emery said, his voice suddenly dry. “Because he wants North and Shaw to come as well.”
2
The Wahredua police station looked like it had, at one point, been a school. North had plenty of friends who’d gone to Catholic school, and he recognized the look: the grim severity of the redbrick walls, the cramped windows, the uninspired attempts at religious ornamentation. At some point—probably whenever the city had taken it over—someone had tried to get rid of the iconography. No more angels and devils, no more saints and sinners. Not on the taxpayers’ dime. But, like most public works jobs, this one had been half-assed and, apparently, eventually given up. The decorative stonework above the main entrance, for example, still showed an angel with a bad hair day who was, apparently, pointing a pencil dick at the devil lying underneath him. No homo, North thought as he followed Emery into the building.
Emery led them past the front desk without slowing; the uniformed officer seated there opened her mouth in protest, but either she was familiar with Emery or didn’t care enough to raise a ruckus, because she let them continue into the building. Her nametag said Ehlers.
John-Henry was waiting for them in his office. It was the kind of space North would have guessed John-Henry would create for himself: a comfortable chair, a fairly organized desk, photos of Emery and Evie and Colt. An annoying number of awards. Somehow, John-Henry had found time to change into uniform—a spare, North guessed, kept at the station for emergencies like this. Blue trousers. Crisp white shirt. It would be nice one day when John-Henry got a beer belly and his arms went all soft and wobbly the way a lot of old guys did. North was really looking forward to that.
For now, he said, “You look like a wiener in that uniform.”
John-Henry’s answering smile was startled and, for a moment, white-hot and genuine, and he glanced at Shaw’s fuzzy shirt. “Better than a Muppet. Thanks for coming. Sit down.”
“Just so everyone knows,” Shaw said, “this is a cruelty-free pelt. This Muppet died in the wild of natural causes.”
North made him sit down.
John-Henry paused to check a message on his phone. Then he looked up at them; he already looked tired, and North knew this was only the beginning of a lot of long days and nights for the chief of police. When he spoke, though, his voice was strong.
“I’d like to hire you to help with this investigation. In particular, with running down our primary suspect.”
North shifted in his seat. “Ok.”
“Ok?” John-Henry asked.
Shaw nodded. “Ok.”
A tiny smile flickered. “I thought it might be a little more difficult than that.”
“The difficult part,” Emery said, “is going to happen the first time you try to tell them what to do.”
“Oh, yeah,” North said, “we’re fucking terrible at taking orders.”
“Very bad,” Shaw said, nodding enthusiastically. “The worst.”
“Uh huh,” John-Henry said. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“Look, we’re already tied up in this,” North said.
“Because you’re our friends,” Shaw said.
“Because it’s an interesting investigation.”
“And we care about you,” Shaw said. “We love you so much. Both of you, although mostly Emery. No offense, John-Henry.”
“Are you kidding me? If anything, we’re doing this because I feel sorry for John-Henry because he lives in this shithole, and in a place like this, beggars can’t be choosers.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shaw asked, bristling in his seat.
“Exactly what you think it means: if he could get any non-crazy, non-asshole dick in this bunghole of a town, he would have. Instead, he’s got chuckle-fucks.”
“That’s you,” Shaw said to Emery. “You’re chuckle-fucks.”
