When she drove back by, the Mountaineer was parked right in front of the door. It looked like Stan was already inside. She hooked a left turn as it started to drizzle. Cruised down to the entrance to a Home Depot. The whole strip was connected, so she drove through until she got to the rear of an abandoned bank. Pulled in next to the defunct vacuum tubes. Barely any cover behind the scraggly bushes growing out of control between her and the Sloppy’s, but it was a place to wait out of the rain.

  She got out to stretch her legs. Leaned against the teller window with her arms crossed and watched Stan through the window.

  She leaned forward and squinted into the interior when somebody sat across from him. She couldn’t see him clearly, but something about him was familiar.

  She wished she had more instruction. Was she watching just to see what they would do? Were they going to commit a crime? Were they part of the child raping party — what Mallory Black had called Pedophile Junction?

  Was she supposed to intervene? Help them? Just let them do whatever they were going to do and just report it?

  She could be a deputy again. She could investigate. And maybe that’s what she was supposed to do.

  It wasn’t too long before Stan came out. Rushing to his car to stay as dry as possible. The Mountaineer’s driver door opened with a tortured squeal. Closed with a rattle. The engine sounded solid though.

  She waited for him to pull out, but he swung around toward the bank. Right over the curb to crush the bushes, pulling up next to her Camaro.

  The window lowered with a reedy whine. “Well, if it isn't Patti Smith,” Stan said with a grin. He didn’t sound very pleased though.

  She nodded with a laugh. “I listened to that song.”

  Stan’s surprise seemed genuine. “Oh yeah? What did you think?”

  She shrugged. “I kind of liked the 10,000 Maniacs cover a little better.”

  He nodded. “A lot of people do. How ‘bout sitting inside here for a talk, Jeanette?”

  It was foolish of her to think he didn’t know who she was. She wondered if he knew her history too. Probably … She waved his suggestion away. “That’s okay, Stan. I’m just here for some breakfast.”

  This time, his grin was real. “Then get the number two. Add a hashbrown.”

  “Thanks for the suggestion.”

  Stan put the Mountaineer into gear, but before pulling away, he said, “You can just ask. Just come up to me and ask. I won’t lie.”

  She actually believed him, but she wasn’t ready for that. “I appreciate that, but I’m okay. I wanna look around on my own for a while. Make up my own mind without any gaslighting. Besides, I’m just here for breakfast.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. Rolled his window up and drove away.

  When the Mountaineer was too far into traffic for her to see his lights anymore, she turned back to Sloppy’s only to find the man that had been eating with Stan approaching. On foot with a casual gait in spite of the rain.

  As he stepped under the cover of the bank’s overhang, she reached into her jacket for her pistol.

  He held both hands up. “Before you pull too hard, take a look up over my left shoulder.”

  She froze and looked where he directed. She didn’t see anything until he touched his ear and said, “Present yourself.”

  She wondered if he was talking to her, and then she saw a bearded man lean out of an upper window over the thrift store. A long gun held so she could see it. He fell back inside to disappear behind a billowing curtain, but she could still feel the heat of his aim on her forehead.

  She pulled her hand out and let it dangle loose next to her thing.

  The man smiled. He slipped his hat off and wiped the rain from his face. She suddenly recognized him from Key West. She pointed at his chest. “You were on the stairs with Stan. Looking into Hemingway’s office.”

  He smiled. “And you were under the tree next to the garage.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I thought so.” He put his hat back on. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I suspect you don’t either. I don’t know if it was Mallory Black or the Cooke County sheriff. I don’t really care who it was, or one of your pro bono cases you like to take — nobody here needs beat up with a ball bat though.”

  She almost hissed in a shocked breath. She managed to stay still and bring up a small smile.

  “My only point is this,” the man continued. “Look all you want. Play cop to your heart’s content. Drink your two bottles of wine a night and take your notes, but don’t ever think that you’re not being watched too. And if you get in the way of what we’re doing … well … I’ll just ask you to look back up at that window.”

  She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. It felt like sand. “I’m just here for breakfast.”

  He grinned and clapped his hands once. “Well then, get the number three. Make sure you get the Blitz too. Everything comes in a bucket.”

  He saluted before walking away. Hands in his pockets like he was out for a stroll in the sun. A white van rumbled out from the other side of the bank. He slid into the passenger seat.

  A standard work van with Household Services down the side in red letters.

  Jeanette could see a woman in the driver’s seat with long hair and a pale round face.

  The van bounced across the lot to the thrift store where the man who had poked out of the window come out of the side door. Jumped into the van to join his friends.

  Were they the only ones? Were there more of them in the van?

  She watched it drive away. Opposite of wherever Stan had been headed.

  She was cold. Not from the rain, but from how the man had casually threatened her. Then how he had revealed everything that could identify them. The appearance of his partners. The van and its logo. The sound of his voice. He was so confident that he had her number — knowing her history and the amount of wine she drank every night — that he could afford to show her his hand.

  She had no cards that had a chance against him, and they both knew it.

  She would stay out of his way, but she wasn’t going to stop. No man was going to tell her what to do. She walked through the rain to the front door of Sloppy's. She'd have a greasy meal to calm her stomach, then she’d move on. Mallory had put Ossi-Pro in her final list of questions.

  She’d go there after breakfast. It was time to get a little more serious.

  Chapter Twelve

  Haggis had agreed to help Stan, but there was nothing to do yet. He still had tasks open at Ossi-Pro. A few more sockets for the Everyday Carry, and the prototype on a manual partial hand.

  A Marine buddy of his had gotten most of his fingers blown off. Not in a war, but from trying to light homemade fireworks. Still had his thumb and most of his palm though. He wanted to get something the guy could use before he had to abandon his post here at the shop.

  At least he hoped he’d be doing something soon. Something new, exciting.

  He’d turned his bench around. The lighting was worse, but he could see the front door. It didn’t keep him from getting so absorbed that he didn’t notice when it opened.

  The rain had come and gone all morning. A period where it had poured in sheets between lightning strikes. When he looked up, it had settled into a continuous drone.

  The top of an umbrella led somebody into the lobby. The whole thing was a dripping smiley face. Pink tongue hanging out of its goofy smile. It dropped toward the floor to reveal a lady stepping inside to shake some of the water off it as she folded it up.

  Tan sport coat over a white shirt. Jeans and tan boots. Like desert combat issue.

  Her dark brown hair was down, flowing over her shoulders. She reminded him of that cop lady from Lethal Weapon … whatever number it had been. More lines around her eyes though. More wear and tear that wouldn’t show on an actor.

  She leaned the umbrella against the front glass. Looked around like she was appreciating the architecture. When she saw the poster on the front wall asking for donations for the veterans, she nodded as if she approved.

  Her gaze settled on Haggis, and she smiled like she was surprised to see somebody there. A friendly smile and a wave, and he couldn’t help thinking it was an act.

  “It’s really coming down out there,” she said.

  He nodded. “Yeah, it’s been off and on all day. Can I help you?”

  She put her hand over her heart in apology. “I’m sorry.” She pointed at his bench. “May I?”

  “Sure.”

  She buttoned her jacket as she approached. “I’m Detective Gustoff. I was hoping you could help me.”

  She didn’t show any ID. No badge. Just like the assholes in the Charger. He leaned back to watch her, but she kept her hands in front of her.

  “Are you Dan Rollins?”

  “I am.”

  “May I call you Dan?”

  He shrugged.

  Her smile widened like she was happy he had given her permission. “It says you’re the main engineer here? And Stan Franklin is the owner?”

  He shrugged again. “I’ll be honest, I’ve never looked at it.”

  Her smile slipped for the first time. “Is Mr. Franklin here?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know when he might be?”

  “No.”

  She looked at him like she expected him to say more, then she looked down at the bench. “May I ask what you’re working on? I think what you guys do here is amazing.”

  Haggis picked up the hand so the fingers flopped like it was saying hi. “This is a partial prosthetic for a guy that doesn’t want to deal with motors and batteries and microchips. Something that will operate with the motion of the wrist only.”

  He demonstrated,pulling in the thin cables that connected the fingers to the wrist, and they closed. Popped the lock to release them, and the fingers opened.

  “It’s also got a splay function.”

  He bent the imaginary wrist to the side, and the fingers spread apart. He worked them to close into a fist again. Opened it back up and turned the hand over like he was showing there was nothing up his sleeve. Locked the first finger and closed the rest. Pointed it at her like a gun. “Stuff like that.”

  He thought she was going to clap. He had to admit it was pretty cool.

  She reached out and touched the extended metal index finger with her real fingers. “All that just by moving his wrist around? That’s incredible.”

  Under his work light, the lines in her face were deeper. More numerous. They told a story of worry and struggle. But the genuine wonder made her so pretty, he had to look away or get caught staring.

  He suddenly felt shy. He wanted to talk about anything else except about what he was doing. “I wish I could help you, but I don’t know where he’s going.”

  She drew her hand back. “I understand.” She reached into her jacket, and he tightened his grip on the metal hand. Braced for what might be coming, but it was only a business card. Blank except for a phone number.

  “He’s not in trouble,” she said. “I just want to talk, so if you see him, give him that, okay?”

  She waited for his answer, but he slid the card into his breast pocket. Held her gaze. “I’ll do it if you have dinner with me.”

  The strength of the anger that filled her face made him flinch back. Then her face smoothed into a delighted grin. She reached back into her jacket, and he tensed again. The thought that it might really be a gun this time made his heart pound.

  The danger felt good, even if he had imagined it.

  When her hand came back out, he was disappointed to see it was another business card. “This one’s for you,” she said. “I’m new in town, and I need a good bar to go to and a friend to drink with. Call me when your work is done.”

  He took the card, careful to avoid touching her fingers. “I will.”

  “Then I’ll look forward to your call, Dan.”

  “Call me Haggis.”

  “Haggis?”

  He made a circle with his finger. Surrounding his face. “Cuz of this.”

  She shook her head, confused. “Is that a type of bear or something?”

  He couldn’t stop the burst of laughter. “I’ll tell you tonight, Detective.”

  Her smile was bemused. Almost timid. “Jeanette.”

  He bowed his head. Stood slowly so he didn’t seem like he was trying to tower over her. “Then I’ll tell you tonight, Jeanette.”

  His smile firmed. “I look forward to it, Haggis.”

  He extended his hand, and she started toward the door. He followed at a respectful distance. Held the door while she opened her umbrella. He watched her dart out into the rain.

  There was no other car in the parking lot. She ran into the street to the lot next door, hidden behind the sagging bushes. Through the rain streaking down the windows, all he saw was a grey blob as she sped away.

  He almost skipped back to his bench. All he had been dreaming about was a change. He flicked the edge of the business card as he sat down, ticking a nervous rhythm.

  He’d wait to see how the night went before telling Stan about a detective coming around asking questions. See just how much different things were going to get.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ronnie and Gen danced at the edge of the yard as the sun went down. Ronnie looked up toward the rusty trailer, and there were Stan and Mo sitting by the firepit, brooding like teenagers.

  She couldn’t understand how they could still be so doom and gloom. She frowned to herself. She actually could understand, but there were drinks, a fire, a path to the beach, and two lovely ladies in their presence.

  And people trying to kill them, so yeah …

  “What’s with the frowny face?” Gen asked.

  Ronnie stopped to hug herself. The rain had brought cooler temperatures, and she wasn’t wearing her mask. The sensitive skin on her cheeks felt cold enough to be numb. She tipped her head toward the men and their sour faces. “Them.”

  Gen glanced up and then rolled her eyes. “It’s been a tough day for them. Poor little guys been out protecting the women. Making all the decisions for us so we can stay home and hang the laundry.”

  She pointed to the shirts hanging on the frayed line. Fluttering in the breeze. Then she clasped her hands in front of her and batted her eyes.

  She bent to grab her drink from the grass. She’d called it a Hairy Frog. Mountain Dew Baja Blast mixed with Kraken Rum. Ronnie had to admit it was pretty tasty, even though it looked like runny shit.

  Gen tipped her head back until the remaining ice tinked off her teeth. She pointed at Stan. “You know, if I hadn’t been there when he plowed into the Charger in Wildwood, there would have been nobody there to carry him back to the car.”

  She swayed as she spread her hands. “I picked him up off the ground. Held him like a baby. Put him in the passenger seat. Tucked him in with a kiss on his forehead.”

  She giggled. Shook her head as her face became stern. “Seriously though. I don’t want him patting me on the back every ten minutes, but a little consideration would go a long way. He never even thanked me.”

  Ronnie pointed to the empty drink. “Are you drunk?”

  Gen nodded. “I hope so.”

  “Then maybe it shouldn't be you that talks to him.”

  Gen straightened and looked at Ronnie through narrowed eyes. “You think he’ll listen to you instead?”

  Ronnie started to defend him. Thought better as she shook her head. “No. Not really.”

  Gen shrugged. “I just want to be seen. As important. As part of the fucking thing instead of … I have this same conversation with Moses what feels like every. Single. Day.

  Ronnie turned to face the ocean. “We could all die, you know.”

  “Of course I know. And I’m strangely okay with it. Just as long as …”

  Ronnie looked over when she trailed off. Watched her wipe the tears from her eyes and shake her head. “As long as we’re together when it happens,” Ronnie finished for her.

  Gen nodded. Looked into her empty glass. Forced a smile. “I’m gonna make another one. Pull Mo off his ass and put all this caffeine to good use. You want one?”

  Ronnie made herself smile in return. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  Gen took their glasses and pranced up toward the cooler, a makeshift bar they had set up on the edge of a rusty grill.

  Mo looked up, and Ronnie’s smile became a grin when she saw him watching Gen bend over to get ice. If she only knew how he looked at her. How his love was evident in his eyes. Her own poor self-image kept her from recognizing it.

  Then she wondered what she wasn’t seeing in Stan’s eyes.

  She walked into the heavy silence hanging between the two men. Ran her hand along Stan’s shoulders. “Hey, big boy.”

  He smiled as he looked up at her. “Hey, lady.”

  Gen came over on her tiptoes. Pressed the fresh drink into her hand. It smelled way heavier on the rum than the Dew. “Drink up,” she sang, before skipping over to Mo and dropping straight into his lap.

  He grunted. Fell over backward, dragging Gen with him, and she cackled laughter with her drink over her head. Not a drop spilled. “I saved it!”

  Mo groaned beneath her, but the sound soon became laughter.

  Stan’s smile seemed absent-minded. Empty. Like somebody who didn’t get the joke but was laughing because everybody else was. Ronnie pointed to the beer in his hand. “Is that full?”

  He nodded. “Full enough.”

  “Then walk with me.”

  “Okay.”

  He stood up and dropped his arm across her shoulders. They turned toward the beach, and Gen laughed again. Followed by Mo’s voice in a low rumble. Words Ronnie couldn’t hear.

  She took a drink of her Hairy Frog. Blew out a silent whistle in appreciation for its strength. “Where are we going?”

  Stan chuckled. “I don’t know. You’re the one wanted to walk.”

  “No, I mean where are we going? When this is all over, where will we be?”

  She felt him shrug. “I don’t really know.”

 

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