familiar with, I guess.
Beside me, Lily raises her hand. Earlier she gave me a dirty look when I told her why I’d hired someone else—so that the photos couldn’t be traced back to the Riders—but I guess flying over the compound last night and getting the infrared shots smoothed out her irritation. Those heat signatures are probably more useful anyway. It gave them a good idea of where the Henchmen will be around 3 a.m. on any given night, and how many will be standing guard.
Saxon spots Lily’s hand. “Zoomie?”
“Are we bringing our own weapons, boss?”
He looks to his veep. “Blowback?”
The big man opens a long crate he wheeled to the front of the room earlier. I can tell there’s some automatic rifles inside but I don’t know what kind. The others do, though. A few of the guys suck in their breaths and look to each other like they need confirmation of what they’re seeing.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Lily mutters beside me. She raises her voice. “Where the hell did you get all those, Jack?”
Blowback catches her in his cold stare. “I crossed paths with someone who shouldn’t have had them—and he’s the only one who would know that I have them now.”
“Is that someone still able to talk?”
“No.”
“All right, then.” Lily eases back.
Blowback looks to the others. “These can’t be traced to me or the Riders. Nothing out of this crate has been used before. And there’s two rules that come with them now: You don’t touch them without gloves on, and you leave them behind at the compound.”
“Wait. Leave those behind? Just get rid of them?” Gunner actually sounds pained.
“That’s what I said.”
“A dick in a rubber,” my dad adds, like he’s reminding them. It’s one of his favorite sayings. Go in clean. Come out clean. This time, so that the weapons can’t be traced back to them.
“We’re planning for two nights from now,” Saxon says. “The moon’s going to set around two-thirty. Three teams. Blowback’s will be taking out the kitchen and the cook. I’ll be leading mine in to find Reichmann. Red, Hashtag, and Zoomie are on the perimeter. Hashtag’s our eyes and communication; Red and Zoomie are going to be flying.”
Flying her helicopter? “Won’t it be loud?” I whisper to her.
“Not my bird.” She mimes lifting a rifle and pulling a trigger. “Up high. On a roof or in a tree.”
Oh. Covering the others’ backs. The knot in my chest eases a little more. It’s not untangled by the time the meeting’s done, but when Saxon comes to me afterward and asks quietly, “All right?”—for the first time, I think it might be.
Chapter Seven
Saxon
We’re waiting to hear the kitchen blow, but so far there’s nothing but crickets and dogs.
Blowback’s team veered off at the north end of the compound. In the two days since our meeting, he’s been out here a few times with Stone, checking our access routes for the rumored booby traps. Nothing yet, but we’re still stepping carefully. I’m of the mind that all of the Eighty-Eight’s security is more talk than show. There’s dogs all over the compound, and at the meeting we thought we’d have to put them down to keep them from waking up the Henchmen before we were in place, but they’re all just barking all the time. The quiet would be more of an alarm.
Dogs without training, rumors of booby traps that aren’t there, a compound that’s really just a bunch of mobile homes on an old farm. It’s easy to spot the clubhouse in the photos—all the bikes were parked around it—but the rest of the place is littered with junkers. Real security would be cleaning that shit out so a team of three men couldn’t make their way toward the houses without exposing themselves. Instead we’ve got dozens of rusted vehicles to hide behind.
Crouched behind the tail of an old Ford, Gunner glances at me. We’re all wearing greasepaint so our faces aren’t targets in the dark. I can’t read his
Beside me, Lily raises her hand. Earlier she gave me a dirty look when I told her why I’d hired someone else—so that the photos couldn’t be traced back to the Riders—but I guess flying over the compound last night and getting the infrared shots smoothed out her irritation. Those heat signatures are probably more useful anyway. It gave them a good idea of where the Henchmen will be around 3 a.m. on any given night, and how many will be standing guard.
Saxon spots Lily’s hand. “Zoomie?”
“Are we bringing our own weapons, boss?”
He looks to his veep. “Blowback?”
The big man opens a long crate he wheeled to the front of the room earlier. I can tell there’s some automatic rifles inside but I don’t know what kind. The others do, though. A few of the guys suck in their breaths and look to each other like they need confirmation of what they’re seeing.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Lily mutters beside me. She raises her voice. “Where the hell did you get all those, Jack?”
Blowback catches her in his cold stare. “I crossed paths with someone who shouldn’t have had them—and he’s the only one who would know that I have them now.”
“Is that someone still able to talk?”
“No.”
“All right, then.” Lily eases back.
Blowback looks to the others. “These can’t be traced to me or the Riders. Nothing out of this crate has been used before. And there’s two rules that come with them now: You don’t touch them without gloves on, and you leave them behind at the compound.”
“Wait. Leave those behind? Just get rid of them?” Gunner actually sounds pained.
“That’s what I said.”
“A dick in a rubber,” my dad adds, like he’s reminding them. It’s one of his favorite sayings. Go in clean. Come out clean. This time, so that the weapons can’t be traced back to them.
“We’re planning for two nights from now,” Saxon says. “The moon’s going to set around two-thirty. Three teams. Blowback’s will be taking out the kitchen and the cook. I’ll be leading mine in to find Reichmann. Red, Hashtag, and Zoomie are on the perimeter. Hashtag’s our eyes and communication; Red and Zoomie are going to be flying.”
Flying her helicopter? “Won’t it be loud?” I whisper to her.
“Not my bird.” She mimes lifting a rifle and pulling a trigger. “Up high. On a roof or in a tree.”
Oh. Covering the others’ backs. The knot in my chest eases a little more. It’s not untangled by the time the meeting’s done, but when Saxon comes to me afterward and asks quietly, “All right?”—for the first time, I think it might be.
Chapter Seven
Saxon
We’re waiting to hear the kitchen blow, but so far there’s nothing but crickets and dogs.
Blowback’s team veered off at the north end of the compound. In the two days since our meeting, he’s been out here a few times with Stone, checking our access routes for the rumored booby traps. Nothing yet, but we’re still stepping carefully. I’m of the mind that all of the Eighty-Eight’s security is more talk than show. There’s dogs all over the compound, and at the meeting we thought we’d have to put them down to keep them from waking up the Henchmen before we were in place, but they’re all just barking all the time. The quiet would be more of an alarm.
Dogs without training, rumors of booby traps that aren’t there, a compound that’s really just a bunch of mobile homes on an old farm. It’s easy to spot the clubhouse in the photos—all the bikes were parked around it—but the rest of the place is littered with junkers. Real security would be cleaning that shit out so a team of three men couldn’t make their way toward the houses without exposing themselves. Instead we’ve got dozens of rusted vehicles to hide behind.
Crouched behind the tail of an old Ford, Gunner glances at me. We’re all wearing greasepaint so our faces aren’t targets in the dark. I can’t read his
Similar Books
