Read Online Wolves by D. J. Molles - Free Book Online Page A

though he is relaxing upon his own shoulder. His jaw keeps chewing.
    Huxley looks back to the young man.
    â€œY’all Wastelanders?” he says, looking between them. “That’s what Bud said.”
    â€œWord travels fast,” Huxley says, plainly.
    The man shrugs. “Don’t get Wastelanders that often. And Trigger’s right,” he nods toward the owner of the whorehouse. “I know you didn’t mean nothin’ by it, but we don’t deal with the slavers. They don’t mess with Borderline ’cause of the walls and the guards, but they’ve been known to hit some smaller groups.” The man scoffs. “They tell us we’re a part of the Riverlands, but that don’t mean nothing to the slavers. If they don’t get a good haul from the Wastelands, they’ll just as soon fill their wagons with our people.”
    Huxley works his jaw. “You’re gonna have to help me out here. We don’t get much news out west.”
    The man hesitates for a second, then smiles, as though he is realizing something. “Holy shit. Y’all have no idea what we’re talking about, do you?”
    â€œWe’re from farming communes,” Jay interjects, with a little irritation in his voice. “We keep to ourselves.”
    â€œHuh.” The scrapper rubs his nose with a knuckle. “Well then.”
    â€œWhat’s the Riverlands?” Huxley asks.
    â€œYou’re looking at it. Technically.”
    â€œNot many rivers around here.”
    â€œNope. Riverlands started out east. ’Tween the Mississippi and the Red River. We never even heard of it. Then one day, a Black Hat comes into town and tells us we’re a part of the Riverlands. This is, oh, maybe five years ago. We says, ‘The fuck is the Riverlands?’ He says, ‘The Riverlands is civilization.’ Run by the Council. Which is run by Chairman Warner. And they up and decided that they own everything west of the Mississippi. We tell the Black Hat to go fuck himself, and off he goes. But every once in a while one rolls through, says the same shit as the last one. And every time we tell ’em to fuck off.” The scrapper shakes his head. “Doesn’t seem to make much difference, either way.”
    â€œWhat is a Black Hat?”
    â€œThey work for the council. They hunt down outlaws and kill ’em. No trial. No judge. They call it ‘serving warrants.’ Nobody gets locked up. Ain’t no jails. Black Hats come to serve a warrant, they just put you in the ground.” The scrapper shrugs again. “Least, that’s what I hear. Like I said, only Black Hats I see roll through and tell us we’re part of the Riverlands, and then move on.”
    Huxley smirks. “Why do they call them Black Hats?”
    The scrapper smiles back. “’Cause they wear black hats.”
    â€œLot of folks wear black hats.”
    The scrapper shakes his head. “Not these ones. They’re the wide-brimmed ones. Boonie hats. Old military hats. If you ain’t a Black Hat and you get caught wearin’ one … they’ll put you down just as quick as a common criminal.”
    Huxley leans on the table a bit. “And the slavers. Is that where they go? Do they go to the Riverlands?”
    The scrapper straightens a bit, his eyes narrowing. “Well, now that’s a good question. We’re told that slaving is illegal. Black Hats claim to hunt down slavers. But I never seen it. No one that’s ever been taken by a slaver ever comes back. And all I know is that they go east. Everybody says they go east. So, yeah … I guess it’s somewhere in the Riverlands. Maybe even out past the Riverlands. Hell, maybe there’s a port, and they sail through the Gulf of Mexico. Who the hell knows?”
    Huxley forces his gaze down to the table, processing what he’s been told while he pretends to look over the things