Cut and Run (29 page)

‘José Peron has Eve,’ Frank said. ‘He therefore has the money.’

Bucks sat across from him at the dining-room table Monday night, hands steepled in front of his mouth. ‘I knew it.’

‘Greg,’ Frank said, and Bucks looked up, a little surprised at the use of his first name. No one but his parents and Robin,
who wasn’t even talking to him now, ever called him by his given name. ‘You’re the dirty guy here. The police know that you’re
dirty because José tried to hit you. They’ll keep digging until they find evidence to truly connect you with José, Kiko, or
Paul. It’s over. Your only hope is that money. You can do anything, go anywhere with it. Brazil. Ecuador. Thailand. Places
where cash shuts folks up and they never ask questions.’

‘You want me to have the money?’

‘I just want Eve back if she’s still alive,’ Frank said. ‘That’s all.’

‘Because you care,’ Bucks said.

‘Because I love her,’ Frank said. ‘You don’t have much time. Robin’s not gonna keep her mouth shut for long once the police
start leaning on her.’

‘Robin doesn’t know shit.’

‘Son, women always know more than you think they do. Look at Tasha. I heard she’s taken off. Because she knows too much about
Paul and she don’t want the police bugging her. Or us whacking her to keep her quiet.’

‘I’m not whacking Robin.’ Bucks found, to his surprise, he was really missing her. She wouldn’t talk to him. He
had never felt so alone in his life, even with Chad Channing’s reassuring words playing in his head for company.

‘You act like you still have choices.’ Frank shook his head. ‘The police can haul you in at any minute, lean on you hard if
you’re not cooperating with them about why José tried to kill you. Paul’s dead. And you’re the one doing the dirty work for
him and for Kiko both. Trying to play them against each other has left you on the bottom, son.’

‘I didn’t …’

‘Save it,’ Frank said. ‘I can guess what went down. How long do you live if Paul’s guys knew you’d helped Kiko?’

Bucks swallowed. ‘I didn’t have a choice, Frank, I …’

‘It seems to me, though,’ Frank said, like he didn’t care about excuses, ‘you and I are the ones that truly suffered.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve lost the woman I love. You’ve been through hell.’

Bucks looked like he hadn’t slept in two days. He’d shaved, but missed spots, and one scraggly bit of stubble lay along the
edge of his cheek. The immaculate grooming was slipping. ‘So why are you even talking to me, Frank? If I screwed Paul so bad,
why do you want me to have the money?’

‘You in jail is a bad thing. Not just for you. For everyone. The pressure on you to talk will be huge. And any friends of
Kiko, they believe you killed him and that’s why José tried to kill you, well, they’ll whack you in jail. Simple as a phone
call.’

Bucks raised an eyebrow. ‘But that would take care of the problem of me.’

Frank cleared his throat, tented his hands under his chin. ‘How about a private little deal between you and
me? You take care of José, you get Eve and the money back. You give half the money to me and Eve, you keep the other half
for yourself, and nobody ever knows you screwed over Paul. I’ll keep my mouth shut.’

‘I didn’t kill Paul.’

‘I don’t think you did. You know they found Gooch’s van where Paul died?’

Bucks said nothing.

‘Wasn’t in the paper. I know that from Whit Mosley. Now, what does that suggest to you?’ Frank said quietly.

‘Whit killed him.’

‘Getting Gooch back.’

‘I’m not gonna kill Whit Mosley because he killed Paul,’ Bucks said. ‘I’m out of the ring. I don’t do revenge.’

‘Then get rid of Whit because he can bring you down. Keep you from the money. If Eve’s dead, he has no further reason to try
to deal with you. Eve is his mother.’ Frank watched Bucks blink. ‘So Whit, eventually, will tell everything to the cops. That
you tried to have him and Eve killed, you kidnapped his friend, you’re in with drug dealers. But if you and I have Eve, the
money, and plane tickets, our worries are pretty much over.’

‘You act like you know where José has the money,’ Bucks said.

‘Oh, I do.’ Frank pulled a Sig Sauer out from under the table, leveled it at Bucks. ‘But you get rid of Whit for me. He’s
willing to meet you because he thinks you know where José has Eve. And José called him, told him Eve was still alive.’

‘Why do you want him dead?’

‘I want Eve with me, not her kid. He’s a judge down on the coast. She goes with him, she gives up our life together, and I’m
not letting her go.’

‘Wow, you’re a really romantic old fart. So where’s the money, Frank?’ Bucks asked, the low growl coming back
into his voice. ‘Tell me or no deal at all. You want Whit dead, that’s sweet with me.’

‘They’re at an old warehouse off Mississippi,’ Frank said. ‘I know the dealers in this town, the big ones who like to come
to the club, and I got more eyes than a fly. Our time’s running out, son. You take Whit with you, he’ll fight these guys to
save his mom, you get the money, we get Eve. But make sure Whit doesn’t make it out alive.’

‘Can I state the obvious?’ Bucks said. ‘I could risk getting killed, take the money myself, and why should I worry about saving
Eve?’

‘Because, if you don’t, I’ll tell the cops you killed Kiko.’ Frank watched Bucks. Frank knew that Bucks probably thought José
had the movie, had taken it after killing Kiko, because if the police had found it, then his Brooks Brothers ass would be
behind bars, getting warmed up to be a jail boss’ new bitch. Bucks didn’t know Whit and Frank had both seen the movie.

‘But I didn’t.’

‘But you had every reason to, didn’t you, Bucks?’

Bucks tented his cheek with his tongue. Frank waited. Let the greed and the fear work their magic. It wasn’t that different
from dealing with music promoters. If you appeared quiet and relaxed, not desperate to sing, even if every fiber in your body
was screeching
please, God, book me, please let me get up onstage because I know they will love me
then the other person usually blinked first. Frank never wanted a real agent, not when he had Tommy to cut the infrequent
deals. He had watched and learned.

‘All right,’ Bucks said. ‘You got a deal. Get Mosley here.’ He gave Frank a wicked little smile. ‘Chad Channing always said
you should turn enemies into friends if it shortens your to-do list.’

*

‘Gomez will kill me for pulling this stunt,’ Vernetta said, changing lanes to get around a stalled bus.

‘You don’t work for him,’ Claudia said.

‘No,’ Vernetta said. ‘But he’ll kill my boss, and then, with his dying breath, my boss will shoot me.’

Tasha Strong lived in one of the many complexes near Hobby Airport, along Telephone Road. The complexes lay in a steady necklace,
with withered yards and peeling paint. Monday evening was settling in for another long stretch of unease. Claudia had hijacked
Vernetta at the Harris County Courthouse as she got off work, insisting that Vernetta come with her to find Tasha Strong.

‘He won’t shoot you. He’ll fire you. Think positive,’ Claudia said.

‘I’ll see if the Bellinis are hiring,’ Vernetta said. She pointed at one decrepit apartment building. ‘Love what they’ve done
with it. A Chinese gang here took over a wing of one of these complexes, ran a whorehouse and peddled dope out of it. They
had elementary school kids as their gofers.’ She shook her head. ‘If I don’t sound caustic, I’ll cry.’

‘Here. This is the address.’

‘Gomez and his team already tried to get in touch with her,’ Vernetta said. ‘No dice.’

‘Yes, but we’re not the scary police, are we?’

‘You are. You’ve scared me since you came into town,’ Vernetta said. She pulled into the parking lot, past three hard-faced
working girls. The bored ladies watched them ease into a slot and walk across to the stairs, up to apartment 325.

Claudia knocked. No answer. But she could hear the soft strains of a radio playing on the other side of the door.

‘Tasha? Tasha Strong?’ she called softly. ‘I’m a friend of Robin Melvin’s. She’s worried about you. Please open up.’

The door opened. An old woman stood there, dressed in a faded pink robe and a maroon baseball cap. ‘Tasha don’t live here,’
she said. ‘Sorry.’

‘Hello, ma’am. Do you know where we could find her?’ Claudia said, ignoring the woman’s blunt manner.

‘No,’ the old woman said. ‘She’s gone for good.’

Claudia and Vernetta looked at each other, then at the old woman. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, when did Tasha leave?’ Claudia asked
after a moment.

‘Who are you?’

Vernetta and Claudia both showed their official IDs. ‘Oh, God,’ the old woman said. ‘She’s in trouble, I’m sure of it, but
she won’t help herself get out and she sure won’t listen to me.’

‘We can help her,’ Vernetta said.

‘Come inside, then,’ the woman said. They came inside the apartment. It was small but clean, although there was a clutter
of a tea mug, tissues, a rumpled newspaper. A cane was next to the door and the woman used it as she headed back for a chair.
‘Gettin’ over flu,’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t be contagious any more. Sit.’

‘Are you Tasha’s mother?’ Claudia asked.

‘Grandmother,’ the woman said. ‘Mrs Annie Strong.’ She sat. ‘I don’t hold with lying, and I haven’t slept well since the police
called looking for her. Tasha asked me to lie for her, and I can’t do it no more because you folks are gonna keep knocking
on my door.’

‘What lie did she want you to tell?’

‘First Tasha told me that if anyone came looking for her, say she was dead. Not to say she moved, or gone on a trip, but dead.
Killed in a car accident in New Orleans, that was her story. Showed me what looked like a death certificate she’d faked up.
I said you’re crazy, girl, what kind of trouble you in?’ Mrs Strong shook her head. ‘That’s a tall order to give me, after
I done half the raising
of her. I told her I’d tell people she’d left town, but not that she was dead.’ Mrs Strong spit out the last word.

‘So where is she?’

Mrs Strong shook her head. ‘I don’t know. She ain’t lived here in years.’

‘She gave this as her address to her employer.’

‘Huh. She got her community college degree, she moved uptown fast. Left me in the dust. Came to see me when it suited her.’

Claudia remembered Robin’s mention of the photos. ‘Does Darius live here?’

The old woman closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Darius, he really dead. Five years ago. Out playing basketball down the street
with a group of boys who dealt. Other group of boys shot at ’em all. Killed Darius. He was fifteen.’ She leaned against the
door. ‘Fifteen-year-olds killin’ each other for crack. Tasha, got everything in the world going for her, she tells me to tell
the world she’s dead because she’s in bad trouble she won’t let nobody help her fix. Like I could bear her and Darius both
dead. It would kill me. I can’t pull off such a lie for her. I ain’t doing it. No. Ain’t doing it. You find her. Please.’

‘She’s running because of what happened to Paul Bellini,’ Vernetta said as they drove away.

‘But why would a woman whose brother was killed by drug dealers take up with a drug lord?’

‘She didn’t know Bellini’s business.’

‘She knows enough to be scared, so she’s asking her grandmother to do clumsy lying for her,’ Claudia said. ‘Can you ask HPD
to look for her?’

‘If she’s a witness, or she’s charged in a crime. But if she’s left willingly and doesn’t want to be found, well, you hire
another PI to find her.’

‘What?’

‘If she’s left willingly …’

‘No,’ Claudia said. ‘You said
another PI.’

‘Yeah. I was thinking of your friend Harry. Like him looking for Eve Michaels.’

Frank Polo said something about another PI, when she was getting ready to leave his house. Another, like he’d known of a first
one. Harry. Perhaps Whit had told Frank about Harry. Of course. Yes. Probably.

The thought irritated her brain like a thorn prick. Whoever killed Harry had stripped him of his ID. Possibly of his notes
on the Eve Michaels case; none of those had been found by the police, and she knew Harry kept his notes with him. There was
a simple way to test her theory. ‘Have they identified all the prints at the Chyme/ Doyle murder scene?’

‘I don’t know. Gomez would. I don’t even know if they have suspect prints to compare to.’

‘How quickly could Gomez get prints done?’ she asked.

‘Why?’

‘That photo of Frank Polo that’s on my back seat,’ Claudia said. ‘Let’s put it under the powder, see what shows.’

At ten on Monday night, the front door of Frank and Eve’s house stood open, a rectangle of glowing light in the darkness.
Whit stepped inside.

Frank’s phone call to him had been quiet and calm:
Bucks is here and wants to talk. We have a plan. Make no mention you have the film, he doesn’t need to know. Come alone
. And so Whit had walked past the doctors and nurses and families facing down death at the ICU, left a sleeping Gooch behind
and driven to Frank’s house in Charlie’s borrowed Lexus.

‘Come on in,’ a voice called from the den. Unhurried, relaxed.

Whit walked into the den and Bucks sat at the edge of the couch. Pistol in hand, but pointed down at the floor. His suit was
rumpled, his tie gone, the black eye Whit gave him in full bruising bloom.

‘You want your mom back?’ he asked.

‘Where is she, you bastard?’ Whit said. But calm.

‘Frank knows,’ Bucks said.

‘So where’s Frank?’

‘I’m here, Whit.’ Frank stood in the doorway.

‘Truce,’ Bucks said. ‘Because we’re all buddies now. We’re all on the same side. Got a proposal for you.’

Whit waited.

‘You could have brought the police,’ Bucks said. ‘You didn’t. I could kill you. I won’t. We got to trust each other. At least
for the next few hours.’ He smiled. ‘I admire your steadfast focus.’

‘Give me a minute to come up with a compliment about you,’ Whit said. ‘Maybe an hour.’

‘Peace treaty, okay? I know you don’t have the money.’

‘So why help us now?’ Whit glanced over at Frank. ‘Need good deeds for extra credit?’

‘José’s the bad guy,’ Bucks said. ‘We get your mom, we get the money, and then we’re all fine.’

‘And we all go our separate ways.’

‘Yes, Whit. And never open our mouths. You want mommy with you, right, not dead or rotting in jail or worrying about getting
whacked. I want a nice little house on a beach that doesn’t extradite.’

‘Where is she?’ Whit said.

‘A warehouse off Mississippi Street, not far from the Port. Used to be used by a South American importer who brought up fake
pre-Colombian art, Guatemalan weaving, hippie crap,’ Frank said.

‘You know this how?’

‘Frank got a paid tip.’

‘It cost me a thousand in cash, Whit,’ Frank said quietly. ‘A regular dealer who is a good customer at the Topaz and liked
Paul told me. José’s started to put word on the street he wants to deal the coke. The information is valid.’

‘I’d like to talk to this informant,’ Whit said.

‘He doesn’t want to talk to you, though. You can appreciate that, can’t you, Whit?’ Frank said.

‘Be cool, Whit. That warehouse, if they don’t have Eve there, we force them to tell us where she’s at.’

‘So our solution is simple,’ Whit said. ‘We call the police, have them raid the warehouse, arrest everybody.’

‘That will get Eve killed. Or in prison for the rest of her life. You don’t get your mom either way. Remember, José knows
about your mom and … Montana, Whit,’ Frank said. ‘You don’t want José caught but cutting a deal with prosecutors, that hurts
your mom.’

Bucks asked, ‘What about Montana?’

Whit said, ‘Never mind.’ He watched Frank.

‘No police,’ Bucks said. ‘José and I got our own issues to settle. He killed Paul, right?’

‘Whit, it’s simple. We attack the warehouse. Rescue Eve, force José to turn over the money. José has the money, Whit. You
were right, it’s the only explanation. He’s got it all. He killed Doyle and your friend Harry. We get Eve and then we all
part ways.’ Frank crossed his arms.

‘And the two of you are millionaires,’ Whit said.

‘You too, if you want,’ Bucks said.

‘But your mother is safe, Whit. She can be with you,’ Frank said. ‘The police don’t have anything hard on her. And if they
do, we can hide her for a long while with that money. You won’t lose her again.’

‘I don’t want any of that cash,’ Whit said. ‘None of it.’

‘I like you more and more,’ Bucks said.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Whit said. Getting into bed with the devil.

‘You and me,’ Bucks said. ‘We go there, kick ass, save your mom.’

‘I’ll stay here,’ Frank said.

‘No,’ Whit said after a moment. ‘You come with us.’

‘I want to, Whit,’ Frank said. ‘But I’m not a young man, I’m not good with guns.’

‘You’re coming with us, Frank,’ Whit said. ‘End of discussion.’

Three a.m. Tuesday morning, and they were on the 610 Loop, and Frank Polo sat in the back of the Jag, fighting down the temptation
gnawing at him. Bucks drove, Whit sitting next to him. It would be easy to blast Whit’s head open, nuzzle the warm, bloodied
gun barrel against Bucks’ neck, get him to pull over, kill him, take the Jag and head down to Galveston Island. Wait for the
bank to
open in the early-morning light. Open the big safe-deposit box where he’d hidden the five million. That was a siren song
that played constantly in Frank’s ear. But now was the time for self-control. To be cool.

Because the money without Eve was nice but not what he wanted.

If Frank thought about Eve too much, he would cry, and he hated that. He hoped it had ended quickly for her if she were dead.
Painlessly, a single bullet in the brain. He knew she wouldn’t have screamed or begged, if she could help it. She was stone-solid,
stronger and better than him, just as he had told Whit. But he believed she was alive. He wished it hadn’t unfolded this way;
it wasn’t supposed to. His plan was to frame Bucks cleanly for killing Richard Doyle, plant a little of the cash in Bucks’
condo, a hundred thousand to make him look guilty, urge Paul to have Bucks whacked and then, within a year or so, part ways
with the Bellinis, head to the West Coast, quietly vanish with Eve. But Paul decided to send Eve to the meeting and screwed
up everything. Life twisted back on you, but a smart guy could make it work out in the end. It was the kind of self-boosting
thought Bucks lived by, but it was true.

Five million in cash to see him through retirement, an extra bit to finance cutting a new record. Dance beats were back in.
Tony Bennett, after all, still wowed the kids. He could be Tony Bennett with a beat. Have sexy backup dancers. Wear a suit
that made him look cool and trim. Eve in the front row every night in Vegas, clapping for him. He could see it.

But saving Eve, maybe that wouldn’t work. All this was going to do was to get Bucks killed and Whit caught and maybe dead.
Because that was his deal with José. Trade Whit and Bucks for Eve.

That was okay. Because if José won, Bucks and Whit
were dead, and if Bucks and Whit won, they’d see José had no money. But they wouldn’t, couldn’t blame Frank. Bucks would
still have to kill Whit. And Frank would kill Bucks, do it all in front of Eve so she’d think he’d avenged her son’s death.
That’d be good.

Now he was halfway to free. Free, if he didn’t dwell on Richard Doyle begging him not to shoot, saying he was a father; didn’t
think about the PI giving him a glare of such defiant bravery Frank almost couldn’t pull the trigger, didn’t remember how
he’d wanted to vomit after he’d killed them, then how he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs as he drove away with five
million in cash, knowing he and Eve would finally be on their way.

The plan hadn’t worked out exactly right, but it was going to work out tonight if he didn’t lose his nerve.

He watched the back of Whit’s head. Even the guy’s head reminded him of Eve, that slight tilt of it when he listened. Eve
could never know he was behind her son’s death. He’d comfort her when this was done, take her shopping, get her a puppy, whatever
she wanted.

Frank started to hum his favorite of his hits, ‘When You Walk Away,’ thinking that Bucks and Whit, each trying to out-macho
the other in the face of what was coming, weren’t doing nearly a good enough job watching their backs.

A few cars streamed past them on the mighty highways, constellations of lights spread across the coastal plains bleared by
fog and mist.

‘At another point in our lives, Whit,’ Bucks said, ‘we might have been friends.’ Bucks drove easily, fingertips barely on
the wheel of the Jag. The night traffic was intermittent along the 610 Loop. Bucks had a tape playing in the console, but
it wasn’t music. A low, thin,
cajoling voice of a man on the tape: ‘… and when you visualize your goal, you actualize your goal. That’s how you make the
life you dream …’ – dramatic pause – ‘… the life you lead.’

Frank sat in the back seat. Mad about coming, scared, Whit thought, but making a real effort not to show it. Whit glanced
back at Frank. He hummed, gazing into the night. Gave Whit a wan smile.

‘Friends. Yes. Perhaps as babies,’ Whit said.

‘How’s Gooch?’ Bucks asked.

‘Better.’

‘Him I like,’ Bucks said. ‘I could’ve used about a dozen of him with Paul. Kiko wouldn’t have messed with us then.’

‘But Kiko had you on his side,’ Whit said. ‘What else did he need?’

‘That was an extremely temporary arrangement,’ Bucks said.

‘You betrayed your best friend,’ Whit said. ‘You won’t have a qualm about shooting me and Frank and Eve if this rescue works
out. So understand this. I took precautions. A lot of them before I stepped into the snake pit tonight. And if I get screwed
over, so do you.’

‘Precautions,’ Frank repeated. A thin little smile came and went on Bucks’ face, like Whit was trying a high-schooler’s bluff
in hopes of being cool.

‘The only precautions you need to worry about,’ Bucks said, ‘is doing what I tell you.’

‘Wrong,’ Whit said. ‘You’re not in charge.’

‘I know the warehouse,’ Bucks said. ‘You don’t. You want to walk straight in and get your ass shot off? Listen to me and I’ll
tell you the layout.’

Whit waited.

‘These warehouses, the Bellinis used one like it before, a few blocks over. The layouts are all the same. It has two
bays for the trucks, has a glass door on the side, there’s a little office space off from the storage area. Probably that’s
where they’re keeping Eve. We go in through the office door,’ Bucks said. ‘Frank, too, if he wants to go, if he’s got his
dick screwed on now.’

‘Your dick’s on now, right, Frank?’ Whit said.

‘Ha ha,’ Frank said.

‘Walk right in,’ Whit said.

‘No,’ Bucks said. ‘Probably have guards watching the lot. We’ll take care of them first.’

‘Take care of,’ Whit said.

‘Shoot if we have to,’ Bucks said. ‘You want your mommy back, right?’ He didn’t quite make it a sneer. ‘You know, you must
create your own moral center, Whit. You can’t get that from your parents.’

‘Then what?’ Whit said. ‘Storm the door?’

‘No. Go in quiet if we can. Shoot anyone we see we don’t like. Grab Eve, grab José, grab the money if it’s there. If it’s
not then José’s my worry, not yours. He’ll talk.’

Whit was silent. He wondered how close a coffin would feel. If you were really, truly dead it was a mercy if you couldn’t
know the tight quarters of the casket, the bare inch of air between your lips and the coffin silk. Then wondering if he could
stand by and watch people get shot. Not innocent people. But still. He couldn’t. Not in cold blood. So he would have to change
Bucks’ plan. ‘What if we get caught?’ Whit asked.

‘Don’t be dense,’ Bucks said. ‘They kill us.’

Bucks turned onto the Clinton exit off 610, turned right onto Mississippi. The warehouse was one in a long chain of dreary
industrial buildings, the lamps giving off faint light.

‘That’s it,’ Bucks said. He drove on by, four blocks, then turned into a small office building. Two cars were
parked far back in the shadows, men inside them. Waiting.

‘Oh, shit,’ Frank said. Whit’s guts turned to slush.

‘This wasn’t part of the deal …’ Frank said.

‘I took precautions, too, boys,’ Bucks said, and in the moonlight his smile was ugly.

‘You don’t need to know names,’ Bucks told Whit and Frank as the men stood in the cold of the night behind the office building.
But Whit could guess. One man looked like the guy who’d shot at him on the chase on the 610 Loop, owlish eyes watching Whit
with the careful regard of an accountant. Frank had said he was called the Wart. Two other men, one heavy, the other lanky
and wearing dreadlocks. Associates of the dead MacKay, Whit guessed, looking for a little payback. No one said hello.

‘Too many,’ Frank said to Bucks. ‘Too much. Not what we discussed.’

Whit thought:
too much for what, we need all the strength we can get
. ‘Jesus, Frank, quit worrying about how much money’s left at the end.’

‘Frank, hush and let the men work,’ Bucks said. ‘Guys. Here’s the drill.’ He explained they wanted Eve alive, they wanted
the money, mostly they wanted José Peron, who was responsible for MacKay’s death and who had stolen five million from its
rightful owners. ‘We’ve got a goal, men. A goal we can reach.’ His voice deepened and Whit realized he sounded like the low
murmuring on the tape in his car, talking in the same empty cadence of blank reassurance. He described how they would approach
the lot, fast and silent. If José and Eve weren’t inside, they’d take what was of value and leave. ‘Keep an eye open for any
DVDs. José stored info on them I need. I’ll pay a bonus for any you find.’

In the dark, behind Bucks, Frank nudged Whit.

Bucks turned to Whit. ‘You want to go first? She’s your mama.’

‘That’s fine,’ Whit said.

‘Don’t worry, Whit,’ said Bucks. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

They moved down a maze of alleys that reeked of dog piss and uncollected trash. Too many of the offices and warehouses had
been empty for too long, dragged down in the latest economic stumble. A cloying mist hung in the night. Whit had the gun Gooch
had given him, another gun tucked in the small of his back, and a small knife strapped above his ankle, all from Charlie’s
weapons collection. But the heavyset Jamaican walking by him toted an assault rifle, and he felt unprepared.

‘This is it,’ Bucks said. The six men hung back in the alleyway, surveying the parking lot of the warehouse. A high fence,
topped with barbed wire, separated the lot from the adjoining side road. An office light gleamed through the glass door. Three
cars were parked nearby; Whit recognized one. A little red Honda. Tasha Strong’s car that she’d driven over to Frank and Eve’s.
He started to speak, thought, and stayed quiet.