“Just asking.” Drill shrugged his boulder-like shoulders and grinned. The rising sun glinted off his bald head. To my mind he resembled a steroidal version of Mr. Clean, if Mr. Clean wore black leather from head to toe and smelled like lube.
I eyeballed the third person in their party and put my hand on Hank’s shoulder. “No, no. It’s fine. Ash is great, thanks for asking, Drill. Just got her double black belt in Kenjutsu—you know, that’s the martial art where they use those sharp knives? Since she’s a nurse, she knows just where to stab a person. You should see her skin a rabbit. We’re pretty proud.”
This, of course, was complete bullshit—except for the part about her being a nurse and skinning rabbits, because she was real good at skinning rabbits. But Drill widened his eyes, looking a little piqued, and let the subject drop.
“Hey, Twilight,” I welcomed the third member of their party by extending my hand for a shake. He looked at it, then at me, then at my hand again. Finally he shook it.
Isaac Sylvester, AKA Twilight, who also happened to be Jennifer Sylvester’s brother, wasn’t yet a member of the Wraiths. He was what’s called a “prospect.” Jethro had been a prospect about five years ago, but left before he’d been made a full member. Thank God.
“Cletus,” he said, meeting my eye. I inspected his and discovered Isaac’s were plain blue. I frowned.
Where did she get those purple eyes?
“Speaking of sisters,” I adopted as harmless an air as possible and gave Isaac a cheerful grin, “how’s your sister doing?”
His jaw ticked and his plain blue eyes narrowed and darted to the side, like he was wincing and didn’t want me to see.
“I don’t have a sister,” he mumbled, his mouth pinched.
“Sure you do.” I widened my grin, playing the well-meaning buffoon. “She bakes cakes, don’t she?”
“You know how it is, Cletus.” Catfish spoke up, waiting for me to give him my full attention before continuing. “Once a man joins the Wraiths he ain’t got no other family. Twilight has only brothers now.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, yes. I forgot about that detail.” I moved my eyes back to Twilight, wanting to see his reaction when I added, “Must be hard on the sisters, though.”
Isaac looked out over the lake, but I doubt he saw it. He appeared to be absent, wading through weighty thoughts.
Meanwhile, I felt sorry for Jennifer Sylvester all over again. She’d lost her brother; at least he was lost to her. I considered how it might’ve been for us if Jethro had disowned us in favor of the Wraiths. The thought was not a nice one. I quickly banished it.
“Are we waiting for anybody?” Catfish grabbed a beer from the cooler and took one of the cushioned seats on the big deck.
“Just Beau,” I said, glancing at my phone. He didn’t like to be late, but I’d instructed Beau to be late. I needed the delay. In return I’d promised I would make sausage for dinner on my assigned night this coming week. Unsurprisingly, my sausage was his favorite. “Let me call him and see where he’s at.”
I stepped off the boat and strolled the length of the dock, up to Hank’s cabin and beyond, to where Catfish had parked their truck. I knew this truck. Five years ago I’d installed traps in this truck.
Traps are secret compartments used to traffic drugs and the like in order to evade police detection. I’d installed them at the time in order to help Jethro extract himself from the Wraiths.
Using the traps now—as a means to bring the entire Iron Wraiths organization down—was a happy bonus.
Contrary to popular belief, installing traps is perfectly legal. It’s legal just as long as the engineer responsible informs local law enforcement about the installation. I’d informed local law enforcement. And then I’d made certain the certified letter never saw the light of day. It was buried in their evidence storage, misfiled. But I knew where it was and would make certain the letter became found on Sheriff James’s desk when the time was right.
Slipping on gloves from my pocket, I opened the truck’s door—which wasn’t locked, because these guys obviously considered themselves to be untouchable—and released the trap under the driver’s seat. I pulled the evidence I’d taken two weeks ago out of my coveralls, evidence handed over to the sheriff by the King brothers, and placed it in the bottom of the trap along with a bogus list of dates and places.
By “bogus”, I meant real. The only thing bogus about the list was that I’d drafted it after the fact, after watching Wraith activity for the last eight months. The list of dates, names, and places just made their inefficient chaos appear more organized.
And organization was the point. The appearance of pre-meditation and planning was my goal, and this list achieved it.
Seeing everything set to rights, I closed the door just as Beau pulled up in his red 1967 Pontiac GTO.
I admired the line of the hood. It was a pretty car, but too flashy for me. As Drew had noted yesterday, I preferred hiding in plain sight.
It was my talent.
CHAPTER 8
“Life has its own hidden forces which you can only discover by living.”
― S?ren Kierkegaard