Crow's Row

Unlike the cave tunnel under the barn, the winding tunnel was sparkling clean and tailored

with silver lanterns on the walls and expensive-looking cameras on the ceiling. Every few feet,

we awkwardly brushed past armed guards that would look me over as we passed by.

Hawk and the old man continued to move ahead of us. I could hear their echoed voices as they

started discoursing in French. Though the men’s dialect was definitely different, with a little

concentration, I could understand most of what they were saying. My mom had grown up in

Marseille, France, and was, by no stretch of the imagination, a proud Frenchwoman. Of the few

childhood memories I had of my mother, almost all of them included her correcting my French.

Suddenly aware that I had been intently staring at the back of the men’s heads, I averted my

eyes just as Hawk anxiously glanced back. He thankfully didn’t notice, or at least I didn’t

think that he had. He turned back to his partner, while I continued to eavesdrop with my eyes on

my feet.

“Why the hell would they bring a girl like that here?” Hawk exclaimed in French to the old

man, “The crows are hiding something, Pops. I can feel it.”

“I don’t know about the boy, but I think you are right about the girl. She is without a doubt

hiding something,” croaked the old man.

“Like what?” Hawk asked nervously.

“I’m not sure yet, but I sense something distinctive in her.”

“Do you think she could hurt us?”

“How much harm could one young girl do?” the old man said pensively, like he was talking to

himself rather than his partner.

“I don’t know. There’s definitely something strange about her,” the young leader continued.

“There’s something strange with all the crows, son,” said the old man. He chuckled hoarsely.

“At least the girl is easier on the eyes than the unpleasant baldheaded crow they call Spider.



Hawk groaned in annoyance and wondered, “What should we do?”

The old man paused before answering. “Call the guards. Tell them to be on high alert. We’ll

see where this goes.”

Hawk took out his shortwave radio, and his uneasy voice reverberated within the marble tunnel

through the radios that were holstered on the belts of the tunnel guards. While I was growing

nervous, Cameron remained unchanged. I doubted that he had understood any of the men’s

discussion and wished that I could warn him. But I knew that if I could so easily hear the men

ahead of us, they would just as easily hear me if I spoke. I remained silent, for now.

A pungent smell had started to seep into the tunnel. By the time we had reached the end, the

stench was unbearable. I understood the source as we stepped out of the passageway and into a

large greenhouse. Fluorescent lights were hanging low from the ceiling, acting as artificial

sunlight to the illegal plants. People in white coats were moving about the room, tending to

them. Lined up against the walls were more armed guards, all of whom were glaring in our

direction—now on high alert.

Cameron and Hawk met up and walked ahead between the tables, while the old man joined me behind.

Cameron spied the plants and disapproved. Their color, their size, and their quality were,

apparently, unsuitable. This, of course, sent Hawk into an uproar, and the two business men

commenced arguing over proper pricing of the crops. While I fixed on the argument, I could feel

the old man studying my every move. That was when I realized that, in an unconscious response to

the overpowering smell, my face had recoiled into a grimace. I corrected this immediately, but

not before the old man had noticed and smirked at his detection of my defection.

I was starting to feel sick from the reek of the plants. Eventually Cameron and Hawk were able

to agree on a price that neither seemed pleased with. I was really glad when we continued to

move forward. The old man had rejoined Hawk ahead, and Cameron was back at my side, continuing

to artfully ignore me.

Hawk turned to the old man—his face was red and sweating. “That insulting … How dare he

attack the quality of our work? We have been growing for generations, before that kid was even

born.”

The old man was calm. “You know as well as I do that it’s a bad crop. The boy is smart, and he

’s a good businessman. You shouldn’t be severe with him for doing his job.”

Hawk huffed. “Well, whatever his reasons, I’ll make sure to give him the worst of all of the

plants. Maybe next time he’ll think twice about insulting us.”

The old man quickly peeked back and caught me looking at him. I veered my eyes away and felt my

cheeks burning. He only smiled and kept walking.

We passed the endless tables of plants and headed into another marble tunnel. Large vents were

churning out fresh air over our heads. I cheerfully took several large inhalations.

Julie Hockley's books