Bear nodded and his phone rang. He pulled it out of his back pocket and clicked a button on the screen. “Yeah.” He scratched his beard. “Fuck. Okay. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell him.” He clicked the phone again and put in back in his pocket.
“Isaac is on the move. Jimmy and BJ spotted him and his boys in Coral Pines this morning. Looks like they’ve got business there. BJ spoke to a guy in Isaac’s crew. They’ll be riding into our corner of the world in a week or so.”
“Shit,” King cursed.
“I told you to fucking get out of town, dude. You knew he was coming.”
“Yeah, and when you told me that, I didn’t care if he came right up to my front door, guns-a-fucking-blazing.”
“But now?” Bear asked.
King nodded to me.
“Ah. I see. What do you want to do, man? Your call. You know I’m behind you no matter what.” Bear lit a cigarette.
“I think we go on the offense,” King said.
“Wait, what does all this mean? Who is Isaac?”
King ignored me. “I’ll get her to Grace’s before then,” he told Bear.
“King, who the fuck is Isaac? Who the fuck is Grace?” I shouted, jumping up and down to make my presence in the conversation known.
“Pup, when Preppy took you out with him, did he tell you that when he and I started the granny operation, we cut out our main supplier?”
“Yeah. He did.”
“Well, Isaac, was that supplier.”
“Shit,” I said.
Bear took a long drag of his cigarette and blew out the smoke through his nose, looking very much like the bird recently tattooed on King’s hand. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”
“What you heard was a warning,” King said.
“What kind of warning?” I asked.
Bear stubbed out his cigarette into the concrete of the retaining wall. “The kind that goes boom.”
“What was blown up?”
Preppy’s wail broke through the air like another explosion.
“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY MOTHERFUCKING CAR?”
Chapter Seventeen
Doe
Any sign of the playful version of King from lunch were gone. He gave me ten minutes to get ready and get my ass in the fucking truck.
I didn’t know where we were going, and something about the way he’d barked it at me made it clear he didn’t exactly want me to ask.
We traveled together in a silence so heavy it had its own presence in the truck. Like an uninvited guest, it awkwardly sat between us on the bench seat. We turned down a narrow, dirt road. My curiosity piqued when King pulled over to the side of the road next to the gate of a yellow ranch style home with a short, white picket fence lining the front yard.
“Let’s go,” King said.
Getting out of the truck, he unlatched the gate and started up the cement walkway. I followed behind him, jogging to catch up to him and match his long strides. Several pinwheel lawn ornaments spun as we passed them, our motion creating the only breeze in the stagnant heat of the day. I thought that maybe King was making a pickup for Preppy, and that this was another one of their Granny Growhouses that I had not yet seen.
When we reached the door, King didn’t knock, just shoved it open and walked inside. For a split second, my heart skipped a beat because I thought that maybe he was robbing the place, but I quickly squashed that idea when I heard him call out, “Grace?”
Grace. I recognized the name from earlier.
I followed him into the house and closed the door behind me. When I turned back around, I came face to face with a thousand tiny eyes staring back at me. The small living room was covered with them. From the plant shelves to the buffet style table in the entryway to the coffee table and on top of the old TV, ceramic rabbits of all shapes and sizes were everywhere.
King didn’t pay them any attention as he strode through the living room to the sliding glass doors on the back of the eat-in kitchen where large stuffed rabbits occupied all six chairs of the table like they were about to enjoy a meal together.
I guess Grace likes rabbits.
“Out here!” shouted a high-pitched, yet scratchy voice.
King held the sliding glass doors open so I could pass, but he didn’t step aside. I had to brush against his chest to get through. In my attempt to touch him as little as possible, I stumbled outside onto a wooden deck where a little woman with pixie–style, gray hair sat in a plush navy blue deck chair. Her feet were resting on top of the table, crossed at the ankles. She drank out of a tall glass with light green liquid. A leaf floated on the top of the ice.
Instead of asking me who I was, she stood up and brought me in for a hug. She was easily in her seventies, and wore a denim-colored sweater, matching pants, and white orthopedic shoes.
“I’m Grace,” she said, pushing me far enough away that she could study my face, but keeping her hands on my elbows.
“Hi.” I wasn’t sure what the protocol was about introducing myself to her, but King solved that problem for me.
“This is Doe.”
“What an unusual name. What does it mean?”
I looked to King, and he nodded. “Doe as in Jane Doe,” I told her.