Blood Men: A Thriller

“You don’t know that.”


“We don’t know if he stole the money, and even if he did, this isn’t somebody looking for you. We question him, see what he knows, and if he has the money we take it. Then we do things both your way and my way—you get to deliver the money, but we call it in and get backup first—it’s safer for both you and your daughter.”

“He isn’t going to give up the money if he has it. What the hell are you expecting? Knock on the door and he’ll hand it over to you?”

“Something like that,” Schroder says fully aware that he doesn’t sound convincing. They’ll talk to Bracken, and if he gets a bad vibe he’ll call for backup. He’s not taking any more chances tonight.

“He deals with scumbags every day of his life,” Edward says. “You think you can break a person like that just by talking to him on his doorstep?”

“And you think pulling a shotgun on an innocent man will help? Let’s get a read on him first and take it from there.”

When they walk up to the front door, Schroder is still out of it, like he’s walking through a world slightly out of sync. He knocks on the door and there’s movement and voices and Schroder knocks again to hurry them up. A few seconds later a man answers the door, his shirt open and the large belt buckle on his pants hanging loose. He’s around Schroder’s age, but bigger. He has that slab look about him, the not-quite-fat-and-not-quite-muscle look. He has a handlebar mustache that’s about a hundred years out of date.

“What the hell?” he asks, as soon as he sees them.

Schroder holds up his ID. The badge has dried out but the wallet is still wet. Bracken doesn’t look at it, just stares at Schroder, and then at Edward, and Schroder is pretty sure he knows who each of them is.

“We have a couple of questions,” Schroder says.

“At this time of night?”

“You’re lucky we didn’t show up at two in the morning.”

“Questions about what?”

“Some routine stuff about Shane Kingsly.”

“Like what?”

“Background.”

“And you had to come to my house at this time of the night?”

“We’re chasing some leads.”

“With him?” he asks, and nods at Edward.

“Can we come in?” Schroder asks.

“I’m busy.”

“It’s important.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he says. “I don’t care if it’s important or not.”

“Actually . . . ,” Schroder begins, but Edward interrupts him.

“Shit,” Edward says. Both men look at him. “My phone,” he says, patting down his pockets. “It’s in the car. I know how to solve this.”

“What?” Bracken says.

“Edward . . . ,” Schroder says.

“Just a second,” Edward says.

“Edward, wait,” Schroder says.

“It’s important,” Edward answers, and Schroder watches him walk away for a few seconds before turning back to Bracken. His head is muggy and his thoughts are muddled, and he knows he’s probably making a mistake right now but he can’t seem to focus exactly on what that is. Edward saved his life before; and that aside, Schroder knows if he’d been better at his job, then Edward’s daughter never would have been taken tonight. Whatever happens to her will be on his conscience. So yeah, maybe he does owe Hunter some slack. He knows he does—it’s why he’s here. It’s why he hasn’t turned on Edward and tried to handcuff him.

Question is, how much slack is he prepared to give him?





chapter forty-two


Austin Bracken lives in a neighborhood the virus hasn’t hit yet. The houses are modern and well looked after and don’t have front yards made up from rusting mechanical parts. The dashboard clock on the car says we’re closing in on 10:30; it seems like the day has been about forty hours long. Most of the houses still have lights on inside them, people probably closing in on bedtime, watching the tail end of prime-time TV, waiting for the kids to have been asleep long enough so they can play Santa’s role and put the presents under the tree. It’s what I should be doing with Jodie. It’s such a magical moment and I don’t know if there’ll ever be any more.