“Still.”
“All right.” Walter turned and began again toward the back of the house. Making painful progress through the branches. Ty came out then. East watched his brother move. Casual, erect, no cat-stalking dramatics. He carried the gun in his hand but kept it shadowed. He crouched when he went against the house’s frame. There he tested the ground and crept low along the window line. Popped up against a frame and peered inside. With one hand he tried the front doorknob. Didn’t open.
East watched Ty working, recognized his careful pace. Taking time at each window, noting the rooms, the layout and angles. Shooters thought things through two ways. Where were people likely to be, before they knew about you? Then after, when they did, where were they likely to go? Where was shelter? Did they cover? Head for a closet where the guns were? If they shot back at you, from where? Or would they flush right out to the yard? A shooter understood a home just as well as the people who lived there. But to different ends.
Less cautious by the moment, Ty worked around the back. A car rolled by slowly on the stony road without slowing. East stood inside the clearing now, drawn to the house by impatience.
After four minutes Ty had made a full lap. No caution in how he stood now. Contempt for the house that had no people in it. Contempt for the time he’d spent working slowly. He spotted East along the face of the woods and approached, sticking the gun away with a swagger.
East felt almost apologetic. “Any minute he could be home.”
“No.” Ty shook his head. “No. No clothes, no suitcase. No dishes in the sink. No soap in the bathroom. Water’s switched off. House is cold. Nobody’s been here. Or if they were, they won’t be back for a while.”
“You want me to look?” said East.
Ty laughed. “Be my guest.”
East made his own circuit. His eyes were hungry in the dark. He peered inside but nothing broke with Ty’s account. Items to interest a thief—nice speakers, espresso maker, a flat TV up high. People with houses like this didn’t skimp. Stealing wasn’t his game but he knew enough from listening—most of the boys he’d led were thieves at some time. Once they stopped stealing, they stopped being quiet about it.
The back glass door was braced against sliding but not barred, like in the city. Probably an alarm, probably a glass-break sensor. No security badge on the windows, but he would have bet. It didn’t matter much. If Ty saw his man, he’d be making noise.
Walter wandered up. “What you want to do? Stay here and stake out?”
“Wish we could bring the van up,” said East. “It’s cold.”
“Scare him straight away too. Van full of black boys idling by the house?”
“I know.”
Now the chill penetrated him. But the heat of the van seemed a hundred miles away.
“You want to go?” Walter said.
East slit his eyes. “No.”
“I’m even getting cold myself,” Walter said, undulating his bulk.
East turned away, played the judge’s features in his head again. What he could remember.
“You want to go?” said Walter.
“Didn’t you just say that?” said East viciously.
Ty came out around the corner, face pinched in, like he was chewing it up from the inside. “Shit. Forget it,” he said. “I’m done with this.”
East said, “Let’s give it another hour.”
“Oh?” said Ty. “You in charge? Fine, stay here. I know you like standing by a house. Me, I’m finished.”
“I second that,” said Walter.
East rolled his eyes at the sky. Fading but still silver above the grave-black square the trees made.
“We can call Abe back up. Might be a plan B,” said Walter. “Come on, East. Sitting out here ain’t gonna be nothing but cold.”
“But what if they don’t answer.”
“Then they don’t. Let’s warm up at least. Get some food.”
“I don’t need to warm up.”
Ty snorted. “Listen to him. Fucking cowboy, man. I seen you get cold last night.”
Darkly East glared.
“I don’t know,” protested Walter. “I don’t know if they’ll answer. But maybe he’s at a hotel or buying gas or at an airport. But I do know if he’s somewhere else, we can find that out.”
“How you gonna find that out?”
Walter pressed his lips together grimly. “Stuff you don’t know about, man.”
“You saying—”
“I’m saying I can’t talk about it. But it’s real.”
“Fuck it,” said Ty. “Fuck you both. I’ll be in the van.”
Walter glanced at Ty as he went. “I gotta agree,” he said.
Quiet now. Even the birds stopped shifting in their trees.
“You coming?”
“Just trying to do my job,” East said.
“Okay. I hear you. But I’m ready to get out of this icebox, man. Come on.”
East hesitated, then followed Walter out to the road. Ty was a hundred yards ahead, out in plain view. At least it was dark. East hurried to catch up with Walter.