The clapboard farmhouse was a beautiful home. Gibson could feel its history in the creak of the floorboards and the way Swonger had to put his shoulder into the front door to open it. Time had done its work, and the old house had eased comfortably into its foundations. The floors rose and fell in rolling swells, and none of the doors or windows sat squarely in their frames. When the wind picked up, the house expanded like a lung and a cold draft whistled through the hallways. Gibson zipped up his jacket, unable to decide if he’d been warmer inside or out.
In the kitchen, Swonger poured him a cup of burnt coffee from a pot that had been sitting far too long. It was hot, though, and Gibson drank it without complaint. Swonger threw fresh logs on the kitchen fire that had burned down to glowing embers. When the wood caught, they sat at a banquette built under the kitchen windows. Gibson looked out on a small, frozen pond beside the house while Swonger read over his shopping list. Swonger’s brow furrowed as he tried to guess what it added up to.
“What the hell is all this?” Swonger asked.
“Don’t you still have contacts in Richmond? Is it a problem?”
“That ain’t even the question, dog. Why you need a Yukon? You drove up in one. And what you need so many protein bars for? You feeding an army?”
“No,” Gibson said. “Just one guy.”
“That’s like a year’s supply.”
“Two,” Gibson corrected.
Swonger stared at Gibson, started to ask a question, then stopped, perhaps realizing that he didn’t want to know the answer. He went back to the list instead.
“How clean does this gun got to be?”
“Spotless,” Gibson said.
“Ketamine? You planning on tranking a horse?”
“Can you get it?”
“This a farm, ’course I can get it.”
“I take it back,” Duke said. “I like this guy.”
“Okay, then,” Gibson said. “So will you help me?”
Two men in work clothes barged in the kitchen door, stomping feet and talking loudly. They saw Swonger and stopped in their tracks.
“Sorry, Mr. Swonger,” they said in unison.
“I need the kitchen, fellas. Can you give my dad a hand out on three?”
The men said they would and backed out of the kitchen, repeating their apologies. Swonger met Gibson’s eyes.
“Mr. Swonger?” Gibson said.
“You know how it is,” Swonger said shyly.
Gibson smiled. “It has a nice ring to it. Looks like you’re really handling things here. I think it’s great.”
Swonger glowed at the praise, but another thought intruded, and he grew somber. “I ain’t told you everything.”
“Is it Lea? Did she make it?”
Lea Regan aka Chelsea Merrick aka Charles Merrick’s daughter had been a friend and ally in Niobe, West Virginia. She’d had her own reasons for hating her father, but because Charles Merrick was her blood, Gibson had never entirely let his guard down with her. Still, they’d worked side by side, and Gibson knew her to be good people. She’d taken a bullet to the chest during the chaos inside the Wolstenholme Hotel. Swonger had pulled her out before fire engulfed the hotel, and the last Gibson knew, she’d been on the way to a hospital. But beyond that, he knew nothing.
“Yeah, man,” Swonger said. “She pulled through.”
“Good,” Gibson said with relief. “You in touch with her? I should let her know her father is out.”
Swonger shook his head. “Ain’t seen her, dog. She lit out soon as she got out of the hospital.”
There was sadness in Swonger’s voice that Gibson couldn’t decipher. He knew Swonger had been in love with Lea, although he wasn’t sure if Swonger knew it. Either way, Swonger had been too starstruck to act on his feelings. Probably for the best. Lea Regan and Gavin Swonger were from different worlds. Wherever she was, Gibson hoped she was safe and happy. He would track her down and give her the news when he had time. He owed her that much.
“So if it’s not that, what haven’t you told me?”
“I work for Deja Noble now,” Swonger said. “I do, but I don’t. Tell the truth, whole farm is hers. It’s not, but it is, if you understand me.”
“I don’t.”
Swonger told him about Deja’s gunpoint ultimatum after the fire. How she’d become a silent partner in Longman Farm, paid off enough of the farm’s debt to keep it solvent. That the Swongers would be allowed to remain on the property and manage the farm. That “allowed” really meant “forced.” In exchange, the farm would become Deja’s personal depot as her crew moved merchandise in and out of the state.
“Did the Birks go for it?”
“Not exactly, but Christopher’s share of the money went a long way to convincing him not to force the issue. Not like he was pining away to be no farmer.”
“You all right?”
“Course I am. Got everything I ever wanted, didn’t I?” Swonger said with a weary chuckle. “So you know, I’ll have to let Deja know you was here. Nothing personal, but sometimes her people are watching, sometimes they ain’t. Can’t risk not telling her. Hope you understand.”
Gibson nodded that he did. “Don’t jam yourself up on my account. Is she liable to come looking for me?”
“Dog, I’m out of the Deja Noble prediction game. But, yeah, I wouldn’t bet against it. She still has some issues to work out with you. She’s sore about Truck.” Truck Noble was Deja’s warship of a brother. He’d used Gibson as a pi?ata until a bar owner in Niobe had broken a baseball bat over Truck’s head. Gibson had claimed responsibility for the whole thing to protect the bar owner from the Nobles.
“What about him?” Gibson asked.
“He’s not all there anymore.”
“What part of him?”
“The brain part,” Swonger said. “Big man don’t talk much no more. Deja didn’t appreciate you breaking her brother like that.”
“Guess that’s fair.”
“Still want my help?”
Gibson nodded that he did.
Swonger said, “Okay, but I need one thing from you.”
“Name it.”
“Don’t go messing with Deja Noble. I know you, you have that damned honorable streak. Think you always have to balance the ledgers. Far as I’m concerned, the ledgers are balanced as a mother. It ain’t ideal, but I got equilibrium. Things are working out right now. Guess I’m asking, can you leave Deja be, knowing what I told you?”
It was a good question. “And if I can’t?”
“Then I can’t help you. I’m sorry. Lot of her people died in that hotel, Gibson. But weren’t nobody home when she burned down our houses. Think on that. She showed us a piece of mercy. Just a little piece. But you go riling her up, she’ll pile the bodies up. Yours and mine. Can’t risk that collateral.”
“And if she comes messing with me?” Gibson asked.