Lea took a step up. “It is, yes.”
“Look me in the eye and tell me these boys didn’t bring back the same Mustang, thinking they’d put one by on old Claudette?”
“No, this is the car,” Lea said, glancing over at Gibson and Swonger for confirmation. Both men chimed in that it was.
“Well, all right, give me your arm and let’s go take a look. Just us girls. What do you say?”
Lea helped her up, wincing under Claudette’s iron grip, uncertain whether she was helper or hostage. Certainly, the old woman needed no help standing or walking. Claudette gestured at Swonger and Gibson to stay put, and the dogs came forward to the edge of the porch and sat on their haunches.
Claudette opened the Mustang’s driver’s door to read the VIN off the frame. Never loosening her grip on Lea’s arm, the old woman produced a knife—Lea couldn’t say from where—and pried at the VIN, testing to see whether it had been tampered with. Satisfied, Claudette shut the door; the knife disappeared from her hand, and she took Lea back up to the porch.
“Good. Looks good. Everything smooth, I trust?”
“Like clockwork,” Lea said.
A look passed between Gibson and Swonger that she couldn’t interpret. Swonger looked away while Gibson nodded confirmation. It gave Lea a bad feeling, and the junkyard fell silent in solemn agreement.
The old woman sat back down and looked them over. “All right, then,” she said finally. “On your way. I’ll pass it along.”
They mumbled a good-bye and backed away. Halfway back to the van, the office door opened. “A word,” Deja Noble said and stepped out onto the porch.
Lea didn’t know the kind of pistol, but it looked enormous and lethal in Deja’s small hand.
“Aunt?” Deja said, the muzzle tapping her thigh inquisitively.
“Niece,” Claudette replied. “There a problem?”
“Yeah, there’s a problem. Swong, my aunt asked you a question, but she didn’t hear an answer. Asked if everything went smooth. Now what’ve you got to say to her?”
Swonger’s mouth started to open.
“It went fine,” Gibson cut in.
Deja looked back and forth between the two men. “That was good. His mouth opened, your voice came out. Magic.” Deja mimed a shiver of excitement. “How’d you all do that? Let me try another. Swonger, where’s Terry at?”
Swonger looked sick to his stomach. “Out there.”
“That’s good. And what’s he doing out there?”
“Got a rifle.”
“Where’s it pointed?”
“Come on, we really gotta—”
“Where’s it pointed?” Deja asked again, patiently.
“My head,” Swonger moaned.
“Got it in one. Now go ahead and throw down your piece like before. Then we can get back to the question at hand.”
“I ain’t—”
“We didn’t bring guns,” Gibson interjected. “Wasn’t part of the plan.”
Deja considered this, and Swonger, with interest. She made a twirling gesture with her finger for Swonger to lift his shirt and do a three-sixty. When he was done, Deja shook her head.
“Not getting the whole pacifist thing, but that’s you all’s call. Now, Swonger. My aunt asked you a question, and all of us up here want to hear your answer. Not his. Not hers. Just yours. Auntie?”
“Did things go smooth?” Claudette repeated her question.
Swonger didn’t answer but glanced in Gibson’s direction again.
“Quit looking at him,” Deja said.
“Nah, it’s all good,” Swonger said. “Went like he said.”
“We got the Mustang you needed. What’s the problem?” Gibson demanded. “We held up our end.”
Deja cast her eyes on Lea. “That your story too?”
Lea nodded, her bad feeling metastasizing. She was on the hook for something but had no idea what. It didn’t give her a lot of options.
Deja studied them all with her relentless gaze. “Truck. What do you think?”
A towering man came out of the office, stooping as he passed through the door. When he stood upright again, his head grazed the porch roof. He was the largest human that Lea had ever seen. Massive biceps and forearms strained the sleeves of his black button-down. Despite his size, he moved with a balletic grace that few large men possessed. His physique was perfectly proportioned apart from his head, slightly too small for his body, which only accentuated his otherworldliness.
Gibson looked astonished.
Swonger looked like the second coming himself had just ducked out onto the porch. “Hey, Truck.”
“What do you think?” Deja asked.
Truck shook his head.
“Yeah, me too. Frustrating. Know what I mean?”
Truck nodded in solemn agreement.
“I understand them two lying,” she said. “They don’t know us. What are we to them? But my heart’s broken over Swonger here. After all you did for him. And he’s lying to us.”
Deja looked disappointed by this troubling development. Disappointed in life. Disappointed in humanity. Lea didn’t get the sense that this was a family that dealt with disappointment well. Her elation at pulling off the job was gone, replaced by the dry-mouthed certainty that she would not leave this junkyard. If this went bad, it was going to go bad their way. Like anyone, she’d tossed around the word “afraid” all her life. Now she understood what it was to be afraid. Afraid that these were the last faces she’d see.
“Want me to ask him?” Truck asked, speaking at last, his voice surprisingly high and sweet for such a large man.
“Would you? I can’t seem to get through to him.”
Truck picked up the sledgehammer and hefted it lightly over his shoulder. It looked like a toy in his fist. He started down the stairs. “Come here, Swong.”
Swonger turned the white of a fried egg. “Hey, dog. Hey. Come on.” The nonsensical words of a man with no defense save hope for a mercy that wasn’t coming.
“Don’t make me come over there.”
“Please,” Swonger said quietly, all masculine posturing forgotten. He fell to his knees.
“The guard at the front gate took our pictures,” Gibson said loudly.
Everyone stopped at that and looked at him. He said it again. Truck looked back at his sister.
“I thought you boys took security down,” Deja said.
“We did. That’s why he took the pictures himself. On his phone.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Whatever internal lie detector Deja thought she possessed accepted that answer. “Well, hell, that ain’t even a thing. Why are you all making me sweat? Swong, you can’t go appealing to my baser instincts this way.” Deja said it like this had all just been a misunderstanding over nothing.
Swonger smiled weakly and apologized. Lea took a deep breath and realized she’d been holding it.
“Which one was it?” Deja asked. “We’ll take care of it.”
“No,” Gibson said, punching a finger in Swonger’s direction. “Don’t you say a word.”
“You know,” Deja said, “for a fella that’s unarmed, you’re giving a lot of orders.”
“It doesn’t matter who it was.”