8
ANSON
“We should pull the damn plug,” Vincent spat out in an angry whisper. “Piss in his goddamn IV bag.”
We were in a bathroom we found at the end of the long hallway. At least Vincent had the good sense to check each stall to ensure we were alone before he started ranting. Now he was pacing back and forth.
Paul looked up at him and nodded slowly. “We should carve Weasel’s name in his chest. Send a message. The girls’ names, too. The Kid.”
“We should go,” I told them both. “There’s no way we’re getting in that room. Not today, anyway. Standing around here is suicide.”
Vincent ignored me. “I bet he can’t scream with that tube down his throat. That means we could kill him slow.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed to devilish slits. “Pour drain cleaner down the tube. Watch it eat him from the inside out.”
You need to leave them both, Father’s voice whispered in my head. Those two will get you killed.
He wasn’t wrong, but I needed them. With a broken arm and my hurt leg, I was in no condition to find Libby on my own.
You need to leave her, too. Forget her, Champ. Forget the whole lot of them. This mess you’re getting yourself into . . . I taught you better. Mother, too. She’d be so disappointed if she saw you now, pining after some girl.
I shut him out. It wasn’t easy—Father could be insistent—but I did.
I shut him right out and cleared my throat, did it defiantly.
Take that, Father. “All those people can’t stay forever,” I told Vincent and Paul.
“We’re better off coming back in a few days when things settle down.
Catch him when his room is empty. He’s not even awake right now. He can’t help us.”
Vincent blew out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, tell that to the girls and the Kid. ‘Sit tight a few days. We’ll get to you when we get to you. It’s all good.’ Think they’d be okay with that?”
There was another angle. Another way. “Van Man is here.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“That means his van is here too. Outside somewhere.”
Vincent stopped pacing as that sank in. He turned to me slowly. “You think the girls and the Kid are in his van?”
I thought about that for a second and shook my head. “No. He wouldn’t risk that. I think he took them somewhere before coming here, but maybe he left something in the van that will help us find them. Receipts. Notes. Who knows? Maybe there’s nothing, but this might be our only chance to check.”
“We could hide in the back,” Paul offered, his wheels turning now too. “Wait for Van Man to come out. We’ve got a gun. We make him tell us where they are.”
I squeezed the gun. Still in my hand under the blanket.
Not a bad plan. Not the best, but not a bad one either.
While Welderman and Stocks had been tasked with transporting us from Finicky’s to the hotel where most of our encounters took place, Van Man had transported the men and women who paid to be with us.
I wanted him dead, we all did, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he kept records of those people.
Because they deserved to die as much as he did. Die horribly.
“Better idea,” Vincent said. “We could get his name and address from the registration. A house is a lot more private than a parking lot. We could take our time with him if we get him alone someplace like that.”
I shook my head. “Van’s better. We get him in the van and take him someplace secluded. His house makes no sense. What if he has a family?”
“Fuck his family.”
I didn’t get the chance to respond to that.
A shrill alarm went off, followed by a robotic female voice. “Lockdown initiated. Please remain where you are. Please remain calm. This is not a drill.”
The message repeated three times. When it finally ended, a red light was flashing above the door. The alarm continued but dropped in volume.
All three of us looked to the door. My grip tightened on the gun. “Is that for us?”
“No.” Vincent’s lips slipped into a thin line. “I bet it’s Twill.”