Chapter 42
We meetTen on a bend of the Penobscot River outside the city limits. Turning past another small store, bizarrely proclaiming it’s full line of “western wear,” since we’re nearly as far east as you can go and still be in the States, we roll down a quiet street and pull up next to a green pick-up truck.
Ten climbs out of the truck and into the front passenger seat next to Myles.
“House is at the end of the cul-de-sac,” Ten tells us, tipping his head further down the street. “Two cars still outside. No signs of movement yet.”
“I like the street,” Myles says, still munching on his burrito. “Only one way out. What’s past the house?”
“River,” Ten responds. “There’s a dock but the boat’s up for the winter.”
“Still, we don’t want to chase him through the water.”
“Nope,” Ten agrees. “It’s fucking cold.”
There’s more snow on the ground here than in New York, icy and compacted, and it looks like it’s here to stay. Myles has the heat on in the SUV and I’m warm in the armored hoodie but I’m glad I brought my parka.
Max offers Ten the paper bag of food. He takes out a sandwich, picks out the pickles, and eats.
“Fleur wake up yet?” Ten asks after he’s eaten half the sandwich and washed it down with a bottle of water.
“No,” Max answers him. “But her doctors think it will be today or tomorrow.”
Ten grunts and sips more water. “Maude’s got her good care. I don’t know how she’s going to afford the co-pay but Presbyterian’s one of the best.”
“No names,” Myles says quietly. With the sunglasses on, I can’t tell where he’s looking but I think he’s watching the street. “It’s taken care of. All she needs to do is get better.”
“High-handed,” Ten grumbles.
Myles shrugs. “Whatever it takes.”
There’s a long silence that Ten finally breaks. “I want to be involved.”
“I only have two tranq guns. Are you a better shot than D?”
“D?” Ten twists around and looks at me, resting his arm across the back of his seat. “Oh, right. Dunnow, we’ve never been to the range together. Your head injury affect your aim?”
“No.”
“I outshot you the last time we played pool,” Ten points out.
“Not at all the same,” I respond.
“Yeah, okay. Probably better that you have the gun.” Ten flexes his big hands. A fine tremor runs through them. “I’m outta my routine. Meds don’t work as well when I’m off my schedule.”
I nod.
Ten turns back around and says to Myles, “That’s not what I meant. I wanna be involved in her recovery.”
Myles dips his head without turning his face away from the street. “Even if it involves a lot of caregiving?”
Ten grunts. “Yes.”
“Okay,” Myles says. “We can’t sit here for too long without one of the neighbors noticing the strange car. C, you’re with me. We’re going to take a walk and scope out the house’s security. D, you and A drive around a little. Stay off the interstate if you can. Less chance of the plate getting picked up.”
“Ready,” Max confirms, pulling on a coat and slinging a bag across his chest.
I take the wheel since Ten is still eating. Driving up along the river, we pass signs for a country club, which is probably the draw for the houses nearby, along with the river. Maine’s beautiful in a severe way: all stark contrasts with the white ground, barren trees, and pale blue sky.
Ten doesn’t say anything as I drive around. It’s not a strained silence but it’s not overly comfortable, either. By the time I’m headed back down Route 2 toward the house, Ten’s leaning against the window, eyes closed, mouth slightly open.
He probably hasn’t had much more sleep than Myles.
Max is waiting at the store advertising “western wear,” pretending to window-shop. When he climbs in, he directs me back toward Bangor.
“Myles wants surveillance from the other side of the river. Cross over at the first bridge you come to.”
“Right. What’s he doing?”
“Possibly breaking and entering,” Max says. “I’ve learned not to ask those sorts of questions. They only irritate him. The house’s security system is hard-wired. We can’t risk trying to disable it. The lack of connection might alert whatever security company it’s connected to. Hacking it and storming the house is definitely a plan of last resort.”
“Okay,” I say. “Maybe if he hires other paid company that’s the way in?”
“Could be simpler than that,” Max says. “There were take-out containers in the recycling. A lot of them. I don’t think he’s cooking for himself.”
“Haven’t seen any delivery drivers,” Ten says, although his eyes are still closed.
“He’s bored already,” I surmise. “He’s getting take-out, hiring girls to keep him company. Was there any sign of a problem with the girls?”
“No but he’s been burning something. Big oil drum in the back yard with fresh ash in it.”
I swear softly, wondering what evidence has gone up in flames. But maybe it doesn’t matter. This isn’t going to end in a prosecution. Still, there are other Wolfpack members I want to put away.
I drive up the far side of the river and help Max take the surveillance videos Myles wants. When we return, Myles meets us two streets away. He climbs into the back.
“What’s the plan?” I ask Myles.
“There were a lot of take-out containers in the bin. I’m hoping he leaves the house to get dinner. I say we do it tonight. Sunset is at four. I want to do this in the dark if we can. Nice wrap-around porch. We tranq him as soon as he locks the front door. Anyone opposed?”
I shake my head and see Ten do the same out of the corner of my eye.
“That’s the plan. D, you’re on the north side of the porch. I’ll take the south. A, you’re driving the car. C, you’re back up.”
We all agree. Myles slips back out of the car to take the first two-hour shift watching the house. I drive around some more so Ten and Max can nap without someone calling us in as vagrants. Ten takes the next shift; the tremor in his hands is markedly worse when he returns and I’m glad we’re not counting on his aim. I take the third shift, by which time the girls have left in one of the cars. Ten reports they don’t look any worse for wear when we hand-off, so that’s one less thing to worry about.
Twilight comes early this far north and darkness follows quickly, cold and bitter. There are a few streetlights carving small, yellow circles in the blackness but it’s fucking dark out here, far away from the cities. Once the street is blanketed in blackness, Myles pulls us all back to the SUV and Ten’s truck and gives the go-ahead to move them close to the house. There aren’t any lights on in the house closest to Drew’s, which is a typical New England salt box while Drew’s house looks like a mutated barn. Drew’s place has sprouted a two-story addition at the back. A wrap-around porch has been slapped incongruously around the front and sides.
The car grows cold but Myles says it’s too conspicuous to leave the motor running. The exhaust will plume in the night air. I’m grateful for my parka and a sleeping bag that Max breaks out to spread across our legs. He’s on a tablet, the screen black with white code running across it, barely illuminating his chin. Otherwise, there are no lights and barely any sound other than the wind rattling the bare-branched trees.
“Signal out,” Max whispers. “I think he’s making a phone call.”
“Positions, gentlemen,” Myles says. “D, we’re going to get cold fast. Find a spot out of the wind if you can. If you feel your fingers start to get numb, come back to the car no matter what. A missed shot is worse than no shot tonight. We don’t want to spook him.”
“Got it,” I confirm.
Max hands me the gun and dart pack. Myles and I ease out of the car and cross the icy ground as quietly as possible. As we come up to the house, I crouch down. The lights are on at the back, spilling long, yellow rectangles across the snow. There’s a great spot between two bushes growing against the porch. I’ll be invisible between them and out of the wind. But pushing between their branches might be noisy.
Myles breaks away from me and begins to cross the front yard. As he’s passing the car in the driveway, the house’s front lights come on.
I duck down behind the bushes. It could be motion-activated, although I didn’t think Myles was close enough to the house to trip something like that. Lifting my head to see through the branches, I load a dart and aim at the front door.
Myles crouches in the shadow of the car. He’s visible to me but the car should hide him from anyone coming out of the door. He’ll have to shoot over the car’s boot, though. It’s good cover but not a great shot.
Footsteps rattle the decorative glass in the front door. Drew opens the door a moment later, his blond hair blazing under the porch lights. He’s wearing dark trousers, a sweater, a wool blazer, and leather driving gloves but no coat. I bet he’s one of those psychos who runs around in shorts in February.
I wait for him to step out, taking the smallest, shortest breaths I can through my nose so my breath doesn’t give me away. He pulls the door closed behind him and angles his body to fit the key into the door lock. I wait until I hear the tumblers click before I fire.
My dart hits an inch to the left of his lapel, pink puff quivering against the green of his sweater. A second dart snicks into his upper arm.
He takes a ragged breath, his hand rising to pull my dart out of his chest. He meets my eyes through the screen of branches as I load another dart. That’s right, fucker. You’re not escaping justice.
He staggers back a step. Pawing ineffectually at his chest, he slumps against the door-frame, his eyelids flickering.
Myles slithers up the front steps like a shadow and catches Drew before he hits the ground. I follow him, stowing my gun in my parka pocket. I pull the keys out of the door and tuck them into Drew’s blazer before drawing his arm over my shoulder. Myles takes the other side. We carry the limp weight off the porch and onto the driveway as Ten brings the SUV up behind Drew’s car.
Max meets us at the car’s boot and helps hold open the body bag as we maneuver Drew into it. Myles zips up the bag and closes the boot.
In less than two minutes, we’re out of the cul-de-sac, heading back to the airfield. Ten follows us in his truck.
After a quick stop at the place where we picked up food so that Max can do something nefarious, we arrive back at the airfield. We part ways at Myles’ plane. Ten assures us that he’s okay to drive back to New York on his own but says he’s going to visit a friend in Boston for a few days first as cover. He leaves as we’re loading the body bag into the plane’s luggage compartment.
After a short pre-flight, we lift into the clear night.
“Pink ring around the moon,” Max says, looking out a window. “It’s going to snow.”
Snow’ll cover any tracks.
“How long do you think it’ll be before anyone looks for him?” I wonder aloud, not really directing the question at anyone.
“Doesn’t matter,” Myles answers from the cockpit a few feet away. “Cause no one’s ever going to find him.”
That ends the discussion. Once we’re at altitude and Myles tells us we can move around, we distribute the rest of the food from the paper bag and eat silently. Max sits next to me and offers me a strange phone with a black antenna sticking out of it. I check the time and see with relief that I’m not late calling my baby doll. I keep it short and just confirm that everything’s fine and I’ll see her soon. I can hear the tears in her voice as she tells me she loves me but she speaks clearly when she asks if Livvy can sleep with her tonight. I’ve read about co-sleeping with kids and generally view it with dread but agree just for tonight so Emmy’s not alone in our bed. Max leans in to joke that he and I slept together last night, which gets a small giggle out of Emily before I say goodbye.
I hand the phone back to Max so he can call Cynnie.
We land just after midnight, flying low over winter-seared fields to an airstrip that’s barely more than a cross in the darkness, lit by faint green lights. We taxi to a hangar with a black “C” painted on the high, white wall. A black SUV with tinted windows idles next to the hangar, the exhaust pluming exactly the way we couldn’t let ours do in Maine.
Myles tells us to wait on the plane. He lowers the stairs, leaving the door open, and greets two men who emerge from the SUV. They’re both bearded. One wears sunglasses even though the airfield is barely lit this late at night.
The two men help Myles move the body bag into the boot of their SUV. After quick hand-shakes, the SUV drives off and Myles climbs back aboard the plane.
“We can sleep here or in New Jersey,” he says.
“Are you going to actually sleep?” I ask.
“Probably not until we’re in New Jersey.”
“New Jersey,” Max says firmly. “I’ll tell you knock-knock jokes to keep you awake and you can fart at me.”
“Fuck off,” Myles responds but his tone is affectionate.
Max joins Myles in the cockpit. I listen to the low murmur of their voices as we climb back into the night sky, although I don’t hear any knock-knock jokes. I tip my head back against the seat and let their voices wash over me as I drift.
A few bumps as we land wake me but not for long. Max pulls me out of my chair and onto his sleeping bag pile. I’m nearly asleep again when Myles settles into the messy pile behind Max.
“Stay away from my ass,” Max mutters at him.
“Your arse is safe from me,” Myles retorts. “Might make use of that smart mouth in the morning, though.”
“Only if you want tooth-marks on your dick,” Max responds.
Myles chuckles. “Stop thinking about my dick.”
Myles grunts and I surmise Max has elbowed him. I roll away from the two idiots as they wrestle, pull a sleeping bag over me, and give myself over to my exhaustion.
We stay in New Jersey for a day to establish our alibi. Myles sleeps heavily. Max sets up his array of electronics, pinging and proxying and doing whatever he does to keep us safe. I’m able to check his app. Lucy’s fine but Cappa’s graphs are still flat, which tells me he hasn’t left Fleur’s bedside. I text Javier and Maude from a phone Max assures me is okay to use. They both respond to say they’re with him and are making sure he gets rest breaks and regular meals. Despite Fleur’s vitals continuing to rise, she still hasn’t woken.
As Myles sleeps into the afternoon, Max sets up a call with Cynnie and reads to her from a book on his phone. Since I’ve missed Storytime for two days, I get Max to conference Emmy in and listen to her and Livvy giggle together as Max reads.
The giggling wakes Myles. After he eats the last sandwich from the bag and rubs his face blearily for a while, he asks, “Ready to go home?”
“No encounter with a tree branch?” Max asks. “I’m still willing to take one for the team.”
“I think we’re good. No reason to think anyone saw us or reported the cars. Has F confirmed disposal?”
Max nods, handing Myles a phone. Myles thumbs through the messages. “Car in Maine’s been disposed of, too. No issues. I don’t know about you, gentlemen but I’m ready to go home.”
Max and I nod.
After a short flight to the private airport upstate where Myles keeps his plane, we pack everything into his waiting SUV. The three of us sit in the back with the privacy screen up between us and the driver. As we roll back toward the City, Myles says quietly, “I want your permission.”
“For what?” I ask.
“To be a daddy. I know I have a lot to learn. I know you doubt me. Just don’t poison anyone at the playgroup or Blunts against me. Particularly not Fleur and Cappa.”
“Neither of them are little,” I point out.
“I’m not convinced of that,” he responds. “Not after watching them with the other littles before ... what happened. I won’t push. I won’t do anything to undermine their recovery. But when they’re ready for a caregiver, I want it to be me.”
I don’t have to think about it too hard. Not after the past two days. “You have my permission. You’ll need a mentor. Maybe more than one. I know Bravo would be happy to mentor you.”
“I appreciate that but I want you to mentor me.”
That surprises me. “Why?”
“Because your dart hit first.”
I don’t have any response other than: “Okay.”
“Bravo can be backup,” Myles says. “I know you have a lot going on.”
I do. But this is something I’ll make time for.
The City’s bright lights and constant sounds welcome me back as we cross the bridge into Manhattan. I’ve got nothing against the quiet places of the world but they’re not home. Not like this City is.
When we arrive at my townhouse, there’s a crowd waiting at the door. Cynnie rushes down the stairs into Max’s arms. Emily and Bren stand in the doorway with Mac peering over their shoulders. Emily has Livvy in her arms and a smile as brilliant as Christmas morning on her face.
Before I head up the stairs to them, I pull Myles into a hug. He stiffens for a second before patting my back.
“If you have any nightmares, call me,” I say to him and Max, remembering how Max suffered for months after the deaths we caused and witnessed in the service.
Max smiles at me over the head of the woman held tightly in his arms. “I’ll sleep well tonight. If you have any nightmares, call me.”
I nod at him but there’s no darkness in my mind. I’ve done what I needed to do. I’ve protected those who couldn’t protect themselves.
I look up at the people waiting at the entrance to my home. I think I’ll sleep well tonight, too.