Chapter 48 Mysterious Mister Whites
Canyon and Timber prowled through the forest, melting into it, easily avoiding the cameras, following the male.
Found him, Timber said.
He was twenty feet away, walking through the underbrush, muttering to himself. He had a phone in one hand, calling someone, but no one was answering. They faintly heard a steady ring, ring, ring.
“Fuck,” the guy muttered. “Six’s gonna have my ass.”
Canyon and Timber stayed silent, keeping a good distance away, following.
Hear that? Timber said.
Yeah. Heavy equipment.
The guy they were following heard it, too.
He stopped muttering, changed direction, and broke into a jog.
Canyon and Timber followed, skirting a muddy, torn up, 10-foot-wide path through the forest. Ahead was a huge yellow excavator, digging out a tree.
The guy ran near it, waving his arms. The excavator shut down, and a male came out of the cab, wearing green coveralls. He hopped down to the ground.
“Crunks!” the first guy shouted. “Crunks in the forest!”
“Cops,” the second guy said. “Say it. You can’t use words from that other world.”
Canyon and Timber exchanged a look.
“Cops, yeah whatever. Cops. Wolves. Assholes. Two of them in the forest. They chased me. I fucked ‘em up though.”
Canyon and Timber exchanged another look.
“You better go tell Six. He’s at the explosives shed.”
Timber mouthed ‘explosives shed?’.
“Yeah, uh, where is that again?”
The second guy shook his head, pointed, then climbed back into the truck, while the other one ran in the direction he’d pointed, Canyon and Timber following.
After several minutes of walk-running, the trail took a turn around a thick circle of trees.
The male slowed down and got quieter. He approached the area stealthily, watching something Canyon and Timber couldn’t see, then he disappeared.
Canyon and Timber hurried closer. Inside the circle was an open clearing with a brick shed to one side, and a mobile computer workstation directly in the middle.
Several portable chairs and coolers were set up all around.
The male went straight for a cooler and got himself a bottle of hard liquor.
A big male in green coveralls stood at the workstation with a cigarette in one hand.
He had a thick neck and biceps that strained his sleeves, with a military-short haircut.
He looked up, then back to his computer.
Canyon and Timber spread out and melted into the forest, finding vantage points where they could see and scent, but not be seen or scented.
“Cops in the forest!” their guy shouted, after a swig.
“Ayuh. I’m tracking ‘em now in quadrant Bravo, section 5.”
“Shit, Six, I fucking hate cops, and I fucking hate wolves.”
“’Course ya do, cubbie.”
He’s got a nametag above his pocket, and it says Six, Timber said in ruhi.
What kind of a name is Six? Canyon asked.
So, the other guy’s name is Thirteen?
Seems like it.
Get a look at Six’s rig.
Fancy.
He’s got some funky-ass tattoos on his neck.
Which one?
Six—wait. They both do. You got binocs?
Yeah.
Canyon pulled out his binoculars and looked closer. They both had black silhouette tattoos in the same spot behind their left ear. Six had a mouse and another animal—a mink or a badger, while Thirteen had just a mouse.
Weird shit, Canyon said.
He eyeballed the workstation and the computer on top of it and all the tools he saw around the area. He pulled his phone from a cargo pocket and called Predator to him, then hunkered down again, listening.
Thirteen took some swigs from his bottle. “Why’re they here?”
“Missus might have some business them boys’re interested in. Our job’s to keep ‘em away from the Inn.”
“I’d throw ‘em off the fucking mountain…. but I fucking hate jail, too.”
Six took a hit from his cigarette, making Canyon realize it was actually a joint. The smoke that rose from it shimmered red.
“No worries, cubbie, I’ll pay your bail.”
“It’ll be half a mil.”
“I’m loaded. You’ll be too if you mind your biz. The missus can break you out of anywhere—” He looked pointedly at the other male. “—when you learn to behave.”
“Shit, I ain’t much for behavin’.”
Six handed over the joint. “That’s why the missus likes you. An’ she always ‘as room for an explosives guy.”
Thirteen hit the joint, then said, “Am I really married to her?”
Six was back at his computer. He produced another joint and lit it up. “She got your name, ain’t she?” he cackled through the smoke.
Canyon had heard enough. He dropped his rucksack to the ground, growled and stepped out of his hiding place. Timber stayed hidden. Canyon expected the males to attack him. He expected Six to pull a handgun out of somewhere and start shooting. He expected anything other than what happened.
Six met his eyes, then disappeared—just gone—except for his coveralls and boots, which dropped to a heap on the ground where he’d stood. The other male panicked. He ran for the brick shed. Timber burst from a bush on the far side of the circle and sprinted after him.
Canyon ran for him, too, but the guy was going to reach the shed before Canyon reached him. Canyon went all out, turning on all his speed, planning a flying tackle—