Chapter 42
forty-two
BATMAN DADDY
We meet Ten 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.