Chapter Forty-One
FORTY-ONE
Noah sat in the driver’s seat of Ginny’s car, visibly sweating even from a hundred yards away, which was impressive when you thought about it.
He was parked between the clubhouse and the neighboring strip mall, a half-abandoned stretch of concrete where the only businesses that remained open were check-cashing and liquor related.
He jumped when he saw them and started the car. Shepherd held on to the back of Hector, staples and other unknown sharp objects biting into his palms. Ginny’s car, while much cleaner than Shepherd’s, was still only a four-door sedan.
She opened the passenger’s side door. “Hey, Noah,” she greeted. “Sorry about this.”
“Sorry about what? The wait? Because—”
Ginny folded the front seat down. Then she and Shepherd shoved the painting inside. It filled up the length of the car, from the dashboard to the backseat. Hector frowned up at the rearview mirror.
Noah whimpered. “What,” he cried, “the hell?”
Ginny slammed the door shut. She and Shepherd hurried to the other side, cramming into what space was left available in the backseat.
Noah still whimpered.
“Buddy”—Shepherd clapped him on the shoulder—“you gotta move the car. Once those bikers get bored with the fire, they’re going to start heading back inside.”
Noah’s shaking hand gripped the steering wheel. “I just … I hate clowns.”
Ginny flung one leg over Shepherd’s lap and grabbed him by the lapels. “Take off your vest.”
“Virginia,” he said, scandalized. “Noah is in crisis.”
“Take off your jacket, dummy. I’m not trying to seduce you here.”
He gave her a look.
She rolled her eyes. “Promise.”
Shepherd took off his vest. Ginny reached over the console and covered Hector’s face with the pleather. “There,” she said. “All better!”
Noah glared at them both in the rearview. “I’m not a child.” He put the car in drive and turned into traffic. “But it did help. So. Whatever.”
Ginny gasped. “Wait! Noah, pull over!”
“What? No! Noah, keep going! Ginny? What the hell?”
“My cooler!” She pointed out the back window. “I left my cooler in the clubhouse! We have to go back for it.”
“Ginny. We barely got out of there without being noticed, by a series of pure coincidences that had to be arranged by God Himself. I am not going back in there, for any reason, at any time, ever again.”
She shoved her knee against his; since her leg was already on his lap, it hurt her more than it did him. “But Shepherd! There was enough C-4 hidden in the false bottom of that thing to blow the lid off the entire building.”
“They’re criminals, Virginia. They love C-4. They’ll be happy about finding it. Delighted, even. It’ll really cheer them up when they realize Hector’s missing.”
With a sigh, she crossed her arms. “Fine.” Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “It was my own cooler, though. Cute and pink. And I bought all the hard seltzers with my own money!”
“We literally just robbed meth-dealing bikers to save your mother, Ginny,” Shepherd said. “You can sacrifice a cooler and some hard seltzers for the cause.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“We’re all suffering,” Noah agreed from the front seat, his voice thick with unshed tears. “We’re all suffering greatly.”
Shepherd’s Pies was closed, though there was a light on inside.
Noah parked in the back alley, still sniffling, and the three of them eased Hector out of Ginny’s car and into the kitchen.
Normally hotter than the street outside, the ovens were off, and the kitchen was a stuffy eighty-two degrees, give or take.
Chris was sitting on one of the counters, eating a banana.
Max and Charlie were off to the side, looking at Max’s phone.
“This one’s angle is better,” Max said, his thumb moving across the screen. Something exploded in his hand. Both he and Charlie laughed. “Oh, man, this is gonna trend, I just know it. ‘Taco Truck Explodes at Biker Party’ just has a ring to it, you know? A je ne sais quoi.”
“Gesundheit,” Charlie said. “Ah, you made it! What, uh—” He crossed his arms. “What’s that?”
Shepherd, Ginny, and Noah dropped Hector onto the tile floor with a bang. Noah shuddered, wiped his eyes. “I need ice,” he whispered. “I’m gonna throw up.”
Chris hopped off the counter and ushered Noah away with an arm around his shoulders. “There, there, little buddy. You’re safe now.”
“There wasn’t a safe,” Shepherd said. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “No safe. Only painting. Money in painting.”
Ginny blinked at him. “Are you OK? Do you need ice?”
He waved her off, though really he was mentally calculating the steps to the nearest toilet and/or trash can. Robbing bikers on an empty stomach was, apparently, not what his body considered optimal biological functioning. “Just get me a knife. Max, lock all the doors. Let’s get this open.”
Ginny pulled a butcher knife out of the nearest block, a metallic twang filling the air. “OK, but I don’t want to watch.” She handed it over. “Bye, Hector. You were misunderstood, but Lex would’ve loved you.”
“Oh God.” Shepherd moved the knife to his right hand. “Lex would love him. Maybe we should cut him from behind to try to save him?”
“No!” came Noah’s frantic, high-pitched scream from somewhere else in the restaurant. “Kill it! Kill it now, Shepherd! Take off its face before it eats us alive!”
Charlie laughed. “Damn. What a group you got here, Ginny. Like a sitcom. Come on, Shep. Let’s get this money so we can pay those kidnappers, eh?”
“Right, right. The kidnappers.” Shepherd sighed. “The whole point.”
Then he stabbed Hector in his sad clown face.