Chapter 27 #2
"It could be one of two things that I can think of," I begin. "They either need a landing spot to process a new group of women."
"I'll be damned," he snaps.
"Or they could need a place to lure in drug users."
Silence fills the cab to the point that I have to take a glance in his direction. He looks even more confused now than when he didn't know anything about the house we have been tasked to find.
"They want a trap house?"
"A lot of these organizations do it," I assure him. "They need people who will spend every penny they have on dope, and it's easier to have them in a place they control than having to go out and risk getting caught by police while dealing their dope."
He's quiet for a few more seconds as if he's trying to understand the reasoning, but it's hard to do if you're not a criminal and always thinking of ways to make money off of other people's suffering.
"The liability," he mutters. "I've done a few raids on trap houses in South America when I was training with Cerberus, and finding a place to rent doesn't seem smart. It's not like they'll ever get their fucking deposit back."
"Rent?" I say with a chuckle. "They don't want to rent. That would only invite trouble when they get raided. They need an abandoned house, preferably one that's semi-furnished, that's secluded enough that a little increase in traffic isn't going to draw too much attention."
"Shouldn't be too hard to find," he says after considering the needs. "Mountains are full of meth houses."
"And they don't like competition," I remind him. "No one pays more attention than a dude tweaking and thinking someone is out to get his shit."
"So what you're saying is impossible," he mutters. "And we were told not to come back until we found something."
I huff another laugh. "You're thinking like a League member."
"Fuck you," he snaps at the insinuation.
"We aren't alone in this," I remind him, pointing at the dash of the truck.
I've been keeping an eye on my surroundings enough to know that The League hasn't had us followed, and the second I get out into a little bit more rural area, I pull into the parking lot of a tiny wooden church.
"You said we couldn't bring our phones," he says, watching me pull the burner from my pocket.
"Nyx gave this to me at the shop," I say, hitting the power button and turning it on.
"I thought I saw that surly bastard on my way back from the store, but he's a sneaky fucker. There one minute, gone the next. Guy probably gives little kids fucking nightmares," he mutters, his eyes locked outside the truck.
"I bet he's a huge fucking softy with little kids," I say. "It's everyone else that has to worry about him."
I hiss a laugh when the first text message pops up on the phone. I turn it to show Zeus, who smiles when he reads it.
Unknown: Nyx is allergic to children.
I know it's Casper on the other end. What I don't know is if Nyx is there with him, already having made it back to the Cerberus property, or if Casper is speaking for him.
"Ask him how the neighbor's doing?" he says, a hint of laughter in his voice.
Before I can even type it out, Casper sends a middle finger emoji.
I turn it so he can see it. His laughter echoes in the cab of the truck, making me smile as well.
"I've got to hear that story," I say.
Unknown: Moving on...
The next text is an address, and I turn it so Zeus can see.
"See? We aren't alone in this."
I pull up a GPS map on the phone and enter the address, making note of the directions before powering it off and shoving it back into my pocket, before turning the truck in that direction.
"Tell me about the neighbor," I say as we get on the road.
More than anything right now, I need an escape from what we've been through and what we're facing. The joy in Zeus's eyes at Casper's response tells me that he needs it too.
"He hooked up with one of the women who came to stay at one of the rental cabins," Zeus explains.
"Oh shit," I whisper. "That could've been messy."
"Could've been?" He chuckles. "He didn't realize that she's one of the women who comes once a month for a little girls' trip."
"Oh, then it is messy. Can't shit where you eat."
I feel his eyes on the side of my head, but I don't look in his direction. The same advice could apply to the two of us and to what we've been up to.
"The problem is facing the fact that he'll run into her again, and if they continue to come, then they'll start to wonder why we're always on the property."
"Maybe he just lies and says we have a boys' trip every month. What's good for the goose and all that."
"It's possible, but my guess is he never steps foot outside of the house again."
"That would suck, but hell if I wouldn't like to be there right now just soaking up the A/C and not having to worry about getting shot or stabbed in the back when I'm trying to sleep," he says.
"Unless you take the piece of fried chicken Nyx was eyeballing," I say.
He laughs again. "Unless I do that."
The conversation dies off. We have a million things we could talk about. Thousands of questions swirl in my head, but knowing we're being listened to, even if it's by someone we trust and know will be on our side, those are subjects neither of us is willing to have with any type of audience.
Hell, I don't know if I would be ready to have them without someone listening.
I know the answers to my questions. I know the interactions we've had recently will lead nowhere, but at least not asking postpones the pain I know is sure to come.
I don't think I still regret coming to work for Cerberus.
There have been simple looks the man has given me that have begun the healing process on some very old wounds he left me with years ago.
The physical aspect of what we've done together has helped restore parts of me that felt unworthy because of the way I was treated.
They have been an unspoken reassurance of sorts.
I'm also emotionally adept enough to know that although old wounds may heal, new wounds are sure to be opened up, exposing me to the need for more healing.
In this moment, with him riding quietly beside me, no hint of agitation or anger flowing toward me, I can almost convince myself that whatever happens later, whatever pain is coming, was worth the experiences we shared.
I also know that view will change when we're hit with the aftermath of what we've done.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself to manage my expectations, but, in all honesty, knowing I need to and actually putting that into action are two very different things.
"I think Bobby will be very happy with this," I say as the truck rolls to a stop at the end of a nearly hidden driveway. "Can't even see the house from the road."
"The tree coverage is great now, but when all these leaves die off in the fall, the entire property will be exposed."
"Won't matter," I assure him. "These places are temporary. He won't use it long before moving on to the next one."
"We're over an hour drive from the compound," he says, looking around the property as I slowly drive toward the house.
"Even better. He wouldn't want it too close. If this property is discovered by or reported to the police, it's less likely they'll find a connection to The League with it being so far away."
"Seems like he'd want something closer, something he could get to in case of an emergency," Zeus says.
"Oh, he'll definitely have people from the compound looking after it, especially if he's using it to bring in a new shipment of women. Even if he's planning to use it as a drug den, someone has to be here to sell the drugs and keep a little order."
"That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen," He says just as I come to a stop in front of the house. "This place is a dump."
"I have no doubt that whoever he chooses to be out here will be someone who partakes a little in the sales, but did you see the way everyone put distance between themselves and him last night?
I bet it's a very rare occurrence when someone fucks up so badly they end up on his shit list. They're terrified of him. "
"I noticed that, and he fucking loves it. Was all but gloating last night about it," he says as he opens the truck door. "Seriously, this place should be condemned."
"It probably is, and that means it's less likely someone will show up and discover it's being squatted in before they're done using it."
"They would have a timeline in mind when they get started?" he asks as we meet at the front of the truck.
I scrunch my nose at the idea of going inside. I'm not scared of many things, but this place looks snaky as hell, and the thought of coming across a rattlesnake inside makes my skin crawl.
"Probably no formal timeline. They usually shut it down and move locations after people start ODing."
"Nothing like having an ambulance show up to ruin their high," he mutters, taking the lead toward the decrepit front porch.
"More like dig a shallow grave and bury them out back," I explain.
This information stops him in his tracks, and I pull in a ragged breath.
No one in our line of work should be okay with participating in a situation where there's a very real chance that our actions have contributed to the death of another.
Being complicit in someone's death simply because they were an addict in need of help still carries the same weight as if it were a woman being trafficked, and I'm curious about his thoughts and point of view on the matter.
"So we just let people die?"
"The goal would be to get the info and evidence we need before that happens," I say.
"Fucking drug addicts," he mutters. Still, his tone suggests his empathy for those in the vicious cycle of addiction rather than disdain for someone many people are willing to toss away as if their life is less valuable than someone who has never suffered from the disease.
"I did some research, and I can say that Tennessee has a lot more resources for addiction than many other states, but it'll never be a perfect system. There's never enough money to go around."
"Are we heading in there or not?" he asks,
"Unfortunately," I say with a slowness in my steps that makes it easy to read my distress in entering the house.
"Still hate snakes?" he asks with a chuckle as he stomps on the first step leading up to the front door to test if it's safe enough to stand on.
"You remember that?" I ask. "I'm sure I only said it in passing."
"In passing?" he scoffs. "You trembled the entire time we watched Anaconda."
"Still hate snakes," I confirm, wondering the whole time we scope the house out just how many details he remembers about me from all those years ago.