Dante

 

“Are we really giving them everything?” Timmy asks quietly.

 

“We have to,” I say. “They’ll kill her otherwise.”

 

“But …” Timmy glanced to Lion, the only other person in the office, and then back to me. “I’m not sure if the men will go for that, boss. I know this is about respect and not taking your girl, but the men’ve got to feed their families and handing over our stash …”

 

“That’s what’s happening,” I say. “Now I reckon you should go and wait in the bar. I need to speak with Lion.”

 

Timmy nods silently and then leaves the room. I wait for the door to close and then turn to Lion. “I need you to call Whisper.”

 

“Whisper.” Lion squints at me. “The fuck we need that psycho for?”

 

Whisper is an ex-Marine survivalist nut who lives in a cabin north of Austin and lives off berries and wild meat. “Because what I said to Timmy was true; I’m giving myself up, along with the guns and the cash, but we’re going to use some of Whisper’s fancy army tech to put trackers on the whole lot. We get Selena back, you follow the trackers, and then you get me back—along with our stash. It makes a damn sight more sense than just handing it all over.”

 

“Then why not tell Timmy?” Lion asks.

 

“Because I don’t know who the fuck we can trust anymore.”

 

“Oh, come on, boss. Just because Slug is a—”

 

“Slug is a slug, yeah,” I say. “And I don’t think anyone else is, either. But why take the risk? Goddamn, Lion. Hearing her on the phone like that … she’s staying strong but I can tell she’s scared. I haven’t known her more than a day and I can tell that. Is this normal? How long after you met your wife did you start feeling … well, feeling anything?”

 

“I felt something right away,” Lion says. “And that’s the truth.”

 

“So maybe I’m not crazy.”

 

“You’re crazy, boss, just as crazy as every other man when he gets to liking a woman. I’ll call Whisper.”

 

“And tell the men to start collecting the guns and the cash. Tell them if they don’t, I’ll come out there and hurry them up. And after that, choose a select few men—around five—who you trust completely. They’ll be the strike team who follow the trackers. Let them know the plan so they can get themselves ready.”

 

“Boss.”

 

I grip the edge of my desk and take deep breaths, trying to calm myself. But every time I reach that cold calm place—the place a man like me needs to reach if he’s going to do his work properly—an image of Selena rises up in my mind. I see her being raped, tortured, cut, burnt, a thousand horrors living simultaneously in my head. And what I said to her was true. It really is my fault. As a thought experiment, I try and tell myself I don’t care about her, can’t care about her because she’s a stranger. But even if it makes logical sense, my chest don’t wanna accept it. It gets tight at the thought. Because I do care about her. I care about her a damn lot, even if it makes no sense. Maybe it never makes sense.

 

I go into the bar and watch as the men gather their guns in the duffle bags, more men shoving cash into a briefcase and the officers overseeing it all. It looks for a moment like guards watching prisoners. I don’t like that idea, but when I look at Slug I know it’s necessary. He’s there with them, shoving a pistol into a duffle bag. He looks at me, smiling uncertainly. I look away and return to my office. It’ll be time to deal with him soon.

 

Whisper is the most Marine-type man I have ever met. Every time I see him, he’s wearing combat fatigues with a beret on his cue-ball bald head. He’s army-fit, even if he’s pushing forty and has a flat nose and a scar across his forehead from where a bullet almost killed him. He’s called Whisper because overseas he was the quietest man in his troop; he actually talks damn loudly.

 

He swaggers into the office, hefting a backpack. “Howdy there, Dante,” he says, tipping his beret with his free hand. “I don’t want to make you feel bad, but you interrupted some very important business of mine. Have you ever tried to farm, like really farm, get down in the dirt and try’n get something to grow?”

 

“Can’t say that I have.”

 

Lion enters behind him, closing the door.

 

“Well, it ain’t easy. That’s the thing, though. Local farming. That’s what’ll battle away the end of the world.”

 

“Right,” I say, hoping I’m not in store for one of Whisper’s speeches.

 

“I can tell by that tone you want to get down to business.”

 

“Might be an idea.”

 

“Alrighty then.” Whisper unzips his backpack and tips the contents onto my desk. “Here we have some high-grade military equipment redistributed from Uncle Sam by yours truly.”

 

“That’s an interesting word for it,” I say, looking down at the tech. It all looks the same to me, like the insides of a computer, circuit boards and wires.

 

“These, sir, are high-quality tracking units.” He holds up a thumb-sized piece of plastic. “And these are the responder units.” He waves at the bigger circuit boards. “I’ve tinkered with them some to increase their accuracy and response time. Give me an hour and I’ll have them hooked into your computer.”

 

“We just put these on the guns and we’ll know where they are?” Lion asks.

 

“Well, lookee here,” Whisper says. “We have a genius in our midst.”

 

“Fuck you, skinhead,” Lion replies.

 

“Rather be a skinhead than a purty girl with locks of gorgeous blonde hair.”

 

Lion laughed grimly. “I wish we knew another ex-Marine with access to this shit,” he says. “He’s been like this the whole ride other. Bastard never shuts up.”

 

“Maybe I should shut up,” Whisper says. “Shut up my bag and take my contents elsewhere.”

 

“How much?” I ask.

 

“How much what?” Whisper squints at me.

 

“Don’t play games with me. How much paper?”

 

“Ten’ll do it, twelve with installation.”

 

“So twelve then,” Lion says. “Since no one here knows how to work this stuff.”

 

“Twelve is fine,” I say. “Get him the money.” I stand up and point to my computer. “And you start installing this stuff. I need you to show one of my men how to work it as soon as possible.”

 

“Sir, yes, sir.”

 

I move around the desk and Whisper takes my place, kneeling down and taking a rolled-up pouch of tools from his back pocket.

 

“You’re not as funny as you usually are,” Whisper says as he works.

 

“The last time I checked, I’m not a clown.”

 

“We’re all clowns, Dante. Every single one of us. We take ourselves seriously and think our problems matter but in the end we’re all the pathetic painted-faced man at the party all the kids are scared of.”

 

“How fucking poetic. Sorry to say, Whisper, but the problem I’ve got does matter. It matters a whole lot.”

 

“Oh.” Whisper pauses. “A lady, then.”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“I’ve known you for a number of years, I knew your brother, and I ain’t never seen you this wound up. You look like a spring all tightened and ready to snap.”

 

“Are you my goddamn therapist? How’s the work coming along? Wouldn’t it be easier if you shut your mouth?”

 

“Talking don’t make no difference to my work. I clipped men at one mile with my spotter wagging his tongue in my ear. It doesn’t affect me none.”

 

“Maybe I am ready to snap. Maybe there is a girl. Is that what you want, you fuckin’ skinhead?”

 

“What’s it with you pretty boy bikers and your hatred for hairless heads, eh?” Whisper laughs. “I reckon you’re prejudiced. So who’s the lady?”

 

I know he won’t drop it, so I give him a quick rundown, explaining how I met Selena last night and this morning she was kidnapped.

 

“Hot damn, and your shoulder ain’t troubling you any?”

 

“It’s just a flesh wound,” I say. In truth, I haven’t thought about my shoulder at all. The pain of imagining Selena assaulted or killed is much worse than the dim throbbing.

 

“So you’re this woman’s knight in shining armor?”

 

“Only if a knight in shining armor can also be the one who got her in trouble in the first place. Brose wouldn’t have given a damn about her if she wasn’t at my apartment.”

 

“You’ve been stuck by Cupid,” Whisper says.

 

“Right.”

 

He leans up, his head poking up from under the desk. “I mean it,” he says. He’s sincere. There’s no humor in his face at all. “People don’t believe in fairies and stuff like that, but I live in the forest. They’re there. One night I woke up and saw two fairies dancing with each other in the moonlight. How do you explain it, if Cupid didn’t shoot you? Maybe it wasn’t a Wraith that gave you that bullet to the arm; maybe it was Cupid in a Wraith’s body. Fairies can live inside people’s heads, you know.”

 

“Maybe you’re right,” I say, nodding. “It makes just as much sense as anything else.”

 

When Whisper’s done installing the tech, I order Lion to bring in the duffle bags and a man he trusts to work the computer. Whisper turns on the computer and shows the man how to work the program. While they’re talking, Lion approaches me. “What are we doing with Slug?” he asks.

 

“You know what we’re going to do with Slug,” I reply. “We need any information he has, and he needs to go. I’ve been thinking about how they got the address to my apartment. The police don’t even know where I live. The only people who know are you, Timmy, and …”

 

“Shit,” Lion says. “The first time you met him.”

 

“You brought him to my apartment.” I nod. “They could’ve just followed me from the club, but you know I ride smart. I don’t just ride straight home. Maybe the cab … Whatever the case we need to go and see him.” I turn to Whisper. “Install trackers in these bags, and Whisper.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Make me a shank, something someone won’t hide if they pat me down.”

 

“It’ll have to be small,” Whisper says. “A real big blade’ll get you noticed.”

 

“Make it small then.”

 

Whispers nods. “All right. And what do I take as my payment for this?”

 

“Goddamn. How much is a shank worth?” Lion sighs.

 

“Now listen here, long-hair, I’m an enterprising business man. I happen to have my eye on a farm setup that ain’t cheap.”

 

“One hundred dollars?” I offer.

 

“One hundred’ll work.”

 

“For a shank.” Lion shakes his head. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Whisper.”

 

Whisper bows his head. “Thank you for the compliment.”

 

Lion shakes his head again and then we go into the bar. The men are looking disgruntled and pissed off, and I can’t blame them. If this goes on any longer than a couple of days, mutiny talk will start. I have the respect of the men, but there ain’t nothing men respect more than money, especially when they’ve got families to feed and bills to pay. Slug stands at the back of the bar, leaning up against the wall. I see Lion’s men standing near the exit watching him, hands hanging close to their hips.

 

I nod to Lion. “Bring him round back.”

 

I wait in the back parking lot, hands gripping a knuckleduster so hard the metal bites into my palm. Lion and two of his men drag Slug kicking and swearing and then throw him at my feet. He lands on his face. After some spitting and grumbling, he climbs to his knees. “What the hell is this?” he whines. “What’s going on, boss?”

 

“You’re working for Brose,” I say. “I reckon you’ve been working for Brose for a long while now. You led us to that warehouse because your master told you to, and now you’re just waiting for another chance to fuck us over. I don’t care if you wanna work for the enemy, Slug. I just care that you had to play the goddamn rat. Nobody likes a goddamn rat. Nobody.” I hit him in the face a few times, bloodying him up, and then kneel down next to him. He blubbers and spits blood. “I want you to tell me where Brose lives, where his lieutenants live, anything.”

 

“You think I know that shit?” Slug pants. “I don’t know nothing about him! I’m only working with him ’cause he’s paying for my momma’s cancer treatment! I swear to God! I swear to fuckin’ God.”

 

I pause, chewing the inside of my cheek. It stings some, but I can’t help it. “That’s a lie,” I mutter. “You’re just trying to save your skin.”

 

“Uh, boss.” Lion steps forward. “His mom does have cancer.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I didn’t think it mattered any, boss. A rat’s a rat.”

 

“A rat’s a rat,” I repeat. “That’s the truth, but a mother dying of cancer is also a woman dying of cancer. For fuck’s sake, Slug.” I fall on him, giving him four brutal punches to the face, breaking his nose and tearing the skin under his eye. When he’s on his back, a mess of blood and bone, I lean down and growl in his face: “You have twenty-four hours to get the hell out of my state. If you’re here on the twenty-fifth hour, I’ll kill you and your momma both.” I stand up and go to Lion. “Toss him someplace. Don’t let him forget he has to be gone.”

 

I return to the clubhouse, mind reeling. Sometimes it’s like my mind is too full of thoughts. I wish I could kill them, every single one of them, and just go back to being cold and deadly and uncaring. I keep waiting for my old instincts to kick in. Let the woman die; be cold; be heartless; be callous; and don’t give a damn about anything. But they’re not kicking in. Mother, cancer … I think on that as I walk back through the bar.

 

Maybe Slug was lying. Maybe he knew. But Lion doesn’t even know. Only Markus and I knew and that’s because we grew up together. We weren’t even outlaws when it happened.

 

“Is it ready?” I ask when I’m back in the office.

 

Whisper zips up the duffle bag. “It’s ready,” he says. “And your man here has been turned into a true technological wunderkind by yours truly.”

 

“And the shank?”

 

Whisper reaches into his pocket and takes out a three-inch blade with a small plastic handle. “I need to show you how to hide it,” he says. “The trick is to get it right in the crook of the knee and keep your leg slightly bent so it don’t feel like nothing.”

 

“As long as it does the job.” I take the shank from him, and then take a long slow breath.

 

“Never known you to be nervous,” Whisper says.

 

“No,” I agree. “Neither have I.”