“Well,” he says, speeding up as we turn onto an empty highway. “Some of what I am is classified, but I think it’s okay to tell you I’m the result of illegal genetic manipulation and a horrifying early childhood. So while there’s some validity to a secondary psychopathy diagnosis, my genetic gifts allow me to hold multiple unsavory tendencies while still being capable of emotions. I love the people important to me and am probably capable of romantic love, though…that seems unlikely. I also have some, if limited, concern for the consequences of my actions. It just doesn’t bother me to take a life.”
All of this is said with a flat affect.
“It doesn’t bother you? Or does it feed you?”
Silas’s answering smile is the most disturbing thing in this entire conversation.
“I don’t get to talk about this very much,” he says, seeming…happy? “The fathers understand me, but they don’t like me very much. The rest of the cousins like me, but they don’t understand me. Like, at all.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, it’s a little too soon for me to say whether I fully understand you or not. But I’m also genuinely fascinated.”
“I am rather fascinating,” he says, checking the rearview GPS.
Whitaker lives just outside of town in a large, gated development with two- to three-acre estates.
“Fun fact: this isn’t a public development. Each of these plots is owned by a member of the Whitaker family,” Sy informs me as we approach the guard shack.
Before the guard has a chance to approach, Sy produces a weapon and shoots the man in the chest. He slumps forward on his desk.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t kill him.” Sy waggles his gun at me. “Tranquilizer gun.”
A question forms in my mind, and I laugh.
“What?”
I snort. “I almost asked my serial killer cousin why he carries a tranquilizer gun with him.”
Silas bangs his palm against the steering wheel, tossing his head back and laughing. “That’s a good one. I’ll hafta remember that one.” He elbows me. “You’re not half bad, Rami.”
“Thanks, I think.”
That makes him laugh even harder, and we make our way to the back of the development. I whistle under my breath. “Must be nice to be related to the guy with all the money.”
“The sad thing is he’s really good at helping his family members find what they’re good at. Him giving his family houses isn’t just charity. He’s shown each of them how to make money in a way they enjoy.”
“Probably so he can leverage their strengths should the need arise.”
“Agreed.” His brows meet in the middle as we park across the street from the house indicated by GPS. “I’m still trying to figure out why my uncles haven’t taken him down yet. Are they leaving him for us? Like a test? Like the way they had you following Valentine?”
“I don’t really give a shit. This guy tried to hurt Truett, so he dies.”
“On that, you and I agree perfectly.”
Silas reaches into the central console, producing two more of those blaster-type weapons.
I chuckle. “Thought you had to give those back to Dexter?”
“Oh, I got the specs and printed these in my apartment.”
I decide that’s not a detail I need to explore further and once again switch out my old-fashioned gun for a blaster thingamabob. I take a few breaths to center myself, focusing on the taskat hand. It’s not surprising that Whitaker’s mansion is the biggest in the development. Aside from taking up an entire block, there are outdoor seating spaces, a massive swimming pool, and what appear to be cattle or horse barns in the back.
“This is a really peaceful setup.”
“If you want some additional practice, that first house we passed is owned by Whitaker’s nephew,” Sy says, not following my line of conversation. “He likes little girls. We can get him on the way out.”
The way he says it, with no emotion, makes me want to ask him if that kind of thing genuinely bothers him, or if he’s been trained to know it’s a bad thing.
I decide I don’t want to know the answer to that question just yet.
