Something about what he says strikes me as funny, and I snort.
Mav whips around and gives me the same glare he just used on Silas.
“Sorry,” I say, grabbing his hand. “People who don’t have access to the full emotional spectrum have to strategize apologies.”
“Uh, I feel every emotion,” Hopper says. He actually looks offended. “Some more than most.”
Silas shakes his head. “I don’t.”
“Whatever.” Hopper, irritated, continues, “Maybe it’s a bit too late, but we are trying to make sure that you understand how important you are to this family. And how much we want you to be a part of the family business, whatever that means for you.”
“You want him—and me—to be part of the murder family?” I ask, shaking my head.
Joni, still on the line, interjects, “The people they’re taking out are the ones who have the kind of money that means that they will never, ever see justice. You remember the pandemic and the rise of fascism in the twenties? Back when money insulated people from consequences?”
“Yeah, except that a lot of them…died suddenly,” I say, my words slowing as their meaning hits me.
“Theyweregetting away with it, Boone. Theywereharming people. They werehorrible. They had to go or all these advancements we’ve seen in the decades since?” Her voice is distant, but strong. Certain. “We wouldn’t have any of this. The Bashes broke the backs of the oligarchs all those years ago, and they’ve been continuing the mission ever since. They need new blood. They need people of purpose, people who have a strong sense of right and wrong. I know this is fucked up. I know Hopper probably did something really disturbing with the bodies.”
Hopper sends me an apologetic grimace.
“He went withTheLast Supper,” I say, sagging.
“Of course,” she says, and I can almost see her shaking her head. “Hopper…”
“I ashed them, okay?”
He seems pretty disgruntled about the fact.
I ask what I feel is a pretty obvious question. “Why didn’t you ash the others?”
Hopper wrinkles his nose. “I dunno. Why don’t you throw away your paintings when you’re done with them?”
“Because none of my paintings would get me arrested.”
Hopper…pouts.
I must be going insane because I feel sorry for the guy.
I look to Maverick, and he’s a little less shaky. Still slack-jawed.
“Look,” Joni continues, “my buddy Hedy works with these guys out in Wimberley. She’s awesome. She’s who you need to talk to. She’ll answer all your questions, and she’ll make sure you get home safe, regardless of what you decide.”
“I take it Idohave to decide.”
“Yes, you do.And this wasn’t the timeline we had agreed on. I never wanted it to be like this for you. But Whitaker’s guys were gonna kill you, and we had to intervene.”
I let out a breath from deep within my soul, exhausted. Our four-hour nap a distant memory. I turn to Maverick. “And you didn’t know about any of this?”
“I knew they were vigilantes, but I didn’t realize what that actually looked like.” He grips his hair by the roots. “I didn’t know Hopper is John the Baptist.”
Hopper sends him a hopeful smile, and Maverick tilts his head to the side.
“Y’all have got to get out of there,” Joni insists. “We were able to turn the officers around, but we don’t know what else Whitaker has in store for you.”
I end the call, and Hopper sends Silas a look. They have an entire conversation full of eyebrows, intense stares, and finally, a decisive shrug.
“Okay, let’s get the show on the road,” Silas says, walking out the door.
