“It surprises me,” Warrant snapped. “What the fuck are we doing at the cemetery? And the old one no one goes to anymore? Not the nicer, newer one at the other end of town?” He eyed the gnarled old trees that framed the fence line like they were the guardians of this somber place.
“Now you know why Skinny Pete doesn’t like the dark,” Jury told us with a grin.
Jury and Rotor seemed to know exactly where they were going, so Warrant and I just followed them in. My eyes narrowed as we got closer to a figure sitting by a grave.
“He come to pay respects?” Warrant asked.
Rotor let out a snort that was a mixture of disgust and amusement. “No. Definitely not.”
Squinting as we approached, I said, “Please tell me he’s not doing a line of coke off the top of that marble gravestone.”
“He comes here because the deputies rarely do. The newer cemetery is frequented more often. He’s learned the schedules of the people who come to visit their loved ones and avoids them. He’s surprisingly good at pattern recognition.”
“Seems wrong…” Warrant said.
“Fucking disrespectful is what it is,” I countered. “You don’t fuck with the dead.”
They all looked over at me with wry looks on their faces. “You don’t fuck with the dead who used to be good people,” I conceded. “Shit bags don’t count. I can do whatever I want to them.”
“We’re not judging,” Rotor said with a shrug. “We all had a great time taking those Iron Circle fucks apart piece by piece after we found Jared.”
“That was fun.” Jury motioned for us to stop. “Yo! Skinny Pete!”
The man was on his feet so fucking fast I was sure he was going to bolt for the line of trees off to our left. Instead he attempted to run through the gravestone in front of him, toppled straight over it and face planted on the other side. He popped like a weasel out of its hole, looked over at us, then squinted, rubbed his nose, and squinted harder. “Who wants to know?”
“I thought you said he was good at pattern recognition?” I muttered.
“Patterns yes, smart instincts or reaction times, not so much,” Jury sighed. “Paranoid fucking-” He huffed out a breath. “It’s Jury, man. Just wanted to ask you something.”
Skinny Pete picked up his shit he had scattered around the grave—poor fucking soul who was having to host him for the day—and walked toward us. He was moving slowly and cautiously toward us. As if we were going to spontaneously turn into cops.When this was over I might have to convince Owen to pop out of the ground like a zombie cop. That would be fun to watch. “What you want to know?”
“Sure is suspicious for a friend,” Warrant said, keeping his voice low. None of us wanted to startle the guy.
“Never said he was a friend,” Jury shot back. “And really he’s less paranoid than any of you fucks.”
“Fair,” Warrant agreed. “But that’s only because we know you.”
“He’s a coke head,” Rotor added as Skinny Pete slunk toward us. “Of course he’s paranoid. For all we know, we could look like giant rabbits to him right now.”
Warrant looked over at Rotor like he was a fucking moron. “He’s on cocaine, you idiot.”
“So?” Rotor said with a shrug.
“Cocaine is a stimulant,” I told him, watching Skinny Pete approach in case he got any bright ideas. With four of us to his one it wasn’t likely but I wasn’t going to let my guard down. “Psychedelics are what make you hallucinate. He’s more likely to run a marathon right now or randomly rip all the electric wiring out of his walls.”
Rotor made a face, like we were the idiots, not him. “I know that. Goddamn. But he’s such a heavy user it’s very possible that he experiences cocaine psychosis.”
I considered that point. “You could be right.”
We all watched as Skinny Pete itched at his arm like there was something crawling beneath his skin. There were raw patches all over his exposed skin.
“Fine,” Warrant replied. “We might be six foot plus fucking rabbits for all he knows.”
“Huh. Interesting idea,” Rotor said.
“What is?” Warrant asked
“Would you rather fight a six-foot-tall rabbit, or…twenty geese the size of rabbits?”
