“Less black,” Doc said. “More stains.”
“Ball caps,” Ghost added. “Sunglasses that say, ‘no eye contact.’”
“And the smell of menthols,” Ranger said. “We can fake that with toothpaste and regret.”
Cap didn’t smile. He was doing the math on timelines. “We need a truck,” he said.
“Two,” I said. “One to sell, one to leave clean. We don’t know if we’re walking out or driving out.”
Doc hefted the kit and pointed to the burn near the handle. “What’s our plan if we have to walk out with a person who doesn’t want to be seen walking out?”
“Crates,” Ghost said. Not a joke. “We came in with crates. We leave with crates.”
I put my palm on the map and pushed down like pressure could make the paper tell us where to breathe. “Okay. Ghost and I pull the contract. Ranger builds our float lane on the creek side. Doc scrubs us respectable. Cap… you run the outside line and keep the sisters breathing till we come back with a plan that doesn’t end in a news story.”
Cap’s eyes flicked to the doorway where the morning was trying to be a thing and failing. “You sure it’s not a trap?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I’m sure it’s both.”
He accepted that like you accept weather. “Then we plan for both.”
Ghost had already moved to the corner where we kept the good printer. He shook the ash out of its tray and plugged it into a battery like he was tucking a kid in. “We need names,” he said.
“First ones that sound like second choices,” Ranger said. “No one trusts a Trevor.”
“Speak for yourself,” Doc said.
I pulled my notebook from my pocket and flipped to a page that hadn’t burned. Pen found the groove my hand knows. Not plans yet. Promises.
“Temporary hauler paperwork,” Ghost said.
“Safety vests,” Doc said. “Not neon. The sad orange.”
Ranger: “A toolbox that looks used.”
Cap: “Comms that don’t look like comms.”
Me: “An attitude,” I said. “The we’re-here-to-work kind. The kind that makes you invisible unless you screw up.”
The handheld ticked once, soft enough to miss if you didn’t love the sound. I didn’t key it. I put my hand on top of it instead, palm flat, like a blessing.
“You all right?” Ranger asked. He meant me and he meant the plan.
“No,” I said. “But I’m useful. That’s better.”
Ghost printed a test sheet that asked for a signature and a tax form and whether we owned reflective triangles. It looked like every form I’d ever wanted to throw at a wall. Perfect.
Cap rolled his shoulders once, like he was throwing off a jacket he’d been wearing too long. “We do this quiet,” he said. “No heroics. We’re not saving the world in a day.”
I nodded. “We’re just breaking theirs.”
Ranger headed for the door. “I’ll get your ball caps,” he said over his shoulder. “Try not to pick cowboy names while I’m gone.”
Doc eyed me. “You’re getting a tetanus shot when you get back,” he said. “That’s not a request.”
“Add it to the list.”
Cap’s mouth twitched. “Make the list shorter.”
“Working on it,” I said.
Ghost held up the first fake badge. The laminate was crooked in that real way cheap offices always are. He handed it to me. The name on it was forgettable. Good. I clipped it to my shirt and felt the shape of what we were about to do settle into my bones like a tool that fit the hand.
“If they think we work for them,” I said, feeling the line fit, “we’ll burn them from the inside.”
