Page 81 of Penn

“I need to see his office,” Pacino says. “Can you show me?”

“Sure,” she says, a small, satisfied smirk crossing her face as she glances at Stephen huddled defenseless on the porch.

A younger boy about ten or eleven opens the door and peeks outside. His dark hair is messy, like he just rolled out of bed. “Are you going to take my dad away?”

Great. “Why do you ask that, bud?” I ask, crouching down to his level.

“Mom said he was going away, and he wasn’t coming back. Is that true?”

I look at Stephen who nods his head slowly. “That’s right, Evan.”

“Good.”

He slams the door shut, and I burst out laughing. “Not even your fucking kids are gonna miss you. Guess that’s what a life of shitty decisions gets you, huh?”

Pacino walks back out with three USB drives clutched in his hand. “Turns out, there were a few loose floorboards, and there were multiple drives. Got them all.”

“You know, it might be kind of fun to let him live,” Capone says, leaning against the railing.

All three of us glare at him, but Kannon’s the first to speak with, “Are you fucking high?”

“Think about it. He has no home. No family. And if he goes to Butch, we’re going to out his little skimming operation. If we kill him, his suffering ends quickly. If we leave him alive, he might just take care of things for us.”

“Not to mention, we can easily spread the word he gave us the location of the new snake pit Butch set up for his latest drug,” Pacino says. “He has to get as far away as fucking possible to save the skin on his back.”

I don’t like it. My gut twists. I told Dixie he’ll never come near her again, and the only way to ensure that stays the truth is to watch him take his last breath. But death will be too easy for him.

“Stay away from Caroline and your kids. Away from this house. And stay the fuck away from Dixie,” I say, stepping closer until my shadow falls over him. “Otherwise, I’ll drive a screwdriver through your right eyeball and watch you flail on the ground in agonizing pain before cutting off various body parts until you slowly bleed out in front of me. Got it?”

He nods, eyes wide despite the threat to take out an eyeball, and we head to our bikes. But he doesn’t move. He just sits there frozen like a statue.

“Fucking leave!” Kannon shouts. “Didn’t you hear what Penn just told you? Are you a moron?”

Scrambling to his feet, he runs, not bothering to pick up his discarded loafer, and hurries to his car. He peels out, narrowly missing us, and drives away quickly. Dust kicks up behind his tires, clouding the air.

“I’ll call Jethro. We’re gonna need to take this to the table before we head out to the desert,” Pacino says, pulling out his phone.

“And buy fucking gas masks,” I mutter.

Chapter 31

Penn

The desert air is a dry, choking fist both wrapping around my throat and down it. Off-road tires tear into the loose silt, kicking up a massive wall of brown dust behind us that hangs in the late evening. I grip the handlebars of the black ATV, and I’m not a fan of straddling something with four wheels. It doesn’t feel natural despite my early years whipping around the backwoods of our lake house on them.

Jethro rides slightly ahead, his red beard covered by a black bandana like the rest of us. We’re as blacked out as possible riding into enemy territory in the desert. If we’re spotted, we’re as good as dead.

Stephen’s lucky he didn’t lie about the snake pit. If he had, he wouldn’t have been able to get far enough away before Butch had him by the balls, dragging him through Gravelton like cans behind a wedding car. We decided to let Butch handle him if he lied. Put the blood on someone else.

Jethro raises a gloved hand, and we all slow down, killing the engines and lining up in formation. “Looks like your girl’s baby daddy really did want to save his skin.”

“Why the fuck aren’t they doing this shit in the old mineshaft rather than the makeshift shelters they’re working in?” Zep asks.

“Have you seen those chemicals? Confined spaces become quick death. Look at them all wearing gas masks.”

Looking through the binoculars, I notice the red rashes and burns on the exposed skin of everyone working under the tented roof. The sides are open, likely to allow for ventilation, and with no one coming out here to check, it doesn’t really matter if they’re seen or not.

“If people saw how the shit they put into their bodies is made, do you think it would deter them? I mean, who in their right mind thinks injecting shit people have to wear gas masks to make and suffer from severe chemical burns making it is a good idea?” I ask.