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The place was packed, and patrons shoved food into their mouths like they were having their last meal. This was a good fucking diner. It reminded him of Hal’s back home.
Dad grabbed Duncan’s arm and, with a nod, directed his attention to the back room, where Arlo, Little Jon’s friend and now Duncan and Dad’s ‘squad mate,’ had a booth in the back corner. Duncan followed his father through the diner to that back booth.
Dad gestured for Duncan to slide in across from Arlo first, so he did. Then they were both facing a man they barely knew and now had to trust as an ally. They were the ‘squad’ assigned to take out Bruce Lopez, the SAA of the Nameless.
A server came by with coffee and two more menus. They all took the time to place their orders and send her on her way before they started any kind of serious talk.
“We can talk here? Safely?” Dad asked after a sip of his coffee. He drank it black.
Arlo sneered at Duncan’s coffee cup as Duncan dumped a creamer and a sugar packet in. “Yeah. Everybody on the dark side around here knows this is a neutral zone, and safe. But I also did a check.” He patted his coat pocket. Then he looked at Dad and said, “He’s home—I confirmed on my way here. He’s workin’ on his boat today.”
“Where’s home?” Dad asked.
“Samoa. On the peninsula. In the winter, it’s quiet as fuck out there.”
Duncan got his phone out—only two bars, but probably enough—and opened his map app to find Samoa. He showed his father.
“That looks like a tiny town. Everybody crowded in together.”
“It is, but the folks out there mind their business. And the boat’s a good cover—it’s a piece of fuckin’ shit, so hauling trash out won’t cause any notice.”
Today, eight squads of Bulls and soon-to-be Bulls were scattered through Humboldt County, preparing to kill the eight Nameless who had elected not to take the Bull. The initial plan had been to synchronize the moves, but it had quickly become clear that synchronizing couldn’t be certain—several squads were in the hills, in remote locations like Little Jon’s place, or practically in the water, like Bruce Lopez’s place, and cell service around here was obviously not reliable.
They needed to keep their targets from raising an alarm, so, in lieu of syncing up everybody’s moves perfectly, the key was not to miss. To get each of these guys before they knew what had happened.
Dad squinted again at the satellite view on Duncan’s phone. “These houses look small and, like I said, right on top of each other. How’re we gonna get over on this guy and not be seen by anybody else, working in broad daylight?”
“You’re gonna hang back. I’ll do him myself, and then you can help me take out the trash.”
Duncan liked that idea—getting both his father and himself out of Eureka without either of them killing anybody sounded perfect.
But Dad was glaring at Arlo. “We’re not your underlings, Arlo. We’re running this show.”
Arlo glared right back. “And here I thought we were a team.”
“We are,” Dad said. “And I’m your captain.”
Arlo chuckled darkly and took a big swallow of his coffee.
The server returned, arms laden with large breakfast platters. She distributed everyone’s breakfast, asked if they needed anything else, and smiled a patient smile when Arlo waved her off.
“Look,” he said as he cut into his steak and eggs. “I’m on board for takin’ the Bull. My club’s been a fuckin’ mess for years now, and everything’s off the rails. We’re not earning. We don’t even have a goddamn president because we can’t get our shit together enough to pick one. We’d’ve all killed each other eventually, some of that shit’s already gone down. And while all that sniping and bullshit’s goin’ on, most of us are starvin’. So I’m glad to take the Bull, and I’m glad to get in on the work, and the take, that comes with it.” He leaned over the table, so that the plackets of his canvas coat almost brushed the food on his plate. “But you listen up. Jon and me, we got history with these men. Love and hate both. Lately, mostly hate. I want Bruce’s blood on my blade. He’s earned that. And so have I. But more important to you, I know the scene. I’ve been to that piece of shit house many times. I know how to get him done the way we need. So let me, and then help me clean it the fuck up.”
Duncan watched as the older men stared each other down. Dad was the one to back off first. He sat back against the patched plastic of the booth and sighed. “Alright. We’ll back you.”
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~oOo~
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Samoa was even humbler than it appeared on satellite. A grid of a few streets, most of the houses tiny, weather-beaten, and on stilts. Several driveways had boats, but few of those boats were new or in good shape. Lots of the houses were ‘decorated’ with bits of marine gear, like nets and floats and old ship wheels.
Signs at seemingly every intersection warned that this was a tsunami zone. Until now, Duncan hadn’t realized anywhere in the US—the continental states, anyway—had tsunamis. But there was a designated shelter in this tiny village.
As he sat in the passenger seat of Arlo’s truck, waiting and watching with his father, Duncan wondered what kind of work the people in this community did. Were they fishermen? Did they work at the pulp mill on the peninsula? What was it that drew them to this dinged-up little place?
“What a shithole,” he muttered under his breath. “Who would want to live here? The houses are shit, and the ocean apparently comes up and erases it from time to time.”
