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“Danvers is off the clock today,” Dom said. “And he posted online that he’s using his day off to rebuild his deck. It’s a workday morning and a school day, so the neighborhood will be quiet. He’s home, he’s isolated, and he’ll have an answer for any injury we give him: home-improvement accident.”
“Then I guess you know where he lives,” Zaxx said.
Tommy and Dom looked at each other and then at him. The message of their identical expressions was Duh.
“Let’s ride, my brothers,” Tommy said and fired up his bike, revving the engine so it roared loud enough to make passersby jump and send dirty looks his way. “I’m in the mood for some good, old-fashioned outlaw behavior.”
~oOo~
Bill Danvers lived in a typical middle-class, Midwest suburban ranch-style house in a typical middle-class Midwest suburb. The streets had names like ‘Wagon Wheel Court’ and ‘Conestoga Drive.’
Danvers Manor was on ‘Tumbleweed Way.’ He’d leaned in on the Westward Expansion theme of the neighborhood, with a wagon wheel affixed to the beige siding over the garage and a couple wooden rocking chairs on the porch, on either side of an old barrel with rusty staves. A cactus in a bowl sat on the barrel. The porch lights were a lantern on either side of the russet-red door.
Zaxx, Tommy, and Dom rode past, noted the black, 2020s-era Dodge pickup on the driveway and the open garage full of tools and materials. The man was obviously home. Zaxx also clocked a bit of six-foot cedar fencing towards the back of the side yard. Like most of the houses here, Danvers’ back yard was enclosed by privacy fence. Excellent.
They went around the corner and found a discreet place to park, alongside the equipment shed at the edge of the neighborhood park and playground. Where alleys would be in urban neighborhoods, in this one there were narrow gravel easements, about four feet wide. Probably intended for neighborly connections between houses that backed to each other, it made a handy path for the Horde to get to Danvers’ back yard unseen. Also excellent.
As they approached, they heard hammering. Zaxx also heard music—something in the classic rock genre, though he didn’t recognize the song.
Of the three of them, Zaxx was the tallest, but the fence was still too high for him to see the yard without jumping up so his head cleared it. What would be helpful to their work once they got in there was a hindrance now.
“One sec,” Dom muttered. He pulled his phone out of his kutte pocket, then dug into a big pocket on the ridiculous cargo pants he favored and pulled out an extendable selfie stick. He clipped the phone into the stick, extended it a little, turned on the camera, and pushed the phone up high enough for the lens to clear the fence. He could have done as much with his arm, but this way they all three had an unobstructed, steady view of his screen.
The screen showed a large back yard with an expanse of well-tended green grass. Close to the house was a chaos of construction—the boards of the old deck in a heap to one side, new posts sunk in cement and standing at attention, and Bill Danvers, his back to the fence, putting down the floor boards.
Perfect.
After Dom put his phone away, he pushed the selfie stick in the gap between the back gate and the fence. The latch went up easily, unlocked.
He put the selfie stick in his magic cargo pocket. “Everybody carrying today?”
Tommy gave him that duh look as he patted his side.
Zaxx checked his waistband reflexively and nodded. He’d been headed to the job site when Dom had called, expecting a day of normal, law-abiding work, so he wasn’t holstered. But he always kept a sidearm in a saddlebag, so he had his secondary piece, a Smith & Wesson .38.
“Let’s do this,” said Tommy with atypical quiet. “Be ready for him to be armed, too.”
Tommy opened the gate, and they strode into Bill Danvers’ life.
~oOo~
Clearly, Danvers felt completely safe in his home environment; he was not watching his surroundings at all. With his back to them, with his hammer swinging and the music playing, Zaxx and the others were able to get all the way to the partially built deck unnoticed. Zaxx even swung out and grabbed one of the old, broken boards Danvers had stacked to the side. He had an idea about how to use it.
They all exchanged glances, Do you believe this asshole?, and Tommy ducked under the frame of the deck floor, pulling his Glock from under his kutte as he did. He stood up right behind Danvers and set the barrel against his neck.
Danvers froze at once. Then he remembered he had a hammer in his hand and swung around, bringing it down at the same time. Tommy saw it coming and hit Danvers’ right arm with his wrist. The hammer flew off to the side, making wobbly spins until it landed with a clatter on a scatter of board remnants.
Now Tommy and Dom were both aimed at him. Zaxx remembered himself and pulled his piece as well.
Danvers took in the sight of three Horde aimed at his head. Zaxx saw his complexion go pasty beneath the livid red of exertion. He said nothing.
“Hello, Billy Boy,” Tommy said, threat rolling through the words. “Long time no see.”
“What do you want?” Danvers made an attempt to sound tough, but a detectable quaver undercut that pretense.
“Ain’t about me. I don’t give a roach’s drunken fuck about you. Never have.” Tommy gestured to Zaxx. “My little brother here, though, he’d like a word.”
Danvers turned to Zaxx, and Zaxx saw him place him and understand what this was about. The flush from his work faded out, leaving only pallor and sweat.
