Page 40 of Carter

But I’ll never get used to stealing.

Sure, we rob from the rich to feed the poor. Ethically, we’re the good guys.

But legally, we’re criminals.

I believe in what I do. And—I doubt there will be a day my hands don’t shake when I make a transaction.

Maybe it’s because of that one time, when I was a child. My older brother, John, caught me stealing. I was just being a stupid kid—trying to take an ice cream I couldn’t pay for—but he’d scared me straight that day.

Ironically, years later, he’s the one who brought me into the Bachman family. And taught me everything I know about thievery and organized crime.

John raised me. We were born Clark and Chet Page. When I was young, our parents were killed in a car accident—or so I was told.

When I was old enough to be let in on the truth, I’d been stunned. My father had been the victim of a political scheme. He’d been planning to vote on the wrong side of a huge pharmaceutical company. He wanted tougher restrictions on the environmental impact on a small town that housed the medical companies.

His body was found in the very same river they’d been polluting.

My mother, unable to live without my father, ended her life with a razor blade in the bathtub. John had been the one to find her.

If anyone asks, John says she died of a broken heart.

John has never forgiven the men who’d taken our father’s life. He works in local politics, not only to pull strings and garner favors to protect the secrecy of the Village, but he’s also hoping to one day find the man who killed our father. And avenge his death.

Tonight, we’ve got word of a shipment of cocaine, coming in via a fishing boat on the Hudson. The police had confiscated it, and as per their agreement, sold it to the Highflyers, as we refer to them. They are the country’s most powerful politicians, and they base their activities out of NY.

Bachmans don’t do drugs. We certainly don’t sell them.

But we are more than happy to destroy them. I love watching the white powder cascade into the river, swirling as it dissolves.

Tonight’s mission won’t earn us any money, but John’s doing it as a favor for a man. A guy who’s completely fed up with the high baller politicians showing up to meetings, coked out of their minds. Locking up dealers while they spend their evenings in penthouses, powder covering the glass tables.

In exchange for the destruction, John will earn an important ally.

Another player in our game. One who will ensure our safety. And give us information.

A name and address he’s desperate to know.

It’s a moonless night. Clouds move across the dark sky, blocking out even the star’s light. We’re on a seldom used part of the river. The man driving the boat is Bachman friendly, and we’ve arranged for him to meet us here.

Brett is with John and me. He usually leaves missions to us younger guys, but Tess is working late, crunching the numbers of this month’s pulls. Brett wanted some guy time; he’s brought along a fifth of rum and a deck of cards, always one to create an impromptu party. It should be a tame evening, so it’s a good one to have him along. He has a battery-operated lantern and sets it up on a folding card table we keep beneath the boat. We could be here awhile, and John and I are happy to have the company. Brett’s got us both rolling, telling us stories of his first botched mission—one that took place years ago.

We’re just a few hands into a game of 313, when Brett begins clutching at his chest.

“You okay, man?” John asks him, putting his hand on Brett’s shoulder.

The color is quickly draining from Brett’s face but he says, “I’m good. Just a little heartburn. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that second helping of eggplant parm, but you know what a great little cook my Tessie is. Even though she’s swapped her butter for olive oil, I still love it.”

John looks to me. I shrug. Because I have several degrees in health and wellness, the family treats me like the residing doctor.

I’m not a doctor.

But I don’t think we need one to see that this man is struggling.

His face is turning pale, almost green in the glow of the lantern. Once more, he clutches at his chest.

John’s eyes cut to mine. His gaze echoes my own thoughts. Brett isn’t looking too good.

We need this shipment destroyed. We need this new ally on our side. It’s imperative.