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“And he’ll be mad as fuck,” Shooter adds.
Jack drums his fingers against the table. “He doesn’t have his buddies anymore, and it will take him some time to regroup. By then, we’ll have more intel, so it’ll be easier to track him down.”
“How is Gambit?” Banks asks.
“Doc is at the hospital with him. He’s going to be okay,” Jack says.
When The Three broke through our security with silencers attached to their guns, Gambit was shot once. The security guards multiple times. Gambit was still alive and conscious when I last saw him. The guards weren’t so lucky.
“The Three must’ve been watching us and took advantage of a vulnerable point in our security line to attack,” Shooter says.
“What about the locals who were loading the truck?” Merrick asks him.
“They pulled out of the parking lot minutes before it happened. Alchemy was with them.”
“Out of curiosity, do we know what deadly sin they were planning on using?” Earl asks.
“No way of knowing. The only two sins left were gluttony or envy. Maybe in their twisted brains they thought our crops fed the marijuana-smoking gluttony of the people who use it? I don’t fucking know. It’s hard to untwist the twisted.” Jack leans forward in his chair. “Now, everyone get home and get some shut-eye. Tomorrow, we clean up the rest of this mess. I want to see all eyes back here by seven.”
When Jack calls an end to Church, Shooter and I join Dakota Joe in his truck and drive out to see Seamus at the crematorium.
Seamus is a sixth-generation crematorium technician. His family has been turning the dead residents of Flintlock to ash for more than a hundred years.
Wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and a greasy trucker’s cap, he grins as he hits the buttons on the panel next to the retort, where one of the psychopaths lies in a cremation capsule.
“Want to tell me who’s in my chamber today?” Years of tobacco chewing has turned his teeth brown. “Ain’t nobody famous, are they?”
“Ain’t nobody who is going to be missed,” I say.
“Fair enough.” He shrugs. “Two bodies is going to take me around eight hours. You want to pick up the cremains in the morning?”
“We’ll send the prospect over to collect them.”
“Cool. Before I forget…” he passes me a folded piece of paper, “… it’s the fingerprints Jack requested.”
Jack wants the fingerprints of the deceased so Pinkwater or one of Paw’s contacts at the FBI can run them through the national database.
Dakota Joe hands Seamus an envelope stuffed with cash. “As always, the Kings of Mayhem are appreciative of your assistance and your discretion.”
“Hey, no problem.” He grins again. “You turn ‘em, and I’ll burn ‘em.”
It’s late by the time I get back to the clubhouse. In a couple of hours, the sun will be up, and we’ll be back to cleaning up this mess.
In my room, I pull off my cut and fall onto my bed. I’m bone tired. All I want is to sleep and stop the chaos in my head.
And to put the thought of losing Rory out of my mind.
My alarm goes off at six. I get up, shower, and pretend my chest doesn’t ache with longing and fear. I focus on the day ahead. We’re still in damage control, thanks to those psychos and their fucking flamethrower.
I check my cell for any messages, my heart quietly hoping there is one from Rory. But just like the million times I checked it in the last eight hours, there isn’t any.
I throw on my cut and try to push it out of my mind, but the feeling I might be losing her hangs over me all morning.
During Church, I’m preoccupied and even quieter than usual when we visit the smoldering ruins of the grow barn.
By the time we break for lunch back at the clubhouse, I’m crawling the walls because I need to see her.
“You wanna tell me what’s got your panties in a twist?” Paw asks, biting into a burger dripping with hot sauce and cheese.
