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“I’ve got two shovels on the backseat and a body in the trunk. What do you think we’re doing here?” Tiberius grins. “I thought you were the Sherlock Holmes of the group.”
We pass the tattered sign, kicking up a cloud of dust that obscures the grand gates. I swallow. “I’m not sure how I feel about bodies buried all over my dad’s ranch. Isn’t that going to be easy to trace back to us?”
“Look at this place.” Tiberius waves a hand at the crumbling house and broken fences. “It’s a dump. No one’s looking for bodies here. And besides, if they do, they won’t be able to trace them back to Claws. It’ll drop your pops deeper in the shit, though.”
“His appeal is coming up, but there’s no way they’ll let him out early. Not after all the negative press about the case.” I shrug, trying to appear as though I don’t give a shit either way. But it’s not true. I care about what happens to Dad, and I hate that I care.
On the one hand, I want my father to stay locked up. He did a horrible thing, and he should stop pretending he’s the victim and accept justice for all the hurt he caused. And, selfishly, I want to get out from under the shadow of his legacy. I want to do my own thing, but I can only do that if Walter Hart is not actively in my life, trying to groom me as his successor and choose what’s best for me.
But there’s a part of me that feels the tug of loyalty. He’s a piece of shit crook, but he’s my dad. He’s the one who stood on the sidelines of my track events, cheering the loudest of all the parents as I racked up the medals. He’s the one who always pushed me to do well at school. He didn’t just want me to take over the business, become the next Walter Hart. He wanted me to surpass him. I admired him for that, loved him even.
And now?
Now I have no fucking idea.
I turn to Tiberius. I’ve never talked to him much before – he’s in the background, the friendly muscle who drives us around and shows up just when he’s needed. But I know he has an Ivy education and Ms. Drysdale fell hard for him, which means there must be a soul beyond that scarred face. Maybe it’s time I paid more attention. “How did you get tied up in this whole thing?”
“The same way anyone does,” Tiberius shrugs, following the drive around to the outbuildings. “It’s easy money.”
“I don’t buy that. You have a degree from an Ivy League college. You could have joined Wall Street or become a lawyer, made just as much money going legit. Why bury bodies in the desert and sit outside our house every night?”
“Wall Street brokers and lawyers are just as crooked. At least this way is honest.” Tiberius drums his fingers against the wheel. “Open the glove compartment.”
I pop the compartment. Inside is a handgun, and a faded photograph of a smiling girl taped to the lid.
“That’s my Angel.” Tiberius smiles down at the picture. “My little girl. She’s twelve years old now and she’s the light of my life. Angel’s mother was hooked on Grey Death when she gave birth.”
“Oh.” I can’t think of what else to say. I’ve read about what drugs like that can do to a fetus.
Tiberius nods. “She needs special schools, medical treatment to reset her bones, all kinds of equipment that doesn’t come cheap. If you want to know why I do what I do, it’s because I want to see her smile, give her everything. Just because the sun shines out your asshole, don’t think for a second you’re better than me. I may have killed a few evil men, but I’ve never given jars of cement to grieving families.”
“You know about my dad?”
“You kidding? Your daddy’s famous in Tartarus Oaks. Who do you think was selling on all those organs and body parts he stole?” He grins at me. “You’re looking at one of his delivery boys.”
I already knew my dad was a cog in Brutus’ machine. That was why the FBI was involved in his case, and why they leaned on him so heavily. They saw Dad as a pin that, once jammed, could upset the entire mechanism. I think about that photograph George found – my dad and Brutus hanging out at Nero’s club like they were the best of buds. Maybe Tiberius can fill me in on some of the details I don’t know. “Brutus was visiting my dad in jail. Any idea why?”
“You really want the answer to that question?” Tiberius yanks the wheel hard around, pulling in behind the last of the outbuildings – the lean-to where we found Brutus trussed-up and waiting for us.
“I know my dad’s a scumbag. I doubt anything you say will surprise me.”
“You sure about that, kid?” Tiberius sighs. He tucks the gun into his belt and slams the glove compartment. “Your dad wanted in with the Augusts.”
“More than he already was?”
“Sure. He wanted to be a proper partner in the business, not just an outsider making a little extra cash on the side. Walter Hart saw the money, the danger, the women, and he wanted it. His business was in peril, and he saw crime as a fast way to an easy fortune. Only problem was, Julian August had a standing business arrangement with Howard Malloy, and Malloy refused to work with Hart, which meant Hart would always be on the outside. And then Julian dies and Malloy disappears, and suddenly your father sees his chance. He was negotiating with Brutus when your friend blew the case open with her podcast. That’s probably what they were talking about in jail – Brutus paying for Walter’s appeal, maybe keeping his debtors at bay. At least until Claudia killed him. Which is too bad for your pops, because without Brutus’ protection, there’s too much of a risk he’ll talk to the Feds.”
I think of those two graves we saw at Beaumont Hills cemetery – the graves where Claudia and her father were buried. Anger blazes behind my eyes. “You’re saying my dad’s going to be killed?”
Titus shrugs. “Your dad knows where the bodies are buried. Which is probably why Nero has his eye on you. Keep your enemies close, your potential snitches even closer. Come on, let’s get this over with.”
I follow Tiberius around the car. He’s parked up next to an old lime pit where we buried Brutus’ remains. He pops the hood. We both pull on gloves. Tiberius cuts open Odette’s stomach to speed up decomposition, and I help him throw her over the side and shovel lime, and then soil, on top of her body.
I guess I know where a few of the bodies are buried now, too.
Tiberius leans against the trunk of the car to admire our work. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howls.
Even though I’m wearing a hoodie, I’m cold down to my bones. I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.
