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“So,” I said, clearing my throat. “Work tonight; are we doing the job Julia texted about earlier?”
Julia sent a group text to the three of us like she always did. She got a call this morning at the helpline from a pair of little girls. We’d already visited their abusive father once. So this would be strike two for Billy Parker.
We had the address of a butcher shop he owned and intel that he often worked late Friday nights to prepare for the weekend rush. That he often workedalone,drinking in his locked up shop before driving home drunk to take out his rage on his five and nine year old daughters and their mother.
We knew Mrs. Parker tried to leave him once before, and that he almost killed her for it. She dropped her petition for sole custody less than twenty-four hours after she made it.
But...Diesel specifically said to hang up everything we were doing. He didn’t know about our little humanitarian project, or at least, he pretended not to. Either way, he wouldn’t like us going off to do our own thing with everything else going on right now.
It was why we all agreed to let AJ simmer on the backburner for the time being. Until we had more time to devote to her eventual surrender.
“Yeah,” Rook answered before Corvus could. “It’ll be quick.”
There was no room for discussion, then.
Rook rarely took an assertive role, but when he did, it wasn’t worth arguing. He’d go off and do it alone if we didn’t follow him.
Corvus grunted his agreement, carving up and plating the chicken and beans, pouring the sauce over it.
He set our plates down on the kitchen island, drying his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. “Eat,” he ordered, turning his attention to me and wrinkling his nose.
I stiffened, thinking he could smell AJ on me as easily as Rook could, but then his gaze tracked to my sweat-greased hair. “And get washed up. We’ll leave after dark.”
2248 Fletcher Street,unit 4.
I double checked the slip of paper I’d written the address on so I wouldn’t forget it. This was definitely the place. The small L-shaped shopping plaza near the northern ridge of Thorn Valley had already emptied for the night. Only a single car remained in the lot, an older model Ford truck with rust around the wheel wells and a cracked side-mirror.
The large square windows of the shops were all dark, caged over with metal to prevent break ins. Except for unit 4. The window of Parker and Sons Butcher Shop still glowed with a dim light from somewhere deeper inside the narrow space.
I really had no idea what I would find here, but this was the break I’d been waiting for.
After Grey left the ladies room, I locked the door behind him andprayedhis phone wasn’t solely fingerprint enabled or I would need a lot more time, and a computer, to bypass it.
I almost had a panic attack when it came up with the print scanner, but swiping across the screen brought up an alternative option. Not a code, but the option to draw a password shape.
I couldn’t make out the finger smudges, so that was out. I had three tries before it locked me out and he’d know it was messed with. It’d been a hot minute since my pickpocketing days, but I still remembered the three most common shapes.
Grey didn’t strike me as a basic bitch, so I threw out the first two options and went straight for the third. A simple enough swipe path, but not so common that just anyone would be able to get in. I got in on the first motherfucking try.
I wondered if Rook’s or Corvus’ phones would be equally simple to break into, but once I was inside of Grey’s, I realized the reason it wasn’t as protected as I assumed it would’ve been.
It wasn’t a burner. Not exactly. But it was clear they did change phones semi-regularly. There were only three numbers stored in the device. Corvus. Rook. Diesel.
Every other call came in as an unknown number.
And aside from a few useless messages between Grey and Corvus (it was obvious he wiped the phone clean daily) there was absolutely nothing save for a single text message from an unknown number that was sent to all three of them.
Unknown: Billy Parker. Strike Two. 2248 Fletcher Street, Unit 4. He works late. Doesn’t get home until after midnight on Fridays. Accept?
The only reply was a single word from Rook in the group chat.
Rook: Accept.
That was it.
I had a date and an address. A place where they were going to be tonight. I wasn’t sure who Billy Parker was, but I was glad I wasn’t him.
Strike two?
