Chapter 14 - Collin

Ileave Lowyn's tent and head straight into town to confront Jim Bob. That's what he was yellin' about when I was in there the other day. ‘The programs,' he said. The printer must've been in Revenant because Jim Bob was threating to cut off a percentage of profits if they didn't have them delivered by six a.m. this morning.

I wasn't paying much attention at the time—didn't know that whole program change was about me in that moment, did I? And I was maybe a little preoccupied. Not a good thing to be when you're supposed to be running an elite security team.

God, coming back here has affected me more than I figured. Seeing Lowyn again has put me all out of sorts.

But I'm laser-focused now and I'm gonna have it out with Jim Bob before this day is over. He knew he was gonna do this when he slid that contract across his desk at me. And he deliberately left this part out.

In my world, willfully withholding information counts as a lie. And I only give liars one chance. One. That's it. And little lies, like the one Lowyn told about my bedroom to spare my feelings about how my daddy hates me and thinks of me as trash, that's nowhere near enough to make Lowyn my proper definition of a liar.

That was different.

What Jim Bob did—while not completely unforgivable, this was my first business dealing with him as an adult after all—is setting a very bad precedent. And unless he does something really spectacular to gain my trust back, I will never make a deal with that man again.

He burned a bridge with me.

When I get to the tiny stone building where Jim Bob Baptist does his government business I barge right in, making the door slam as I enter. But it pops back open again because I slammed it too hard.

Then I stand there in the doorway to check things out before I make a scene.

Ester is type-type-typing away on her keyboard. Doesn't even look up at the commotion. Just keeps goin'. "He's expectin' ya. Go right in."

Expecting me. What a dick.

"And don't you dare leave that door open, Collin Creed. You were not born in a barn."

I kick the door closed and stride across the reception area, entering Jim Bob's office without knockin'.

His considerable body is sitting in his substantial chair with his feet up on the desk like he hasn't got a care in the world. "Have a seat, Collin." He points to one of two chairs in front of his desk with an unlit cigar.

I don't sit. I walk right up to his desk and slap the paper and the program down on the wooden top. "You didn't think to mention this when I signed that fuckin' contract?"

Jim Bob straightens up, puts his feet back on the floor. "See, Collin, I kinda know you a little bit better than you seem to think I do."

"I guess. Since you've been spying on me all these years."

He gets a real serious look on his face. "Son, I am not spying on you. Who do you think got you and Amon those jobs?"

"What?"

"You never asked yourself, ‘Why me?' Never once did you wonder how the hell you got so lucky?"

"Lucky?" I almost snort. "Lucky? Jim Bob, I spent the last decade killing assholes all over the fuckin' planet. That's not my version of luck. Lucky is winning the lottery. Lucky is gettin' in a motorcycle accident and living to tell about it. Lucky is?—"

"I get the point. But you're missing it entirely."

"Please." I laugh. "Enlighten me."

"Boy, do you have any idea what life in the regular Marines would've been like for you? And ask Amon if he feels lucky to have learned how to train military dogs."

"Well, I'm not Amon. And I didn't spend the first two years playing with the world's best dogs. I spent the first two years doing counterintelligence and learning fuckin' secrets I never asked to know about. Secrets so deep and disgusting, I went back to my room that first day and puked up my fuckin' lunch."

"But now you know. And that can't be undone."

"You need to get to the point, Jim Bob. Because you are seriously starting to piss me off. And if you know me even half as well as you seem to think you do, then you should be shaking in your fuckin' boots right now."

"Calm down, Collin. And take a fuckin' seat." He points at the chair again. Still using his unlit cigar.

I sit. But I protest loudly with a sigh as I do this.

Jim Bob leans back in his chair, smiling. "I know you think I didn't tell you everything the other night."

"Think? I don't think, Jim Bob. You didn't tell me everything. And now you've got some stupid show running about my past that is way too close to my real past, and I don't like it. I don't wanna be a part of it. And I think you should let me out of that contract. If Amon wants to play your game, that's his business. But I'm out." I sit back and fold my arms across my chest to punctuate my point.

"It's just a show, Collin."

"It's a show about me! Why me?"

"It's not really about you, son." He sighs. "It's about where you've been. And what you did that fateful New Year's Eve night. It's about who you come from, Collin. And how I need that reputation of yours right now."

"Jim Bob. What the hell are you talkin' about?" He opens his mouth, but I already know he's about to lie. So I point at him and my words come out low and mean. "Listen. And you listen good. I'm not waitin' no year for my answers. I want to know what the fuck is going on. And before you get all high and mighty and start thinkin' you know me because you know where I've been, you had better think hard, Jim Bob Baptist. Because you have no idea at all about what I've been doing."

I pause and take a breath. I hate gettin' angry.

"Now," I say, my anger toned down a bit. "Let's hear it. And let's hear it from the beginning."

Jim Bob sighs mightily. "I can't tell you everything." I start to protest, but he puts up a hand. "Calm down. I can't tell you everything, but I can tell you some. Because this part is common knowledge."

"If it's so common, then why don't I know about it?"

"You do know. Some. You know a stranger came into your house on New Year's Eve when you were just a teenager. You know that man was tryin' to kidnap your sister."

"Go on."

"Collin, do you know the difference between a gang and a cartel?"

"What's this got to do with my sister?"

"Do you, or don't you?"

I huff a little bit of air. "A gang is… a group of likeminded people doing likeminded things."

"And a cartel?"

I look him in the eye. Because the pieces are startin' to fall into place. "A cartel is a group of likeminded organizations, not people."

"That's right, Collin. That's exactly right. A group of likeminded organizations. A group such as… a trinity of towns."

"Disciple, Revenant, and Bishop."

"You're a smart boy."

"I'm not a boy, Jim Bob. I haven't been a boy for twelve years now. And now I'm gonna ask you again, and this time I want an answer. What's this got to do with my sister?"

Jim Bob blows out his own breath now. "I'm getting precariously close to the edge here, Collin. I'm at the boundary. But I will tell you this—her kidnapping was a redress."

"A redress?"

"Vengeance? Retribution? All good words, but not technically accurate. Redress really is the proper term. If you're not familiar with the dictionary meaning I suggest you go look it up. Now. What I'm really trying to say here is that there are contracts in place, Collin. Big, important contracts in place. And you only know about some of it."

"What's that mean?"

"The trinity. It means three. Father, Son, Holy Spirit, right? Well, a cross has four points, ya know. Not three."

"What? How did we go from the dictionary meaning of redress to the points on a fuckin' cross?"

"That's all I'm gonna say. There's more. A lot more. But you're not gonna get a single bit of it from me until your year is up." I make to protest, but he keeps going. "I don't care how much you threaten me, I won't give that information up early. You can kill me if you want, this is a thing I will take to the grave."

He stands, looming over me like the considerable man he is. I haven't seen any pictures of him as a young man in a long, long time, but I can pick them out of my memory. He might be big, but Jim Bob Baptist is not soft. And if my memory serves, he was military police when he was in his twenties.

"Why Grimm?" I ask him.

"What?"

"Why Grimm? Last night you said the only people who know what the contracts are really about are Ester, Joseph, Ruth, Tommy, Able, and Grimm. So why Grimm?"

"Because his granddaddy and I came up together. Just like your granddaddy and I came up together."

"And Ester?"

"Ester knows everything, son. There ain't no way for anything to be happening around here without Ester knowing about it." He shrugs. "But she's my number one. She and I have no secrets."

Huh. I make a connection here. Because Rosie Harlow is Ester's niece or something. There's a generation missing there, maybe even two, but it doesn't matter. "Does Rosie know?"

"She might. But don't bother asking Ester about it, Collin. She will never tell you who she's told."

This answer surprises me. Especially after all his grandstanding a few minutes ago about taking shit to the grave. "What's that mean? I thought you said it was fuckin' secret. Why's she tellin' anyone at all? I mean, shouldn't the answer to my question be ‘no'?"

"Son, what good is having a fuckin' secret if you cannot use it? And in order to use it, other people need to know about it. Everyone who knows has told someone else. A secret like this is always more powerful when others know about it."

He's got a point. A big secret is dangerous. It can get you killed right quick if you don't know how to preserve it. You have to pass it on. You have to tell someone, it's like insurance. And if I were a bettin' man, I'd put all my chips on Rosie Harlow being Ester's vault.

Rosie comes off as a blabbermouth, but she's got a cunning side to her. I mean, she is the only single mother in the entire fuckin' town. And it's got nothin' to do with people accepting her past mistakes. I haven't been here long, but the only possible reason Rosie's still living inside city limits and taking her profit share is because she refused to leave. She would not be run out like all the others who came before her.

"So who did Grimm tell?"

Jim Bob smiles at me. Like it ain't none of my business. And then he changes the subject. "Who would you tell, Collin? If you had that secret right now?"

My first inclination would be to tell Lowyn. But I would never tell Lowyn. It would put her in too much danger. "Amon."

Jim Bob nods. "Good choice."

"So if we both get this truth at the end of the year, we should each tell someone else?"

"Makes sense."

I kinda scoff here. Some secret this is. "So everybody knows, Jim Bob?"

Jim Bob makes a big ol' shrug with both hands. "Perhaps. But the only people on record knowin' is what counts. You hear me? And there are only seven names on that record, including mine. But just the fact that you're here would be enough for them to guess."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"We're gonna say ‘good day' now, Collin. I'm sorry the Revival story brings back bad memories for you. But they're really not that bad, son. They're really not. Olive is alive and living with your parents. That alone means you won."

He holds out his hand. Which is my signal to get to my feet. So I do that. I don't have to shake his hand. I know this. It's his decision to offer it, but it's my decision whether or not I want to complete the transaction.

Which seems to be fair, I guess. If I put in my time, he will give me the truth.

I accept the truce, gripping his hand hard as I lock eyes with him. "I want you to know that you've burned a bridge with me, Jim Bob." He sighs, but it's a small one. I have not yet let go of his hand. "You tricked me." He shakes his head no. But he's wrong. "If you cared about me, you would not have brought me into this. So I'm gonna have to go ahead and assume you do not care about me, Jim Bob."

Then I end the handshake. Turn around. And walk out.

When I leave Jim Bob's little government building my brain is going so fast, I feel like one of those crazy conspiracy theorists like you see on TV shows. The kind with a wall covered with newspaper clippings, and photographs, and red strings goin' this way and that, connecting all the dots together.

Except I'm not that guy. Not yet, anyway. I'm standing in a basement room with windows near the ceiling. A single light hanging from the rafters. Swaying, maybe, throwing shadows. But the walls are empty. Maybe one or two things on there, but that's it. Because I am not at the end of a journey, connecting dots with pieces of red string. I am that crazy man on day one of his quest. Back when he was sane.

Redress. According to the internet there are ten definitions of redress. But the one I home in on is this: Act of correcting an error or a fault or an evil.

I don't know what that evil could be or how it's connected to that night I killed that man for trying to take my little sister. And really, how important could it be? It's been twelve years. If there was some big, important secret out there that needed to be known, wouldn't I know it? Or be suffering some kind of consequence for not knowing it?

It all feels dumb.

I walk back up the hill to the Revival and slip into the security tent where I left Mercy. She's lying down in a corner, not even tied up, paying no attention to anything.

When you tell a dog like that to ‘go to bed' that's exactly what they do. That command is no different than ‘sit,' or ‘stay,' or ‘bite.'

No one else is in there, everyone's on duty. And I'm neglecting my post on the north side, but I'm sure Amon has someone over there. Even if it is just a bunch of construction workers.

"Let's go, Mercy."

She gets up, walks over to me, and I snap her lead on. Then we head back on out for patrol.

I find Amon at his post near the east gate. The children's choir is singing not too far away, so ‘Pie Jesu' floats through the air like flowers on the wind as I make my way over there.

He's watching me as I come towards him. Like he knows something just happened. "What's up?"

I let out a breath. "I need to talk to you in private. But not here."

"Whyyyyy?" He draws this word out. And not in a mean or irritated way.

"Because I just learned something that I think you should know about."

Amon lets out a breath. "Why can't we do it right now?"

I consider his request, then settle on this. "We need to SCIF this one."

His eyebrow goes up. "Really."

"Truly."

"Shit, Collin. What'd you get caught up in now?"

"It wasn't me. It's just… we'll talk later at the compound."

"Is Lowyn coming?"

"For sure." Then I walk away with my dog and head for my post. But as I'm walkin' I'm calling Ryan.

He picks up first ring. "What's up?"

"Where are you?"

He's eating something because I hear chewing. "South gate. Right where I'm supposed to be. Why? Where are you?"

"Heading to north gate. I need you to set me up a SCIF for tonight."

"Why?" He's still fuckin' chewing.

"What the hell are you eating? You sound like a cow."

"Funnel cake. Dude, do you know MacyLynn? Is that a real name? She's running the funnel cake tent."

"What? Who cares? I need a SCIF."

"The SCIF is already set up in the bunker. Do you know MacyLynn or not?"

"Uhhh…" I think back. "Kinda. I did, at least. In high school."

"She's fuckin' adorable. I'm gonna hook up with her. She mentioned she's a widow, which makes her sound old, but she doesn't look old to me. Late twenties, I figure."

"Why are you tellin' me this? I don't give a fuck about your love life, Ryan."

"Asshole." Then he ends the call.

Mercy makes a little noise here, like she heard that whole call and she's laughing at me. I look down at my dog and give her a look. "Mind your business, girl."

She answers me with a sneeze.

This is when I notice that people are lookin' at me. And whisperin'. I catch a few words here and there, but don't stop. Just keep walking.

But then, there she is—Rosie fuckin' Harlow off to my left, about ten feet away. She must be a full-time character because apparently she is not needed elsewhere and can just lollygag around, followin' me, most likely, trying to stir up trouble.

She points at me and I brace for it. And then, just before she opens her mouth, she winks. "That's him! That's him! The murderer!"

Another group—all from Disciple and dressed up in dresses much like the ones Lowyn wears—turn and gasp. Spitting out their lines.

"Someone should run him out on a rail."

"I heard he killed a lot more than just one man."

"And he steals too!"

Fuck's sake. "Yes." I direct this word at the nearest group. "I'm the bad guy. So what?" I pan my hands wide and turn a slow circle. "Get a good look, ladies." Then I'm facing the strangers. The guests from out of town. "You like what you see?" A couple of teenage girls giggle. A couple of boyfriends or husbands laugh. "Get a good fuckin' look."

I'm not supposed to swear at the guests—this has always been a rule—but I don't care.

I finish my circle, let out a breath, and Mercy and I go on our way.

But every step I take there is someone whisperin' about me.

Fourth of July. Fourth of July. I repeat this in my head over and over as I make my way to the north gate. When I get there, I find a man fillin' in. He's blond, blue-eyed, and probably early twenties.

He must know who I am because he smiles when I approach, greeting me by name. "Come to take your spot, Collin?"

He's definitely local. I can hear the accent. But he's not a townie, I don't think. He doesn't look familiar. Granted, I've been gone for twelve years, but still, I just don't think he is. "Thank you." I say it plainly. "I appreciate you fillin' in. I had some matters to attend to."

He stretches out his hand. "Siah. Nice to meet you."

I shake his hand. "Siah, as in Josiah?"

"Yeah." He nods. "That's right."

"Are you from Disciple?" He's got a disciple name, that's why I ask.

"Nah. My granddaddy was, though. I'm workin' for you guys now. Amon gave me a job."

"Nice. I'm… glad to have you."

"OK." He's not nervous, exactly, but he's definitely a little jittery. "I'll… uh, I'll see ya around."

Then he takes off, walking straight out of the Revival grounds like he's got somewhere to be.

I make a mental note to ask Amon if we're doin' drug tests on these guys. But as soon as I have that thought I feel like an asshole. Still, you can't ever be too careful.

West Virginia isn't any worse in this respect than most places. Every town has got a drug problem these days. But I find that I am judging the men around here and it's not fair. It's not their fault there's no work. It's just… when a man can't work a job and make a decent living, it's typically the beginning of the end.

We've hired at least hundred people from the area and even though it's not my department, I find I am suddenly interested in what they were all up to before Edge showed up.

I make another mental note. Background checks for everyone.

Just as I have that thought a rumble roars up and a few seconds later, there are bikers everywhere. Revving their engines, yellin' and hollerin'. Doing donuts in the grassy park on the other side of the narrow street, tearin' shit up.

"What the fuck?" Mercy barks once and I look down at her. "Right? Now what the hell is going on?"

She looks up at me, and if she were a human, I swear she'd be shruggin' her shoulders.

I let out a long sigh. I know who they are. They're all wearing cuts—cut-off vests in denim or leather—and they're all wearing colors for Deceivers too.

The MC club in Revenant. Archenemies of Disciple.

Not really. The feud's fake. Just like everything else around here.

Didn't take long to get this party started, I guess.

They keep circling, hootin' up a storm. But then one breaks away and comes towards the gate like he's gonna ride right through it.

I'm currently standing right smack in the middle of the entrance, but I do not move. I shoot him a look like I'm bored.

He's a big guy. Blond beard that covers his neck. Long hair, little bit lighter than the beard, all tied back. All decked out in leather and too many patches on that shit to count.

Now, we might all be in costume—and in Disciple this costume is supposed to be kinda upscale Great Depression, if that was ever a thing. But Revenant and Bishop all have their own costumes. So he's all Keanu Reeves—if he were a Viking—and I'm all Pretty Boy Floyd.

In my opinion, this is a clash of sorts. Two different worlds meetin' in the middle. And it should not be happening.

But this guy is coming towards me like he's on a mission, so I figure… it's gotta be part of the script.

He stops an inch away. His front tire is practically between my legs.

Neither Mercy nor I make any attempt to avoid him.

He grins, wearin' shades. But he lifts them up and I find his eyes to be… I mean… mesmerizing really is the right word.

They are hazel, kinda like mine, actually. With a whole lot of teal blue and golden brown mixed with green. And this is when it hits me?—

"Hey, cuz." He bellows out a laugh. "Long time no see, Collin Creed."

I squint my eyes at him. "Lucas? Is that you?"

He guffaws again, nodding.

"Last time I saw you, you were ten."

He points at me. And then squints those eyes and sets his jaw. Puttin' on a show, I realize. Everybody's watching. He growls, real low so no one but me and Mercy can hear him, "No time to catch up though, friend. I'm on the clock. Come by the bar when you get a chance. We got a good band goin'. Drinks are on the house."

The he revs his bike, whoops out a battle cry, backs up and spins around—spittin' gravel out from under his tires—tears up the grass one more time, then leaves with his club the same way he came.

I just stand there, not sure what to do.

I've been to dozens of different countries over the past decade, but I swear on my life, there is no place like the Trinity anywhere else on this earth.

And I gotta admit… I've kinda missed it.