Chapter 32 - Collin

We leave Jim Bob's quietly.

We get back in Amon's truck quietly.

He drives. At first, I'm not sure where we're goin', but when he glides right past Maple Street—which is the right turn towards my street—I realize we're just goin' back to the compound. "Maybe I should stay in town."

"What for?" Amon doesn't look at me. Just keeps his eyes on the road.

"To wait for Lowyn."

Amon scoffs. "You think she's comin' home?"

It had occurred to me that she might not. But I wasn't gonna say it out loud. "She could settle things up and come back."

"She could," Amon says. Then he finally looks at me. "But we both know she didn't." He takes his eyes back to the road. "That fucker's waitin' for you, Collin. So I think we should probably just… get you on up there."

"Well, the way to the boneyard is back at my place. That's the only way I know how to get up there."

"Fuck the boneyard."

We both stop talking after that. He's cooking up something and I'm cooking up something too. So we just stay quiet and make our plans. But when we get to the compound—which is busy as hell, hundreds of workers—he goes right to the church and parks in front of it.

He still doesn't say anything. Just gets out and goes inside.

I stay in the truck for a moment. I don't really have anywhere to go because my fuckin' house isn't done, but I wanna make a phone call anyway.

Charlie Beaufort answers on the first ring. "Collin Creed! Most dangerous mind in the world. The mental prowess of a… a"—he gets lost here, but recovers quickly—"an AI, counterintelligence genius extraordinaire, and the man I'd pay half my salary to if he'd just let me order him around a little. How are you doin', son? How are you doin'?" He's his usual smoke-blowin' self.

I let out a breath. "Yeah, well, here's the thing…"

I tell him my problem. Every single bit of it. Because it doesn't matter what kind of secret you tell Charlie, it's not a secret. He already knows about it. No one ever elected this man. Hell, most people have never even heard of this man. But no one, and I do mean no one, in DC does anything with the military or intelligence without the explicit permission of Charlie Beaufort.

"Ike Monroe," he says, once I finish.

"You know him?" It's not really a question, but it feels polite to try to maintain some semblance of chain of command here, even though we both know he's running the show.

"I know him. And his operation. Which I unfortunately cannot share with you, Collin." He's more serious now, all jokin' aside.

"It's all right. I don't need to know. But here's what I do need, Charlie. Because if I don't get this, I'm gonna take a team up there. And your shit is gonna go sideways before this day is over."

I just threatened him. He knows it, I know it. But it's just the first half of the conversation, so he also knows it's his move.

"So we're gonna do each other a little favor here, Collin? Is that what's happenin'?"

"Yes, sir. That's what's happenin'."

I can hear him smile on the other end of this conversation. "How much time can I have?"

This is why I respect Charlie Beaufort. I would not say I like him, but I do respect him. Because he respects me. We're making a deal and he knows that whatever I want today, it's a small thing in comparison to what I could do for him. I will not work for him, but I will do a job for him in exchange for what I need. And my time, as a person for hire, is billed hourly.

"Ten hours."

He lets out a breath. It's a nice offer and he knows this. I could do a whole operation in ten hours. "Does that include travel time?"

"Nope. Travel time is on me."

"Does it include a team? Or just you?"

I know he wants the team, but this is personal, so I can't promise him that. What I can say is this: "It's just me. But if they want to help me out, I will let them."

"Deal." He can't say it fast enough. "How can I help you today, Collin?"

So I tell him. And thirty seconds later he says, "I'll be in touch within the hour."

When I go inside the church to find Amon, he's lining up dozens of little black cases in the middle of the chancel. When he notices me walking up the nave he straightens up and nods. "We've got forty-eight. I think it'll be enough."

"Forty-eight what?"

"Drones. They came in just yesterday."

Even though this day sucks, I laugh. "I never even gave you permission to buy one, Amon. And you bought forty-eight?"

"Fifty-two, actually. But the last four, they're too big for this job. These little fuckers though"—he looks down at his drones like they are his children, or dogs, actually, that's how proud he is of them—"these little fuckers are sneaky."

"And what, exactly, are you plannin' to do with said little fuckers?"

"Mostly just send a not-so-polite message." He smiles at me. "Because I know damn well you've already got a plan. But I'm gonna get my jabs in too. And these little fuckers are gonna do that for me. We need to teach these people a lesson, Col. They don't get to do this shit. Maybe what Jim Bob said about Olive is true, but that don't matter. You do not break into a man's house and steal his child. If they knew Olive was there, and she was one of theirs, the polite thing to do—the smart thing to do—is have a fuckin' conversation. And now they what? They've taken Lowyn hostage or something? To get back at you for stumblin' into their stupid fuckin' boneyard?"

"Sounds about right."

"Well, that shit is over now. We're here and we're not playin' that game."

"What's all this got to do with drones?"

He smiles at me. It's one of those wicked ‘I'm Amon Parrish' smiles that I only ever see when we're workin' a job and his mind is abuzz with ideas. "You'll see. I'll set them up and then you'll see. In the meantime, do me a favor, will ya?"

"What's that?"

"Go tell Nash to pay all these motherfuckers off and send them home. We're gonna finish this place ourselves."

Finally, he's talkin' sense.

I turn to do this, but he calls me back. "Hey."

I look over my shoulder at him. "What?"

"You missed your dose. We all took ours at breakfast. I was gonna bring you yours last night, but I forgot because we had that dinner in Bishop. So… make sure you drink that, OK?"

I give him a little salute and walk out of the church.

When I get to Nash's house, he's in his office fuckin' with paperwork. His place looks pretty nice. I did see it the other night at the party, but there were too many people to really get details. It's clean now. And he's got new furniture.

He looks up when I walk in. "What's up, Col?"

"Where do I start?" I kinda laugh these words out. Nash just looks a little confused, so I elaborate. "Amon says to send all these boys home. We've got security issues with them. They can't be trusted. Pay them off and tell them thank you."

"OK. I'll do that." Nash salutes me.

Which I hate. But I don't say nothing. I just walk out of his office and go into the kitchen—which, in the span of one week, has all been redone. Shiny new appliances and stone countertops even.

I find a single stainless-steel canister waiting for me in the fridge. They are delivered weekly on Sunday nights. I take it out and set it on the counter, running a conversation I had with Lowyn yesterday though my head. ‘Did you ever take that treatment?'

I told her no. It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. When I was telling her about that time I saw her on TV and I was having a real bad day because one of my men died from a treatment, I wasn't a Marine at that time, so I wasn't getting those particular treatments.

But we all got treatments while we were official military.

And we still take them because we don't have a choice anymore.

I twist the cap off the canister, smell it—kinda fruity, like always—and then drink it.

Because I don't have a choice.