Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
The girl and I are both holding on to the fifty-dollar bill when I say, “Is the whiskey moonshine?”
Which makes her laugh. “Look around, Ace. Then I’ll give you one guess.”
So they are moonshiners. “Are you from around here?”
She cocks a hip, but her expression remains playful. “Well, something I did or said has ruffled you. You’re full of questions.”
“Are you?”
“Of course. Can’t you hear it in my accent? Born and raised in these parts, Ace. My family goes way back into these hills. I’m talkin’ places you ain’t never heard of. Places you’d never find your way back from if you were to wander into them. My daddy’s a very important man.”
“And he lets you work here? He don’t mind when you bring strange men into a private room invitin’ said man to conjure up all kinds of lecherous deeds that might be done in that room?”
She tips her chin up, a little bit defiant. “It’s not up to him. But no, he doesn’t mind. Everyone owes favors to someone.”
Which is a weird answer.
But she doesn’t give me time to chew on it. “Anyway. Do you want that drink or don’t you?” And then she gives the fifty-dollar bill, which we are still both holding onto, a small tug.
I tug hard enough to take it. Then tuck it back in my wallet and hand her my credit card. “Let’s start a tab, darlin’.”
She places her hand on my chest, flat against my beatin’ heart, and looks up at me. “Anything you want, Ace.” Then she turns and ducks through another beaded curtain at the opposite end of the room and disappears.
3 - Brose
My phone buzzes. I grab it, glancing at the screen, and answer before it can buzz twice. “Grandfather. What do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m checking in. How are things going?” His response comes across a sketchy satellite line with small micro-interruptions in the connection and a trace of long distance distortion.
“Good. We’re open for business.”
“Perfect. And… how are you feeling?”
I shrug, even though we’re not talking in person. “Fine. Why?”
“You know I worry about you, Ambrose. You’re all the family I have left.”
He says this every time we talk. Like he’s trying to convince me of his love. Sometimes it bothers me, but only in a casual way. He’s all the family I’ve got left as well. “Thanks for asking,” I say. “But I’m OK.”
After a small hesitation, he says, “Good.”
But he doesn’t say anything else. So I ask, “Would you… like a progress report?”
“No, thank you.” His tone comes off as considerate and these words are soft. “Don’t hesitate to call if you have any issues. You know how to find me. Now carry on.”
The call ends before I can say anything else, but there’s no time to think about it because Olive enters my control room without knocking. I look over my shoulder, enjoying this look she’s wearing today—the Roaring Twenties dress, her pale face in the false light, and her eager eyes. The whole vibe just works for me.
“I’ve got one,” she says, handing me his credit card. “Who is he?”
I turn back to the panel of screens in front of me, the system cycling through its routine sweeps of the compound. Constant eyes, always watching. Comparing the image of the man who just entered the Mule Pit with all of Collin Creed’s known employees takes less than a second.
“New guy,” I say, pointing at the top left screen. “Just came in last night. Good thing the drones tagged him at the gate.” I zoom in, the profile populating across the screen. "Ean Shephard. Age twenty-seven. Former DRS."
“Deep Recon Specialist? No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Well…” Olive pauses to think about this. “I don’t get it. He’s one of us. Is he here undercover?”
“He didn’t trigger the tracking when he came through the entrance of the bar, which means his chip has been turned off, so my official assumption should be no.”
“Then what’s your unofficial assumption?”
“Give me a moment,” I say, letting my fingertips dance across the keyboard. I hit enter and this guy’s history with CORE pops up.
“Holy shit,” Olive says, leaning in towards the screen. “He’s legit.”
He is legit. It takes me almost ten whole seconds of scrolling to get to the bottom of all the info we have on Ean Shephard. I point to the last entry. “And there we go. This one went insane a few years back. Was discharged and promptly entered the prison system out in Wyoming for armed robbery.”
Olive takes a seat on a wheeled stool and rolls herself over next to me. “Damn. What the hell is he doin’ here?”
I scan the notes that begin to populate now that I’ve drawn attention to the new guy. “Looks like Charlie Beaufort got him out of prison and sent him to Collin on a contract.”