Page 93 of Now and Then

A protective brother or something else? “Normally, yeah,” I say. “But when product’s moving? No.”

At that, Jack swallows hard. Bill uncrosses his arms, eyes once again scanning the horizon.

Thunder rumbles somewhere beyond the hills, as if the approaching storm has all the time in the world.

“We’re not cooking,” Bill says.

“I know.”

That catches them both off guard.

Bill’s brows draw together. “You do?”

“From what I hear, you only ever ran small stuff. Too small for what we’re seeing,” I say.

Jack’s jaw tightens.

“So far,” I say, “you’ve covered your tracks pretty well. But then your driver dropped this.” I pull out the slip of paper with Daley written on it. “You know anything about this?”

Bill exhales slowly. “You think you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Not even close,” I say. “But I think you both are in deeper than you meant to be.”

That does it. Jack looks at Bill. Bill looks back at him. That silent exchange says more than anything they’ve spoken.

Jack steps around his brother and comes down the stairs. Chris reaches for his holster, but I nod him off. Bill remains firmly planted on the porch.

“You don’t understand,” Jack says.

“Then help me understand,” I reply.

A gust of wind rattles the loose tin skirting along the trailer, the metal clanging sharp against the quiet. Bill sits on the top step, shoulders slumped forward.

“It’s not houses anymore,” Jack mumbles.

Chris and I exchange a glance.

“Go on,” I say.

Bill rubs a hand over his mouth, foot tapping wildly, and looks right at me. “All Jack had to do was give them addresses of vacant places, but—”

“Too much attention,” Jack says. “Too many neighbors.”

“So where?” I press.

Jack hesitates, looking back at his brother, who shoots him a warning look. Jack ignores it. “I don’t know. Last I heard, they were looking industrial,” he says quietly.

My pulse ticks up, but I keep my face neutral.

“Warehouse? Storage center?”

Jack shakes his head once. “Bigger.”

Every abandoned industrial building from here to Eagle Falls runs through my mind. “For who?”

That’s when his fear hits. Not defiance or arrogance. Dread. Sweat pools along Jack’s forehead, and Bill’s breathing pattern speeds up.

“Don’t say anything, Jack.” Bill’s voice is low, firm. “You know if you start saying names, people disappear.”