“I’m not,” Samantha hollered across the garage, trudging through the dust with a shotgun. “He’s like a foreign film. Looks nice, but you have to do too much reading.”
Dixon reluctantly let go of Lila. He dug his notepad out of his pocket and scribbled on a new page. I don’t need my notepad in the dark.
“Yeah, only because your hands are too busy holding your—”
“We’re leaving in five,” shouted Tristan on the other side of the garage, his head under the hood of a beat-up green truck.
Lila squeezed Dixon’s hand and kissed his cheek, then joined Tristan, who had been listening to Shirley drone on about the engine. “How old is this thing?” Lila asked, running her fingers over the rust and peeling paint.
Shirley slapped her hand away. “She’s not old, Hood. She’s experienced and reliable. Besides, she’s all we have right now that doesn’t need to be repainted or repaired. She’ll get all of you there and back again.”
“So, no quick getaways for us tonight?”
Shirley gently closed the hood, and her mouth twisted into a smile. “Oh, she’ll fly. I’ve made sure of it.”
Once Tristan pulled out onto Shippers Lane, his foot became too heavy for the truck’s smooth ride, proving Shirley’s point. Lila watched the speedometer climb higher and higher, warning Tristan to slow down several times as he barreled through the late evening traffic. Lila’s regard for Shirley rose. She suspected that the only parts that the old woman hadn’t tweaked or replaced were the frame and the interior.
Lila’s eyes strayed to her side mirror. Dixon and Frank rode on Tristan’s Amazon, with Fry and Dice trailing behind on a second bike, the lapels of their coats fluttering in the wind.
It took twenty minutes to reach the Wilson-Kruger estate. The group parked a few blocks from the front gate, near one of the only businesses left in the area, Brewer’s Pub. While Tristan’s men paced on the sidewalk, peering at the silhouettes that crowded around the entrance of the bar, Lila hacked into the chairwoman’s security system.
“That’s not a good sign,” Frank said over her shoulder. Few cameras still operated on the estate. Many of the lenses had been broken or covered with spray paint, or were no longer sending images. She picked a dozen such cameras at random and reversed the footage. All but one had been vandalized in the last eight hours. “What do you think’s going on in there?”
“Rage,” Tristan answered. “A lot of it.”
Lila couldn’t disagree. “It happens occasionally when families fall. Instead of facing their change in status gracefully, they…”
“Fight back?” Frank asked.
“Harsh words for it, but I suppose it’s appropriate.”
“It’s not harsh,” Tristan said. “Just because it’s not proper for highborns to turn to blood and violence, doesn’t mean that they don’t. You did tranq me once, remember.”
“Darts aren’t the same thing,” Lila mumbled, stashing the laptop under the passenger seat. “Besides, the Wilson family was never that proper.”
Tristan led the group away from Brewer’s Pub. Shuttered businesses loomed over them on all sides, windows boarded, front doors chained. Lila’s hand stayed on her Colt as they walked, for too many people marched up and down the dirty sidewalks for such a wasteland, trampling the litter and trash that had been piled into the streets under worn boots. They came in singles, rather than pairs and groups. Many held paper bags filled with booze, and lumps poked out from their pockets. The air crackled as though it might be the hour before a party.
Or a riot.
“The two gates are guarded by whatever militia the chief of security has been able to scrape together, but she doesn’t have enough bodies to secure any other part of the compound. That’s why we’re going over the wall instead,” Tristan explained, turning down a dark street that bordered the west wall of the estate. The bulbs had been shot out from every street lamp on the block.
Fewer people traveled here. The ones who did lowered their eyes and kept to themselves.
“Several of my people are inside the compound in case we need them. They say that this is the best place to cross.”
“I’d say they made sure of it,” Frank grunted.
“They weren’t the ones who did this. The word is, Bullstow whacked a hornet’s nest when they took the chairwoman and her son this morning. We should be careful while we’re inside. Don’t provoke anyone.” Tristan led them behind a group of oak trees planted too near the wall. “This is the place.”
Lila considered the conveniently placed cover. Someone had planted the trees to hide this part of the wall, but more importantly, someone had let them to grow and had never cut them down.
She pulled Tristan aside as the men began to scale the wall. “Are you sure this is the best place? I have a similar spot on our estate. I installed turret guns loaded with sedative in the trees, ready to eject anyone stupid enough to jump over, as well as a bank of cameras to catch their idiotic, surprised faces. It makes prosecution incredibly simple. We call it the Hangman’s Noose. Eighty percent of the intruders that try to sneak into our estate pick that spot.”
“I’m sure. My people took care of the cameras along this part of the wall, and your jammer will take care of any we missed. As for the rest of it, the chief doesn’t have your resources. The chairwoman revoked most of her funding a long time ago.”
“I know, but—”
“My people have been slipping in and out for months without trouble, right here, even taking Maria this morning. Peter could have broken out himself and his children at any time. It’s only habit that kept them in.”