She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,226

and she curled up facing the wall.

Preacher set Hobson down in a chair at one of the tables. Still blindfolded, the man did not move.

Cammie helped Darby into another open bunk. The little girl’s eyes were half shut, fighting sleep. She was out the moment her head hit the pillow. Cammie sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair. My father collapsed into a bunk of his own. The bruising on his face thickened into a nasty shade of purple. He grunted and rolled onto his side, off his damaged ribs.

Adella said, “Come with me. I’ll take you to him.”

When Preacher started to follow, she stopped at the door without turning around. “Just Thatch.”

“No way,” Preacher said. “I’m still not sure we’re staying.”

Cammie looked up at me. “Take him with you. The second pair of eyes will do you good.”

Adella started down the hall. “Whatever, just hurry up.”

Ten days ago, when I visited Dunk in this place, I got the impression he and his people simply took it over for the day. Camped out at that first building and cleared out shortly after I left. As Adella walked us deeper into the mill, I realized that wasn’t the case at all. Dunk set up shop here. He ran his business from this place. He ran his business with a small army.

Everyone was armed.

Most had more than one gun.

I thought about what Brier and Detective Horton had told me all those years ago in the hospital. They had no idea how large this had all become.

I didn’t see any drugs. I also didn’t see anyone doing drugs. Knowing Dunk (or, at the very least, knowing the kid I once knew as Dunk) he was smart enough not to keep that kind of thing anywhere near where he worked. Most likely, he played some kind of shell game with that stuff, moving it around the city faster than the cops could track it. I honestly didn’t really care. My only concern was keeping Stella safe.

Eyes followed us everywhere, averting when I caught them looking. Whispering to each other.

Adella led us into the former office building for Carrie Furnace—dozens of offices, most abandoned. Dunk was in the largest, the last door on the left. When Adella ushered us inside, he stood in the far back corner with a cell phone pressed to his ear, most of his weight balanced on a cane, looking out a grimy window at the mill grounds. He glanced back over his shoulder.

Relying heavily on the cane, he turned and started toward us, mumbling into the phone. When he finished the call, he disconnected and held the phone out to me. “Hold this for a second? Being a cripple, I sometimes find I don’t have enough hands to multitask.”

I took it from him.

Dunk brought up his cane and slammed the silver head into Preacher’s gut. He doubled over, and Dunk’s right fist shot up and slammed into his nose. I heard the crunch of bone as Preacher stumbled backward. “You broke my nose in ’92, you arrogant fuck. You’ve had that coming for six years,” Dunk said.

Two of Dunk’s men came in from the hallways and grabbed Preacher’s arms before he could retaliate. They stood on either side of him as Dunk took a white handkerchief from his pocket and held it up to Preacher. “We’re square now, shitknocker.”

Preacher nodded, shrugged off both men, grabbed the handkerchief, and pressed it to his nose. “Square,” he muttered, tilting his head back.

I shook my head. We didn’t have time for macho bullshit. “They’ll be here soon. Are you ready?”

Dunk used the cane to take several steps back toward the window. “Get with the program, Thatch. They’re already here, and yes, we’re ready.”

“What?” Preacher said, going to the window.

Dunk pointed out toward the west. “Look past the trees. Two white vans out there parked off Whitaker. The first one got here about ten minutes after you did. The other one pulled up a few minutes ago.”

“There’s no way they followed us. Did you tell anyone we were coming?”

Dunk shook his head. “Only Reid, Truck, and Adella, and they don’t talk to nobody but me. Word is probably spreading now, though. Not much we can do about that.”

“Somebody tipped them off,” Preacher said.

I thought about the phone call from Fogel back at my father’s house in Whidbey.

Two men paused at Dunk’s door. When I turned, they continued down the hallway. “Why does everyone keep staring at me?”

“Gossip,” Dunk said. “They