home,” I explain softly, wanting to calm her in the way she’s always willing to do for me. “If you want to come up, there’ll be room. If not, that’s okay. I plan to spend a thousand nights with you, Pixie Yabo.”
“I miss you,” she says again. “I want Mama, Dove, and Future to get to know you. And for you to know them. But everything conspires against us.”
“Soon, our lives won’t be about bullshit and enemies. We’ll spend every day together. I promise.”
I imagine Pixie smiling at my words. She falls silent, likely forgetting how I can’t see her. Or she might have accidentally put me on mute. Finally, she tells me goodbye.
Hearing her voice and knowing she misses me eases my tension more than the pot. I gear up for whatever might happen tonight.
In theory, the fireworks will send the Village into chaos. They’ll run around like headless chickens, possibly shooting blindly into the woods. None of that matters to me.
My concern is Roadrunner and Gak. Despite what I told Bronco, I bet they’re not here alone. I went over the numbers with Conor earlier, and there are six remaining members of the Killing Joes Motorcycle Club. Even if a few met violent ends in the last few years, I suspect the two Coles—Bloody and Redbeard—are in on this deal with Marks. They tended to follow Gak around like useless, angry toddlers.
Tonight, when the fireworks go off, and Marks thinks he’s under attack, he’ll call for help. Will Roadrunner respond? Or is he smart enough to smell a trick?
At twenty before midnight, the first group of Conor’s surveillance drones silently hovers over the Village. Bronco and Lowell are nearby in a van, keeping tabs on our club brothers spread out in the area.
I stick close to Conor in a parking lot a block from the entrance of the Village. We’re hidden in the darkness when I light the fireworks. Then I attach them to another drone, which Conor quickly flies over the center of the Village.
On a screen, I study the surveillance footage from over the Village. Only a few lights can be seen in the otherwise dark area.
Conor’s main drone tilts to the right, allowing the fireworks—ready to pop—to land in the center of the community. He flies a short distance and then leans the drone to the left. Another batch of fireworks hits the ground.
“What if the fuses go out?” I ask Conor in the darkness.
As if answering me, the fireworks wake up the night. On the night vision footage from the drones, we watch the Volkshalberd rush panicked out of their tents. As quickly as they bolt into the night, most hurry back inside. Only a few men with guns run toward the front gates.
Located close to the Village’s entrance, Drummer messages about the activity there. “Six guys. Weapons. Walking the outer perimeter of the Village.”
While the young men check for threats, the drones scan the area inside the Village. There isn’t much movement. I wonder how many Volkshalberd silently hope Marks will die in this attack, so they might finally get fed.
The thought of Pixie in that place hurts my heart. All these months, I avoided imagining how shitty her life was at the Village, especially after we locked them inside. Feeling too guilty over her suffering might lead me to doubt Bronco’s decision. My loyalty to him won out.
“How long do we wait?” I ask Conor as we hide behind the sandwich shop.
“Fireworks go off, Marks calls the Killing Joes for help, and they agree to drive over. How long do you figure that’ll take?”
“Thirty minutes, tops.”
“Bronco will likely wait another thirty minutes to an hour. If the Killing Joes don’t show up, Mark didn’t call them, or they’re not his bitches. Either way, Bronco knows something new.”
After twenty minutes, we accept the Killing Joes aren’t coming. But Conor isn’t ready to leave. I suspect he’s afraid to miss an important detail. He thinks too hard about shit. That habit will trip him up when he’s the guy making all the decisions.
Of course, if I were him and these men were connected to my dad’s murder, I’d want to wait all night, too.
At one a.m., Bronco finally orders everyone to head home. By then, my ass is cold and numb from sitting on the asphalt. I get to my feet and stretch out the kinks in my back. Even in the darkness, I notice Conor’s obvious disappointment over the Killing Joes’ no-show.