store and parking lot, perhaps double-checking that nothing identifiable had been dropped and was lying around unnoticed, or maybe making plans to come back.
Ben walked over to the woman who was keeping tally and casually asked how many gallons had been pumped.
“I haven’t added it up,” she replied, but flipped back over several pages of entries. “It looks like a lot, though; I’m already seeing people who have already been through the line once.”
“Good. We’ll keep going until the tanks are empty,” Ben said, noting that Dietrich was listening. That was their intention, and he wanted to make damn sure Dietrich knew it, knew there was nothing to come back for. As a precaution, after Sela had gone home, Ben had pulled his truck over the access to the small tank of pure gasoline, and also blocked sight of the pump he’d assumed was for kerosene before Sela had told him different. Maybe they needed to remove the pump, so no one got suspicious and started poking around.
Dietrich left, probably to go to the back of the line again, and Ben took one more look down the highway. Yep, this was going to take all day.
Chapter Nineteen
The men who had gathered in the bank parking lot looked as crude as their friend Lawrence. They all looked to be between the ages of twenty and forty, though it was hard to tell when personal hygiene wasn’t high on anyone’s list. Ted did his best to ignore their rough appearance. They might’ve looked just this way before the CME, but then again, they might’ve been clean-cut upstanding young men before the shit hit the fan.
No, not that much time had passed. This was a tough and not-very-upstanding crowd, he admitted it to himself. Still, in times of crisis . . .
The events of the morning still stung, more than a little. He kept seeing Sela Gordon’s middle finger thrust into his face. How dare she? And people around them had laughed! Not at her, of course not, but at him. That hurt as much as anything else. He wasn’t accustomed to being humiliated, and he damn well didn’t like it.
Ted shook off the annoyance and tried to focus on the future. Maybe Sela and her pals didn’t appreciate him, but this bunch did—or would. Sela could keep her damn patrol. He could bring these men in line, the same way he had with the employees at his tire stores. Some of them had started off pretty rough, too, but his guidance had brought them around. Sometimes. Some people were lost causes.
Lawrence introduced Ted to the others. The men who wanted to join them in this new organization were a cousin, friends, a brother, a neighbor. Unsavory appearances aside, they were friendly enough, and seemed to look up to Ted. They saw him as a leader, they needed him.
His pride swelled. Here he was appreciated.
One of the younger men, Lawrence’s cousin Patrick, took a step forward and winced as he almost stumbled. It was only then that Ted noticed that the jeans high on one thigh fit tighter than at the other. A thick bandage underneath, perhaps? That, and the wince, and the paleness around the man’s eyes . . . he’d been hurt.
Patrick could’ve injured himself any number of ways. For a second, maybe two, Ted considered ways in which the young man might’ve hurt himself—but, damn, he couldn’t fool himself for long because he wasn’t an idiot. Ted’s heart crawled into his throat. These were the men who had tried to rob the gas station, who had shot at Sela and the young girl, Olivia. These men had shot up Sela’s store.
Ted didn’t ask Patrick if he was okay; instead he concentrated on not revealing anything he’d just figured out. He kept his expression interested, not suspicious. He looked them in the eyes when they spoke. As the men discussed plans for organization, Ted casually wandered closer to their vehicles. There were some small holes, maybe bullet holes, in the bumper of one truck but again he did his best to make it look as if he hadn’t noticed them.
At quick glance he noted that all six of the men were armed. He wanted to believe that they were here because they were willing to see that order prevailed in their community, that they felt unappreciated, as Ted himself did, but his gut said that they were dangerous and not well-meaning.
They all appeared to be flattering him, asking for his opinions,