“Ink has been told to leave,” Pretty Boy reminded him.
Pointblank motioned to Ink, who was fiddling with his gun at the desk. “That’s his problem. He’ll have to answer to Shady. You won’t. So don’t worry about it.”
“Shady won’t be pissed at me, not once I get the job done,” Ink said.
“And how do you plan to get the job done when we don’t even know where she is?” Desperate to be rid of him, Pretty Boy fantasized about waking up in the middle of the night and putting a bullet through his brain while he slept. Killing Ink might cause a backlash inside The Crew. The hit wouldn’t be sanctioned by the gang’s leaders. But Pretty Boy felt he’d be doing the world a service. He’d be doing Skin a great service, too. Except he wasn’t sure if he should be motivated by the loyalty that still lingered in his heart. How should he feel about his old cellie? Was Skin debriefing as the others claimed?
If not, why hadn’t he made contact?
Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe something else was going on….
“Shady’ll find her,” Pointblank—Thompson—said. “You heard what he told us when he called. He’s got some contacts in the CDC.”
But would they go crazy cooped up together before those contacts came through? At this point, Pretty Boy was having fantasies about putting a bullet through his own brain just to escape the monotony. “We’ll see.”
He got up to go outside for a cigarette. He never used to smoke. He’d taken it up a few days ago. The nicotine calmed his nerves, and the act of bringing the cigarette to his mouth kept his hands busy. Besides, it provided a good excuse to take a walk every couple of hours.
Thompson’s phone vibrated on the table as Pretty Boy passed by. When he glanced down, he saw that the caller was Shady and froze. Shady’s contact had delivered what they’d asked for. Shady wouldn’t be contacting them again otherwise. They’d already talked to him today.
“Hand me that,” Thompson said.
Pretty Boy hesitated. The last time they’d received orders from Shady, Ink had shot Glover, a corrections officer, and it’d been all they could do to keep him from going back and killing Glover’s whole family. Pretty Boy didn’t want to see anyone else hurt, especially Laurel.
“What’s up with you?” Pointblank snapped at his lack of response.
Ink grabbed the phone before Pretty Boy could reach for it and tossed it over to Thompson, who answered.
“’Lo?…No kidding?…Never heard of it…. Where?… Got it…. ’Course…. This is a step in the right direction, anyway…. If it’s not a big place, maybe we can find her on our own…. Sure…. Will do.”
When he hung up, he scooted off the bed and began stuffing his clothes into his duffel bag. “Get your asses moving,” he said. “We’re out of here.”
Pretty Boy remained rooted to the spot. “Where we goin’?”
“Town called Gunnison.”
“Never heard of it,” Ink said. “Is it close?”
“Not far, maybe two, three hours.”
Pretty Boy’s mind raced. That was as far as the feds had taken Skin’s sister? What had they been thinking?
They’d underestimated the network that served The Crew, didn’t realize that gang members had loyal girlfriends and wives who held regular jobs and could be privy to sensitive information. “Laurel’s there?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.
“’Cording to Shady.”
“So his contact came through,” Ink said, obviously impressed.
Pointblank headed into the bathroom. “Damn right. Just like I told you. Shady means business. He does his part.”
Ink shoved his gun in the waistband of his jeans. “Does that mean we have an address?”
“Not yet,” Pointblank called back.
Pretty Boy could hear him packing up his shampoo and razor and whatever else he had in there. “When’s that coming through?”
“Shady’s not sure he can get any more than we got now. He’s hoping we’ll be able to find her ourselves.”
Hope buoyed Pretty Boy’s flagging spirits. “That won’t be easy.”
Sticking his head out of the bathroom, Pointblank grinned. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Gunnison’s only got five thousand people.”
Stubbornly clinging to that brief flash of hope, Pretty Boy said, “But if she’s hidden away, there’s no—”
“She won’t stay hidden forever, man.” Pointblank had disappeared into the bathroom again. “Most people can’t take that shit for long. When nothing happens, she’ll start to feel safe, get bored, and then she’ll go out to the grocery store, to church, take the kids to the park.”
“And she’ll be new in town,” Ink added with an eager gleam in his eye. “That means she’ll stand out.”
“So will we,” Pretty Boy said.
The toilet flushed and Pointblank walked out zipping his fly. “We’ll be lookin’ for her. She won’t be lookin’ for us. That’ll give us an advantage. And Gunnison’s only a temporary stop until the government can decide where to put her, so she’s in a rental.”
Pretty Boy’s hope died on the spot. “That’s what Shady’s contact said? Gunnison’s temporary?”
“That’s what she said.”
“What are we supposed to do once we find her?”
Ink, who was packing his own bag, looked up. “What do you think, stupid?”
Trying to avoid another confrontation with the psycho ass**le, Pretty Boy kept his attention on Pointblank. “I’m talking about the kids. I don’t want to kill kids. Or a U.S. marshal. That shit’s asking for war.”
Pointblank slung his duffel over his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out when we get there. First, we gotta find her.”
But Pretty Boy imagined that wouldn’t take too long. They’d be in Gunnison before nightfall. How many rental houses could there be in such a small community?
22
“Maybe we should lay down a few ground rules,” Buzz said.
Virgil stretched out on his bunk. There wasn’t a lot to unpack when you were allowed only six cubic feet of personal belongings. “Like…?” He shifted his gaze to his cell mate, who was standing up and staring morosely out onto the tier.
“Just one rule, really. You leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone. It’s that simple.”