Casey winced. Neither outcome appealed to him. Of course the latter was the worst-case scenario, but there was also a petty, insecure bit of him that couldn’t help but think that she’d liked the guy enough to be in a relationship with him. She might’ve loved him, even, provided she hadn’t stuck around out of fear. While a civil reconciliation was undoubtedly the best result they could hope for, his coffee curdled in his gut as he imagined them getting so good with each other that maybe they’d try to get back together, to make things work for Mercy’s sake.
His fingers curled up into fists underneath the table.
Chill out. What the fuck had happened to the old Casey, anyhow? Before last summer he’d have taken one look at this situation—seen an emotional girl, a baby, and some mysterious gunrunner ex—and booked it out of there quick enough to kick up dust. He should have left the Robin Hood scene to his brother; Vince was the one who enjoyed bleeding, after all. Casey liked his face and limbs just how they were.
“Let’s see where that goes,” Miah said, meaning the plan to get Ware in touch with Abilene, “and regroup from there.”
“Meantime,” Vince said, “we’re still on high alert. Especially you guys at the bar—no doubt he’ll be looking for her there.”
“I brought these,” Raina said, rooting through Duncan’s dossier. “Mug shot, plus a picture from the paper when he was arrested.” She handed out printouts with the two black-and-white photos on them.
Casey studied it, stomach dropping. He’d been avoiding this moment.
Ware looked about how he’d pictured. No face tattoos, but a mean mug, shaved head, scar through one eyebrow, glare like an angry dog. Guy must have some kind of winning-ass smile, he thought, if a sweet thing like Abilene had managed to fall for him, once upon a time.
Miah nodded, studying his copy. “Thanks. That’s way better than the photos I was able to find. Okay, item three: I’ve got some security concerns of my own.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Vince said.
“It’s nothing compared to Abilene’s worries.” Miah sipped his coffee. “But last fall we found some evidence that pointed to possible drug dealing, out on the range. Or maybe not drugs this time—could be weapons or any other thing. But pickups and drop-offs of some nature, likely. Strange vehicles seen turning off the access roads, late at night.”
“Déjà vu,” Vince said.
Miah nodded. “It’s happened before—one of my hands once found a cooler full of weed just sitting at the junction of two of our private roads. Whoever was meant to pick it up must’ve gotten lost or detained or something. We filed a report but nothing ever came of it. In any case, the BCSD doesn’t patrol out here, and there’re no lights or any workers out after sundown. It’s an obvious temptation.”
“You want us to patrol?” Vince asked.
“No, I can do that myself—I have been for months, just a couple times a week. There haven’t been any known thefts or property damage, so it’s more a nuisance than anything. But also not a development anybody wants becoming a regular thing. But I was thinking maybe one of us could go sniffing around the shadier corners of Fortuity. Drop hints like they’re looking for a distributor, that sort of thing. I think that probably means you, Case. Too many people know Vince and I are friends to buy it, but you’re still a new face to any criminals who didn’t grow up here.”
Casey shrugged, game for it. He did enjoy a good con. “I can give it a shot. Not sure where to start—or when I’ll have the time—but I’ll give it a try.”
Vince said, “Dancer,” just as Duncan suggested, “Perhaps John Dancer.”
“Fuck me, that psycho? Last time I saw him he chloroformed me.” Ostensibly as anesthesia, when Casey had been taken to Dancer to get a bullet tweezed out of his thigh, but it wasn’t as though he’d consented to it.
“Count yourself lucky you got to be unconscious for most of that morning,” Kim said.
John Dancer was Fortuity’s least reputable resident—and that was saying something. He attracted enemies like horseshit drew flies, and lived in a creepy orange camper van way out in the badlands by the creek.
“He’ll know you and me are friends,” Miah said, “so no need to pretend you’re after something shady.”
“Bribe him if you have to,” Vince agreed. “I’ll comp you out of the club’s account.” Meaning the many coffee cans full of cash Vince kept secreted around the auto garage—proceeds from his sideline as an unlicensed bookie and the sale of questionably acquired cars. “Ask Dancer if he’s ever done business with Ware, while you’re at it,” Vince added. “He’s been kicking around here for twelve years, probably, and I still got no clue what he does for money. But I wouldn’t be shocked if illegal weapons factored, here and there.”
“Fine, fine.” Casey glanced at his photocopy of the roster. “It’ll have to be an evening. I’ll try tonight, actually, if Miah can be with Abilene for a couple hours . . . ?”
Miah nodded. “Sure.” He sipped his coffee and glanced around the table. “Any other business?”
Everyone shook their heads, so he gave the peppermill another rap and stood. “Meeting’s adjourned. Thanks for coming so early, everybody. Stick around for the grub. And load the washer if you want my mom to stay sweet on you.”
“I got it,” Casey said.
Raina filled herself a plate, as did Vince and Kim. Duncan seemed content to eat nothing, sitting stock-still until Miah bade everyone a good day and disappeared.
Vince grinned at Duncan. “Now, that wasn’t so terrible, was it, Welch?”
“He promised to punch me once,” Duncan said. “Forgive me for finding it difficult to relax.”
“We’ve all wanted to punch you now and then,” Vince replied. “Take comfort in the fact that none of us actually has, so far.”
“Yes, how reassuring.”
“I’ve never wanted to punch you,” Kim offered.
“I have,” Casey said. “Real bad.”
“I’m the only one who’s actually managed it,” Raina added. “Though technically that was an elbow.”
“You also slapped me once.”
“And this from the woman you love,” Casey said.
Duncan rolled his eyes and pulled a stray newspaper over.
Vince ate fast and downed a cup of coffee. “Gotta head to the quarry.” He swung his legs over the long bench, kissed Kim good-bye, then said, “Case, walk me to my bike.”
Ah shit, what now? He set down his fork. Please not some serious-ass talk about Casey’s glaring absence around the old homestead. Not that he didn’t deserve it, after nine years away. He’d done better since he’d been back, but lately, between the bar and Abilene, he might as well still be in Lubbock for all the use he’d been to his brother. He felt a burning sensation along the back of his neck. Guilt.
Once they were outside, he asked, “This isn’t about Mom, is it? I can go back to watching her mornings when this is all over. Then Nita could take a couple nights, and you and Kim could—”
Vince waved his words aside. “Chill the fuck out. I know you’re busy.”
“What, then?”
They reached Vince’s old R80 and he pulled on his gloves. “Just wanted to say, good job.”
Casey blinked. “What with?”
“You know, everything. Watching Mom when you can. Kicking in for the bills. Taking the lead around here, for Abilene. You’ve been acting like a grown man for a change.” He smiled, the gesture’s snide quality taking some of the edge off all this brotherly earnestness. “You’re doin’ good, kid. Keep it up.” He gave Casey a hard slap on the arm, then mounted his bike.
“I’m thirty-three, you know,” Casey said. “Don’t act so shocked.”
As he stomped his engine to life, Vince shot Casey a look, one that said, Bet you’re just as surprised as me. Or something to that effect. Something snarky and annoyingly accurate. Yeah, he was thirty-three now, but that only meant he’d given his brother three-plus decades’ worth of reasons not to expect him to ever step up or stick around. Casey rolled his eyes and watched Vince ride away.