“Good to see you again, Professor,” Heston said in a Southern twang, taking off a leather glove. He held out his hand, thumb up.
“Likewise, Burt,” Edison said, gripping and shaking hands with vigor, then pausing for a beat as he glanced back at the row of trading booths behind him. “Looks like business is up.”
Heston let go of their shake, taking a new stance that included both thumbs pressing down on his silver belt buckle, typical cowboy style. “Can’t complain. Though not everyone is here to trade.”
“I imagine not. A lot of hungry people out there.”
“Speaking of which, when we’re done here today, I have two more families that I’d like you to consider. They seem willing. If you have the time, of course.”
“Absolutely, I’ll make the time.”
“Excellent. One less thing I have to deal with.”
Edison gave the man a single head nod, which Krista took to mean he was showing both respect for Heston’s situation and the man’s need for brevity.
Edison kept his tone steady when he asked, “Has the other side of the equation arrived?”
“Yes. Just before you. They’re waiting inside, like always.”
Summer leaned into Edison’s ear and spoke in a whisper. “I don’t know about you, Professor, but I would feel a lot better if we’d seen Frost and his men go through the same security check we did.”
Edison gave her a long look, then said, “It’ll be fine. Trust me. We do this every month.”
Heston turned his attention to Summer and brought his eyes down to her tiny hands that were wrapped around Edison’s elbow, then back up to scan her face. “And who might this fine young lady be?”
Summer answered before Edison. “I’m Summer.”
Heston tipped his hat. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
“I’m the professor’s new assistant. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. We’ll just need to rustle up one more chair,” Heston said, his accent taking over the syllables. His eyes went to the bandages on her face. “Looks like you tangled with a critter or two.”
“Yeah, you could say that. But it takes a lot more than that to keep this girl down. It’s all about flashing and dashing, if you know what I mean.”
Heston smiled, turning his piercing eyes to Krista. He finally acknowledged her with a slight head nod and a hat tip. “Carr.”
“Heston.”
The old cowboy turned sideways and held out a sweeping hand toward the building he’d just come from. “Right this way. Everything is ready.”
The group traveled to the main door of the building, with Heston and Edison walking in stride next to each other. Summer was on the other side of the professor, clutching his arm.
Heston’s guards had the lead, while Krista followed her boss, keeping watch on those in front of her. Her men were tasked with covering the group’s six. Even though they were unarmed, except for their bare hands and tactical training, rear security remained their primary responsibility.
Other than Summer being involved, the rest of the greet had gone according to plan. Nothing much changes when you work for obsessive men who love their traditions. And processes.
All of it anticipated. All of it regimented, offering a calming respite from a world that was anything but calm. Or comfortable.
Summer took a step back as Krista assumed the lead, escorting their esteemed leader, Edison, through the door and into the foyer that led to what Edison had told her was called the Mediation Room.
Normally, this building was reserved for grievances and rulings, but the way Edison explained it on the ride over, the room ahead became the Negotiations Room once a month—on this day, at this time.
Edison told her that the meeting time and day of the month never changed, eliminating the need for communications between the two camps. Or advance reservations. She assumed the fixed date and time idea came from Edison, a man who preferred simplicity and consistency. Hallmarks of a great leader.
The members of Krista’s Team One remained in the foyer with Heston’s guards, leaving only Krista, Edison, and Summer to represent Nirvana.
When they cleared the threshold of the interior door, they were greeted by a wood conference table in the middle of the room.
It wasn’t fancy, its four-foot by eight-foot plywood surface painted white, with a stack of bricks at each end serving as legs. One of the corners had been broken off, leaving a jagged edge of exposed layers running diagonally.
She wondered if the damage was from years of wear or from abuse. If this was a grievances room the rest of the time, then perhaps more than one scuffle had broken out.
It wouldn’t take much for a couple of men to start fighting and break off the corner. Heck, it wouldn’t surprise her if it happened more times than not, given the reputation of how Heston ran this place. Harsh rules and deadly consequences might not go over well with everyone, especially with the more desperate types.
Five folding chairs made of metal sat next to the table, three on one side and two on the other. A trio of sleeveless men stood on the far side, each one positioned behind an empty chair. All three had the same neck tattoo of interlocking chains.
The first was the handsome black man, Fletcher, the same guy who’d kept her safe from Slayer and the others the first time they met. He’d offered her a gun for her defense before letting her go.
Fletcher stood farthest to the left, his chiseled face staring at her. His bald head gleamed under the overhead fluorescent light, its twin bulbs buzzing like angry bees. The generator chugging outside was obviously the source of the electricity.
In the middle was the man himself, Simon Frost. His blonde mullet, huge biceps, and scraggly beard were easily identifiable. So was the extra padding around his middle and the rugged look of his face, his eyes tight and watchful.
On the right was a younger guy with long, red hair pulled up into a ponytail. He was the trimmest of the three, his aura one of diligent underling.
His inquisitive eyes and prominent cheekbones made him stand out from the other two. While Fletcher was powerfully handsome, this guy was femininely pretty, looking like he might have been an underwear model back in the day. His arms were not bulging like the other two. Perhaps he didn’t spend endless hours pumping iron or lifting engine blocks, both of which Summer had heard rumors about.
As Krista led Edison to their side of the table, Summer heard what sounded like a set of chains clanking together, then a run of pattering clicks.
When Summer looked to her right, that’s when she saw it—a dog. A big, gnarly-looking blonde dog, coming straight at her in a sprint.
She backed up in a fast step, keeping her arms in front of her for protection.
“Stop! Come here, boy!” Frost yelled, but the golden-haired German Shepherd never changed course.
Summer’s back hit the wall just as the dog reached her position. She screamed as the dog took a flying leap and knocked her down, twisting her sideways and onto her backside. She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, expecting the dog to take a chunk out of her face, but that wasn’t what happened.
A wet, slobbery tongue landed on her nose in a rapid-fire motion. She turned her head, trying to avoid the never-ending slobber maker. The dog’s focus went to her ear, leaving a smeared mess of goo, licking her earlobe in an upward motion.
“Ugh, gross! Someone get this dog off me!”
A scarred hand came into view and snatched the dog’s collar made of chain links, yanking the animal up and away in a blur of matted hair.
Summer rolled to her side, then pressed to her feet, wiping the drool from her cheeks, nose, and ear. It felt like she’d just taken an hour-long spit shower.
The animal’s front legs were off the ground when Frost yelled at it with his face only inches away. “God damn it! I told you to stop!”