Page 82 of Hellbent

That was a nice feature of the Audi A6.

Good trunk space.

She slammed the trunk shut, got in, and drove away. The snatch-and-grab had taken three seconds, maybe four.

Men were so easy.

They had a single lever. You just had to give it a tug.

* * *

Van Sciver and Thornhill pulled the armored Chevy Tahoe through the tall chain-link gate and parked alongside the humble single-story house. Weeds had overtaken the backyard, and a BBQ grill had tipped over, rusting into the earth.

Van Sciver got out, the sun shining through his fine copper hair, and rattled the gate shut on stubborn wheels, sealing them in. Thornhill opened the back door.

They started to unload the Tahoe.

Padlocks and plywood.

Nylon ropes and boards of various lengths.

A decline bench press and jugs of water.

Mattresses and drop cloths.

Rags and a turkey baster.

Duct tape and a folding metal chair.

Thornhill whistled a tune the entire time. Van Sciver wondered what it would take to wipe that permanent smile off the guy’s face.

When they finished, Van Sciver’s cheeks and throat had gone blotchy pink from exertion. His shirt clung to the yoke of his shoulders. He had an Eastern European peasant’s build—arms that barely tapered at the wrists, thighs stretching his cargo pants, a neck too thick to encircle with both hands. In another life he would’ve been a 60 gunner, hauling the massive, belt-fed pig for a platoon, a one-man artillery unit.

But this life was better.

He grabbed the last of the supplies, closed up the Chevy, and came inside.

Thornhill was doing handstand push-ups in what passed for the kitchen, his palms pressed to the peeling linoleum. The forks of his triceps could have cracked walnuts.

Van Sciver’s phone alerted. He juggled the items he was holding and picked up. “Code.”

“‘Potluck chiaroscuro,’” Candy said. “They’re getting arty on us.”

“Is the package in hand?”

“What do you think?”

“V.” He packed the syllable with impatience.

“Yes,” she said. “It is.”

He walked to the chipped counter. Set down a dog collar next to a galvanized bucket.

“Good,” he said. “We’re just getting ready.”

36

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