Bronco scowls darkly. “Are you saying you think they left?”
“I don’t know. Roadrunner probably did. Gak, maybe not. But he won’t show up in the middle of the night to a possible ambush. Roadrunner, though, is likely making decent cash back in Cleveland.”
“So, Gak is a fucking moron that’s still hanging around?” Bronco asks.
“Gak was an addict. Meth mostly. He might have gotten clean, but I doubt it. Back when I ran with them, he was always blowing through money. That meant he was in a constant state of panic over not having the cash to pay for his next fix. A guy like that would be willing to play along with Marks. However, a guy like that might also kill Marks and steal the shithead’s wallet before blowing town. Gak doesn’t care about revenge. He cares about getting his next fix. I’m not sure what Roadrunner cares about, but he isn’t suicidal.”
“I’m thinking of hitting the Village tonight,” Bronco says, lowering his voice. “Sneak onto the compound and set off the fireworks again. I figure we can get to where Marks is holed up and off him along with any others in our way.”
“Maybe the Killing Joes didn’t need to travel to the Village because they were already there,” I suggest and then decide to fess up my theory. “I think we should also assume two other guys from the Killing Joes might be around. Gak was tight with two assholes named Cole. If they’re alive, he’ll bring them to Elko.”
Lowell narrows his eyes. “But you said Gak wanted money. Sharing with three other assholes means less for him.”
“Gak and the Coles go back to childhood. Where Dumb goes, Dumber One and Dumber Two usually go, too. It doesn’t have to make sense.”
“But you think Roadrunner left?”
“I would. They came here probably thinking the Village was a doomsday cult with lots of guns and warm bodies to fire them. They could lead those assholes into war with us. All the money and power could be theirs. Except Marks has an army of starving people. Worse, there’s no money. If I saw that setup and then saw this club, I wouldn’t stick around. Well, I mean, the current-me wouldn’t stick around. When I was an addict, I would definitely follow Roadrunner down here. Then, when he went for a cigarette break and never came back, I would remain with the shitheads I knew. That’s how addicts think. We’ll sink with a ship rather than make a big move.”
Bronco sighs. “I’m fucking paralyzed. That’s how it feels. I know what I want to do. Then, I think about Conor’s big ideas and start believing I ought to play shit smart. Then, I think of me catching a bullet and leaving Lana with four kids in a town she barely knows.” Lowering his voice, he adds, “I’ve lost my edge.”
“What do you want to do?” I ask, sensing Lowell already knows the answer.
“I want what the younger version of me would want. None of this big-picture shit. I tried starving the Village. Yeah, it put pressure on them. But, mostly, the blockade is killing people like that little boy,” he says, gesturing toward Future. “I bet Marks hasn’t felt his stomach growl once these last few months. Now, he’s brought in the Killing Joes. If I had stormed the Village back in July, we wouldn’t be wasting time worrying about the inner workings of a man named Gak.”
Lowell gulps down half his beer and shrugs. “It’s easy to think all that now. But if you did what Wyatt was pushing for, innocent people would have died. Maybe not only Volkshalberd, either.”
Edgy now, I imagine Pixie and her family suffering through an attack on the Village. My gaze flickers to Fairuza with a handful of flowers she picked from a nearby bush. She slides one above Sidone’s right ear and then Desi’s. The girls smile at each other and then giggle when Fairuza puts a flower in Future’s hair.
This moment might not have happened if Bronco went into the Village guns blazing months ago. We didn’t even know about Marks yet. He might have been anywhere during the night we attacked. Even out of town. But my people would have suffered.
“You did the right thing,” I state. “You gave the Village a chance to rise up against Marks. And a chance for him to back down. Without knowing about Marks and the Killing Joes, you’d be rolling in blind. Easier to catch a bullet when you don’t know one might be headed your way. I’m glad you waited.”
Bronco’s dark eyes study my face. After a long minute, he nods. I don’t know if he respects my opinion or just appreciates me saying he made a good choice. Either way, I savor his approval.
PIXIE
Located at the center of the Woodlands community is a large building called a clubhouse. Before we arrive, Topanga explains how the indoor pool and play area are good for when the cold weather makes the little ones act batty. Thinking of that pool, I imagine Dove upstairs with Summer. Earlier, she told me how Bronco’s oldest daughter said she didn’t have to act like anyone else.
“I can just be me,” Dove whispered, looking flustered. “I’m glad because I don’t understand anything she talks about. Or how she had her friends on the computer. I just heard voices and thought she was talking with a television.”
This new world overwhelms my sister. Mama also seems overly agitated about the smallest things. We know enough not to be complete simpletons, but we’re less certain about how things work.
Mama decides she doesn’t want to come to the party. I
