“You bet I do. Don’t go anywhere.” The spectacled man traipsed off to the middle tent.
“Really, you want to shop—now? We’re supposed to get the beans and rice. And look for Zac,” Justin chided.
“Son, you’re absolutely right.” Dean deliberated over telling Justin about their predicament. The kid was already nervous enough for the both of them. And Dean needed to know whom Krasinski would follow. “How’s ’bout you get started on Luther’s list? I’ll catch up with you at the blue tent.” He handed him the list from his pocket.
“Whatev.” Justin snatched the list and stomped off.
Dean perused the pages of a gardening book and waited to see what Krasinski did next. Sure enough, he followed Justin. I was afraid of that.
Dean headed out the tent when the vendor called out, “You’re in luck. Here’s a collector’s edition of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.” The spectacled man handed him the well-read hardcover based on its tattered binding.
With no time to haggle over the price, Dean asked, “What’s the going rate for a Mark Twain classic?”
The clerk regarded him shrewdly. “That gardening book you were looking at—that would set you back a good hundred LSCs. Aw, but not many reader types left on the prairie. I’ll let it go for forty-five LSCs.”
Dean kept an eye on Justin, who had stopped at a peanut butter stand two tents down. Krasinski dawdled outside a display of fancy umbrellas, pretending to shop. “Hate to wheedle you down. Must be tough trying to make an honest living. But a man’s got to eat. I’ll take it for thirty,” Dean said firmly.
“Sold!” The man slipped the book into a clear plastic bag.
He held out his hand for the scan. “Thank you, kindly.” Dean would have enjoyed chatting about the good ole days since they looked to be close to the same age.
He stepped into the noon-day sun, adjusted his new hat, and spotted Krasinski’s blue checkered shirt. Perfect timing. Justin pushed his cart down the busy aisle of street fair vendors. Krasinski followed. Dean abandoned his cart and fell into step, keeping a two-tent distance behind Krasinski.
When Justin went into the dried goods tent, Krasinski hung back. Dean moseyed into the tent, feigning interest in his latest purchase. Once inside, he hurried to Justin.
“There you are.” Justin eyed him anxiously. “I can’t read Luther’s writing. Is this a twenty or a thirty?” He held up the crinkled list.
“At these prices, better make it twenty pounds.” Dean started stacking five-pound burlap bags of rice into Justin’s cart.
“Luther wants red beans and black beans,” Justin fretted, going through the bags. “All I see are pintos.”
“It’ll have to do.” Dean haphazardly chucked bags of beans into the cart. “Let’s get going.”
“So, now you’re in a hurry?” Justin nattered.
Dean shoved the cart toward the register.
“Wait, we can’t forget the dehydrated onions and garlic. And flour, cornmeal . . .”
Dean held his tongue and followed Justin to the bulk bins. A nagging curiosity got the better of him. “Meet me up front.” He hurried to the nut stand near the entrance, half expecting a team of Enforcers.
According to Zac, Justin had a hefty price tag on his head. If Krasinski had changed career paths, as in bounty hunter, the proverbial shit was about to hit the fan. He studied the exits. Ready. Although, they wouldn’t get far with the tight security.
“Thanks for helping,” Justin spouted when he met up with him. “I spent the rest of my LSCs. And we still have to buy meat.”
Luther would be none too pleased if they returned without meat. “Say—” Dean suddenly remembered the two grams of gold Luther had given him. He discreetly showed Justin the gold. “Where’s the meat vendor?”
“Awesomeness! Probably down the next row of pop-up tents. This way.” Justin took off with the cart.
Dean hustled to keep up with him. “By the way, thanks for the hat.” He was already used to it.
“Sure. It’s hard to imagine you without one,” Justin ribbed.
They darted through the fast-growing crowd of looky-loos, passing booths selling clocks and watches, camping equipment, clothing, and all sorts of knick-knacks, doodads, and gizmos. They finally reached Uncle Buck’s Smoked Meats. While waiting in the long line, Dean caught a glimpse of a man in a checkered blue shirt loitering outside a garden supply tent. If there had been any doubt about Krasinski, his suspicions were now confirmed.
The market had turned into a zoo with folks strolling around dressed to the hilt, followed by their personal team of bodyguards. Zhetts stared in awe and whispered amongst themselves. With all the commotion, Dean decided it was time to spill the beans, figuring Justin’s surprised response would be associated with the Elites. “Justin,” Dean whispered, “keep your cool. Krasinski’s tailing us.”
“Holy shit!” Justin gasped. “Did you talk to him?”
“Naw, I want to see what he’s up to.”
“What do you think he wants?” Justin fidgeted with the cart. Thanks to the gold, they had purchased several pounds of smoked meats.
“Not so sure,” Dean said. “The fact that Krasinski didn’t say hello speaks louder than words.” They had walked full circle, back to the food trucks with no sign of Zac. It wasn’t looking good.
Wanting to hang around a little longer for Zac, Dean asked, “How’s ’bout we sit a spell and eat?”
“What about you-know-who?” Justin arched his brows knowingly.
“I’ve been pondering that as well. He hasn’t sicced Enforcers on us. Indicating,” Dean speculated, “he wants the whole kit and caboodle, not just you.”
Justin smirked. “Ah, he thinks we’ll lead him to our hangout. To collect the rewards for Ella and Twila as well.”
“Why not enjoy a meal
