“She’s relying on you to stop these things.” He wouldn’t look at me. “You’re the guy who handles this stuff, right? That’s what Wally said, anyway. Jasmin—my daughter—needs you to clean this mess up, okay?”
I almost laughed at myself. Had I really expected him to apologize? Shame washed over me like a wave. Arne didn’t give a damn about my hurt feelings; he had more important things to think about.
So did I. “Okay,” I answered. He vanished.
And so did I, in a way. My fears, my guilt over the crimes I committed in Washaway, my desire to do the right thing, whatever that was, all seemed to shrink down so small that I couldn’t even tell they were there.
Arne’s clarity had copied itself onto me. Wally was here, along with all my remaining friends, and best of all, they’d brought their predators with them. It was as if they’d gathered together in one place as a gift, to give me another chance to murder them all.
There was a scuff of dirt to my left; Arne was circling the building.
I crept toward the back corner. The radio and workbench should have been just on the other side of that wall, along with the line of stolen cars.
I took out my ghost knife and cut a horizontal stroke across the sheet metal an inch above the ground and again two feet higher. Then I sliced two vertical lines and caught the panel gently as it fell to me.
I ducked low and eased myself inside, nearly hitting my head on the rear bumper of a black Lexus LX 570. I stayed low, creeping along the bumper toward the bench. The red circle was a few feet from the front fender, just ahead on my left.
People were talking. I raised my head to peer through the Lexus’s windshield. The driver’s-side window was busted, and I caught the faint, nasty stink of old cigarette smoke.
Wally stood in the center of the room, facing away from me. The red circle was several yards to his left. Fidel, Summer, and Ty all faced him. Any of them could have seen my silhouette just by glancing over at me, but they were too focused on Wally.
The high, metal ceiling created muffling echoes; I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it sounded as though Fidel and Ty were trying to convince Wally that they could be useful to him. Wally’s answers were mild, and the others seemed to find them frustrating.
I backed away from the window and bumped against the bench. Jars behind me rattled like wind chimes, and I dropped to the concrete floor.
The Lexus had a high clearance, but the car beside it was a Dodge Viper. A pair of black sneakers—Summer’s, I was sure—moved toward me, then stopped. If she took a few paces to her right, she would see me.
After five long seconds, Fidel spat out a string of curses, and she went back to the others.
I eased into a crouch and turned around. A disordered row of mason jars stood on the long, pressure-board table. I took two of them, choosing ones that were empty and had lids. Then I set them carefully on the concrete.
I edged a little higher, peeking into the Lexus. There, in the cup holder behind the gearshift, was a Bic lighter.
I wanted it, but there was no way to open the door and get it without everyone hearing. And although the window was already broken, the lighter was out of reach. I was going to have to lean in with my whole head and shoulders.
Summer and Ty were focused on Wally, but I could see their faces. If I made too big a movement, I’d catch their attention, and I wasn’t ready for that. I crouched down, unsure what to do.
“You’re being ridiculous!” Wally suddenly said in a loud, clear voice. “I can see you, you know.”
My hands immediately went to Arne’s gun in my waistband and my ghost knife. But it was Arne who spoke next. “So you can. So what? You’re still an asshole.”
I peeked through the SUV’s windshield again. Arne was standing by the doorway, and everyone had turned their backs to me to face him.
I lunged through the open window, grabbed the lighter, and ducked out of sight again. No one yelled out my name or shouted “What was that!” I snatched a rag off the floor, grabbed both jars, and scurried behind the Lexus.
Arne stood in the sunlight, talking shit at Wally. The urge to stop what I was doing and listen was strong. It was stupid, too, so I ignored it.
The underside of the Lexus had skid plates on it, for reasons known only to the idiot who’d bought them, and I couldn’t remember where the gas tank was. Beside it, the Viper was too low to the ground to fit the large jars beneath it comfortably. The third vehicle was a silver Audi A8. I unscrewed the lids and set them aside, then crawled under it. At the other end of the building, Arne talked a fast patter of insult and abuse at Wally, who only laughed in response.
With my ghost knife, I cut the corner of the Audi’s tank. Gas streamed into a jar. The noise seemed unbearably loud to me, but Arne raised his voice, seemingly in anger.
Damn. He was holding their attention. He was acting as my wooden man.
It didn’t take long for the first jar to fill. I swapped it for the second, then used my ghost knife to cut a small gap in the metal lids. I slashed the rag in half and began stuffing the pieces into the gap.
The gasoline slowed to a trickle and ran out when the second jar was two-thirds full. The tank had less than half a gallon in it. Arne must have drained the tanks after stashing the vehicles here. I screwed on the lids.
I was still afraid. I hated to admit it, but I was. But Arne was running out of time, too, and I couldn’t let Wally kill him, not outside the circle. I set jars beside one another so the rags would touch, then I lit them.
“For God’s sake!” Arne yelled, his tirade getting louder. “You should have gone and gotten yourself laid, you stupid shit!”
I stood and threw the ghost knife.
