Page 59 of Her Wolf

Sock and Buskin

“Buenos dias, jefe.”

Kane sat up in his bed amid a creak of springs. He’d been staring at the ceiling, waiting for nine o clock so he could call Captain Fredericks and find out what the hell his problem was.

He swung his legs over the bed, raking fingers through his hair as he sat on the chair and nudged the laptop to face him.

Sound waves bounced over the laptop’s screen.

“Nah, I’m awake.”

Duncan. English.

Hispanic male, age 35-40, smoker

The guy from Zachary West’s safe house. One of his cartel members. High enough in rank to have direct access to the capo. Kane shook a cigarette free from the box and lit it as he turned up the laptop’s volume.

“When, tonight?”

God, this was infuriating. What was Zachary telling him?

Kane flipped open his notepad, dragging hard on his cigarette as he held his pencil poised to write.

“Yeah, I know it. It’s just off the interstate, ain’t it?”

Kane scribbled into his notebook.

“I’ll go over there soon as they open and pick something out. Should I get something specific?”

What the hell were they talking about? Kane’s hand trembled as he waited for Duncan to speak again.

“Well, if it’s Day of the Dead, would a skull work? Anything? Gotcha.”

It had to be a code. A pretty fucking good one, too. Luckily this was all recorded. He could go back once this call had ended and try and decipher their conversation.

“I’ll see what they have.”

Another hard drag. Kane found a half-empty can and drained it.

“Six-thirty. Got it. You expecting trouble?”

Kane drew a dot, and spiraled outward in concentric circles as he waited for something significant to be said.

He’d replaced the listening device with a fresh one a few days ago. It was sound activated, so it didn’t spend the entire day recording. But he might have to replace the battery sometime today.

It sounded like Duncan had an errand to run, which meant Kane could look around the safe house if Duncan would not be there.

“ECV? Whose party?”

Duncan laughed.

“That chica’s only twenty? Fuck, what were they thinking when they made her capo?”

Kane’s pencil stopped.

“Got it, jefe. See you tonight.”

The shark-tooth wave forms on his laptop’s monitor flat-lined. Kane waited, hoping Duncan would mutter, but that never happened. A few household sounds loud enough to activate the listening device — the slam of a trash can lid, a thump like someone stamping their feet in their boots, the squeal of a window being closed — and then quiet.

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