Page 152 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

“Not at all the same,” I respond.

“Yeah, okay. Probably better that you have the gun.” Ten flexes his big hands. A fine tremor runs through them. “I’m outta my routine. Meds don’t work as well when I’m off my schedule.”

I nod.

Ten turns back around and says to Myles, “That’s not what I meant. I wanna be involved in her recovery.”

Myles dips his head without turning his face away from the street. “Even if it involves a lot of caregiving?”

Ten grunts. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Myles says. “We can’t sit here for too long without one of the neighbors noticing the strange car. C, you’re with me. We’re going to take a walk and scope out the house’s security. D, you and A drive around a little. Stay off the interstate if you can. Less chance of the plate getting picked up.”

“Ready,” Max confirms, pulling on a coat and slinging a bag across his chest.

I take the wheel since Ten is still eating. Driving up along the river, we pass signs for a country club, which is probably the draw for the houses nearby, along with the river. Maine’s beautiful in a severe way: all stark contrasts with the white ground, barren trees, and pale blue sky.

Ten doesn’t say anything as I drive around. It’s not a strained silence but it’s not overly comfortable, either. By the time I’m headed back down Route 2 toward the house, Ten’s leaning against the window, eyes closed, mouth slightly open.

He probably hasn’t had much more sleep than Myles.

Max is waiting at the store advertising “western wear,” pretending to window-shop. When he climbs in, he directs me back toward Bangor.

“Myles wants surveillance from the other side of the river. Cross over at the first bridge you come to.”

“Right. What’s he doing?”

“Possibly breaking and entering,” Max says. “I’ve learned not to ask those sorts of questions. They only irritate him. The house’s security system is hard-wired. We can’t risk trying to disable it. The lack of connection might alert whatever security company it’s connected to. Hacking it and storming the house is definitely a plan of last resort.”

“Okay,” I say. “Maybe if he hires other paid company that’s the way in?”

“Could be simpler than that,” Max says. “There were take-out containers in the recycling. A lot of them. I don’t think he’s cooking for himself.”

“Haven’t seen any delivery drivers,” Ten says, although his eyes are still closed.

“He’s bored already,” I surmise. “He’s getting take-out, hiring girls to keep him company. Was there any sign of a problem with the girls?”

“No but he’s been burning something. Big oil drum in the back yard with fresh ash in it.”

I swear softly, wondering what evidence has gone up in flames. But maybe it doesn’t matter. This isn’t going to end in a prosecution. Still, there are other Wolfpack members I want to put away.

I drive up the far side of the river and help Max take the surveillance videos Myles wants. When we return, Myles meets us two streets away. He climbs into the back.

“What’s the plan?” I ask Myles.

“There were a lot of take-out containers in the bin. I’m hoping he leaves the house to get dinner. I say we do it tonight. Sunset is at four. I want to do this in the dark if we can. Nice wrap-around porch. We tranq him as soon as he locks the front door. Anyone opposed?”

I shake my head and see Ten do the same out of the corner of my eye.

“That’s the plan. D, you’re on the north side of the porch. I’ll take the south. A, you’re driving the car. C, you’re back up.”

We all agree. Myles slips back out of the car to take the first two-hour shift watching the house. I drive around some more so Ten and Max can nap without someone calling us in as vagrants. Ten takes the next shift; the tremor in his hands is markedly worse when he returns and I’m glad we’re not counting on his aim. I take the third shift, by which time the girls have left in oneof the cars. Ten reports they don’t look any worse for wear when we hand-off, so that’s one less thing to worry about.

Twilight comes early this far north and darkness follows quickly, cold and bitter. There are a few streetlights carving small, yellow circles in the blackness but it’s fucking dark out here, far away from the cities. Once the street is blanketed in blackness, Myles pulls us all back to the SUV and Ten’s truck and gives the go-ahead to move them close to the house. There aren’t any lights on in the house closest to Drew’s, which is a typical New England salt box while Drew’s house looks like a mutated barn. Drew’s place has sprouted a two-story addition at the back. A wrap-around porch has been slapped incongruously around the front and sides.

The car grows cold but Myles says it’s too conspicuous to leave the motor running. The exhaust will plume in the night air. I’m grateful for my parka and a sleeping bag that Max breaks out to spread across our legs. He’s on a tablet, the screen black with white code running across it, barely illuminating his chin. Otherwise, there are no lights and barely any sound other than the wind rattling the bare-branched trees.

“Signal out,” Max whispers. “I think he’s making a phone call.”

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