Page 127 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

He made a group chat that he was worried he might have to use more often than he’d ever planned and texted,I have no idea where they went,but given the state of politics right now,I’ve got a very bad feeling about this.

Jade:Fuck me. I’m calling K-Ski.

Galen:Oh dear God. I’m tracking his phone.

Lance:No, seriously, Ellery, what do you think they’re up to?

Ellery:You know, I think Jade has the right idea.

Jade:If they get into trouble, Ellery, we’ll need you.

Ellery:I’d like to say no jury in the world would convict them but….

Jade:Yeah. Holy fuck, I thought there was more intelligence in this country.

Galen:As long as our significant others don’t add to the stupidity, I shall be content.

Lance:There’d better not be blood.

“JESUS, JACKSON,why are youalways bleeding!” Henry tried to fuss over Jackson’s knuckles as Jackson—piloting Jennifer—squealed away from the crime scene, erm, scene of the altercation, erm….

“Holy shit, boy,” Mike muttered, looking behind him, “what in the hell did you do?”

“Way more damage with that portable air compressor and those tools you brought me,” Jackson said happily. His knuckles stung, and one of his assailants, erm, victims who’d caught him behind the trucks as he’d worked, had managed a solid clock to his jaw, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins—throughallof their veins—was way better than that bitter, acidic syrup of despair that had overwhelmed the four of them while being gobsmacked by the state of politics on television.

“I haven’t had that much fun since I did coke,” John said with some satisfaction. “I mean, apart from Galen, and running the business and being Uncle John to all those screaming toddlers… but, you know. Delinquency. It’s a rush!”

“Oh God,” Henry muttered, trying not to laugh. Lance’s old boss was a helluva nice guy for a porn mogul, but seriously.

“John,” Jackson said, sounding pleasant. “If we get pulled over by the police, don’t speak.”

John cackled, and Jackson wondered if he’d heard those words before.

“Seriously,” Mike said, smacking his ballcap—thank God he leaned toward his home sports teams now and not the hated red hat he’d recently burned in protest. “You three worked mighty fast. I’m most impressed.”

“The trick,” Jackson said, spotting the wrecks in his rearview mirror just before they rounded the corner that would get them away from the, uhm, incident, “was to figure out which truck was leaving that lot first and taking it apart thoroughly. Everything else was just physics.”

John cackled some more. “My favorite class!”

Mike stared at him. “Boy, are you still high?”

“I’ve been sober four years,” John said indignantly, and then he deflated a little. “But you know, Ididdo a whole lot of coke for a long time—maybe this is a flashback.”

“I’m so gonna tell Galen on you.” Henry’s laugh was a little strained, but if Jackson knew his boy—and at this point, he and Henry had been through enough shit that he did—Jackson figured he was riding his own adrenaline high. “But I haven’t had that much fun since me and Mal went out and tipped cows!”

“That’s a myth,” Mike—who had grown up in rural West Virginia and would know—protested. “You can’t tip cows over!”

“Tell that to the multiple fractures in my leg,” Henry grumbled. Then he added, “But the cow was on a hill, and I think Mal had dumped a shit-ton of beer into its feed before we went out to try.”

Jackson—who had heard this story—grimaced. “You went out and tipped a drunk cow onto your leg,” he said. “And I trust you with my life why?”

“Jackson,” Henry said with patience as Jackson tore through the midnight-quiet streets of the city, “do you have any idea what you just got us to do? There has got to be felony mischief and destruction of property charges waiting for all of us if we get caught.”

At that moment,everybody’sphone buzzed.

Jackson couldn’t grab his—he was driving too fast as it was—but around him he heard a collective groan.

“What?” he asked. “What is it?”

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