Page 130 of Price of Angels

“Now, I don’t know any of the backstory,” Ghost continued. “But I get the impression Holly wasn’t…allowedto leave home.”

Michael nodded in response to the look directed his way.

“Jessup found out she’s in Knoxville, and he wants her back. He wants us tohand her overto him.”

A beat, as they absorbed the idea, tasted its vileness.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Mercy said brightly. “How ‘bout we gut those retards like deer, and then nobody has to worry about any of this ever again.”

“You need a hand with that, brother?” Candyman asked. “I brought my good knife, just in case.”

Mercy smiled at him. “I’ll do one, you do the other?”

“Hey,” Ghost said, drawing them back in. “Pay attention, shitheads. There’s a problem with that idea.”

Mercy’s black brows went up.

“Shaman.”

The big Cajun shrugged and made an unimpressed face. “We keep talking about him, but who the hell is he? What does he want? We’re gonna let Collier’s prison rumors and the word of a couple jackoffs have some kinda sway over us? Tell Shaman to ‘bring it’ and see what happens.”

“Awful cocky for someone having a coronary over a brick,” Ghost shot back, quieting him.

Mercy frowned. “You were upset about that brick, too.”

“Yeah, I was. So maybe we oughta find out if Shaman’s capable of throwing semi trucks through windows before we piss him off too bad, hmm?”

He turned to Ratchet. “What did you dig up?”

The overhead lamp glinted off the secretary’s shaved head as he consulted his zippered folder. His “Trapper Keeper” Dublin called it with a smile. He shrugged. “Not a lot, actually. From what I got from the chatrooms–”

“There’s chatrooms?” Aidan asked, incredulous.

“Oh, yeah.” Ratchet glanced down the table at him with comical sincerity. “There’s this one, Outlaw Town–”

“Jesus,” Walsh said.

Tango laughed. “You’vegotto be shitting me.”

“That’s just the one for outlaws talking to outlaws. You should see some of the other ones. There’s this group called the Feminicks – it’s for women who want to talk about hooking up with bad boys. Bikers, gangsters, inmates–”

“Can wepleaseget on with this?” Ghost said.

“Right.” Ratchet shuffled through his printouts. “Nobody seems toknowanything about Shaman. There’s lots of fear, lots of rumors, lots of speculation, but from what I’ve seen, people are so afraid of him, they don’t want to talk too much or too long.”

“Nobody gets a reputation like that based on internet rumors,” Rottie said. “If people are scared of him – so scared they don’t want to gossip about him – there’s a reason for it.”

Ghost nodded in agreement. “Right. So that’s what we’re voting on. As it stands now, we’ve got two options. Go into the meeting with the guy, and try to make some kinda peace. Or…” He looked at Michael. “We give the girl back to her father.”

Michal bristled. “I won’t–”

“You won’t,” Ghost said in a quiet voice. “But I might.”

Utter silence. Cigarettes smoldered forgotten between fingers. The bulb in the lamp droned.

Briscoe said, “I didn’t know we used women for currency,” and Michael was grateful for the anger in his voice.

“You’re not serious,” RJ said, irregularly swollen brows trying to pull low.

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