Page 40 of Deadly Force
He shows up twenty minutes later, one hand draped over the wheel, looking exactly like he did when I first met him six months ago: rumpled shirt, day-old stubble, eyes that have seen too many late nights at the tables.
"You finally going to Vegas?" he asks as I slide in.
"Not yet," I say, settling into vinyl seats worn smooth by countless rides like this. "But you'll be the first to know if I do."
Caleb gets in beside me, his presence filling the small space with something electric. Larry checks him out in the mirror. "You were at Brooke's last night."
Since it's a statement, Caleb just nods.
Larry pulls out without another word, weaving through the side streets like he's memorized all the potholes.
Half a block later, he mutters, "They're watching me. I swear, the casino changed the payout screen. Hit three sevens and the numbers glitched. Cut my total. They're rigging it. Clocking the regulars. It's a scam."
The words spill out like they've been building pressure for days.
Caleb doesn't respond right away. Just watches the blur of stucco and chain-link through the glass, calm and still as deep water. "Knew someone who thought that way too, man. Didn’t end well."
Larry says nothing, but his breathing changes and his eyes narrow slightly.
Caleb's voice stays even, but there's something sharp underneath. "His marriage disintegrated. He lost his job, his house. And his kids. One of his buddies found him dead in a sleazy motel. Shot by a loan shark who got tired of waiting."
The car goes quiet and it stays that way for the rest of the drive.
By the time we pull up outside the shop, Larry seems to be lost in his thoughts. He’s not the only one.
"You want me to wait around?" he asks me.
I shake my head, already reaching for the door. "We're good."
Caleb meets his gaze once in the mirror. "Thanks, man."
Larry barely meets his eye before he nods, then drives off without another word.
I stand there for a second, watching his taillights disappear down the block. "Was that all true? Or were you just trying to scare him straight?"
He stays quiet, head angled, eyes moving over me as if I were a manual he intends to read cover to cover.
"You think I’d lie about something like that?"
Heat creeps up my neck. "I didn’t mean to offend you."
He glances over, one brow raised. “You didn’t.”He pauses. “His name was Trent. He ran comms. Cool under fire. Lost in the noise when we came home. Died in Atlantic City three years ago. Didn’t even make thirty.”
He doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch, but he looks away, back to the shop as though it makes it easier to shift gears.
Back to the job. Not the ghosts.
He exhales once, then turns his full attention back to me, the vulnerability closing off like a door slamming shut.
“Stay close," he says quietly, "If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, I won’t hesitate to shoot them," he says.
TEN
Caleb
Staying half a step behind Brooke, we move through the open bay, where welding sparks flash from a back corner. Someone curses over the low country music playing from an old radio—just loud enough to cover footsteps or the sound of trouble walking in.
Eyes track us as guys pretend not to look while making sure we're seen. Nothing says "legitimate business" quite like a shop full of mechanics who've suddenly developed an interest in the ceiling.
