Page 15 of Mad Max

“Good for you.”

I don’t feel deterred at his bark as he adjusts in his seat and just looks pissed to be here. “It came in a very pretty black design, and I had to trace the company that made the envelopes on the web. I didn’t realize you had an account with the company.”

I pique his interest as he realizes I’m referring to his old email. “You buy anything off it?”

“No, just looked at the envelopes. Wanted to see if I could find that one only.”

“You find it?”

I’m not used to talking in code, and I’m not really sure if what I’m saying is getting to him, so I try to put things in the right way to make him understand. “I had to ask the store owner. They said the specific envelope type is named candy and that it’s been… misplaced for several days now.”

He pulls back slowly as if I struck him. I think the move is more reflex than anything else. I doubt I could ever truly shock my uncle.

He eyes me, then looks around before finally shaking his head and cursing. “Fucking hell.” He runs his hand through his hair, and I just sit and wait. This reaction from him is equivalent to others screaming and shouting. He never curses in front of me, not when we’re alone like this.

“Is… is candy something you’ve purchased before? Is the store owner reputable?” I really wish I didn’t have to speak in code. I just want to know who this person is. It’s a piece of the puzzle that I don’t understand. How is Candy, or the group I’m calling Store Owner, connected to my uncle?

“A few times I’ve bought from them, but usually it’s just letterhead. They have good penmanship.” He eyes me at the last word. He wants me to understand, and I think I do. This group only gave him intel before. Words for him to use when and where he wants to.

“I haven’t reached out to them in a long time. How did you hear about them?”

“Like I said, I got the letter. I think it was meant for you, but there was no direct name on it, just the addresses.”

He nods in understanding that I was just as surprised to be contacted by them as he is. “I don’t think you’ll get another letter from them. They must realize I’m no longer interested in their products.”

“They, um… they signed me up to receive their promotions. I might go back once the candy has been restocked, I think. They asked for me to check back in on the website in a few days if it’s not restocked.”

He presses his lips together firmly, forcing them out a bit and reminding me of a duck. He doesn’t like me being involved in whatever this is, but I see the wheels turning as he just sits there and thinks through what I said while looking me over. He knows me. Knows I can’t resist a puzzle, not really.

“Don’t you have your own office supplies? Wouldn’t they prefer you stuck to their brand of white envelopes?”

“They actually started making black ones on their own. They’re okay, but not as good quality as the other ones.” I really hope he gets what I’m saying. My client is already involved in what appears to be the same issue as the other group, but they lack the finer details.

“I see.”

God, I really hope so. This whole cryptic spy talk is harder than it looks on TV. Everything has too many different meanings.

He sits back in his chair and rubs his hand over his chin, gliding his fingers back and forth until they almost feel hypnotic.

I take the time to go over what I found out last night in my head. I’m more convinced than ever that these are from the same human trafficking ring. Each might have a different leader for their region, but they all have a connection to the buyers. I’ve dug through the intel, and it proves that the purchase locations are the borders, but the victims are picked up within each quadrant of the inner cities. Small towns get a few, but it’s the bigger cities that get the majority. Candy was taken from Oklahoma City.

I already know what Jimmy’s going to say. He’s going to warn me off this, as any regular uncle should do. Keep the harm away from their only niece. But I don’t want to stop. I might not be up to doing all the undercover spy things he did, but I want to be more involved than just doing the interviews. I got a taste for digging. It’s an emotion that’s new to me. The thought of it even has me licking my lips.

“How much digging did you do on this company?”

His words pull me back to him, and I see him studying me. I wonder how long he was watching me. Bet it was long enough to know what’s going on in my head. I might be a clinical genius, but nothing ever got past my uncle.

“A bit.”

“You going to reach out to other websites asking about these envelopes?”

I hesitate, not sure if I understand what he’s asking. I won’t be using the dark web, as I don’t really know how. I’m just sort of stumbling along.

“No.” He nods in agreement. “But”—he eyes me skeptically—“I will ask the store owner about them, and I might go looking for some in town.” Not going to lie to my uncle. He might not like what I do, but he deserves more than me hiding the truth.

“I never bought envelopes.” He looks me dead in the face, his eyes devoid of the little emotion he usually shows me. “Never wanted them, nor did I have anyone I worked with who did.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “But I heard of some who did.”

I nibble on my lip. I don’t think there’s a code for how to ask the next question without just asking outright. “Do you recommend one to talk to over another?”

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