Page 29 of Otto: The Hawthornes

The group nodded, almost as one. It went without saying. I couldn’t remember a single time when we’d had a member or someone’s family in the hospital without at least a couple Aces in the waiting room standing vigil.

“That said,” my grandpa chimed in gruffly. “We ain’t sittin’ around waitin’ for him to wake up and start talkin’. Someone had the balls to hijack one of our shipments and we need to find out who it wasyesterday. You got any ideas, you come to me, and we’ll check it out. Put your ears to the ground, check in with your contacts, rack your brains.”

“Any questions?” my dad asked, looking around the group. No one spoke up. “Good.” He started to walk away and then paused. “Be a good idea for you to call your women. No need to get them riled up, but tell ’em to keep their eyes open. Doors locked. No unnecessary trips into town. You know the drill.”

He strode toward us, scowling, and I sat up straighter in my seat.

“The fuck?” Rumi asked as he reached us.

“Got no fuckin’ clue,” Dad replied tiredly, snatching a chair from the table next to us and spinning it around so he could sit on it backward. “Whoever did this shit has nuts the size of cantaloupes.”

“You think we’ll find out who it was?”

Dad smiled at me and reached out to scrub his hand over the top of my head like I was ten years old. “Just a matter of time, bud.”

“Hopefully not too much time, or those guns will be gone,” Mick muttered.

“Can’t sell ’em,” Brody mused, tapping his knuckles against the table. “There’s no way they could do it quietly enough that we wouldn’t find out—not around here anyway.”

“And takin’ them across state lines would be a definite fuckin’ gamble,” Rumi said, nodding.

“So why would they take ’em?” Micky asked.

“For themselves?” I said, feeling oddly nervous to put in my two cents. I’d been a patched-in member for a minute, but it still felt weird to offer an opinion on anything. I was always waitingfor them to tell me to shut the fuck up and go clean the bathroom or something.

“That’s somethin’ to think about,” my dad replied. “Who’s got balls that big and would be willin’ to fuck with us in order to get a shipment—”

“And who wouldn’t have the cash to just fuckin’ buy it from us and would risk stealin’ it,” Rumi added.

They volleyed ideas back and forth, thinking of groups and discarding them as suspects for one reason or another. An hour later, they’d come to the conclusion that it was either a group of survivalists that had a compound down near Sutherlin or a religious group closer to home.

I clenched my jaw as they spoke, thinking itcouldn’tbe the same church that Esther belonged to. It was too fucking coincidental.

“I’ve had a couple of run-ins with them,” Brody said, shaking his head. “Pompous fucks. The guys I met would shit their pants and look you straight in the eye and tell you God told them to do it.” He laughed. “They’d believe it, too. Drinking the motherfuckin’ Kool-Aid around there.”

“I haven’t met any of ’em,” Mick said. “Except for the ones we’d see around school.” He looked at Rumi. “What was that kid’s name? Brown hair. Tall and skinny. Eric?”

“Nah, that wasn’t it,” Rumi said. “Somethin’ biblical. They’re all named after somethin’ biblical.”

“Ephraim?” I asked, my throat tight.

“That’s it,” Rumi replied, pointing at me. “It was Ephraim.”

Fuck. Me.

“That kid seemed alright,” Mick mused. “Quiet though. Like he couldn’t be bothered to make any friends or interact with anyone outside their little church group.”

“Their parents ruled with an iron fist,” Rumi added. “Remember that time we saw his pop reach back in their car and slug him in the face?”

My guts twisted.

“Not easy to forget,” Mick replied dryly. “Never really saw his mom, though.”

“Not surprising. The girls at school practically faded into the paint on the walls. Mousy as shit. I doubt they’re allowed to have an opinion on anythin’.”

I almost said something, then. Mousy,my ass. Esther wasn’t mousy. Esther was fucking gorgeous and she didn’t need all the make up and shit that most girls wore.

“Call themselves the Sons of Calgary,” Rumi said, snapping his fingers happily. “Calgary Church down by the highway.”

---