“Bit of a hot head, ain’t he? His father was too, at one point, or so I’ve been told,” Bryant said. “Anyhow, this crew has been trolling aquariums all over the states, especially those housing seals and sea lions.”
“Why?”
“You tell me,” Bryant said.
“What does that have to do with aquariums and seals?” Garrett asked.
Bryant leaned in his chair. He tapped the side of his head questioningly. “You don’t know?”
“Why would I care about seals?” Garrett said.
He scrolled through more pictures.
Each had a combination of Lenny, the preppy kid, the chaperone, the pretty black girl, and a few others he didn’t recognize. Every picture had been taken near some sort of an aquarium with seals in the background.
The last picture showed Garrett; his back to the Hammerhead tank as Lenny rushed at him. Garrett used his fingers to zoom in on the picture in the hope the camera had captured the shark-man’s image. Poor lighting did not allow him to see much of anything outside the front of the tank, let alone penetrate the dark acrylic pane.
“You can see I’ve been tracking them awhile now,” Bryant said. “I have photos of them at all kinds of aquariums across the U.S. starting in Boston and making their way southwest. They’ve been pretty harmless, up until yesterday afternoon in Chicago…but you already know that.”
Garrett could feel the marshal watching him, waiting to pick up on any nonverbal cues he may give off. Why am I here? What does he think I have to do with all this? He resumed scrolling the pictures.
“I can’t figure out who the ringleader is of their gang,” Bryant said. “Lenny, or Oscar Collins, the one you said looks preppy. We don’t know what they’re after, but they’ve hit all the big eastern U.S. aquariums and started moving on to others. They don’t move in any sort of pattern either, which is odd for a group of their kind,” he added with a hint of frustration.
Their kind?
Bryant gave a long sigh. “I can’t figure it out and thought you might be able to shed some light on it since ya’ll know each other.”
“I don’t know them,” Garrett repeated for the umpteenth time. “I already told you that.”
“I know that’s what you told me. Doesn’t seem like I’m going to get much more out of you than what I already have. Lucky for me, I—”
The door rattled from someone knocking on the opposite side.
Bryant left the table to open the door. “Stupid, fat sheriff.”
Garrett looked down at a picture of Lenny watching a seal swim. Why is he smiling in this picture?
Bryant unlocked the door. “Sheriff, I told you, I didn’t want—”
Garrett heard a loud popping sound, followed by a thump.
“Everybody say night-night to the Silksteala…”
Garrett stood from his chair. He turned around.
The marshal lay still on the floor.
A heavyset girl and a blond-haired teenager stood in the front of the doorway, barring Garrett’s exit. In front of them stood Lenny Dolan, a gun in his hand.
“You…” Garrett whispered.
Lenny shot him in the chest.
LENNY
The young Orcinian slumped to the floor, unconscious betrayal in his eyes.
Lenny pocketed his tranq gun. “Let’s move. Elle, get the Orc. Racer, take the Silksteala. Gotta keep movin’ for this to work.”
Racer knelt beside the Silkstealer’s body, rolled him to his stomach, patted him down. He found a wallet, looked at the ID. “U.S. Marshal David Bryant…” Racer tossed it aside. “Guess the Silkstealer has a name.”
Not for long, he won’t. Lenny turned his attention to Garrett Weaver. His plan had seemed so simple when he considered Garrett just a number in an unfair equation. Now he stared that number in the face and it had a name. A family Lenny meant to steal him away from.
It’s the right call, Len. Pop would do the same. He tried to convince himself. The lie tasted bitter. Pop woulda’ found a way to help them all.
“Hmm…that’s strange,” said Racer.
“What?”
Racer tugged down on the back of the Silkstealer’s jacket. “He’s not Salted. No suit.”
He’s not Salted, but his two deputies are…who is this guy?
“How can he know of our world if he hasn’t been Salted?” Racer asked.
“Don’t have time to worry about it now,” said Lenny. “We gotta get outta here before Oscar finishes his job.”
Lenny heard Ellie grunt. She struggled to lift Garrett.
“Ugh,” she said. “This kid sure is heavy.”
“He’s an Orc,” said Lenny. “Just be glad ya can lift him at all. If he’d made a full change before there’s no way any of us could move him.”
Ellie pushed Garrett to a sitting position and wrapped her arms under his armpits. Inching her hips under her, she lifted him onto her shoulder, grunting all the way, until Garrett’s upper torso hung flat against her backside. Her face turned a violent shade of red as she used the table for leverage, and struggled to her feet. She blew hot air, locked her knees. “Got him.”
“Head out.” said Lenny. “Racer and I’ll follow with the Silksteala.”
Ellie nodded, then staggered out the door.
Lenny watched her go. A whimper came from behind him. He turned. “Whatsamatta?”
“I-I don’t know…” said Racer.
“Pup, ya just said outside ya wanted this.”
“I know. But now…now it’s real. What will happen if we…if we do this…that’s real. I can’t ever take it back.”
Lenny grimaced. “No, ya can’t. So make up ya mind ‘cause right now’s the only shot ya got at gettin’ out.”
“I-I don’t know if I-I can do this…”
Lenny smacked his cheek. “Ya can. Now man up. Ya can’t stay a pup foreva.”
“But, L-Len…it’s, it’s not right—none of this is right. We’re sl-slaving people.”
“Lemme tell ya something. People get slaved no matta what ya want. Only question is whattaya gonna do about it? Ya gotta take care of ya’self in this world. Nobody else will. So make ya decision and make it fast.”
“W-what about you.”
“I’m a Dolan, pup.”
Racer rubbed the snot from his nose. Sniffed back the rest. “I’ll do it.”
“Kay,” said Lenny. “Get his arms, I’ll lift his legs.”
Lenny picked up the Silkstealer’s feet and shuffled backward through the open door. He watched the human hammock sway back and forth as Racer pushed faster down the hall. Beads of sweat broke out across Lenny’s forehead.
“Door,” said Racer.
Lenny didn’t stop. He backed against it, popping it open. Dusk had been overtaken by night since first they went in. Lenny thanked the Ancients for it.
“Psst! Get over here!” Ellie said, crouched behind a cop car, still holding tight to Garrett’s body.
“Elle, whattaya—”
“Hurry!” She waved them over. “Police!”
Both catchers dropped to the ground. They crawled for the car, dragging the Silkstealer’s body with them. Ellie grabbed the lapels of his jacket as they neared and helped pull the rest of the way.
Lenny thunked his head against the side door. Had they been a second later the approaching car would have bathed them in headlights. He leaned down to look beneath the vehicle.
The officer parked next to them. Lenny assumed the window must be down else he would not have been able to overhear the radio chatter.
“You here yet, Campbell?”
“Just pulled in, Sheriff.”
“Well, get in here quick and double time. Something about these fellas stinks to high Hades. Got Murphy chattin’ up one of them now so I could slip away. Guy gives all the right answers, but I swear there’s something…fishy…about him.”
“Copy that. On my way.”
A car door slammed. Lenny heard keys jangling and the cr
eaking of a leather belt as the officer ran inside.
Racer stood. Lenny jerked him back down. “Stop.” He mouthed. “Wait.”
They stayed that way for what felt like an hour before Lenny released the pup. He felt his earrings vibrate. Light shone through them and reflected off the car. Lenny clapped his ears to strike it out.
Lenny, Oscar’s voice echoed in his head. We’re just outside the main hall. Henry says we need backup, now. I tend to disagree, seeing as they’re only Dryback, but he remains adamant.
Lenny thought through his plan a final time. I’ll be there, he said to Oscar. There’s anotha cop headed ova to ya. And if ya see one Selkie in there, I’ll bet his partna’s around too. Wait for me.
I don’t wait for you, Oscar said. I tell you. Get in here, now.
Aye, aye.
Lenny turned his attention to Ellie and Racer. “We hit a snag. The two of ya gotta go without me. That means…”
“No,” said Ellie solemnly. “No, it has to happen like you said. One of us…I’ll take your place.”
Lenny cursed. “Fine. Stick to the plan. I’ll hold ’em up as long as I can.”
Racer shook his head. “Lenny, I—”
“Man up.” Lenny clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll see ya on the other side.”
Lenny ran back into the jail before Racer could reply. Sprinting down the conference corridor, he reached to his ears to cover the flash as he spoke to his crewmates. Paulie, tell me what ya see.
Three Drybacks, plus the Selkie I took down. Drybacks seem antsy, especially the Sheriff. He looks ready to have a shootout. He’s cursing up a storm about how it’s his jail and he wants some answers.
Good, said Lenny, already hearing the sheriff’s voice. It’ll keep ’em distracted.
He reached the end of the hall and stopped at the corner. Lenny peeked around, into the processing area. The red-faced sheriff thundered on and on at the main desk, one of his officers at his side; the elder Selkie, Deputy Smith, stood behind the desk with another officer. The officers looked sternly ahead, following their sheriff’s lead. Deputy Smith gave an occasional nod, but otherwise seemed unconcerned, to Lenny’s mind.
You here yet, nipperkin?
Lenny sighed. I’m here, Oscar. Tryin’ to figure out what to do next.
Why? We should rush in of course. Four of them against four of us…well…three and a half of us. But Henry more than makes up the difference for you.
Lenny surveyed the room again. He saw another door to the left corner, far behind the processing desk. Ya back there, Bourgeois? He wondered. Is today the day ya get caught? He looked at the officers. That desk is at least fifteen yards away from ya. Now maybe ya can get there before they draw their guns, but maybe ya can’t.
Paulo groaned. Great…here we go again.
What? Why is Paulo unhappy? Oscar asked. What’s your suggestion, Lenny?
A distraction. Give ’em something they neva seen before. Something to shoot at while the rest of us sneak up.
Shoot at? Oscar said. Why not just walk in and—
Cause that Selkie’ll recognize us by our coats. The second he draws his weapon, the others will too. We might get to the first of ’em, but it’s risky.
Leesin’ to ‘im, said Henry.
Well, Oscar scoffed. I hardly think my father would think it prudent for me to provide the distraction, nor Henry either. We’re far too valuable.
Paulie…
I knew I didn’t like where this was going…
Paulie, ya the biggest and the baddest, pal, said Lenny. Time to give ’em a show they neva seen before.
KELLEN
“Somebody’s coming…” Boone scurried to press his face flat against the bars.
Kellen turned in his cot. “Shut up, Boo—”
The cellblock door buzzed open.
Kellen sat up. He heard two pairs of footsteps, one heavy and the other light, proceeding down the row.
“Who’s out there?” Boone shouted. “Campbell? You come to let me out? I’m s’posed to stay here for two nights more! Sheriff Hullinger hisself said I could!”
“I’m no sheriff and I’m not here to let any of you sorry S.O.B.s out,” a cold voice answered. “I’m Deputy Marshal Foster and that’s how you’ll address me, whoever you are.”
“Deputy Marshal?” Boone sounded delighted. “What’s somebody like you doing in Lavere County?”
Kellen stepped to the door of his cell.
A white guy not much older than himself ambled up the row, escorting a black girl in handcuffs. Both wore strange, hooded sweatshirts, tucked into their pants. Kellen thought it odd for a marshal to dress so casually. Not to mention the young marshal wore crystal-studded earrings.
The girl laid eyes on Kellen. She immediately backed into the marshal, screaming.
Kellen stepped back. She on crack?
Foster glanced at Kellen, then back to the girl. “Bourgeois, calm down. What’s the matter with you?”
The girl would not be calmed. She ranted in a language Kellen couldn’t understand, and pointed at the deputy’s gun belt. The two of them spoke to one another in the strange language; the deputy’s voice calm and steady, the girl’s pleading.
“Hey! You two ain’t from here, huh?” Boone asked.
Kellen stepped closer to the door again, placed his hands on the bars. He watched the deputy shove the girl into an open cell. She kept her footing, despite the rough treatment, and disappeared to the furthest corner of her cell, cloaking herself in shadow. Kellen noticed she never took her gaze off of him.
“Hey, mister,” Boone said. “Where you folks come from?”
The red-faced deputy slammed the girl’s door closed. “Elsewhere.”
Boone scratched his head. “Hmm, never heard of it. That in Indiana? Say, what’s she yelling about anyway? Sheriff Hullinger don’t usually let females in these cells.”
Foster walked to Kellen’s cell, his hand on the grip of his gun. “Sheriff Porker’s not in charge right now, is he?”
“Don’t know no Sheriff Porker, but Sheriff Hullinger don’t let females in these cells.”
Deputy Foster stopped just shy of Kellen’s cell. “Who are you?”
Don’t look away. Kellen glared back at Deputy Foster. “Why do you care?”
“Wouldn’t say I care at all. I am curious though. Who are you to make the infamous Marisa Bourgeois over there throw such a fit?”
“You tell me,” said Kellen. “I don’t know her.”
Deputy Foster looked Kellen up and down, studying him before he spoke. “Yeah. I don’t think you do. What they put you away for?”
Don’t answer that. Doesn’t dad always complain about his idiot clients that opened their mouths when they shouldn’t? Kellen stepped forward. “Ask my lawyer.”
Deputy Foster laughed. “No need to get lawyers involved. I’ll just ask your buddy over here.” He glanced over his shoulder at Boone.
“He’s not my buddy,” said Kellen. “He’s just the town drunk.”
Deputy Foster grinned. “Is that right? Well, nothing wrong with drunks.”
Kellen watched the deputy take a flask from a pocket near his stomach. Foster opened it and took a swig.
“Say…” Boone smacked his lips with his tongue. “What you got there? Smells good.”
Deputy Foster took another swig, gave a long satisfied sigh. “Oh, you wouldn’t like this stuff, old timer. Nasty.”
Great. Kellen watched the old man reach both his scrawny arms through the bars, clawing for the flask Foster dangled in front of him.
“Well…le—lemme try it…Cain’t tell what I like if you won’t lemme try it.”
Foster smirked at Kellen. “You wanna tell me what you’re in for yet? Or do I have to get the answer from drunkie over here?”
Kellen shrugged. “He can’t tell you what he doesn’t know.”
“We’ll see.” Foster turned to Boone. “Tell you what, drunkie. I’ll give you a swig if you tell m
e what I want to know about this guy. What’s he in for?”
Boone smacked his lips again. “Cain’t rightly remember now. A drink would probably help.”
“Played this game before, huh?”
Foster knelt and slid the flask across the floor. It hit Boone’s cell door with a light clink.
Kellen watched the old man fall to his knees. Boone snatched the flask up like he had found a winning lottery ticket. He upended the drink, guzzled it down, and finished with a loud belch.
“Mighty tasty, mister. Got any more?”
“Afraid not,” Foster said. “Bit of Raggie’s grog goes a long way though. Now, to my question...what did my new buddy do to end up in here with you?”
Kellen looked past the deputy. “Don’t tell him, Boone.”
The old man fumbled with the flask, cast his eyes downward. “His name’s Kellen Winstel and he ‘bout killed a boy close to his age."
Kellen shook his head. It was a prank.
“Killed you say?” said Deputy Foster.
Is that respect I hear in your voice, deputy?
“Yessir. Tried to drown the boy. His friends even said so.”
Deputy Foster clucked his tongue. “There a lot of ways to kill a man. Drowning though…now, that’s a pretty personal way of handling your business. Takes effort…control.”
Kellen saw a shadow move. The girl across the row now watched him too. Her hands gripped the bars on her cell door, and her breath came ragged and quick.
Foster glanced back at her. “You hear that, Bourgeois? We have a killer amongst us. That what got you so scared?”
Marisa shook her head no.
Act tough. He thinks you’re a killer? Let him. Kellen stepped all the way to his door, inches from Foster’s face. “Maybe she thinks I’m in the KKK.”
Foster pursed his lips. “Nah. She claims you’re part of a rougher crowd than a bunch of ignorant cowards with sheets on their heads. Ever hear of the Sancul?”
“That lick…some kiney…cult, er some’n?” Boone slurred.
“Don’t be rude, drunkie. Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to speak ‘less you’re spoken to?” Foster looked at Kellen. “You ever hear of them?”
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