* * *
—
“I was doing the name change paperwork with this lawyer in Bozeman,” April continued, “when she mentioned that her investigator might be looking for some help. I said I was interested. Who doesn’t want to be a PI?”
Me, Marybeth thought but didn’t say. Nobody I know. And hopefully not my daughter.
“Anyway, I did an interview with the PI at her firm and I really liked her. I think she liked me. I mentioned my name change and somehow she’d heard of Dad and that probably helped. So who knows? I may be able to do something with a little excitement in it, you know? More exciting than fitting cowboy boots on tourists, for sure.”
“So you might be working for a firm made up of women?”
“Crazy, huh?”
“When will you know?” Marybeth asked.
“Maybe next week,” April said. “She said she might want to do a second interview. The job would start after the first of the year.”
“Interesting.”
“I’ve been looking at what I would need to do,” April said. “You have to get a PI license from the state, and probably a concealed carry permit. I need to figure all that out. But at first I think I’ll be doing a lot of boring things like answering the phone, filing, that kind of crap. But compared to retail, I think I can gut that out for a while.”
* * *
—
After the deviled eggs were made and covered with plastic and stored in the refrigerator, Marybeth poured herself a second glass of wine. Next on her list was to mix the brine and pour it into a brining bag with the turkey. She’d reserved an entire shelf of the fridge for it.
Despite her initial reaction, she was proud of April. Her most troubled and difficult daughter was turning into her own woman. She wasn’t asking to move back home, and as far as Marybeth knew she hadn’t taken up with another loser like Dallas Cates. April was charting her own path and taking responsibility for her future. No wonder she didn’t like working with people her age who didn’t have the same outlook and determination.
Marybeth’s phone chimed twice and she checked it. There were texts from both Sheridan and Joe. Sheridan said she was on her way there with Liv and Kestrel. Joe asked if there was anything he needed to pick up in town.
Great, Marybeth answered Sheridan.
You might want to get more beer, she texted Joe. And peppermint schnapps for Lola.
* * *
—
Marybeth told April that Sheridan and her dad were on their way to the house, when April sat down at the kitchen table and twisted off the top of another beer.
“Cool,” she said. “I can’t wait to see them. I’m sure I can still take Sheridan.”
“Take” meaning wrestle her to the ground. Marybeth smiled at that.
April casually flipped over the spare apron on the table to reveal Marybeth’s laptop and the leather-bound photo album.
“What’s this?” April asked, sliding the album across to her and opening it.
Marybeth felt a pang of guilt she couldn’t explain.
April furrowed her brow as she turned the pages. “Fucking Nazis,” she said.
“April . . .”
CHAPTER NINE
Geronimo Jones
Geronimo Jones led Nate on foot through passages and alleyways in the direction of the capitol building. Geronimo knew the nuances of the neighborhood and they ducked through gaps in fences and under wire ostensibly protecting commercial parking lots.
Nate was on high alert and he could feel the power of yarak envelop him as he walked. Despite the layer of city sounds that provided a distracting soundtrack, his eyesight improved in the dark, his ears perked up at every sound, and his nostrils flared at strange odors. He kept his vest unzipped so he could reach up and draw his weapon smoothly without snagging the hammer on the nylon material.
Although Geronimo Jones seemed to be who he said he was, Nate was still cautious. Antifa was out there on the streets and Geronimo displayed his BLM allegiance literally on his coat. Weren’t most of the urban riots across the nation described as “BLM/antifa protests”？
Nate had never encountered Axel Soledad in person, but knew through Sheridan Pickett’s research that Soledad was a leader in the antifa movement, even though the group claimed not to have leaders. Soledad had spoken at rallies, written incendiary posts on the dark web, and traveled to Europe to liaise with well-established antifa chapters. His role in the movement was a mystery, though. And so was how he came to embrace the ideology.
Soledad, like Nate fifteen years before him, had been a member of the Five, an elite special operator unit associated with the U.S. Air Force. Few people knew the group existed, and they deliberately kept it that way. “The Five” was a derivation of their official designation, which was Mark V. The unit deployed to international locations in secret, accomplished its covert mission, and returned without fanfare. They were informally known within the unit as the Peregrines, after the fastest species known to man.