zillionaires, right?”
Nail resumed walking. They were far enough back that there shouldn’t be much scrutiny—even the most paranoid zillionaire didn’t keep cameras watching every swath of land hundreds of feet out from a mile-long wall—but he’d feel better if they kept moving. Get this done as soon as possible, just in case.
“Oh my God,” Tommy said. “Check that out.” He was pointing ahead, to where Mendelsohn’s driveway joined the gravel road. Nail squinted. Looked like there was a white . . . something over in the drainage culvert. Nail’s eyes were pretty good, but the light was for shit. How Tommy could make it out, he had no idea.
Tommy bounded ahead, cackling. “McDonald’s bag!”
Genevieve laughed again, and Nail shook his head. “Maybe he thinks he’s gonna find a cheeseburger.” He glanced to the gate. Nobody. The place might have been deserted, if the lawn weren’t so perfect.
They walked on, Genevieve making a decent attempt at searching the weeds for trash and Nail focusing more on studying the wall than garbage recon. His commitment to the job hadn’t faltered—the prospect of paying off Clarence and getting DeWayne out of that shit forgood was enough to ensure that—but the shine was off it. This shit was even weirder than their usual gig. He liked the challenge, but there was every reason to make sure they checked all the boxes on this one, and then went back and checked them again.
They were still fifty feet or so back from Tommy when Genevieve spoke. “So, uh, Karyn. She doesn’t like me much.”
“Doesn’t trust you. It’s not the same thing.”
“She doesn’t like me, either.”
“I guess that’s true, but that ain’t the important thing. Give you some advice?”
“Yeah. I mean, please.”
“Just do a good job. Do what you say you’re gonna do, and do a good job. I know she ain’t Enoch Sobell, but you get in good with Karyn, and you might get a good thing going.”
Genevieve’s expression was guarded, but by the way she waited, considering his words, Nail thought he’d made an impression.
“We’re all on the same side here,” she said after a moment.
“Then you got nothing to worry about.” He paused, then decided to go ahead. “I’ll tell you this, though. If you change your mind, think maybe it starts to look like a good idea to pull something funny, you might do some checking first. You ask the right people, and Karyn’s got a rep.”
“I’ve heard. She’s psychic, or something.”
“I don’t know about that. But I guarantee, you start thinking about fucking us over, she will see that shit coming before you even make up your mind.”
There was a pause. Then: “What about Anna?”
“What about her?”
Genevieve’s expression held nothing of guile, but it was a little too flat to be real. “Just, you know. How’s she fit into all this?”
“Have to ask her.”
Genevieve smiled. “I might just do that.”
Nail grunted and kept walking. A plastic food wrapperof some kind, trapped under a stick, fluttered in the breeze. Nail went down the embankment, put on a glove, and picked up the wrapper. His thumb slid across congealed orange grease, and he had to wonder why the fuck any rich guy would ever eat a nasty two-dollar microwave burrito. Ants ran up his hand onto his wrist, and he sighed. There were parts of every job that sucked, he knew, but trash detail was about the worst part of this one.
Behind him, Genevieve rustled through more of the high weeds.
“So,” she said, “how’d you get into all this?”
He looked back, still holding the burrito wrapper. “You ever stop talking?”
She only smiled more. “It passes the time.”
“You’re too fuckin’ friendly—you know that?”
“Come on, spill it.”
That wasn’t going to happen, and he felt a bright spike of anger that she’d even pushed him on it. He hadn’t shared that story with
anyone
, not even Tommy. Anna and Karyn had been there, helped
Nail resumed walking. They were far enough back that there shouldn’t be much scrutiny—even the most paranoid zillionaire didn’t keep cameras watching every swath of land hundreds of feet out from a mile-long wall—but he’d feel better if they kept moving. Get this done as soon as possible, just in case.
“Oh my God,” Tommy said. “Check that out.” He was pointing ahead, to where Mendelsohn’s driveway joined the gravel road. Nail squinted. Looked like there was a white . . . something over in the drainage culvert. Nail’s eyes were pretty good, but the light was for shit. How Tommy could make it out, he had no idea.
Tommy bounded ahead, cackling. “McDonald’s bag!”
Genevieve laughed again, and Nail shook his head. “Maybe he thinks he’s gonna find a cheeseburger.” He glanced to the gate. Nobody. The place might have been deserted, if the lawn weren’t so perfect.
They walked on, Genevieve making a decent attempt at searching the weeds for trash and Nail focusing more on studying the wall than garbage recon. His commitment to the job hadn’t faltered—the prospect of paying off Clarence and getting DeWayne out of that shit forgood was enough to ensure that—but the shine was off it. This shit was even weirder than their usual gig. He liked the challenge, but there was every reason to make sure they checked all the boxes on this one, and then went back and checked them again.
They were still fifty feet or so back from Tommy when Genevieve spoke. “So, uh, Karyn. She doesn’t like me much.”
“Doesn’t trust you. It’s not the same thing.”
“She doesn’t like me, either.”
“I guess that’s true, but that ain’t the important thing. Give you some advice?”
“Yeah. I mean, please.”
“Just do a good job. Do what you say you’re gonna do, and do a good job. I know she ain’t Enoch Sobell, but you get in good with Karyn, and you might get a good thing going.”
Genevieve’s expression was guarded, but by the way she waited, considering his words, Nail thought he’d made an impression.
“We’re all on the same side here,” she said after a moment.
“Then you got nothing to worry about.” He paused, then decided to go ahead. “I’ll tell you this, though. If you change your mind, think maybe it starts to look like a good idea to pull something funny, you might do some checking first. You ask the right people, and Karyn’s got a rep.”
“I’ve heard. She’s psychic, or something.”
“I don’t know about that. But I guarantee, you start thinking about fucking us over, she will see that shit coming before you even make up your mind.”
There was a pause. Then: “What about Anna?”
“What about her?”
Genevieve’s expression held nothing of guile, but it was a little too flat to be real. “Just, you know. How’s she fit into all this?”
“Have to ask her.”
Genevieve smiled. “I might just do that.”
Nail grunted and kept walking. A plastic food wrapperof some kind, trapped under a stick, fluttered in the breeze. Nail went down the embankment, put on a glove, and picked up the wrapper. His thumb slid across congealed orange grease, and he had to wonder why the fuck any rich guy would ever eat a nasty two-dollar microwave burrito. Ants ran up his hand onto his wrist, and he sighed. There were parts of every job that sucked, he knew, but trash detail was about the worst part of this one.
Behind him, Genevieve rustled through more of the high weeds.
“So,” she said, “how’d you get into all this?”
He looked back, still holding the burrito wrapper. “You ever stop talking?”
She only smiled more. “It passes the time.”
“You’re too fuckin’ friendly—you know that?”
“Come on, spill it.”
That wasn’t going to happen, and he felt a bright spike of anger that she’d even pushed him on it. He hadn’t shared that story with
anyone
, not even Tommy. Anna and Karyn had been there, helped
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