“Waste him,” Wolfe ordered.
“This isn’t some game!” Mom screamed as she slid off the side of the propane tank and stood on the back bumper of the truck. She had an air hose in one hand and a burning torch made of rolled cardboard in the other. She was holding the valve open on the end of the air hose. “If I bring these together, we’re all going to meet our maker. I’m ready to be judged, how about you?”
Mom let the valve snap shut, moved the hose out of the way, and thrust her torch into the space the hose had just occupied. There was a huge whoosh and a flash that left blue spots on my vision. “I’ll blow us all to hell before I let you flense my family!” she yelled.
Wolfe was laughing. “Righteous! Do it again!”
“Screw you!” Mom spat.
“Maybe later.” Wolfe turned to Dad. “I like that one. You want to sell her, too?”
“N-no.” Dad’s face was ashen.
“Woman like that, ’course you want to keep her.” Wolfe stepped up beside Dad and laid a paw like a side of meat across his shoulder. “Y’all have balls. Maybe we can work together.”
“Good,” Dad said, visibly pulling himself together.
“Let me show you around.”
Dad gestured to me with the hand holding Alyssa’s leash. “Give this to your mother and come with me.”
As I did, Mom yelled, “If my men don’t come back, I’ll level this place.”
Wolfe smiled up at her. “I believe you would.” Then to Dad he said, “That woman’s worth any three of mine.”
“Like I said, she’s not for sale.”
“I know, I know.” Wolfe led us into the walled area. To our left there was a brick building: GEOFF’S BIKE AND SKI. On our right stood a large metal shed marked SOUTH SIDE IMPORT AUTO SERVICES. About a hundred yards ahead there was a large, four-story brick building that appeared to have abandoned shops on the main floor and apartments above.
Chad and two of the guards returned to the fire. The remaining two guards came with us. One of them was built like a concrete mixer. The other was short and fat-totally different than the rest of the DWBs.
As we walked, Wolfe said, “So what are you looking to trade for? I got everything. Primo weapons and ammo out of D.C. Drugs out of the strategic reserve in St. Louis. Food out of Texas and Mexico. Got a truckload of flour and watermelon last week. Watermelon! Can you believe that shit? DWBs eat like kings!”
“I want another 30–30 hunting rifle,” Dad said. “A thousand rounds of ammo. A hundred doses each of antibiotic and acetaminophen. A gallon of hospital-grade antiseptic-”
“Whoa, whoa, she’s a nice piece, but you’re talking crazy-”
“And a party for me and my boy. Heard you got the best cathouse in Iowa.”
“That I can do.” Wolfe gestured at the four-story building ahead of us. “But that other stuff-”
“It’ll be worth it. This girl is just a first taste. You don’t want me dealing with your competition.”
“What competition?”
“The Peckerwoods?” I said. “Black Lake?”
“Black Lake’s a supplier-they’re your competitor, not mine.”
“I thought it was the Peckerwoods taking girls out of Maquoketa?” I asked as innocently as I could manage.
“Maquoketa’s not the only camp Black Lake runs. And we ended the effin’ Peckerwoods. You want to deal flesh in southeast Iowa, you’re dealing with me.”
“You ended. .? Black Lake attacked Anamosa, not you. I was there.”
“Nothing happens in southeast Iowa that I don’t approve. And that’s all I’m going to say on the subject.”
“Ask yourself who benefited,” Dad said to me.
Wolfe grinned and said, “That’s right.”
We’d passed the bike and ski shop-it was closed up tight. Now we were walking past the auto shop. The big overhead door was wide open. A fire burned inside, throwing flickering orange light around a jumble of vehicles in various states of disassembly.
A girl was bent over, working on a pickup. She looked like-she couldn’t be-I’d been wrong before. . Darla.