Page 17 of Chaos

He opens his palm. On it is a golden chain, thick and shiny, with two large golden charms at the end.

An archer.

And a scorpion.

Our bullshit astrological signs.

Everything else fades away.

When I take it, he releases it gladly, almost sighing with relief like it’s a cursed thing. It’s warm from his skin and drives an instant rush of questions. Did Renata take it from her? Ben? Did he rip it off her neck? I check the clasp. It’s not broken.

I clear my throat. “What did he say?”

“Gave me a note. Said to tell you this is a peace offering. Said you’d pay me for it. Any price I named.”

I glance back at the gate where everyone’s watching, then back at Duffy, barely letting myself believe we could finally be close to getting her. “Name it.”

“My price?”

“Yeah.”

Despite the cold, a bead of sweat slips down his cheek. “I need ammunition.”

“How much?”

“Forty … fifty thou eight-mills and another …” He makes a face. “Thirty for the AK?”

“Fine.” The army won’t be happy, but we’ll deal with them later. I hold out my hand. “Give me the note.”

My vision darkens as the sick fact hits me that I could give this man every last bullet in Thornewood’s armory, only to open this note and learn she’s dead.

It’s not over.

A big part of me wants to run, just get in a car and drive and drive and not stop until I hit the Pacific, sit under a yellow sun and tell myself each morning that she’s out there somewhere laughing, never open the note, never find out if she’s gone.

“You agree?” he asked.

“He said any price. You just named it.”

He squints at me, then shuffles back to his truck, climbs into the bed, and returns with a white envelope in his hands.

“I’m surprised you said yes. Seems like everyone except the Butcher’s crew is running out of ammo these days.” He passes the note to me. “And he’s not trading it.”

My mouth dry, I force myself to rip open the envelope.

Loopy letters sit in blue ink.

Yorke,

Frankie’s fine.

She’s in the basement of an old house in Jefferson National Forest. It’s two-miles from the entrance. Jimmy Gum’s Auto is nearby and a white house with green shutters called Sandy’s Inn. Ben’s had people ripping down signs so I don’t know the road names.

Renata

I read it three times in a row, my knees practically vibrating, before I back away from Duffy, jerking my head at Church to come deal with Duffy.

“He asked for bullets, and I said yes.” I climb the ladder to the perch; ignoring the questions and protests he peppers after me. “And ask him why the Butcher doesn’t need bullets. Ask him about Charleston. I want everything he’s got. Don’t let him go until he tells you what he knows.”

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