Page 94 of Axe-ing for Trouble
Mila sighed, dragging her focus to me. “Who is covering for Hugo? Who took over working with your company?”
“No one,” I replied. “It’s been months since we’ve had any communication with the department.”
“There’s a statewide hiring freeze. Budget cuts and all that,” Dickie explained.
She stood with her good hand propped on her hip and surveyed the map for a moment, then zeroed in on the older man again. “So what happens?”
“The prior year’s plan remains in effect until a new survey is completed. Since Hugo was attacked last year and never filed the plan, they’re likely using the last one I completed.”
“So they’re keeping their territory stable year after year.”
He dipped his chin. “That’s my guess.”
Head tilted thoughtfully, Mila looked at me.
I nodded silently. The longer we stayed here, the more anxious I got. What if they were watching? Dickie was in deeper than we’d thought.
“You good now?” Dickie asked. “I answered your questions. Now get the fuck off my property.”
“You’re not as useless as you look.” She gave him a dazzling smile. “Now, one last thing,” she added, her words terse. “You will not fuck me over. You will tell no one I was here and you will not take off again. You’ll stay here in case I need you.”
Dickie scoffed.
“I mean it. You mess with me and you’re dead. You see my handsome friend over there?” She pointed at me. “He may look like a lumberjack who dabbles in Instagram modeling, but if you so much as say one fucking word about this, you’ll be in a mountain of shit with him. He’s wearing a wire, recorded this entire conversation. If we take it to the feds, your former friends will find out. What do you want to bet you’d be dead in a couple of hours?”
I gave him a menacing smile, cracking my knuckles.
He practically jumped off the couch, his eyes wide and his skin pale.
As Mila turned to leave, Dickie reached for the bottle of liquor on the table. The move caused the sleeve of his robe to creep up, exposing a tattoo on his forearm. Spiny needles, a wide base. Some kind of tree or shrub. One I recognized.
I darted across the room and clutched his arm. “What is this?”
He looked up at me, lips turned down. “A tattoo.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s a yew.”
My brain spun with all the information about yews I possessed. Native to Maine. Poisonous if ingested. Also known as ground hemlock or the tree of the dead since they usually grew around cemeteries.
“Why?”
“All the guys involved have them. Helped us identify each other. Out in the woods, it’s the only way to be sure of who the syndicate guys were.”
A shiver ran down my spine. These tattoos had been popping up all over recently, and no one had figured out quite how they fit.
“Just this one?”
He nodded, smoothing his hand over it. “Yeah. On the right arm down to the wrist. Some guys have sleeves, and you gotta look for it, but this one’s easy.”
Mila took out her phone and snapped a photo of Dickie’s forearm. Then, without another word, she strode out of his house.
I followed silently, and when we were safely inside the car, she lowered her head, her hands trembling as she wrung them in her lap.
I covered them with one of mine and squeezed. “It’s okay,” I said. “You were amazing.”
She nodded, though weariness wafted off her and her shoulders remained slumped. “We make a good team.”
