Eye of the Sh*t Storm Jackson Ford (detective books to read txt) 📖

if there’s a flash flood here?” I ask Grant, trying to sound casual.

He looks bewildered. “A flash flood?”

“It’s when water—”

“We’d get out of here,” Alvin drawls. “No problem. If there’s water coming, we’d see it way before it hit.”

Lucille points up the channel. “Probably hear about it too. Data’s a little sketchy here, but we still got some.”

Alvin grimaces. “I mean, you think about it, we get swept away in a flood or whatever, it’s probably a good thing for the government. Less people to take care of. Maybe that’s why they’ve left us alone.”

Ugh. And I work for the government. I’d love to say that Alvin’s crazy conspiracy theory is just that, but I can totally see it happening.

I have to remind myself that it was the Legends who smashed us into the bridge supports in the first place. Without them, the bridge would never have collapsed. I can’t take on responsibility for everything. All the same, the thought doesn’t sit easy.

“Over here.” Grant ushers us through the maze of scaffolding, to a spot close to the sloped edge of the channel. There’s a cookfire, a big one, blazing in a sawed-up metal half-barrel. Two dozen people are clustered around it, some with blankets over their shoulders, talking quietly in small groups. A few kids, even a couple of newborns. Sleeping bags and camping cots and blow-up mattresses everywhere.

“Yo,” Alvin barks. He claps Nic on the shoulder. “They’re good. I checked ’em out.”

Grant winks at me. I really want to ask him how on earth he hooked up with a group of half-assed stick-up artists. But I am way too fucking tired right now.

“Sit down,” Alvin rumbles. “Yo yo, clear a spot for ’em! Make yourselves comfortable. We got heat, we got some water. ¿Juan, vato, queda algo de comida? Maybe some of that steak?”

“I’m sorry.” I raise a finger. “Did you say steak?”

“Don’t expect the Four Seasons.” He snickers. “But yeah, Juan –” he indicates a short, stooped man near the fire “– he found a butcher shop that was going out of business. We pooled cash, bought a bunch of stuff. Y’all are welcome. Won’t even charge you – you know, to apologise for trying to jack you before.”

“I love you,” I say. I mean it, too. Juan has already slapped the meat on the grill over the fire, the sizzle as sweet as angel trumpets.

“Can I have some?” Leo says.

Nic shakes his head. “Look, thanks for the offer, but we gotta keep moving.”

“I dunno.” Annie frowns. “We could use some food.”

“What about the Legends?” Nic asks. “Or – you know. Mr Zigzag Guy?”

“We gotta eat,” I tell him. To be honest, I don’t care how much he protests. I probably wouldn’t care if Pop herself came bursting into the circle waving a bazooka. I am eating that steak.

All the same, I get a little jolt of worry. It’s not just the Legends, or the Zigzag Man, or the National Guard. It’s Africa, too. His network of contacts isn’t as deep as Annie’s Army, but it’s still extensive… and it’s a sure bet that he knows at least a few people here. I’m almost certain he’s still in play – Leo hit him pretty hard, but then again, Africa’s pretty hard himself. He’s out there, right now, maybe hustling connects in Skid Row for info. Maybe he already knows where we are, is on his way down here…

At that very second, my gaze happens to land on a dude off to the side, talking on his cellphone. He’s long-term homeless, it looks like, shirtless despite the rain, his body a mess of bruises and track marks, his face pinched and sour. His eyes meet mine, and he looks away quickly.

I shake my head, irritated. Not every person on the phone will be calling Africa, or even know that the big guy is looking for us. All the same… we shouldn’t stick around any longer than we have to.

Food first, though. We all get a piece of steak, the silent Juan doling them out. They arrive on paper plates, still sizzling, with two slices of white bread on the side already soaking up the juice.

It’s only steak in the sense that it’s a cut of meat from a cow – we are not, as Alvin said, talking dry-aged rib-eye here. But… dear God and all her drunken angels. I’ve eaten some amazing things in my life, but I think this piece of mystery meat between two slices of Wonder Bread may be the very best. It’s gone in four enormous bites.

Leo grins, juice running down his chin. “Thank you,” he tells Juan.

I raise a hand. “Seconded. And thirded.”

Annie and Nic nod their thanks – Nic might have been dubious, but his sandwich doesn’t last much longer than mine. By now, most of the people around the fire have forgotten about us, going back to their own conversations. Given everything we’ve been through tonight, it’s cool to be around people who don’t want to murder us – who, in fact, don’t give the tiniest shit about who we are, and what we’re doing.

As I lick the last drop of juice off my lip, Leo points. “What’s in there?”

We follow his finger. He’s pointing to a gap in the storm drain’s sloping side, just visible through the mess of scaffolding. The gap looks like an entrance to a passage, cut into the concrete. Two people are vanishing into it as we look, a couple of teenagers, one laughing at something the other said.

“Oh.” Alvin takes a swig of water from a bottle, wipes his mouth. “Sewers.”

“What, they come out here?” Nic says.

Alvin shrugs. “Sure. Convenient spot for crews to access, right under the interchange. Or it was, anyway. Beats going down a manhole.”

Another group emerges out of the gap – this time with two kids in tow. “What are you guys doing in there?” Annie says.

“Doing?” Alvin cocks his head. “Man, relax, people just posting up in there, you know?