by Logan Ryles
She launched her campaign for governor on Facebook only four months before the election, and it quickly went viral, though it seemed like she wasn’t expecting to win or even gain traction. She ran on an agenda about crime and deep-seated corruption in Baton Rouge, which resonated with Louisianans. Even though Maggie was running as an Independent, and both the Democrats and the Republicans had already nominated their candidates and were pumping millions of dollars into their respective campaigns, Maggie’s grassroots platform exploded out of control after she dominated a three-way debate. Eight weeks later, she defeated both contestants by a comfortable margin.
Her supporters called her “Muddy Maggie” and were proud to remind each other that she was “one of them.” A swamp girl. A backwoods, home-loving hero. Not a politician or a millionaire business owner or even a highly-educated pundit. Just a gator farmer with a job to do.
And now here she was, in the governor’s suite, drunk and strained, with no idea that a killer sat a hundred yards away watching through a scope.
Reed replaced the optic in his coat and folded his arms. Why does Gambit want you dead, Muddy Maggie?
It was the wrong question. That same curiosity had been the detriment to his life over the past few weeks. Hadn’t he asked himself why these people wanted Mitchell Holiday dead? Hadn’t that very question set off a chain reaction that led to this very predicament?
No, it was more complex than that. He was here because Oliver Enfield was a lying, backstabbing son of a bitch. He was here because Gambit held his father locked down with a gun to his head. He was here because he had a job to do, and it was reasonable to want to know why.
If Maggie was everything they said—a corruption-fighting idealist with a score to settle—what did that say about Aiden Philips, Gambit’s boss, the man who wanted her dead?
It said that he was probably at the heart of the corruption Maggie was fighting. He was probably the villain hiding in the shadows, waging war on the highest office of Louisiana.
Reed gritted his teeth and zipped his jacket. The thought-train was logical. The pieces fit together. Whatever sordid, messy operation Gambit and Aiden were involved in, it was headquartered, or at least operated within, Louisiana. Maggie had become a threat to it, just like Mitchell Holiday, Frank Morccelli, and David Montgomery had been. And just like Mitch and Frank and David, Aiden was coming for Maggie. Reed was just the middle man. The grunt.
A buzz erupted in his pocket. It was the phone Gambit had given him—his personal leash. Reed thought about letting it go to voicemail, just to yank Gambit around a little, but there was really no point in that. For all he knew, Gambit might actually have something useful to say.
Reed hit the answer button without speaking.
“Where are you?” Gambit’s tone was demanding, and it pissed Reed off.
“Where I need to be.”
A moment of silence.
Gambit must be deciding whether to react or ignore.
He chose to ignore.
“Are you making progress?”
“Yes.”
“When do you expect to make a move?”
“When I’m ready.”
The breath whistled between Gambit’s clenched teeth. “Listen here, my friend. I don’t have to remind you what’s at stake. If you want to conclude our dealings in a mutually beneficial way, I suggest you remain cooperative.”
Reed stood up and started back to the BMW. “You have a suggestion?”
A pause. Them Gambit cleared his throat. “Trousdale is holding a press conference in New Orleans, tomorrow. Lots of tall buildings around for you to shoot from. I thought you’d want to know.”
Reed pondered the information for a moment. He already knew about the press conference, and he already knew his next play. He was more interested in why Gambit was calling. Was it because he wanted to check in, as he claimed, or was he calling to be sure Reed was at the press conference?
Reed gritted his teeth. He knew the answer. Gambit wanted a public execution. The purpose of the phone call was to find out Reed’s plan—to set Reed up and make sure the cops or the FBI, or whoever, caught Reed immediately after Trousdale bit the dust, thereby killing two birds with one stone for Gambit.
It was the same shitty plan Oliver tried in Atlanta with the Holiday kill. Set up your best killer to get rid of your worst enemy, then tip off the cops. A nice, clean job with no loose ends.
Well, Reed saw that coming a mile away, but there was no need to tip his hand.
“I know about the press conference,” he said. “I’m already making arrangements.”
“As long as it gets done.” Gambit played coy, but Reed wasn’t fooled. He could hear the masked relief in Gambit’s voice.
“It will. I’ll check in with you tomorrow night after the dust settles. You better have my father ready, and he better not be harmed.”
This time, the sly pleasure in Gambit’s voice was barely concealed. “But of course, Reed. I wouldn’t dream of hurting David. Talk soon.”
The phone clicked off, and Reed shoved it into his pocket before ducking into the BMW. So the press conference was a setup. That was no surprise, but he wasn’t yet in a position to throat-punch Gambit and rescue his father, so he would play along.
For now.
Seventeen
Holly Springs National Forest
North Mississippi
Wolfgang remained tied to the chair, his cheeks flushed from the pain of the wax burns on his thigh, but his voice was calm and measured. “Are you familiar with the disease cystic fibrosis?”
The three women sat around him, arms folded, faces impassive.
“Of course,” Banks said. “Who isn’t?”
“Lots of people, actually,” Wolfgang said. “Which is why it isn’t getting the attention or research dollars it deserves, despite the fact that it destroys a person’s whole quality of life. CF breaks down a patient’s lung capacity, deteriorating their ability to process oxygen, while it erodes their general health and compromises their immunity. It’s a really nasty disease.”
Banks grunted. “I’m somewhat familiar with chronic illness.”
Wolfgang nodded somberly, and a momentary softness passed across his eyes. “Lyme’s, right? I’m sorry.”
Banks’s back stiffened. She didn’t expect Wolfgang to know, and she wasn’t sure how he did. It didn’t matter, though. There were more pressing issues at hand.
“Get to the point.”
Wolfgang cleared his throat. “I have a doctorate in medical research from Edinburgh University. Over the past several years, I’ve been laboring to find a cure for CF, or at least a better treatment. It’s a complex genetic science with lots of promising leads but very few actual developments. One hopeful study involves a gene therapy treatment that was developed for a disease called X-Linked, hypohidrotic ectodermal dysplasia, or XHLED. Basically, the treatment—”
Kelly broke in, her distorted lip curled in impatience. “What does any of this have to do with Reed?”Kelly broke in, her distorted lip curled in impatience.
Wolfgang sighed. “I’m getting to that.”
Banks placed a gentle hand on Kelly’s arm and then jerked her head at Wolfgang, and he continued.
“XHLED is a disease that impacts babies prior to birth. It’s genetic. Researchers have found a way to implement a protein replacement therapy which actually reverses the disease prior to birth. The project is still in development, but the results are promising. My hope is that these protein therapy methods could also be implemented to treat CF before birth and through adulthood. For the past several years, I’ve been experimenting with different protein therapy treatments, looking for a cure.”
“Between killing people,” Banks said.
Wolfgang shrugged. “I have no qualms bartering the blood of bad people for the life of good ones. Life is an economy.”
“We’re not here to debate morality,” Lucy said. “We want to know what your”—she made air quotes—�
�‘research’ has to do with Reed. Or any of us.”
Wolfgang nodded. “Like I mentioned, the research is promising, but there have been no actual developments. Not yet. All the protein formulas I’ve experimented with have failed.”
“So?” Lucy demanded. “You think Reed has the secret formula?”
“Actually, yes, I do.”
The three women exchanged glances.
Banks leaned forward. “Why?”
“A few days ago, a parcel was left at my door with only two things inside—a note and a vile of liquid. After extensive testing of the liquid, I determined it to be some sort of protein-based formula, a DNA modifier.”
“DNA modifier?” Lucy raised her eyebrows. “What the hell is that?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t explain it. It’s similar to the protein replacement therapy used by XHLED, but much more powerful. I tested it on some DNA sets that were damaged by pervasive CF and. . . .”
“And what?” Banks prompted.
Wolfgang sighed, then shrugged. “And within forty-eight hours, the therapy stalled the growth of CF. Healthy DNA replication occurred.”
The room was still, the quiet broken only by the distant snores of Baxter from the bedroom.
Kelly laughed.
“Okay, so what is this, some kind of superhero shit?”
Wolfgang glared. “It’s nothing like that. I’m not even sure it’s medicinal or safe. I just know that it changed the composition of the DNA. It stalled the CF and promoted the growth of healthy protein links.”
“And you think this formula, whatever it is, could be used to cure CF?” Lucy asked.
“I don’t know. I hope so. I’d need a few hundred hours of research time to even begin to answer that question. I have a lot of questions, but before I can begin, I need more of the formula.”
“And you think Reed has it?” Banks asked. “Why?”
“I told you there was a note attached to the parcel. It said, ‘Found what you are looking for. RM has the rest.’”
Banks tightened her fingers around her arms and forced herself to remain calm.
“That’s it? You got a creepy note from an unknown mailman that references RM, and you think that means Reed Montgomery?”
Wolfgang tapped a finger against the chair’s arm. “I really don’t know. I checked my cameras and found the images of the person who left the parcel. The person was small and stiff, like they were walking on a bad knee or something, and they were wrapped up in a jacket with a ski mask. They slipped right up to the door and didn’t trigger my alarm until they were on their way out. It definitely wasn’t Reed.” Wolfgang jabbed his chin toward Lucy. “They were about your size, actually.”
Wolfgang jabbed his chin toward Lucy. There was no accusation in his voice, but the implication was clear.
“You think I left a goodie bag on your porch?” Lucy laughed. “Sorry, bro. I don’t even know where you live.”
“Nobody does,” Wolfgang said. “Which makes this even more troubling.”
“Why do you think RM means Reed?” Kelly asked. “RM could be anybody.”
“Absolutely. But whoever left the note intended for me to know who RM was. They didn’t want to spell out the name, for whatever reason, and they also didn’t think they needed to. They trusted me to know, and Reed is the first person who came to mind.”
“So, he has this protein stuff?” Banks asked.
“Maybe,” Wolfgang said. “Or maybe he knows who does or where it is. Maybe it has something to do with this war he’s caught up in. I don’t know. Like I told you, all I have right now are a bunch of questions. Has Reed ever mentioned medical stuff like this?”
Everybody looked at Banks, and she screwed her eyes shut, reviewing the last week in her mind. It was all a muddle, from the moment she saw Reed in the alley in Nashville to the moment he disappeared into the woods outside that prison, just a few nights prior.
“I don’t remember,” she said. “I don’t think so.”
“What were you doing at the prison?” Wolfgang asked.
Banks started to answer, but then she stopped. “You said you found Reed’s phone at the prison. How did you even know to look there?”
The irritation started to slip through Wolfgang’s practiced calm. “I saw a headline about David Montgomery escaping prison. It wasn’t much of a leap to assume Reed was involved, so I decided to check out the premises. That’s when I found the phone. It was clearly a burner, but I was able to backtrack it to this Hispanic guy in Mississippi—”
“T-Rex,” Banks said. “You said that already.”
“I’d heard of him before but never used him. Word on the street is that he’s a little sloppy and loose-lipped, which turned out to be true. After a couple hundred bucks and the threat of a broken pelvis, he told me he sold two phones to Reed, and he gave me the numbers for each. I traced the second number and found you here.”
Banks shot Lucy a sideways look, and Lucy offered a little shrug, as if to say, “Yeah, he’s good.”
Banks turned back to Wolfgang. “So, you came here, locked and loaded, to find Reed.”
“Yes. Given our recent interactions, I thought he might be jumpy, so I was prepared. I had no intention of threatening him, though. I just want information. Whatever he knows.”
“Right. . . .” Banks stared at the floor and bit her lip.
“But,” Wolfgang said, “he’s not here, and you don’t know where he is. So, now that we’ve had this wonderful powwow, and you’ve poured hot wax on my balls, and we’ve all made some memories, it would be terrific if you cut me loose and let me get back to my research.”
Kelly snorted. “No way, dude. We’re not letting you back in our blind spot.”
Wolfgang lifted an eyebrow. “So, what, you’re gonna kill me and bury me in the woods?”
Kelly shrugged. “Works for me.”
“Nobody is burying anybody in the woods,” Banks said with a tired wave of her hand. “We’ve got work to do . . . all of us.”
Lucy titled her head, her mouth lifted in an inquisitive smile. “We?”
“Yes, we. You’re all here for your own reasons, but we all need to find Reed.” Banks nodded at Kelly. “You want to kill him. Lucy, you want to stop her from killing him. Wolfgang, you say he has this magic potion stuff. I don’t care about any of that. I just want to find him because he owes me answers, and because I still want the head of the man who killed my father. But the fact is, I’m no whiz at tracking people or dealing with the sorts of criminals you guys deal with. So, I need your help.”
There was clear suspicion in everyone’s eyes, marked with a noticeable hostility in Kelly’s posture, but nobody immediately objected.
“Wolfgang, you tell a nice story,” Banks said, “but if you ever try to blow me up again, I swear to god I’m going to let Lucy carve you in half.”
Wolfgang glanced at Lucy, and his face turned a darker shade of red when she flashed him a toothy smile.
Banks turned to Kelly.
“I have a lot of sympathy for your situation, and I want to help you, but you’ve got to chill out. If you keep blowing up at everything, you’re going to be left behind.”
Kelly grunted and stared at the floor.
Banks ran both hands through her hair. “Can the two of you cooperate long enough to find Reed?”
Wolfgang and Kelly nodded.
Lucy touched Banks on the arm.
“Sweetie, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Yeah, well, nobody asked you. I appreciate you taking care of me and all, but you’re the only one here who isn’t directly interested in finding Reed. So, you do whatever. We’re going.”
Lucy removed her hand and tapped her leg for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough.”
Banks gestured toward Wolfgang. “Untie him. He’ll behave.”
Lucy stared Wolfgang down, then stepped across the room and sliced away the tape with a pocket knife.
Wolfgang rubbed his
wrists and rolled his head back.
“Oh, thank heavens. I’ve got to pee so bad.”
Lucy leaned down, placing one delicate hand on Wolfgang’s scalded thigh, before whispering in his ear.
Banks couldn’t hear the words, but by the pallor that passed across Wolfgang’s face, she knew they constituted a threat.
Wolfgang laughed and nodded, and Lucy stepped back.
“All right, then,” she said. “We’re gonna find Reed. How the hell do we do that?”
Banks smiled, feeling a soft gleam of hope ignite in her tired mind. “Actually . . . I have an idea.”
Eighteen
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
The hotel was dark and musty, much like every ratty hotel Reed had ever stayed in. That was the downside of traveling incognito—the only hotels that let you check in with cash and without an ID were the bad ones. But he was used to it. An old, lumpy bed with sour sheets under a ceiling speckled with mold was about as good as he could expect only miles from the swamps of south Louisiana. At least it was quiet and isolated.
Reed sat on the edge of the bed, his right ankle propped up on his left knee. His pants leg was pulled up to expose the nylon strap of the ankle monitor. The tiny black unit featured a single red light that flashed every five seconds.
Reed ran his finger along the inside of the strap, feeling for the metallic band encased inside the nylon. The band was probably made of copper or steel, something conductive that completed a circuit from one side of the monitor to the other, ensuring that if the strap were cut and the strip severed, the circuit would be broken and an alert would be triggered.
It was an impossible problem. The only way to remove the monitor would be to break the circuit, regardless of whether the monitor was cut off or removed with the actual key that unlocked the strap. Either way, the monitor would send a signal to whatever computer it was connected to, logging the event, and then Reed would be screwed.
