Silas Read online

  My father’s hand flew up to my wrist, as quick as lightning, and he looked down at me with a grin, his gold tooth glinting in the sunlight. "Gotcha."

  "Crap." I yanked my hand back, and tucked it in the pocket of my jacket, tattered and worn.

  "Hannah Wilde," he said, looking at my mother. "Your child just made an excessively clumsy attempt to lift my wallet."

  "My child?" My mother was in front of the house, sitting in a rocking chair, newspaper held up close to her face. She folded down the edge, then peered over it at us. "Tempest's pickpocketing skills are more similar to yours than to mine."

  My father looked down at me and winked. "Better luck next time," he said. "You need more practice. You're already eight years old. You should be smoother than that."

  I sighed and kicked at the pebble on the ground under my shoe. "Come on, dad," I said. "When can I try it, for real?"

  "You can try it when you're ready," he said. "And only then. If I can catch you, it means you're not ready."

  I followed him up to the front porch of the house where we were staying. It wasn't our house, of course. It was a scam. We were squatting, pretending to be the relatives of the owners. We'd been there for two weeks.

  "Dad?" I asked.

  He sat down on the porch, then pulled out a deck of cards and began shuffling them, the cards flying through the air in a blur. I sat in front of him, mesmerized as I always was by the movement.

  "I like it here," I said.

  He didn't respond, just kept shuffling, his fingers flying.

  "Could we just stay here?" I asked.

  My mother looked over her newspaper at me. "You mean, like regular people?"

  I nodded, the thought of being a regular person - someone with a house and friends, someone who stayed in one place - like something out of a dream.

  "You're not meant to be a regular person, you hear me?" my father said, pausing his card shuffle. He laid three cards out on a small table between us, then gestured toward me. "Sit. You're a grifter, understand that? It's your birthright. You want to work for someone else your whole life? Be a slave to the system?"

  I exhaled heavily. "No," I said. I didn't know what that meant, but it sounded bad. "But we could stay in one place. We wouldn't have to move so much."

  My father gave me a long look. "And what? Find the Queen,” he ordered, pausing for a moment while he waited for me to pick a card, which I did, incorrectly. “You put down roots, you die. It's as simple as that. There's no staying in one place for people like us. You're a wanderer. It's in your blood. The people that work for the man, they're getting conned. The people that own the businesses, they're the real cons."

  I pointed to the middle card.

  No roots. Traveling was in my blood.

  Right now sitting here with my parents, was deceptive, a lull in what was otherwise a chaotic life.

  The problem was, I liked the lull. It was comforting. Safe. I wanted to stay in one place.

  But I knew it was temporary, that something bad waited just around the corner. It always did.

  "Watch the card," he said. "This life isn't something you choose to do. It's something you're born into. You're a lucky kid. All these other people going about their lives? The marks? You're smarter than they are. You're learning how the world works. You con or get conned, you understand that?"

  The problem was, I didn’t want to see it that way, as us versus them. Even then, I wanted to belong. Being on the outskirts hated by everyone, was no life. That was what I understood.

  He tapped the table, his finger near the cards. "Now," he said. "Where's the Queen?"

  Silas' Mustang wasn't exactly hard to follow - a bright blue car like that stood out like a sore thumb, especially as we wound through the roads in the shitty little neighborhood.

  "You're distracted again," Iver said. "I can only assume that you're preoccupied with thoughts of one of the men in the car. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid I'll have to point out that this little detour will need to stop, because we must meet with Coker."

  Coker.

  Damn it, I thought. Get your head in the game, Tempest.

  I was acting like some love struck teenager, following Silas down the road. Stalking him. It was madness.

  What the hell was I going to do, even if I found out where Silas was staying? It was stupid, and I was smarter than that.

  "Now," Iver said. "Spill the story."

  "There's nothing to tell," I said, watching as Silas turned down a street. I had to practically force myself to keep the steering wheel straight, to avoid veering down the road and following him. From my peripheral vision, I saw the blur of the blue car fade into the distance, and I exhaled. "He's just a ghost from the past, is all."

  Iver harrumphed. "That boy didn't look like a ghost to me. Judging by the expression on your face when you saw him, I'd say he's very much a part of your present."

  I didn't answer. The last thing I needed right now was for Silas to be part of my present. He was past tense, and that's how it was going to stay. I'd left him behind in West Bend.

  Silas and I were ancient history.

  Trigg hung up the phone. "Abel is out of the hospital," he said. "He was discharged last night. He's good to go."

  "That's a relief," I said. Just the thought of what that shitbird Coker had done to Abel, and to three of us now, was killing me.

  "We're going out for beers," Trigg said. "It'll be a celebration. Abel's going to meet us."

  "Yeah," I said. "It's a fucking celebration, Abel getting put in the hospital because of that asshole."

  "All right, pessimist," Trigg said. "Or how about we'll celebrate the fact that he's going to be fine, and you can stew and be pissed off and figure out how to kill Coker."

  I grunted. "That sounds better."

  Please just tell me you’re not going to shoot the guy when you see him. Not in broad daylight anyway.” Trigg reached into the backpack he'd stuffed on the floor of the car, and opened a bag of potato chips.

  "Come on, man," I said. "Not in my brother's car. You're going to be the one getting shot in broad daylight if you get crumbs all over the place."

  Trigg ignored me, popping a chip into his mouth and chewing loudly, then wiping the corners of his mouth while continuing to eat. "I'm starving, man," he said. "I have to eat."

  “Anyway, did I shoot him when I saw him last, mom?” I asked.

  Trigg narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said. “But that was at the fight.”

  “So?” I asked absently. The fight. All I could remember about the fight was Tempest, standing there beside Coker. Looking like sin in that outfit she was wearing, the skirt that hugged her curvy ass.

  "You were distracted," he said. "And besides, witnesses."

  “Are you saying he doesn’t deserve to get shot?” I asked. “After what the hell he did to me? To Johnny? Now with the hit and run, the way he messed up Abel?”

  “That's not what I'm saying at all, and you know it,” Trigg said. “Coker deserves worse than getting shot. Screwing with fighters the way he’s done? I’m just saying, don’t do something in broad daylight, that’s all.”

  “I’m not a dumbass.".

  “I didn’t say you were a dumbass, Dumbass,” he said. “I just want to know what the hell’s going through your head.”

  “Shut up and eat your chips, Trigg,” I said. “I didn’t invite you along so we could talk about our feelings. Coker is a goddamned safety hazard. End of story.”

  “So was Jade,” he said.

  I laughed, the sound bitter. I hadn't heard that name in a while.

  “Jade.” I spat out her name.

  Jade was my ex-girlfriend, the one who betrayed me. Betrayal was too kind of a word for what she’d done. Attempted murder was more accurate. I didn’t know if she’d ever given a shit about me, or if she’d just been Coker’s lackey from the very beginning. Coker knew I was too paranoid for him to do something to me himself, so he’d used her. She