Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
The familiar stench of used furniture hits me right in the face when we walk into the movie theater in my cabin. It's filled with supplies, used furniture, and a small cache of weapons. On the table to the right are several boxes of military-grade packaged meals, a staple in any paramilitary organization.
I'm looking through a box of clothes when Lark speaks.
"Casper hooked up with one of the girls next door."
A chuckle runs through the group of guys, and I refuse to look up at the familiar laugh, even though I never heard it very often when we were young. Frankie didn't have much to laugh about in those days.
"Someone from the divorcée group?" Jersey asks from the far side of the room.
"How does everyone know who they are?" Casper mutters as he types something into his tablet.
"We don't live in a cave," Jersey answers. "You should get out more."
"Can we just go through this stuff so we can get it loaded up?" Casper asks, trying to divert everyone's attention.
"Was it the redhead or the blonde one with the really big—" Lark asks, holding his hands out in front of his chest to indicate breasts.
"The brunette," I answer with a grin, trying to fit in and feel like one of the guys.
"The one with the little butterfly tattoo right here?" Echo asks, pointing to the corner of his lower stomach.
Silence fills the room as we all stare at him.
"What?" Casper asks, slowly lowering his tablet to the table.
"Pretty smile, bright blue eyes?" Echo continues.
Casper tilts his head slightly, as if sizing up the other man.
"How do you know about the tattoo?" Lark asks Echo because it's starting to look like Casper isn't going to.
"I might've spent a little time over there last month," Echo says with a wink.
"You mean you fu—"
"Are we going to stand around and fucking gossip, or are we going to get this shit handled?" Hemlock growls from the doorway.
I turn to explain what's going on, but the look on Hemlock's face tells me this isn't the time or the place.
"The tackle box looks too new," I say as a distraction, pointing to the corner of the room. "If the rods and reels are old, the box needs to be just as old."
"Noted," Casper says, typing a note on his tablet.
Jersey laughs at how fast the man is trying to move on from the previous conversation.
"Some of these will work," I say, pulling a prescription bottle from one of the boxes. "But it would be better if you had bottles with scripts from multiple people who appear unrelated. If someone goes so far as to come into the house and raid the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, that will tell the snooper that we aren't afraid to steal to get what we want. That could open the door for them to trust us a little easier."
Casper makes another note before I move on.
"We have a computer for you to use before you make contact with anyone from the LOL, but I had one of the guys grab some of these," Casper says. "I read online that they're important."
I look at the stack of books and printed manuals and give him a nod of appreciation.
"Most of these groups are very low tech. I mean, most of the members are expected to be, but the leader will have all the latest shit he can manage. It's a way not only to keep tabs on his guys but also to stay up to date on the world and threats to his organization. He's definitely going to have tech if he's running a trafficking business. It would be expected of us to have survival guides because we wouldn't have quick access to the internet," I explain. "Plus, many of these guys are firm believers that the internet would be the first thing to go down if the shit really hit the fan globally, so they like to be prepared."
I feel a sense of belonging when I look around the room and see everyone, even Frankie, paying attention to what I have to say.
Knowing I have a lot of experience with this sort of job and deferring to me are two very different things. I can feel pride start to swell in my chest as I move around the room, going through every prop one by one, because there's nothing worse than someone finding something they shouldn't and trying to come up with a reason for it on the fly. That could fluster even the most skilled undercover person, and I'd like to avoid it at all costs.
We spend the better part of the morning going through everything as the other guys, all but Casper, Hemlock, Frankie, and me, cycle in and out of the room. I explain the need for each item and have Casper note any changes, additions, or removals. Not because I want to sound more knowledgeable about this, but because the Frankie I know wouldn't have spent the time to do his own research or read information provided to him.