While Lexi packed, Tyler sat in his spare bedroom-turned-studio. A fresh paper waited for him. When he first started therapeutic painting, he tried to force a certain image or design. Eventually, he learned to trust the process. His subconscious would tell him what to draw. It sounded like psychobabble the first time Tyler heard it—and it still did if he thought about it—but he couldn’t deny it worked.
He picked up a wide brush, closed his eyes, and took a few calming breaths. When he opened them again, he mixed some colors and painted an ominous blue sky at the top. Using black, he drew the outline of a squat building on the right and a ribbon of road on the left. Tyler rinsed his brushes and waited for another bolt of inspiration.
A thin brush helped him trace the outline of a car, then a figure. He spent several minutes and a few different shades filling everything in. When Tyler finished, he felt mentally drained but also like he unloaded a burden he’d been carrying around. He left the room while everything dried. Lexi assembled a roller bag, a bookbag, and a laptop case near the front door. She rinsed her reusable water bottle in the sink. “I’m still not happy with you,” she said as she dried the metal cylinder.
“You’ll survive to be unhappy with me another day,” Tyler said. “It’s what I care about.”
“I know.” She filled the bottle using the cold water dispenser in the fridge. “I’m sure Grandpa will be glad for the company. I don’t expect I’ll have a good time, but it’s just temporary.” She smirked. “When we both survive this, I’ll tell you how much of a jerk you were to send me away.”
Tyler walked into the kitchen, and they embraced. “Take care of yourself, kiddo. If the worst does happen, listen to your grandfather. He probably has defense plans for just about any scenario. Hell, I’m sure the security director there blocks his calls.”
Lexi giggled. “That sounds like Grandpa.” She picked up the smaller bags, and Tyler carried the larger one. They loaded everything into the Accord. Tyler figured she took it because charging the Tesla wasn’t a guarantee, but he was glad she logged some miles on the car they restored together. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too.” He waved as Lexi backed out of the driveway and took off down the road. Tyler walked back inside and returned to his upstairs mini studio. He never focused on what he painted as it was happening, but the results always fascinated him after the fact. A stormy sky dominated the top of the paper. A short building looking a lot like Smitty’s filled the right side. Behind a sports car, a giant lay dead, his blood running into the nearby street.
Orlan said they would meet again. Tyler knew he’d be ready.
Lexi put her stuff in her grandfather’s extra bedroom. It was even more spartan than the rest of the unit. A double bed, a small dresser, and a nightstand—all the same boring medium brown—were the only items in the space. Even the closet was empty. Most people used a spare room to store boxes and piles of extra crap. Not Zeke Tyler. He didn’t own extra crap to begin with.
“Will it work?” her grandfather asked.
Lexi smiled. “It’s fine.”
“Your dad could’ve phoned me, you know. I would’ve said yes.”
“You know him,” she said.
“His whole life.” He paused. “What happened? You talked about some cartel when you called.”
“Yeah.” They walked to the living room, which served as the main area of the condo. It joined a small dining space and average-sized kitchen, and Lexi figured the place touted the “open concept” layout she saw on every home renovation show. Down the hall were the two bedrooms and second bath. The flooring looked like authentic hardwood, and whoever painted the unit did so recently and well. Her grandfather hadn’t put up many decorations. A few family photos and some navy memorabilia were it. “A woman dropped off some car at the shop where Dad works.”
“Figures this is all over a woman,” her grandpa said with a chuckle.
“I don’t think it’s like that.”
“Your father was a bit of a skirt chaser before he met your mother.”
“Gross, Grandpa.” Lexi fought a losing battle with a shudder at the thought of her dad being a player. It was a long way from the man he was today. Once she pushed past that, Lexi remembered her mom’s last email. She needed to reply at some point. Despite leaning against going earlier, she now thought she might as well. Maybe it was lingering anger at her father for shipping her off here. Whatever the reason, she hadn’t seen her mother in a long time. “The girl was really into cars,” she said. “The problem is her boyfriend got pissed she took it there. She ended up dead, he and dad got into it, two guys got shot in the shop, and now the cartel knows who Dad is.”
The old man nodded. “Your father’s always had problems letting things go.”
“They murdered a woman for no reason.”
“I know,” he said. “It wasn’t your dad’s problem until he made it his problem, though. People get killed over dumb shit all the time.”
Lexi frowned. “I’m beginning to think I should go back home.”
Her grandpa waved a hand. “No, it’s probably better you’re here. I didn’t mean to upset you. You have dinner yet?” She nodded. “All right. I didn’t have anything planned for tonight. Just going to watch TV.”
“I think I’ll do some homework.” She offered a small smile. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
A grin split the old man’s face. “Sure thing. If I don’t see you before I turn in . . . good night.” He stood, and Lexi heard his knees creak. “Oh, in case anything happens, there’s a shotgun under your bed.”
“Of course there is,” Lexi said. She returned to the second bedroom. Without a desk to work at, her laptop earned its name while she sat on the bed. Lexi opened her mother’s most recent email and typed a reply.
Mom,
I’d love to see you. The next few days probably won’t work, so maybe we could do sometime next week? Let me know, and I’ll schedule something.
Love,
Lexi
Her father said she could do what she wanted with her mom’s invitation, but she knew he’d prefer she not go. It felt a little petty, but Lexi liked the thought of making him angry over something.
Héctor gathered his men in the living room. He took a color printout of John Tyler’s face and taped it to the wall. “This man cost us two of our own. He’s our target.”
“Let’s get him!” Rodolfo said.
Héctor put up a hand to calm his younger cousin. “Before we do, I want everyone to know what’s going on. We cannot take this man lightly. Besides killing Pedro and Patricio, he was an American soldier for a long time. He’s dangerous.”
“Look how many of us there are.” Rodolfo stood and started counting.
Héctor cut him off. “I can add, cousin. Sit down. If you talk again, you can go back home.” Rodolfo scowled, but he sank onto the couch. Héctor affixed a second paper to the wall beside the first. “This is his street. He lives in Baltimore. There’s one way in and one way out. We can surround his house with a six-man crew and take him out.” Héctor paused. “He has a daughter.” A few of the men smiled and perked up. “She’s not part of this. If she ends up a casualty, so be it, but no one is to go after her unless you have to.” The enthusiasm dampened as quickly as it rose. Héctor grinned. “If you capture her, I don’t care what you do with her. Or how often.” It was amazing how quickly morale returned to the ranks.
Héctor pointed at the Google Maps photo of John Tyler’s street. “Two vehicles. Three men in each. Danilo and Videl, you head it up.” Both men nodded. They were experienced operatives. Some of the younger guys might fly off the handle and get too eager about kidnapping a pretty girl. Danilo and Videl would keep their eyes on the target.
“Get ready,” Héctor said. “I want you to roll out in fifteen minutes.”