THEO
IMOGENE LIT THE CANDLES in front of the four framed photos of our dearly departed. The glass containers glowed red. She crossed herself and lit a cigarette. Solomon came inside and helped Pearl lift flour bags to shelves in the back kitchen.
“Rumor has it,” Bud said, “Toreck let it be known he ain’t too happy you helped his family disappear. And apparently he kept some interesting company in the pen.”
“And?” I said. “I mean, Toreck’s happiness wasn’t ever part of my plan.”
“Right, no problem. We can handle Toreck,” he said, giving Imogene a reassuring look.
She rolled her eyes and said, “You two always think you can handle everything.”
“Loosen your girdle, Nancy,” I said, feigning a smile. “It’ll be fine.”
“Huh! I don’t wear a girdle, and things are seldom fine if he’s involved,” she said. “You plan on fightin’ back this time, now you’ve rammed a stick into that hornet’s nest?”
“I plan on fighting if there’s a fight,” I said as my gut twisted, telling me there would be.
“Alright, you two.” Bud laid last weekend’s Oregonian on the counter. “Remember this riot at the pen last week?”
“Yeah, I saw the paper,” I answered as Imogene’s eyes scrutinized the grainy pictures.
“Well, it was the same day Toreck was released. They thought seven prisoners died in the fires, but apparently not all seven bodies were accounted for. Far as we can tell, a prisoner named Genghis Hansel somehow escaped, not sure how. But my source hinted they’re buddies and are headed our way.”