Chapters (78)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Acknowledgments
- Discover More
- About the Author
- Also by Owen Laukkanen
The road dropped ahead, following the general declination of the land. Mason let the conversation die, watched out the window as the road narrowed and curved through the rain forest, lush green all around, moss and ferns and tall pines and spruce. In some places the forest was so dark it looked night black, in others it opened up into swampland, big skunk cabbages and reeds growing out of the mud. Yancy had his window cracked, and the air was cold and damp, refreshing after the stale air in the bar.
Yancy let his foot off the gas, let the truck coast down the last of the drop, rounded a corner and the road petered out into a small clearing and the ocean beyond, a narrow, half-sunk dock leading out over the water, the remains of a derelict freighter going to rust at the far end.
Yancy stopped the truck. Killed the engine. “Here we are,” he said. “Come on out.”
Mason opened his door. Stepped out onto a carpet of pine needles, smelled wet earth and low tide and something else, something chemical.
He walked around the front of the truck, surveyed the clearing, a few rusted cars and some junk alongside, and then the ship out on the water. It couldn’t have been more than 150 feet long, rust red and faded, filthy white, no nameplate visible. The wheelhouse at the stern, windows dark, the hull secured to the dock and the shore by a collection of mismatched and fraying lines. The dock looked well used, though, and there was a rope ladder down the hull; Mason surmised this was where Yancy cooked his product.
The sound of a hammer cocking back chased the notion from Mason’s mind, and shortly thereafter the barrel of a gun pressed into the nape of his neck.
“You sure ask a lot of questions, Burke,” Yancy said from behind him. “Are you sure you ain’t a cop?”
Thirteen
Thirteen
Mason made his body relax as Yancy prodded him again with the gun. “I’m not a cop, Yancy,” he said calmly. “You’re seeing this situation all wrong.”
“Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not.” Yancy was scared, Mason could tell, though the dealer was trying not to show it. “And maybe I just drop you right here and walk away with your cash and it doesn’t matter if you’re a cop or you’re not.”
He pushed the gun harder into Mason’s neck, and Mason laughed, a little bit. “What the fuck is so funny?”
“I’m about the furthest thing from a cop you can think of,” Mason said. “And I can’t say I’m too big on our having this conversation with that gun of yours at my back.”
Now it was Yancy’s turn to laugh. “Man, fuck you. Maybe you don’t fully understand the situation here, but I—”