But as usual, Owen was about as diplomatic as a brick. “I’m not saying he’s not an asshole. I’m sure as hell not defending that, but I think Franks has a code. It might not make sense to us, but it exists, and he’s as devoted to it as you are to yours. But if MHI decides to participate in this clusterfuck, I’m going with you. I can shoot one-handed sitting down better than you can now. I won’t leave you hanging, even if we all want to commit group suicide. That said, I vote no. Not only no, but hell no!”

Earl nodded. He’d not asked for votes, he’d asked for opinions. This wasn’t a democracy. Earl had already made their final decision, but he was interested in seeing what they had to say.

“Two hundred and fifty million bucks versus some very questionable loyalties,” Holly said. “I’ve worked with Franks, and I’ve talked to him, but I’m still inclined to track his big ass down.”

Earl wasn’t surprised . . . But he knew she was lying about the money. Holly was in because she volunteered her free time at Appleton, and many of those poor mentally broken folks had been forced into silence by Franks personally. She’d never admit that though.

“For that kind of money, every Hunter in the world will be gunning for Franks,” Milo said. “Whether we get involved or not, Franks is toast. Nobody can escape that many determined Hunters.”

“Even more reason for us to be the ones to pull the trigger,” Holly pointed out. “He’s going down no matter what. We might as well be the ones to get paid.” She jerked her thumb at Julie. “Get Julie a clean line of sight with a sniper rifle and at least we’ll make it quick and painless.”

Earl looked to his great-granddaughter. “You’ve been remarkably quiet. What do you think, Julie?”

Julie didn’t bother to look up from the page. “I think I don’t want my baby born with flipper hands because of your secondhand smoke.”

“Shit.” Earl stabbed out the cigarette in an ashtray. “I forgot.”

“We should stay away from this one,” Julie stated.

“How come?”

“Franks isn’t good or evil. He’s just Franks. So as long as we sit here having a moral debate and try to judge Franks like he’s a regular person, we’ll never have a clear answer. Has he done terrible things? Sure. Guilty as hell. He’s a monster that makes werewolves look cuddly. Has he done what he does because he’s fighting something worse? Probably. But that’s not why I say no.” Julie crumbled the printout into a ball, and launched it at the garbage can. She sunk the shot. “This thing has Stricken’s fingerprints all over it.”