“No, dude,” Dulac was saying, “hold it like—”

“I know perfectly fucking well how to hold a drill, motherfucker,” Foley answered. “I built my own fucking deck, thanks very much.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been on that deck, and it’s got like a thirty-degree angle. You’re lucky you had so many goddamn kids because you’re probably going to lose one or two of them just sliding off the goddamn deck you built.”

“Fine. Fine. You think you’re so fucking good? You do it.”

“It’s easy, you just—” The motor strained. “I mean, you just have to get it in the right spot.”

“For the love of Jesus Christ.” That was Engels, and then came shuffling movement. The drill whined, and Somers heard a screw ting against the floor as it came loose.

“Well, yeah, if you do it like that,” Foley muttered. “Of course it’s going to work.”

Dulac grumbled something about angle and torque.

“Next time,” Engels said, “switch it to reverse.” A pop echoed through the stairwell, the sound of something being forced free, and then the door swung open. Engels stood there, his trim white mustache glowing in the fluorescents, the drill slung over one shoulder. Dulac’s head popped into view; a smile split the freckles.

“Hi, John-Henry. Did you see how I rescued you?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

JULY 6

SATURDAY

5:22 AM

SOMERS JOGGED THE PERIMETER of the Empire Fruit building. At Foley’s insistence, they had hurried away from the college campus while the sheriff was trying to call out his deputies, leaving the Engels to take care of Nico and secure the scene. As they drove across town, Dulac told Somers about the Keeper’s threat and challenge, although the younger detective was having a hard time sitting upright, much less speaking coherently. Somers knew what Hazard had done and why he had done it; it didn’t help the mixture of rage and fear inside him, but at least he understood. More of Wahredua PD had been waiting for them at the warehouse, responding to Foley’s and Dulac’s calls.

Somers ignored all of them as he made his circuit of the building. He spotted the service door at the back, shredded from buckshot, and he spotted the too-obvious trap of the front doors. He came to a stop at the coal chute; on the inside of the cast iron door, a plastic banner said CONGRATULATIONS. Below, pools of halogen light waited.

“He went through here,” Somers said.

“Duh,” Dulac said.

“Ok,” Somers said. “Make sure nobody leaves this building. Do you understand? Nobody.”

“Bro,” Dulac said. “You can’t go in there. The sheriff will be here in a few minutes, and we’ll lock this place down and . . .” Dulac trailed off. “Shit. Why am I even bothering?”

Somers shrugged. “He’s in there. And he can’t do this alone.”

Nodding, Dulac said, “Let’s go.”

“No.”

“I’m your partner.”

“You’re still halfway doped, and you can barely stand.”

“John-Henry, my bro, my mentor, my friend, shut the fuck up. We’ve got to hurry.”