Page 76 of What We Bury

“Then Micah joined later? Holden recruited him, right?”

He hesitates. “He told you his story?”

I nod. “He took out the guy who hurt him. Like I did with Brock.”

“Okay. That wasn’t my story to tell. So I’m glad he opened up to you already.”

Of all the things I expected from Milo tonight—the squirrel question, the pie pageantry, the casual disclosure of a billionaire-funded murder operation—the thing I did not expect was restraint. Milo, who has spent the last hour saying every thought that has entered his head approximately four seconds after it entered, would have kept that information to himself had I asked.

How strange.

“So, what about you?”

He grins. “I crashed their party. Recruited myself. Eli’s still mad about it, I think.”

“What? How?”

He puffs out his chest. “I’m the top-rated salesman in the state for Harden Hardware stores.” He unzips his jacket, peeling back the flap on one side to show an array of pins. “Top Sales Person fifty-four months in a row. And you know what’s crazy? I don’t even work there that much.”

I hide a smile. “Impressive. Do you always wear them?”

“Only when I’m trying to impress my new lady friend. Did it work?”

“Do you get commissions and bonuses?”

He nods. “Last one paid for my car.”

“Then yes.”

He beams, dropping the jacket flap closed. “Anyways, back to story time. It’s my job to know what my customers want. It’s what set me off. The same four men, every two or three months, came in to buy yards and yards of nylon and hemp rope. I am, as established, a man who notices things. I figured if they’re after that much rope, they were either running an Eagle Scout Brigade or killing people. They didn’t look like scout leaders. So I followed them.”

I shake my head. “Of course you did.”

“Well imagine how excited I got when I came around the corner of an alley, and they had a man hanging from a fire escape. Knox almost knifed me. Holden demanded to know who I was, and I said—and Sage,” he reaches across to grab my hand, holding it in both of his as he stares deep into my eyes. “I’ll be honest, I do not know where this came from, I think God was speaking through me. But I said, ‘Just your friendly hardware clerk with an eye for detail and a great staff discount.’”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head at the absurdity of this situation.

“They squabbled over it for a while, but by the end of the night I had a job. After all, I’m supremely useful.”

“For your staff discount?”

“That and forgery. Digital trails. Suicide notes. I write a note for all of them—fonts, handwriting, the works.”

“And the bosses—they all know all of you?”

“Officially yes. Operationally, we all report to Odin. Sometimes Loki. They’re our two main points of contact. Thor I’ve seen twice, both times at the club, both times in passing. Fenrir I have never seen and am told never to expect to. Fenrir doesn’t do faces, but he did teach me remotely how to do the digital trails.”

“How could he do that without seeing you face-to-face?”

He lets my hand go, returning to his pie. “He runs everything from screens, and through a voice processor. The guy could be anyone. Hell, he could be in this diner right now and I wouldn’t know it.”

“He’s not in this diner, Milo.” I gesture at the empty space. “We’re alone.”

“I am ninety-eight percent sure he’s not in this diner. But the fucker is slick. It’s entirely possible he’s hiding under a table or something, glued to a shadow, dressed in a onesie that perfectly camouflages him against the tiles.”

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. The information is too much.

The kitchen door bangs open and Danny strides back in, smelling like cigarettes, and complaining loudly to no one about something his cousin said. He waves at me, disappears into the kitchen, and starts banging pots. The spell breaks. We’re back in a diner with a cook and a fridge and an ordinary Wednesday-night world.