The sky is still dark with night when we climb off the plane and onto the Fargo tarmac.
King makes a scene of stretching out his back when he unfolds from the plane, as he always does. Usually, it’s accompanied with a comment about how the aircraft is too small, or how I need to upgrade to a real plane. He knows I’m not in the mood for jokes right now though, as I use this time to prepare myself for what’s to come.
Reacting to aggression is one thing. But premeditated violence, that’s something else entirely.
I’m good at both.
King strides ahead to get a set of car keys from one of our local men. Sloan took care of everything we’d need on this end too.
I glance over, hearing snippets of their conversation, and notice the man standing in front of King keeps his eyes down. There’s a goo
