Chapter 22
(Seattle, Washington, Wednesday evening, Oct. 1, 2013)
SHORTY SLOWLY DROVE down the street past the Fairchild house, looking things over. He didn’t see any problems. Didn’t mean there weren’t any. Or wouldn’t be any.
“Anyone see anything?” he asked his passengers. No response. He assumed that meant they hadn’t. They weren’t chatty company. Spooky, not chatty.
Eli Andrews was tightly wound, and lost touch with reality every now and then. Shorty had the urge to remind him they were on the same side about every 10 minutes. He didn’t, but maybe he should. He watched Eli out of the corner of his eye, being careful not to look at him directly. He didn’t want to spook the man further.
Timothy Brandt was completely adrift. Had to be hard on the kid. So much going on around him, and
