Ace Of Spades (Complete Raw First Draft, Unedited)

Thirty- Eight: Shank

Boomer was riding shotgun, next to Chuck, who was navigating the van through the dark, empty roads between towns, nothing but farmland around us for miles.

The van was similar, I'd noticed, to the one Jenna had been taken away in, with no windows and no seats in the back.  I was leaning up against the sliding door, next to Clyde.  We sat across from Jack, Troy, and Rogue and Hunter, two other guys from the Specters who I didn't know well, since they spent most of their time on the road, between clubs and connections, wherever there was business.

There was no lighting in the van, and we all sat silently in complete darkness.n So that there'd be less chance of us being spotted as we approached the warehouse, we'd waited till night fall before setting off, and the sun had well and truely set behind the horizon.  No one spoke much, except for Boomer, who, now and again, would give us updates from the other vehicle that the remaining Specters were in, including dad and Marcus, who hadn't left earlier to trail the van Jenna was taken in or to watch the warehouse.

I was nervous as fuck, not entirely sure what we were in for, and I glanced across at Clyde, trying to figure how he stayed so calm.  He'd leaned his head back with his eyes closed, and I might have thought he was asleep, if it wasn't for the tension in his expression.

"We've got movement at the warehouse," Boomer suddenly said, turning in his seat.

Clyde and I both snapped to attention, leaning forward eagerly.

"Another vehicle just turned up, a black SUV," he told us, his eyes flickering across the screen of his phone.  "A couple more guns, and some big shot, by the sounds of it.  Greying hair, medium height and build, wearing a business suit..."

"That sounds like our guy," Clyde said calmly, but I could see the excited glint in his eyes as he glanced at me.

I held up my hand, curling my fingers in and Clyde returned my fist bump.

"He's gonna wish he stayed at home this morning," I muttered, not even bothering to fight back the grin taking over my entire face.

"If we let him live long enough to have any regrets," Chuck added, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.

"How much longer have we got to go?"  Clyde asked for what felt like the hundredth time already.

Boomer groaned.

"How long did I say last time?"  Chuck answered with an amused smile.

"About half an hour," I reminded them.

"Well, minus ten minutes from that," Chuck responded, gripping the wheel firmly.  "That's how long."

"Can I drive?"  My nervousness had morphed into excited jitters, and, even though we were driving at least fourty over the legal speed limit, we were still going too slow for my liking.

"You?"  Chuck glanced at me in the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow.

"You know," I teased.  "Maybe we could cut that time in half if someone who didn't drive like my grandad was behind the wheel."

"Your grandad would be rolling in his grave, right, now," Hunter told me from across the van.  "He still holds the town record for the most speeding tickets ever."

"And I wouldn't mind getting us there alive," Chuck retorted.  "I've seen you drive, Ace."

I was surprised when Clyde didn't have anything to add, rarely missing the opportunity to take the piss out of me, but, when I glanced at him, I saw him with his switchblade out, threading it in and out of his fingers the way he often did.  I'd never seen him cut himself, and I'd never seen him drop the knife.  He did both, just now.