Wasteland Warlords Episode 4: Chapter 12 - Good News, Bad News

Once Clay was fully recovered and he’d dealt with the remnants of the poison, he and Joe found the rest of the Jaeger squad. Alex, Griff, Bacon Bits, and Chonk had managed to stomp a sizeable number of Triple S. Apparently seeing that, the dregs of the merc group had decided their paycheck wasn’t worth it—especially now that there wasn’t an Incant on site to guarantee it would get paid. They’d gotten out of Dodge while they still could, probably running off to report to their shady bosses.

“Where are the unconscious ones?” Clay asked, looking around the Temple.

“We let them take the trash out when they went,” Alex explained. She shrugged. “We don’t really have any way to deal with them long term, and we couldn’t get any info out of them anyway.”

Griff nodded. “That whole lot clammed up tighter than a gnat’s sphincter the second we started askin’ questions. Mayhap it’s just as well. I don’t figure on becoming a jailor or an inquisitor anyhow.”

“We might still be able to get some information,” Clay said.

He led the way back through the Temple and across the skate park/warehouse. With a tap of his hand, Joe’s Arcane Engineer ability broke down the metal strip over the office door.

“After you, milady,” he said, sketching a gallant bow made only slightly less courtly by the fact that he was wearing cutoff flannel and jorts.

“Wow.” Alex blinked and started to go in. “Thanks, Joe.”

He barred her way with a hairy arm. “Not you, short stack. This big hunk of Marine over here.”

Clay shook his head and ducked into the office.

The Jaeger squad spent the next two hours rifling through the files. For a skater, the Madlad Rhett Cameron had been a shrewd businessman. He’d kept obsessively detailed records on every item and potion sold over the wall since he’d gone into business with Cassidy Morgan and Flynn Lynes. A suspicious mind might even think he’d been covering his ass just in case he needed blackmail material at some point to keep himself alive.

On the other hand, his files had also included a ton of business startup plans for a designer line of skate shoes. Really ugly ones.

None of the sales records pointed to any one person or group specifically—the names were all obvious shell corporations that would need to be traced by somebody with some real pull—but at least they had a paper trail. They could work with this.

“Got it!” Joe announced, bounding up out of the ergonomic office chair. He waved Rhett’s phone in the air. “I figured out the lock screen.” He thumbed at the screen. “Oh, and look who our old buddy’s been texting with. None other than Cassidy Morgan, or as he calls him, Big Cass.” Joe tapped the phone thoughtfully on his chin. “Huh. You think he knows a second Cassidy that he calls ‘Little Cass’?”

“Give me that.” Alex tugged the device out of Joe’s hand and started scrolling through their message history. “And it’s supposed to be ‘who he calls.’ People are whos, not thats.” She shot Clay a sidelong grin. “See, babe, I do listen to you.”

“Nuh-uh, it can be either,” Joe argued. “Tell her, Clay.”

Clay took a deep breath. “Technically, it should be ‘whom he calls,’ because it’s objective. Nobody says whom anymore, but if you don’t use it, the grammar gets really complicated. See, although most people believe who is correct, that and who have both been in common use for centuries in reference to humans. Even most style guides—”

“Translation: Mark another one down for Lumberjack Joe!” Joe did a fist pump, then turned to Clay. “See, babe,” he said in a high-pitched voice, while batting his eyelashes, “I do listen to you.”

“Shut up for a second.” Alex had gone suddenly pale.

“Why?” Joe taunted. “So you can be a sore loser?”

“No,” she breathed. The look on her face made Clay’s blood run cold. “Griff…”

The old weed looked up from the pile of documents he was digging through.

“What is it? Is it Ella?” Griff sounded like he’d just choked on his heart.

Alex met his fearful gaze, eyes wide. She nodded.

The old man jumped up from his seat on the floor and crossed the room in a single stride, leaning over her shoulder to look at the screen.

“Dammit,” he growled. “I can’t read this tiny shit without my bifocals. Why don’t one of y’all just tell me what it says. Come on!”

Clay took the phone. Immediately, he saw the texts Alex had been talking about.

Rhett: What about your dizzy fae chick?

Big Cass: dont worry about it. over and dealt with.

Rhett: Like how?

Big Cass: like she aint coming back. shes halfway to a dark site by now.

Rhett: How much did you get for her?

Big Cass: the usual. why, are you and gearhead worried im gonna keep your share?

Rhett: It’s got to go in the records, numbnuts. We need paper trails inside paper trails if Uncle Sam ever turns on us.

Clay swallowed hard.

“Griff…” He lowered the phone and met the old weed’s grim blue gaze. “I think these assholes sold your daughter across the wall.”