Chapter 9: Unraveling the Seams
The surgical procedure took nearly two hours. Doc Miller worked with swift, practiced efficiency, using local anesthetic scavenged from a veterinary clinic and heavy nylon thread to stitch the torn muscle back together. When she finally tied off the last knot and slapped a thick gauze pad over the entry wound, she let out a long breath, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her forearm.
"He'll live," Doc Miller said, stripping off her bloody latex gloves and tossing them into a galvanized bucket. "Provided he doesn't tear those stitches open on a motorcycle or get shot at again in the next forty-eight hours. Keep him hydrated, and give him these antibiotics every six hours." She handed a small plastic pill bottle to Jack.
"Thanks, Doc," Jack said.
Cale was breathing easier now, his chest rising and falling in a steady, albeit shallow, rhythm. Maya sat beside the makeshift cot on her wooden crate, holding her father’s limp hand and softly humming a tune Jack recognized as an old outlaw ballad from the late nineties.
"All right, Jack," Preacher said, flicking his cigarette butt into a drain. "Let's see what all the fuss is about. Let's see what’s sewn into that kid's heirloom."
Jack walked over to Maya, kneeling down beside her. "Maya, honey, I need to borrow the vest for a minute. Just to check something inside the lining. Is that okay?"
Maya looked up, her tear-stained face solemn. She hesitated for a second, then slowly handed the heavy garment over to Jack, as if passing on a sacred trust. "Don't ruin it, Uncle Jack. It's all I have left of him."
"I promise, Maya. I won't touch a single patch," Jack said softly.
He carried the tattered leather vest over to the workbench, laying it flat beneath the harsh glare of the trouble light. Preacher leaned in close, his one good eye scanning the thick, reinforced seams along the inside collar. With meticulous care, Jack used his pocketknife to snip the heavy nylon threading along the left shoulder panel, parting the layers of worn cowhide.
Inside the dark cavity between the leather and the synthetic lining, something bulky was wrapped in layers of oiled canvas. Jack slid it out and placed it on the metal workbench.
May you like
He unfolded the canvas to reveal a small, military-grade encrypted data drive and a thick stack of onionskin paper covered in dense, handwritten ledger entries—names, account numbers, and dates spanning a decade of federal corruption and cartel collusion.
Preacher whistled softly through his teeth. "Well, I'll be damned. That’s enough rope to hang half the brass in Washington."
