Cause and Effect

Chapter 8

qui vive [kē-ˈvēv]

(n). heightened awareness; watchfulness, 

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When the Van der Linde gang moved, half the country heard. Caravan of bikes racing down the highway, clouds of dust and gravel behind them, and then further behind them, a few trailers bumping their way down the road. 

They moved later that week, pushing everything they could into trailers, slowly but surely sinking what was left of their established empire at Valentine. 

They had asked their established members in town if they wanted to pull up and go with them. Tilly had decided against it, told them she'd stay back and stay in contact with them, let 'em know if they could ever come back to Valentine again. Pearson closed down his diner, left a note on the front door, closed until further notice, and showed up on Hosea's front porch, belongings in a ratty bag. 

"Can't get it out of me." He said tiredly. "Can't escape the wanderin'."

They'd asked Abigail too, and she'd sighed heavily, holding Jack close to her. Glanced around at her motel, her work, and sighed again. "I'm tryin' here, boys." She said, little Jack reaching out for Arthur. She let him take him. "I'm tryin' real hard to get straight."

Without Dutch in town, she wouldn't get her share of the money, no extra income meant her little motel would fall to ruin. Even with Dutch's share, it was well on its way, worn carpet and holes in the wall poking through the hard-won veneer she tried to keep up. If she lost the business, if she lost them, she'd be right back where she started, out on the streets, begging and giving far too much of herself in order that Jack could maybe eat some. 

"Promise me," she closed her books for the last time. "That this ain't gonna be everythin' Jack knows?"

Arthur glanced down at the toddler playing sleepily with his jacket, glanced back up at the mother. "Sure, Abigail, I promise." Felt a twinge of regret at a failed promise somewhere long ago as he handed Jack back. 

It was John that was harder to convince than anyone else. The man was more often than not less than coherent most days, and on his good days, he was lethargic and sleeping, barely able to keep his eyes open. 

Hosea wanted to talk it over with him, let him know his options, but Dutch told him roughly, that the day John decided to get all mixed up with them was the day his options ended. Hosea got real mad with that, and again, Arthur wondered what it was about John that made Hosea get all soft. 

So now they had John in one of the trailers, made sure he kept quiet for the first few days, giving maybe more pain medicine than what Calloway had told was good for him, and he had been out for most of the panicked running, while they figured out where to go next. 

Hosea had the decency to send one of the men to John's car, to grab anything that looked personal and bring it back to the trailer that they had John in. It wouldn't help the shock that he was going to be in when he woke up, but Hosea hoped it would at least soften the blow.

"It's kidnapping," he shook his head, staring down at John. "We're kidnapping him."

Dutch glanced over at him, body swaying as the trailer rocked down the highway. He had been scanning maps all day, and Hosea could hear the exhaustion and stress in his voice when he talked. 

"He can leave when I know he won't talk Hosea." He said tiredly. "That's it." 

"Is it?" 

"What exactly did you expect here?" Dutch countered darkly. "That he would jus' carry on with knowing everything, and everyone and I wouldn't be worried 'bout it? Hosea, he knows so much, I can't let him out without knowing."