This conversation belonged to Marcus and Hutchkins, and he knew enough to stay out of the middle of "What do you need from me?" Hutchkins said. Nothing right now, Marcus said. Stay visible. Let your deputies know they're not dealing with a problem.
And if Keller makes a move today, be available to respond. Hutchkins was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded once the same nod he'd given Will a week ago. The nod of a man choosing trust because the alternative was worse. I need this clean, Hutchin said.
So do I, Marcus said. Messi doesn't serve anyone here. They stood. Hutchkins shook both their hands again. As they were leaving, Hutchkins said, "Mr. Hayes."
Marcus stopped at the door. "Marcus, those people out there on Main Street," Hutchen said. "The business owners, they've been through 6 weeks of something they shouldn't have had to go through in this town." "I know," Marcus said. "Whatever else this is, they needed someone to come."
Hutchkins said, "I want you to know I understand that." Marcus looked at him for a moment. Thank you, Sheriff," he said, and they went out. On the sidewalk outside the sheriff's office, Will stood in the cold November air, and Marcus stood beside him. And for a moment, neither of them said anything.
"He's good," Marcus said. "I told you," Will said. "You did." Marcus looked up the street toward the diner, toward the bike, still visible from where they stood. "Okay, let's go find Keller."
They didn't have to find him. Keller came to them. It was 11:30 and Marcus had established the group at various points around the downtown. Not in an intimidating deployment, not a line or a formation, but present visible, some at the diner, some at the gas station, talking to Lou Baitman, who had come down despite having called in sick, and who was standing at his own pumps with the particular posture of a man who has remembered what he weighs some simply on the sidewalk. Will was back at his shop when his phone rang.
It was a number he didn't recognize and he answered it with the particular attentiveness of a man who expected unknown numbers this morning. Carter Brandon Keller's voice stripped of the pleasantness now every layer of the earlier performance gone. Just the voice of a man who was recalibrating and was angry about needing to. We need to talk. You have something to say to me, you can say it here, Will said privately, Brandon said.
At your shop, just you and me. Will looked at his watch. He looked at the shop at the Triumph Bonavville and the Norton and Pete Alcott shovelhead waiting in the corner and the parts bins lined up along the wall. His shop, his 30 years, the thing he'd built that belonged to him. Come to the shop, Will said.
Nobody comes with you except Decker. I'll have one person with me. Silence. Brandon waited. An hour, he said.
I'll be here, Willow said, and hung up. He called Marcus. He told him. Marcus was quiet for 3 seconds. He's coming to negotiate or to assess.
Will said to see what he's actually dealing with. Both, Marcus said. Same thing at this stage. He paused. Who are you taking on the you?
Will said if that's agreeable. That's agreeable. Marcus said at 12:30, Brandon Keller's truck pulled into Will's driveway. Brandon got out from the passenger side, which told Will he decided to let someone else drive, which was a particular kind of power statement. The arrival of a man who was chauffeurred.
Decker drove. They came into the shop and stood on one side of the workbench and Will and Marcus stood on the other. And the four men occupied the same space with a specific awareness of four people who understood exactly what was in the room. Brandon looked at Marcus the way people always looked at Marcus. First the size, then the vest, then the face.
And the face was the thing that reorganized everything else. Because Marcus Hayes had not become what he was by being expressive and the absence of expression in a face that large on a man that settled in his own weight produced an effect that Brandon Keller was visibly not prepared for. He looked at Will instead. You brought the Hell's Angels to a business dispute in Silver Creek, Montana. He said, "I brought my people to a situation that required them."
Will said. "Your people?" Brandon said. He let the phrase sit there testing its weight. That's an interesting way to talk about a club you haven't belonged to in how long?
22 years, Will said. 22 years, Brandon repeated. That's a long time to keep connections. Brotherhood doesn't have an expiration date, Marcus said. His voice was entirely level, the level of a man for whom leveling was a choice rather than an effort.
You either understand that or you don't. Brandon looked at Marcus again. Something was happening in his face that was trying hard to stay invisible and wasn't entirely succeeding. I've built something here. He said it's working.