“The mother of the west, next stop the Okies.”
Feck, he’s in Missouri, coming up on the state line. “How’s that possible? Ye texted me earlier about having nae problems at the McFarland plant.”
“Nae, Knox texted ya while we were chowing on Mo’s sticky ribs. He’s at the wheel.”
“So, ye were in Boston yesterday?”
“Aye, cousin. We forgot. Wit’s with the questions?”
“It’s nothing,” I hang up. I ring Justice again, and it’s as I suspected, nae answer. I use the dispatch app Leith created so I could sync with any big rig on our fleet. Once Knox is on dispatch in the rig, and James replies on his phone, I tell them, “I’m gonna need ye motherfeckers to return to Boston.”
“When?” The bràthairs ask in tandem.
“How ‘bout now!” I bark out.
“I’m on call at the fire department as it is,” Knox says.
“Ye might need to reassess which check is bigger, cousin.”
“I can go,” James sighs. “Wits the package, Brody? Do I need to travel back in the car or the rig?”
“I’ll tell ya later. Switch rides, haul arse.”