“As a former cop, I can tell you that nine out of ten crimes are committed with a purpose.”
“Is that like nine out of ten dentists recommend?”
“If you’re talking about fluoride, yes.” Butch put another chip in his mouth. “And do you need a Snickers?”
“No, I’m actually most myself when I’m hangry.”
“Remind me why I live with you again?”
“Because I can fix the wireless router when it goes out.”
Butch held up his forefinger. “Oh, right. It’s coming back to me now.”
“Anyway, whoever broke into that pharmacy needed medical supplies, not shit to cook up dope with. That was the reason.”
“We’re never going to find that prison camp.”
V frowned. “And you’re the one who wears the Jesus piece.”
“I’m just saying, if they want to stay hidden, they will.”
“Not acceptable.” V picked up his phone and went to the Internet. “They’re going to need a place big enough to house, what, three or four hundred people minimum—underground or in a sufficiently stable structure to protect the prisoners from daylight. It’s going to have to have some mod cons so that they can conduct business. Like they’ll need cell phone access or at least a landline. Rudimentary electricity and running water. A perimeter fence and guard stations.”
“So they’d want an abandoned prison, for example.”
“Exactly.” He continued typing. “Because the chances of them finding another underground facility like the first location? Very small.”
“There isn’t one in New York State. Vacant prison, that is.”
“How do you know.”
Butch pointed to his own chest. “Cop, remember.”
V frowned at the results he got. “There isn’t an abandoned prison, by the way.”
“Do you ever listen to anybody. Like, ever?”
“We need to look at other places. An abandoned museum. Old mansion. Sports complex, library, city hall.”
“Well, that’ll narrow it down, if you’re looking through the entirety of New York State. Sure. How many are there, like, a thousand or two?”
“Think positively.”
Butch crumpled the bag. “This coming from you?”
Both of them looked up at the same time. Then they turned their heads to the left.
Lassiter, the fallen angel, was stepping out of the glass-fronted office, and as he came down to them, his long strides covered the distance with an impressive alacrity. And, hey, he wasn’t in pink zebra print today. Surprise!
“How’s she doing?” the angel asked.
For once, his blond-and-black hair was pulled back, and he was super serious. Which was a little like Mr. Bean trying to give a TED Talk. You just kept waiting for the guy to go off on a tangent that involved putting his head in a Thanksgiving turkey.
V shook his head. “She needs to go to the Sanctuary and heal up there.”
“The recharging will help.” Lassiter glanced at the closed door. “They’re in with her now? The docs.”
“Yeah.”