Homer stepped into the center, raising his arms to quiet the frantic murmurs. The room fell silent. Mary Rose wiped her tears, then fanned herself with a paper napkin as if she might faint.
"This isn't over," Homer said, raising his voice and forcing a smile. He knew the residents at Meadow View were in deep trouble and that everyone would look to him to fix it. He needed time to think it through.
"I'm going to handle this. I'll speak directly with Mark to negotiate a realistic timeline. Please don't panic; just give me a little more time. I promise everything will be fine."
His words seemed to put the residents at ease. They nodded and smiled at one another, believing the issues were already under control. They trusted Homer, and most knew he was their man if anyone could satisfy Mark and change his mind.
Besides, they had nowhere to go, so packing was out of the question. Having Homer address the situation was satisfying and seemed to put their minds at ease.
Homer quietly pulled Ella June and Charlie aside. "Get Mary Rose, Jay, and Bob, then meet me in the living room."
"What's up?" Charlie asked, his eyes darting toward the living room.
"Not now, Charlie. Just do as I say, and have Maxie and Larry stand watch at the lounge door. If any of those men head this way, have them warn us."
"Want that make the others wonder what we are up to?" Ella June asked.
"Yes, probably. If they ask, tell them our committee is handling the relocation logistics," Homer replied. "Tell them to stay in the lounge until further notice."
"I'll bring out some fresh coffee and cookies," Ella June said, her usual warmth returning faintly. "That usually keeps them busy, and it's about time for their morning naps." She laughed. "My cookies always do the trick."
Homer nodded as he stood. "As soon as possible," he said. He addressed the residents. "A few of us are meeting in the living room. Please remain in the lounge while we work to resolve our situation. We mustn't be disturbed."
The residents smiled and nodded, settling back into their familiar morning rituals. Within minutes, the women resumed their embroidery, and the men set up their checkerboards. A fragile peace settled over the room. Things seemed to be calming.
"While you guys gather the rest," Homer said to Ella June, "I'm going to walk over to the recreation room to see if I can talk some sense into Mark. His deadline is ridiculous. I'll meet you guys in the living room."
"Are you sure that would be safe?" Ella June asked. "Mark said the recreation room was off-limits to us."
"They gave us until the end of the month, so I'd say they won't escalate the issue. It's just a friendly conversation. To fill out their group."
Homer stepped outside and walked toward the recreation room. As he rounded the bus, he saw a man standing guard at the recreation room's door.
"What do you want?" he growled, arms crossed.
"I need to see Mark," Homer said, refusing to let the man intimidate him. He'd been a detective for forty years, and being growled at by men and women was part of the job. He was used to it.
"Stay here," the man said, standing tall and flexing his muscles.
Homer smiled.
The man disappeared into the recreation room, and moments later he pushed the door open for Homer. Mark stood inside the room.
"I need to ask for more time," Homer said. "There is no way we can vacate all the residents in three weeks. How about giving us until the end of August?"
Mark let out a loud, mocking laugh. "I must say, you are getting annoying. That would give you seven weeks to vacate. Then you would want four more." He chuckled. "And so on and so on." He stepped back, his green eyes narrowing. "Hold on for a moment." He paused, as if thinking. "Your name is Homer, yes?"
"That's right."
"Wait here," Mark said. He left and, moments later, returned with the man Homer had seen getting off the bus earlier. This man hadn't appeared in the lounge. He wore street clothes, not the tactical gear most of the men wore. He wore three gold chains around his neck, one with a gold cross and another with a gold scorpion.
Mark spoke. "Miguel, this is Homer. He's requesting an additional month to vacate the center."
Miguel narrowed his dark eyes; disgust hardened his expression. He snapped at Homer. "You heard Mark earlier. We have business here that cannot wait. Your request is denied. Now go back to your senile friends and start packing."
Homer nodded. "I'm sorry, but that won't work. We want to comply, but we need more time to evacuate."
Miguel glanced at the man guarding the door and nodded. Without warning, the guard struck Homer in the face, knocking him into a small table holding a lamp and a large bowl of spare facility keys. Homer, the lamp, the keys, and the bowl crashed to the marble floor. "Maybe I should just kill all of you," Miguel said.
The three cartel men erupted in laughter, looking down at the elderly man sprawled face-down amid the debris.
But their arrogance was exactly what Homer had gambled on. The moment his cheek hit the cold floor, his eyes locked onto the scattered keys. As he groaned, feigning complete incapacitation, his fingers swept through the glass fragments and curled around a key ring—the keys to the Silver Eagle.
Homer rolled over, spitting a stream of dark blood onto the marble as he slowly forced himself to his feet. He stood perfectly erect, wiping his split lip with the back of his hand.
"I'll take that as a firm no," Homer said, staring Miguel in the eyes.
The man who had struck him pushed the door open. Homer stepped out under the canopy. He turned back for a moment; an uncanny smile crossed his lips. Spitting blood onto the sidewalk, he said, "Your first mistake was coming here, and hitting me was your second." Homer spat on the sidewalk and walked away.
"Three weeks," Mark shouted after him as the door began to close. "If you all aren't gone by then, we'll kill every last one of you and dump you in the river." All three men laughed as the door slammed shut.
Homer returned to the lounge and slipped the keys into his pocket. He walked into the living room, where Ella June, Mary Rose, Charlie, Bob, and Jay were waiting.
"You're bleeding," Mary Rose said.
"It's nothing."
"Well," Charlie asked. "What did Mark say?"
"He said we had three weeks to vacate," Homer said.
"And what are we supposed to do?" Mary Rose asked.
"We need to get out of here," Homer said. "They have no intention of letting us leave Meadow View."
"Homer, most of us don't have any family, and none of us has any money. What if we stay and refuse to leave?" Mary Rose asked.
"Mary Rose, if we don't leave—meaning, as soon as possible—they'll kill every one of us. They just told me that."
"Surely not," Mary Rose said.
"Did you see the tattoos on their right hands? The scorpion," Homer asked.
"Yes."
"That's the tattoo of one of the Mexican cartels, specifically the Cartel de MC. The MC stands for Mexico City. Their logo is a black scorpion with a red tail. The men in tactical gear are enforcers, also known as sicarios. They don't negotiate, don't file eviction notices, and don't hesitate to mass-execute witnesses. We have exactly twenty-one days to complete a full evacuation, and we have to do it completely under their noses."
"Is that possible?" Bob asked. An engineer by trade, he was analytical, smart, and intuitive. His intelligence would prove invaluable in the weeks ahead.
"We don't have a choice, Bob. Mark and those men must never realize we're moving. We need to vanish without them knowing. If they suspect an escape, they'll kill every last one of us."
"Vanish?" Ella June asked, bewildered. "What does that mean? How do you expect twenty elderly people to vanish into thin air?"
"It means we've got to come up with a plan to leave as soon as possible," Homer said, looking over at Jay. "However, we don't need to let anyone know except those in this room, maybe Maxie and Larry. Everyone else only needs to know that we have the situation under control."
"You already have a plan?" Jay asked. He had spent most of his life as a mechanic. If it was broken, he could fix it. Jay was in his early seventies and surprisingly resilient for his age.
"The skeleton of one, Jay. But I need to verify a few things first. We'll reconvene tonight after the guard shift changes. For now, I need you all to return to the lounge and act completely normal. Keep the others as calm as possible." Homer stood, the ache in his ribs from the fall a dull throb. "I'm going to pay a covert visit to Alfred's private office upstairs. It's time to do some snooping."
They all nodded.
"What are you looking for?" Ella June asked.
"I'm not sure, but I'll know when I find it," Homer said.
Homer quietly climbed the creaking stairs, slipped into Alfred's office, and settled into the familiar chair. He had spent many hours in this room, drinking whiskey and talking football with his old friend. He knew Alfred hated technology and never used passwords, so getting into the desktop was as simple as pressing Enter.
Homer brought up Alfred's financial spreadsheet and printed copies for the past six months. "Just as I expected," he said.