The Boys - Chapter 165: Here Comes the Trouble (Patreon)

Three days later, Mallory successfully got Edgar released on bail.

At four that afternoon, outside a gray apartment building on Manhattan's East Side.

Edgar stood on the sidewalk. The orange prison jumpsuit was gone, replaced by a dark gray cashmere coat. His white shirt was buttoned neatly to the collar, and his thin-framed glasses had been polished until they gleamed.

He looked almost exactly as he had before prison. If anything, he seemed even more composed.

There were no reporters waiting outside, no camera flashes.

Madelyn had handled everything cleanly.

A black SUV pulled up in front of him. The window rolled down, and Mallory gave him a nod from the driver's seat.

"Get in. We'll head back to the safe house first."

Edgar opened the rear door and climbed inside.

Before he'd even finished fastening his seat belt, his phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

He answered, and a familiar voice came through the speaker.

"Stan. Been a while."

Homelander.

The corner of Edgar's mouth moved slightly as he settled back into his seat.

"John. It certainly has."

"I'm coming to see you tonight. Don't wander too far."

The call ended.

Edgar slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked through the window at the gray skyline outside, his expression completely unchanged.

Mallory glanced at him through the rearview mirror before asking hesitantly.

"Homelander?"

"Yes. He's coming to see me."

Mallory's fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

"Do you need me to prepare anything?"

Edgar shook his head, closed his eyes, and leaned back.

"No. He can't kill me. At least, not yet."

Mallory had no idea where his confidence came from, but Edgar clearly wasn't afraid.

...

At eight that night, in the safe house living room.

When the door opened from outside, Edgar was sitting on the couch drinking coffee, as poised as if he were relaxing in his own study.

Homelander entered first, his dark blue Supersuit catching the light with a cold sheen. His trademark smile was fixed on his face, warm and sunny.

Soldier Boy followed behind him, combat boots thudding against the floor. An unlit cigar hung from his mouth, and his presence filled the room with pressure.

Edgar set down his coffee and rose to his feet.

His gaze moved from Homelander to Soldier Boy, then back again.

"John. You brought your father."

Soldier Boy frowned at that and looked the older man in the coat up and down.

"So this is that Edgar guy?"

He pulled the cigar from his mouth, gave Edgar another once-over, and curled his lip.

"That's it? Some old bastard in a suit?"

"This is the kind of asshole Vought let run the place? No wonder the whole fucking company turned into a shitshow."

"And now the whole thing's been wiped off the map. Yeah, that tracks."

Edgar simply looked at him, the faint smile on his face never changing.

Soldier Boy tossed his cigar onto the coffee table and strode right up to him.

Less than two feet separated them, and the difference in height let Soldier Boy look straight down at Edgar.

"There's one thing I wanna ask you. How much did those dumb fucks at Vought pay to keep a dog like you around?"

"Were you even fucking worth it?"

"A smug bastard sitting at the top of Vought. Just thinking about it makes me fucking sick."

"That mouth of yours must've been real good at kissing ass. How many assholes did you have to lick to crawl your way up there?"

Edgar didn't move.

His hands remained calmly folded in front of him, and that same smile stayed on his face from beginning to end.

There was no fear in his eyes.

No anger either.

Because Edgar knew with absolute certainty that the foul-mouthed veteran standing in front of him had no idea what had really happened.

He didn't know who had sold him to the Soviet Union.

He didn't know what role Vought had played in that deal.

And he certainly didn't know that the old bastard standing in front of him had been one of the people who signed off on it.

Edgar might have spent all this time in prison, but information had still reached him.

Damien's new abilities.

Black Noir being alive.

Soldier Boy's return.

Damien had altered Soldier Boy's memories.

Completely.

As far as Soldier Boy knew, everything that had happened to him was the Soviet Union's fault.

Vought had nothing to do with it.

Neither did the man standing in front of him.

That was why Edgar could smile so calmly.

Besides, he had already handed that secret to another group.

Homelander stood nearby watching, a flicker of satisfaction passing through his ice-blue eyes.

He enjoyed this.

His own father was tearing into the once untouchable Edgar right in front of him.

Back when Edgar had sat behind his desk and called Homelander a "defective product," Homelander had been forced to swallow it.

Now?

The tables had turned.

Once Soldier Boy had finally gotten it out of his system, he stepped back, pulled another cigar from his pocket, stuck it between his lips, and lit it with a click.

"All right. I've seen enough."

"Just an old dog. Nothing interesting."

He turned toward the door.

As he passed Homelander, he slapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on, son. Being in the same room as this thing makes me feel fucking dirty."

Homelander didn't follow right away.

Instead, he took two steps forward and bent down until his face was inches from Edgar's.

His breath washed over Edgar's face.

"Stan. Enjoy your freedom."

"But don't forget, you're out because somebody decided to let you out."

"The day you're no longer useful..."

Homelander straightened, smiled, then turned and followed Soldier Boy out.

The door closed behind them.

Edgar was left alone in the living room.

He stood there for a moment, picked up the now-cold cup of coffee from the table, and took a sip.

His expression hadn't changed once.

Madelyn stepped out of the room next door, her face grim.

"He's gone?"

"He's gone."

"Contact Hughie. Give them Sameer's location. A farm outside New Jersey. Let them go get him themselves."

Madelyn paused.

"You're giving him up already? Doesn't really sound like you."

Edgar held his coffee and smiled like an old fox.

"I'm already out. Half the terms have been fulfilled."

"As for the other half..."

"No rush."

"Let's see where the bullet lands."

...

Two days later, on the outskirts of New Jersey.

A dark gray van bounced along a gravel road.

Abandoned cornfields stretched out on either side, their dry yellow stalks rustling in the night wind.

Hughie sat in the passenger seat, holding a screenshot of the coordinates Sage had sent him, his eyes fixed on the pitch-black road ahead.

MM drove, the green glow of the dashboard washing over his face as his lips pressed into a thin line.

Frenchie and Kimiko sat in the back.

Frenchie held a black canvas bag containing three homemade flashbangs and two modified handguns.

Kimiko leaned against the window with her eyes closed, facing the scenery outside.

Hughie slipped his phone back into his pocket and took a deep breath.

"The farm's five hundred meters ahead."

MM slowed the van and switched off the headlights.

The vehicle crept forward through the darkness before finally stopping behind a patch of bushes.

All four got out.

The night wind slipped under their collars, carrying the rotten stench of animal manure mixed with some strange chemical odor they couldn't quite place.

Hughie raised his binoculars and scanned the area.

The outline of the farm was barely visible beneath the moonlight.

A two-story wooden farmhouse stood ahead, its paint badly peeled away. One second-floor window glowed with dim yellow light.

Beside it stood three enormous metal barns, their heavy doors shut tight.

From somewhere inside came dull impacts.

Then low, guttural growls.

Hughie lowered the binoculars slightly.

"What the hell is making that noise?"