by Wild, Nikki
“We gotta go straight to 'em,” I went on. “Take everythin' we know and go straight to 'em.”
“I reckon so,” Blade said. I could tell he was hurtin'. He'd known Dutch was going sour, but now it was right there in front of us, like a brick wall you couldn't climb or bust through or go around. And I knew Blade was questioning a lot about what he'd done in Dutch's service. He was thinkin' about what kind of man he really was, if a man like Dutch wanted him as number two.
“You were VP long before Sylvia showed up,” I said. “Long before any of this. You know that, right?”
“Ayup, I know it,” Blade said.
“He wasn't always like this,” I pressed on. “You know that too.”
“Sure do.”
“You wanna try to save 'im?”
I hadn't entertained the idea, but it occurred to me that Blade might've. Instead of tryin' to cut Dutch down at the knees, we could go straight to him, before he had the chance to fuck himself and the rest of us straight off the map. Tell him what we knew, and how we wouldn't stand for it. Take him to rehab, get rid of that snake wrapped ‘round his heart, try to save his reputation, and let him retire quietly and honorably.
“No,” Blade said at last. “He wouldn't let us. I know Dutch. Used to be, this trait of his was a good thing. The bull-headedness. Now, it'll be what takes him down.”
Our own personal Odysseus. What drove a man to greatness, turned into his biggest failure.
“If he finds out we know, it'll be the bottom of the Missouri for us,” Blade finally said, his last words on the matter, punctuated by a shot of whiskey. I got to my feet, and he didn't seem eager for me to sit back down and stay awhile.
Truth was, I was tired. It had been a long enough day. I was pissed that Jase was still out there. I was heartbroken about Dutch. I was nervous about the future. But mostly, I was missin' someone sweet, someone who could make it all go away for one night, at least.
“I don't know about you, but I've got somewhere I wanna to be tonight. And seein' as how this might be the last night I get to be with her, I'm plannin' to take advantage.”
“Ayup,” Blade said, still gazing into the green glass of the whiskey bottle. “You give that brain of yours a break, 'cause lord knows we're gonna be needin' it.”
I let myself out, and stopped on the way home at Michelangelo's – they still made that eggplant parmigiana, exactly the way Bex liked it. That, and a large pizza with mushrooms, and a whole mess of garlic knots, and I was ready to see my woman. I knew her day had to be better than mine, since I'd sent a surprise her way that morning. I was fixin' to make her night a good one, too. While I still could.
Bex
I’m not too proud to admit that when I heard someone knock on the door on that Sunday morning, I nearly pissed my pants in fear. It was hardly a week since Jase attacked me, my wounds still fresh. And Cross was gone, off on another wild ride around Cutter, searching for him. All attempts so far had ended empty-handed. And since no one had ever knocked on Cross’ door before, I assumed the very worst.
I almost didn’t even answer it. That’s how scared I was. I was sitting on that awful couch, reading one of Cross’ books. It took two sets of knocks before I got up the balls to go to the peephole and see who was on the other side.
And when I saw who it was, all my fear was replaced with joy. I flung the door open, wide as could be, and launched myself into Ducky’s arms. My old friend laughed and wrapped me up, squeezing me so tight that I thought he was trying to crack my back.
“Bex fuckin’ Carter,” he said when he finally stepped back and put me down on my feet. “Still ugly as pig’s backside.”
“Ducky McMahon, still dumb enough to drown in a puddle,” I shot back, grinning wider than I ever thought possible. He looked just the same, really; brown hair, brown eyes, and the kind of face you might call “All-American.” Dressed in a flannel shirt, even with the summer heat outside, and faded blue jeans. He hadn’t aged a day, and I knew his smile as intimately as I knew the tattoos on Cross’ body; but Ducky had always been just a friend. A great friend, one of the best, but just a friend.
“I missed you, Bex.”
“You have no idea. How’d you…”
We were still standing in the doorway when I noticed the thing taking up so much of the hallway behind him.
“Was that here when you came in?” I asked, pointing to the gingham-printed sofa. Ducky turned and threw his arms out like he was Vanna White.
“A gift,” he said. “I heard a rumor about a sofa that could give you tetanus.”
“You didn’t!” I gasped, smacking him on the shoulder. “What?”
“I did,” he said. “Now, you gonna help me drag it inside, or…?”
It took some struggle on my part, but we managed to get the sofa inside, and the old sofa outside. The effort made it all the sweeter to collapse back onto the new couch with two tall glasses of iced tea and ten years of stories to tell between us.
“How’d you know where I was?” I asked. “Ask around the club?”
“Actually, Cross called me up at the store,” Ducky said. “Surprised me a bit, but he said you could use a visit from a friend, and told me where you were spending your time.”
Now, my smile felt small and special, and I looked into my iced tea to hide it. Cross. He hated how close Ducky and I were, always had. But he knew how much I missed and needed my friend, and made sure that I got a chance to see him. That was just about the sweetest thing he could have done.
“I’m glad you guys are back together,” Ducky offered. “You two always did seem…fated.”
“Yeah? Sometimes it feels more like doomed,” I said with a roll of my eyes. But Ducky looked like he was about to ask me to explain, and I didn’t quite feel like doing that. So I changed the subject. “Well, there’s about nothing in this world I would have bet on you ending up with Mary!”
Ducky laughed and rolled his eyes.
“I get that a lot,” he said. “But after high school, everyone changed, you know? A lot of shit stopped being important. And we just…well, it just worked.”
“And you’re gonna be a father,” I said. “Daddy Ducky.”
“A little girl,” he said. “Just found out.”
We kept on talking for hours, like we’d never been separated at all. For the first time in a week, Jase didn’t enter my mind every half hour. Even when I was with Cross, he was so dead determined to find him that I could never really let go. And whether or not Ducky knew about Jase and what he’d done to me, he didn’t bring it up, or ask about the wounds still healing on my face.
It was nice, seeing my best friend doing so well, being so happy. But it made me wonder what was so wrong with me, with Cross and I, that we couldn’t have lives like that. Ducky came from the same side of town we did, but he was living that picket fence life.
But then, I knew what the difference was. Growing up on the wrong side of the tracks was different than growing up with the Dead Crusaders. Wildness and rough living was in Cross’ blood, and mine too. Would I trade it?
I admit, I wasn’t sure. Certainly, Ducky’s wife didn’t have to worry about being assaulted, or having her man blown to smithereens in a shootout.
Seemed pretty nice to me.
The day darkened into night and we still sat there talking. I didn’t even have a free moment to wonder where Cross was, if he was still out there or at the clubhouse or on his way home. When I heard his key turning in the lock, preceded by a wafting smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce, I was on my feet in an instant, nearly knocking the food out of his hands when I hugged him.
“Thank you,” I whispered into his ear, knowing he knew just what I was thanking him for. And I knew he would have hugged me back, if he wasn’t holding a pizza box and plastic bag. He managed to kiss the side of my face before I let him go and took the boxes from his hand; Michelangelo’s. My all-time favorite. I wondered if we were celebrating something.
“Good to
see you,” Cross said, offering his hand as Ducky rose to take it. It was the first time I ever saw them interact without immediately insulting each other, and I smiled at how far we’d all come. “And…good to see you.”
Cross was looking at the couch, puzzled but clearly appreciative.
“Where’d that come from?” he asked, turning back to look at me. But I nodded my chin to Ducky, who blushed a bit.
“I just thought…well, last time I saw your couch…I just want Bex to stick around as long as possible, and I figured a little creature comfort might help in that regard,” he said with a shrug. Cross looked, for a second, like he was contemplating murder. And I could understand why; a guy he wasn’t fond of, showing up to give me something that Cross hadn’t thought to give me? Bringing hoity-toity furniture from the JC Penny catalog into Cross’ well-curated den of manliness?
“Thanks,” he finally managed, and even pulled off a smile that didn’t make him look like the Joker. “It’s nice. You like it, Bex?”
“I love it,” I said, sliding up beside Cross and wrapping my arms around him, leaning up on my tiptoes. “Almost as much as I love you.”
“And that’s my cue,” Ducky said through a smirk.
“You want to stay for pizza?” Cross offered, almost sounding like he wanted the answer to be yes.
“Naw, I got a pregnant wife at home, and she’ll be wondering what happened to the living room sofa,” he said with a wink, leaving me and Cross to our own devices.
“You got Michelangelo’s,” I said, beaming.
“I got Michelangelo’s,” he said.
“Pizza and eggplant parm? Are you planning to roll me into bed later?”
“Baby, I’d roll you anywhere,” he said, leaning down to nip at my nose.
“Are we celebrating?” I asked, pulling away to gather some plates and utensils.
“Not really,” he said, and I saw the way he grimaced, only to cover it up with another smile. “I just...”
He looked away for a second, eyes somewhere else, before he managed to finish his sentence.
“I just really wanted to make you happy today,” he said.
“Well, you did it, baby,” I said. “I’m happy as a clam.”
“We can watch Legally Blonde, if you want,” he said. “I never did throw out that DVD you damn near wore out…”
“Alright, Cross, you just blew right past sweet, straight into cavity territory,” I said, narrowing my eyes even as my smile widened. “What’s up?”
“Can’t a man love his woman without bein’ interrogated?” he growled, crossing the room quickly and sweeping me into his arms; I nearly dropped the plates I was holding, but all I could do was laugh, until he grabbed my chin and forced my eyes to meet his. “I’m serious, Bex. I just want to love you right, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, touching his stubbled cheek with my hand. “Okay, baby. You’re doing a mighty good job of it so far.”
I rose on my toes and kissed him, feeling his fingers twitch and then pull me in tighter, kissing me like a man in the desert kisses the mouth of a water pump. He tasted of whiskey and cold air, and I let him infect me all over again, the sweetest disease, no cure in sight.
Dutch
“So what you’re tellin’ me, boy, is that you and Blade and Cross were just sittin’ around, talkin’ about the Real Housewives of Atlanta?”
“No,” Hunter protested. “But we were just talkin’. ‘Bout, you know, girls and shit. Nothin’ serious, Dutch, I swear.”
“And why on earth would two ranking officers want to spend their free time chattin’ with a fuckin’ prospect?”
“I don’t know,” Hunter said. “They just like me is all. I don’t know, Dutch. Ask them. Please, man, untie me…”
“I’ll untie you when you stop lyin’ to me,” Dutch roared, and boxed the boy’s ear, so hard that the chair nearly toppled onto its side. “You want out of here, you want to do right by me, you tell me the truth.”
“I am tellin’ you the truth!” Hunter cried, his ear ringing, pain like a thunderstorm rolling across his flesh. “Shit!”
“Shit!” Dutch mocked him. “I tell you what’s shit. Everythin’ you’re sayin’ to me, you little prick.”
This time, the punch did send the chair over onto its side, but Dutch was quick to right it again, Hunter’s face half-covered in blood. It dripped from his nose, his ears, his lips.
“Please…”
He was whimpering now. Sylvia, watching from the shadows, was happy to hear it. The kid had taken a lot before he started whimpering, but whimpering was good. Whimpering meant he was gonna break soon.
“You like your fingers, Hunter?” Dutch asked, pulling his knife out, letting it glint in the basement’s dull light. Hunter couldn’t rightly see the glint of the knife, through the blood that caked over his eyes, but he could see the blade just fine. “How do you like your balls? You ever hear of a guy named Picasso?”
Slowly, gently, Dutch lowered the tip of the knife to Hunter’s chest. The blade tore down his shirt, snagging here and there but eventually leaving his chest bare, his stomach white, his heart thudding so hard his body seemed to shake with it.
“You like havin’ a liver, Hunter?”
Dutch lowered the blade to Hunter’s gut, and in a single slice he tore across the flesh, making the boy scream.
“Alright!” Hunter howled. “Stop! Please! Jesus, stop! They asked me…I told them! I told them, what you told me, what you asked us, the Blackhawks, they wanted to know and…”
“And you betrayed me,” Dutch intoned. But he sheathed his knife, and even as blood trickled down to wet the top of Hunter’s jeans, he felt his body start to relax.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter mumbled. “They just…”
“Shut up,” Dutch said, turning away, walking to his long, cool woman as she waited in the shadows.
“I told you we couldn’t trust Blade,” Sylvia hissed. “But you…”
“Shove it, woman! Not now,” Dutch growled, rubbing his temples, feeling the comedown begin, slow and steady and predictably awful. He needed another hit, if he was going to think about all this clearly.
“Here,” Sylvia spat, shoving the pipe into his hands. “And then we have to move. Quickly. Tonight. Before they can warn the Blackhawks and ruin everything.”
Too fast. This was moving too fast now. Dutch hadn’t been able to get everything in place, in line. If the kid hadn’t squealed…
The kid.
“What about him?” Dutch asked, nodding to the prospect.
“What about him? Do you have any further use for him?” Sylvia shrugged.
“No,” Dutch agreed.
“Then kill him,” Sylvia said. “He’ll just run back to his buddies and squeal some more, little piggy he is. He betrayed you, Dutch. He took what you told him in confidence, and he used it against you.”
Hunter could hear every word, his eyes filling with tears. He hadn’t cried since he was six years old and buried his first dog. But if he was going to die, who was going to care whether or not he cried? He was 18 years old and looking down the barrel of a gun.
Don’t, some voice inside him said, and when he blinked, the tears seemed to evaporate. He may never have gotten his patch, but he was still a prospect of the Dead Crusaders, and Crusaders didn’t cry. Even when a man raised a gun to his head and cocked it, a Crusader showed no weakness, no fear.
Hunter’s blood stained the cement, the echo of the gunshot lingering for many long seconds after Dutch pulled the trigger.
Cross
I fell asleep in heaven, twined in Bex’s embrace, and woke up in hell. In the early morning, my phone started buzzing, and it didn’t quit until I roused myself and grumbled my way across the room to answer it, not even lookin’ at the caller ID.
“What?” I snapped. It wasn’t even 6am.
“We’re too late,” Blade’s voice came over the line. “One day too fuckin’ late, Cross. Holy shit, we gotta meet, now. Get y
our old man and…”
“Slow down,” I urged, rubbing my eyes, trying to make sense of it. “What happened? What were we too late for?”
“Dutch,” Blade hissed. “Last night, 3am, he sent Soldier and Marty over into Blackhawks territory, took three of them by surprise, put two of them in the hospital and the third in a coffin.”
My heart dropped out of my chest, and the world stopped spinning. No, I thought. That couldn’t be right. We’d only just figured it out. We needed time to make it right. We should have had time to stop it before it started…
“Cross? Cross!”
Blade’s voice sliced through my mind, brought me back to reality. Reality didn’t allow for what should be, only what was.
“Fuck, fuck, alright,” I said, stealing a glance over my shoulder at Bex, who was moving around in bed, probably about to wake up from the sound of my voice and the absence of my body. I moved into the living room. “We gotta get together, we gotta get the men together, anyone who…”
“I’m already working on it,” Blade said. “I told them to come to your place. Safer than mine, I expect.”
“How do you figure that?” I growled, thinking that I didn’t want Bex anywhere near this shit when it hit the fan.
“Because I live in a house, and you live in an apartment, and it’s a lot easier raiding a house without anyone noticing than an apartment.”
I clenched my jaw. Seemed to me that Blade just wanted to keep his precious living room from becoming rubble. But this wasn’t the time to squabble; it was time to move.
“I only got Fleet and Mack so far, but they’re spreadin’ the word, anyone who wants to keep the truce needs to come to us and stay away from Dutch,” Blade kept talking. “You can get in touch with Grinder? He didn’t pick up for me but…”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling a little better now that I knew what we were doing, had something similar to a plan forming. “He’ll come round. When should I be expectin’ company?”
“I’ll be over in thirty,” Blade said.
