by Carolina Mac
“Hi, Dad. Didn’t know if you would be glad to see me.”
“Why wouldn’t I be happy that my son came all this way to visit me? Of course, I’m glad to see you, boy.”
Jackson smiled and wanted to believe Stan. “I wanted to come and see you before I left for Vegas. I’m heading down there with my girlfriend to play poker.”
“What kind of a fucked-up idea is that?” Stan scowled at him like he was twelve. “I heard you were number one in the Regulators now?”
“Yeah, I am. I’ll still be giving the orders, but Rusty will be in charge in Toronto while I’m away.”
“Heard the Chrome Dogs were pushing you. Shouldn’t you stay in town and push those assholes back over the line?”
“Rusty and I had a meeting and he’s got it covered.”
“Rusty’s got balls, but George was the fuckin man and the Chrome Dogs know it. They can smell how weak you assholes are without the big guy. Heard they had over a hundred members now. You punks will never handle them without George. Those maniacs want the east end of the city. Just say’n.” Stan grinned at his son.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He heaved a sigh.
“Who’s your girlfriend? Rumour in here is you’re guarding that rich bitch that the boss was doing. That true?”
Jackson shook his head. “Any news on your appeal?”
“My lawyer’s working on it. These things take so fuckin long it makes you crazy. He says I should hear about it in a couple of weeks. I’ve got a few other irons in the fire.”
“Like what?”
Stan shrugged. “What’s your new bitch look like?” He wasn’t going to let this drop.
“She’s beautiful. Long black hair.”
“Sounds like you’re in deep.” Stan frowned. “Don’t get all fucked over a woman, kid. They’ll screw you over every fuckin time and ruin your life.”
“She won’t do that.”
“Don’t bet on it.” He chuckled and he was still laughing as time was up. A guard came and took him away.
Jackson found Portia sitting outside on the bench waiting for him. He lit up a smoke and sat beside her. She reached for his hand. “How did it go?”
Jackson nodded. “Not too bad. He was glad to see me, or so he said.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE DOORBELL RANG as Jackson and I finished eating lunch on the patio. A Canada Post truck was parked in the driveway, “The passports are here,” I called to Jackson as I signed for the two envelopes. Jackson followed me into the foyer and I handed his to him.
“This is the first time I had a passport,” he said, looking at his picture. “Doesn’t look like me. They said not to smile.”
“That’s why it doesn’t look like you because you’re always smiling,” I hugged him. “Do you know what I’m thinking?” I asked.
He tilted his head to one side. “Could be two things—one, if we finished everything on the checklist we could leave tomorrow morning,” he said, with a big grin. “Or two, we’re both in the front hall?”
“Mind reader—the first one,” I hooted and jumped up and down. “Let’s do it. One extra day on the road will give us more time to sightsee. I’m pumped.”
Jackson grabbed me and gave me a bear hug. “You’re crazy, Annie, and I’m crazy in love with you.”
“You get the bikes onto the trailer and hook up. I’ll finish the packing and call Vince to tell him we’re leaving one day early, then together we’ll load the Hummer. I hope that suitcase I bought you is big enough for your stuff. And tonight, I want to go over the instructions for the new camera.” I tried to catch my breath.
Jackson laughed at me all the way out to the garage. He seemed to be in a better mood since he had visited his father.
Upstairs, I went over my packing list. One separate suitcase had all the bike gear, leathers, helmets, gloves. One for my clothes and one for Jackson. All the toiletries fit into one small bag. Angel’s blanket couldn’t go in until the morning, but her new bag of kibbles, her low-cal treats, bowls, and a case of bottled water were stacked by the back door.
Jackson broke a sweat loading the bikes and hooking the trailer to the Hummer. “Hot out there. Let’s have a beer break.”
“I’m so there.” I hauled the last of the suitcases down the stairs and joined Jackson on the patio. He had already chugged beer number one while he talked on the phone to Rusty going over last minute details before he left. “Hope those guys keep it together while I’m in Vegas. Sometimes they have their heads up their asses.” He blew out a big breath.
“They can keep in touch every day by phone and Rusty is the sensible one, isn’t he?”
“He’s the most level-headed guy we’ve got. Never loses it. He’s good at business too—runs his own paint shop and has for years.”
“If some huge problem crops up, you can fly back for a couple of days and sort it out. It’s only four hours away.”
“Maybe I’m worrying too much.” He chuckled and shrugged it off. “It’s going to be fuckin’ hot when we get to the desert, Annie. Good thing we have air in the Hummer for Angel.”
“And for us, otherwise we’d have to drive naked.” I grinned at him.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Only if the driver was in easy reach,” I said running my hand down his bare leg under the table.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He winked at me.
“I’m a strong finisher.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
MY ALARM BUZZED at six a.m. and still half asleep I fumbled for the clock to shut it off. Jackson and Angel were nowhere in sight and Angel’s blanket was gone. I flew into the shower, dressed in a flash in the traveling clothes I had laid out the night before, tucked last minute toiletries into the case and zipped it up. I doused the lights and tore down to the kitchen.
“I’m ready,” I said, gasping for breath. I kissed Jackson and the scent of him coursed through my veins giving me goose bumps. “You smell good.” I stroked his long damp hair.
He grinned. “This is our big day, Annie,” he pulled me down onto his lap. “A few months ago, I would never have believed I could be this happy.” He buried his face in my hair.
“Me either,” I whispered, hugging him. Looking to the counter, I saw two bright new travel mugs. “You think of everything.” I filled the cups and added my cream. Jackson walked over and stirred four spoonsful of sugar into his.
“Ready to go?” His eyes sparkled with excitement.
“I am so ready. Angel, are you ready?” I called her in from the yard. She came bouncing into the kitchen with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. I picked up my purse, both passports, grabbed Angel’s leash, locked up the house and set the alarm.
Vegas bound.
Jackson took the first shift behind the wheel and we arrived at the Ambassador Bridge border crossing in Detroit at noon. After waiting in line for over an hour, the unsmiling customs officer in the booth checked Angel’s papers, scanned our passports, raised his eyebrows at Jackson’s long hair and the python curling down his arm and asked us to pull into one of the parking spots near the office.
“Fuck, I knew this would happen,” he snarled.
“Do you have anything outstanding?” I asked in a whisper.
“No, I’m clean. These guys take one look at me and their first fuckin thought is drugs or guns.”
It’s not like you don’t deal in both. Hope they can’t read my mind.
“Let them search and don’t say anything.” I rubbed my hand down his arm.
After a short wait, a tall, lean officer with short cropped gray hair came out of the building and spoke to Jackson. “Open your tailgate please.”
Jackson unhooked the bike trailer and cleared the way for the officer to tear apart the hatch section of the Hummer. Jackson seethed and paced and smoked in silence while I sat in the truck and watched our worldly goods being mauled over and scrutinized. A half hour later we were d
eemed worthy to enter the US and the surly officer sent us on our not-so-merry way. Jackson was beyond pissed. “It happens every fuckin time.” He pulled a smoke out of the pack and his hands trembled as he lit up. “As soon as they see long hair and tats, you’re branded as some kind of low life fuckin scum.” He pounded the steering wheel a couple of times.
I sucked in a big breath and tried to concentrate on finding the sign for the interstate we needed. I pointed as we approached the on-ramp and kept my thoughts to myself. Jackson drove in silence for a good distance through Michigan before he cooled off.
“Let’s stop for lunch, look at the maps and reorganize.”
“There was a sign for a Cracker Barrel on the next exit. Do you want to stop there?” Jackson asked. His phone on his belt signaled a message.
You’ve only been gone four hours.
“Fine with me, I’m out of Ontario and I want to see everything.”
At the restaurant, Jackson found a parking spot large enough for the truck and trailer around the side of the building. I walked Angel, gave her water and put her back in the Hummer. “Won’t be long, girl.” I gave her head a pat. Jackson was leaning against the truck finishing his conversation. The expression on his face wasn’t one of unbridled joy.
The restaurant was packed and noisy—kids, people of all ages—a family place. We ordered the Thursday special and it came with so much food I couldn’t finish. Luckily Jackson wasn’t easy to fill and helped me out. After we paid our bill, I browsed through all the displays in the gift shop. I bought a couple CDs for the road and several chocolate bars from the huge candy selection in case Jackson was caught short before dinner.
“I’ll drive for a while and you can sleep. I’m following I-75 all the way to Knoxville, so I can’t get lost.”
“Wake me up if you have any problems, baby.” Jackson reclined in the passenger seat.
At three o’clock I eased the Hummer into the right-hand lane and headed into a rest area. Jackson opened his eyes and looked around. “Where are we?”
“Outside Cincinnati. I need a bathroom break and I’m sure Angel does. How was your nap?” I unbuckled my seat belt and rummaged for the leash.
“Never woke up once. Guess I needed a rest. I’ll have a smoke and watch the bikes until you come back.”
I nodded and ventured off in the direction of the doggie area. Angel ran around, bouncing off some of her pent-up energy, and growling at a few dogs half her size. She loved to intimidate the small fluffy white ones. When I returned to the Hummer, Jackson headed inside the building to use the facilities. As I poured a bottle of water into a bowl for Angel, two scruffy looking dudes ambled towards me.
“Nice lookin’ bikes, sweetheart.” A short stocky guy with a scraggly beard, and filthy, wrinkled clothes, sidled up to me. “This one has to be yours. Nice girly paint color like that.” He ran his nicotine stained finger down the back fender of my bike and the hair stood up on the nape of my neck.
Get your filthy hands off my bike.
“Don’t touch the bikes,” I said and he grinned. Angel growled and curled her lip showing off her lovely sharp white teeth. It took two hands to hold her back as she strained against the leash. Not showing any fear of the dog, the second one came closer. The smell of him was enough to activate my gag reflex. He was tall and skinny with stringy dark hair, a leather vest, filthy jeans and mirrored shades.
“Where you headed, baby?” He asked the question then flashed me a grin showing off a mouthful of rotten teeth.
“Miami,” I lied, wishing Jackson would return.
“We’re heading south too. We got pressing business in Georgia. Mind giving us a ride? We could be good company for a pretty thing like you. Know what I mean?” he sniffed and ran his hand down the front of his jeans.
“Sorry. I can’t.” I positioned Angel in front of me.
“Why the hell not?” The shorter one closed in on me with his right hand in his pocket.
“Back away from the lady.” Jackson stepped in front of me. With one hand in the middle of each of their chests, he shoved the two men backwards.
“Thinks he’s a tough guy.” The tall one laughed.
“Just getting to know your old lady,” the short one said, “yeah, and we’ll be getting to know her even better soon.” He whipped out a knife and waved it in Jackson’s face. In a blur, Jackson grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm at the elbow and chopped down hard with his other hand. The crack of the bone made his buddy turn his head away from me. At that moment, I released the dog. Angel lunged for the tall one directly in front of me—one hundred pounds of angry Rottweiler. Angel’s jaws clamped around his thigh, tearing through denim and the flesh underneath. The guy clutched at his bleeding leg and hollered a string of obscenities as he rolled on the ground.
I grabbed Angel’s leash and called her off. “Time to go,” I loaded Angel into the Hummer and climbed into the passenger seat. Jackson shoved the stocky guy down on top of his friend, pocketed the knife and hopped in the driver’s seat.
“Assholes,” Jackson snarled as he backed out of the truck area. “Sure, you’re okay, baby?”
“I’m fine.” I turned and gave Angel a treat. “Good girl.”
“What did they want? Other than you,” he asked with a scowl.
“A ride south. Said they’d be good company for me.”
“Fuck, I can’t stand it when guys are after you like that.”
I rubbed my hand down his leg. “I felt vulnerable without my Beretta. Maybe we should buy a couple of guns since we couldn’t bring our own across the border. Not as many rules in some states as we have in Canada.”
“Damn right, baby. Put that first on our list. That was too fuckin close for my liking.”
“When we stop for the night, we’ll look for a gun shop.”
Jackson drove as far as Lexington where we had dinner and a short break. I took my turn, headed for Knoxville and looked for a hotel. Around eight-thirty Jackson spotted a roadside inn with a sign welcoming pets and we pulled in. I requested an outside ground floor room so Jackson could watch the bike trailer and I could take Angel out with less bother. I paid in advance, picked up the room key and we were in for the night.
“They have coffee and free breakfast in the morning, honey,” I said, as we carried our bags into the room.
“I love breakfast,” he said.
“You love every meal.” I poked him in the belly.
I spread out Angel’s blanket beside the bed—she plopped down with a big sigh and rested her big square head on her paws. Jackson checked the window to make sure he had a clear view of the bikes while I sat in the only chair and flipped through the local phone book. “Here’s a gun dealer in Knoxville,” I said. “We can stop there in the morning. Or if we can’t get what we want, we can always go to Walmart.”
“Walmart?”
“I heard they sell guns in the states.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AFTER JACKSON CONSUMED his ‘free’ breakfast in the morning, there wasn’t much left for the hotel staff to clean up. We packed our gear into the Hummer and headed for the I-40 out of Knoxville. Our destination was a well-advertised gun shop that I had chosen from Yellow Pages.
The store was open for business on the outskirts of town—not large, but brightly lit and packed with merchandise. The back wall was lined with row upon vertical row of rifles and shotguns, every make, and model, barrels gleaming. Glass cases held handguns and knives. Smaller shelves held ammo, and circular racks of hunting togs marked with fluorescent orange sale tags filled the center aisle. Jackson was as wide-eyed as a kid with a stack of Playboy magazines. He handled a couple of rifles, his fingers examining the trigger mechanisms. He eyed the racks of camo clothes, his eyes dancing and a permanent grin on his lips.
“Help you folks?” A man at least six foot four, dressed in camouflage garb that couldn’t make his huge belly disappear, approached us. “Name’s Tiny,” he held out his hand to Jackson.
&
nbsp; “Jackson,” he shook the offered hand. “We need a few things.”
“I need a Beretta 9mm with a shoulder holster,” I said.
“Little lady knows what she wants.” He laughed and a deep guttural sound came out. I thought of George and smiled.
“That’s for sure,” Jackson answered. “Could I see a Smith & Wesson MP40?”
“Handguns are over here,” he walked over and laid the two guns on the counter.
I felt the weight of the Beretta and deemed it to be the same as mine. “Feels right.”
Jackson thoroughly examined the gun he had asked to see. “I like it. Could you round up ammo for both of those, Tiny?”
“Sure can,” he said with a smile.
“I want to take a look at the Bone Collector as well, and Portia, I want you to get the feel of the Remington Versa Max. Never know when a handgun won’t be enough, baby.”
“Got a bit of a range out the back door, if you want to test anything,” said Tiny, pointing.
“Great. I’d feel better if you took a couple of shots, baby,” Jackson said, “You haven’t had any rifle practice.”
I nodded and followed the two men out the back door of the shop. Tiny loaded me up and I let a couple go. Jackson retrieved the target.
“Fuck, Annie. You’re just as good with a gun you never shot before.” He showed Tiny the target.
“You’re quite a shooter,” Tiny said, with a ‘you got lucky’ look on his face.
“Only when I have to be,” I said. “Are you going to fire those two?”
“Think so. Just to be sure they’re right for me.”
Jackson fired a couple of rounds out of the MP40 and the Nitro Mag Bone Collector. The way he was grinning, I knew he loved them. He brought his targets in and showed me.
“See you’re every bit as good as me, flatterer.”
“Fuck, Annie. You can shoot just as good with both hands. I can’t do that.”
“She can shoot right and left?” Tiny asked raising his brows. “I’d like to see her shoot that Beretta left handed and hit anything in this county,” Tiny said in his slow Tennessee drawl. He loaded it and handed it to me with a smirk.
