by Carolina Mac
“I’ll choke it out of you.” Annie laughed, then plopped down on his lap and kissed him with her hands around his throat.
“I need a bike today,” he whispered, “to go see the boys.”
“Right,” she nodded, seeing what the quandary was. He wouldn’t ask to take George’s bike in case it upset her but it was the only bike available to him in Toronto.
She exhaled. “Take the Eagle—hasn’t been running for a long while, you may have to coax it a little.”
“I don’t know if I can ride it, but thanks for the offer, baby.” Jackson went into the garage and straddled the Eagle. He buried his head in his hands and tried to think.
What the hell should I do, boss? You left me in charge of the club and I can’t walk away no matter how much I want to be with Annie. I have to protect her and run the club at the same time. I have to lie to her and I fuckin hate doing that.
Annie peeked her head out the door. “Breakfast is ready.” She walked towards Jackson with her eyes full of tears and stroked his hair. “You’re no better with George’s death than I am,” she said.
He nodded, letting her think that was what it was. Deceiving her was killing him. He spooned more sugar into his coffee and sipped it. “I can’t ride the Eagle,” he whispered, barely audible.
“I know, baby,” Annie held him in her arms and cried. “We’ll think of something else.”
I can’t go to the club in a cab. It won’t look right. I’ll have to drive Rusty’s truck.
Jackson set his empty cup down and his cell rang. “Hi Rusty, yeah, good,” He clipped his phone to his wide leather belt. “Rusty’s picking me up in an hour.” He blew out a big breath.
“Okay, good,” said Annie. “I’m going to take a shower.”
While Annie was dressing, Jackson climbed the stairs and joined her in the bedroom. “It’s weird, Annie. Billy isn’t answering his cell.”
“Maybe he had a late night, and he isn’t awake yet. It’s not nine yet out there.”
“I forgot about the time change. He’s not up yet. I’ll try him in an hour.”
The rumble of Rusty’s Harley filled the air on Hawthorne Lane as he rounded the corner and veered into the driveway. Angel wasn’t here to bark and announce guests. Jackson grabbed a helmet from the garage, kissed Annie goodbye and he was off. She was waving from the porch as they turned the corner and smiling that trusting smile. Fuck, this was not going to be good.
The clubhouse looked the same as it always did when Rusty pulled up and parked his bike. He made sure the Volcano was far enough away from anything that could scratch it. He had put his best work into the paint job on his own bike and it was stellar.
More than twenty bikes were lined up in the narrow driveway. The little war-time bungalow was desperate for a paint job and a couple of the windows had been boarded up with plywood. The rotted board on the front steps was going to kill somebody some night in the dark. Jackson hoped it wasn’t him.
Inside the same as always. Messy, dingy and cramped. George’s green recliner had a few more rips in the leather. The poker table was littered with ashes and beer bottles. The old blue blanket covering the front window was filthy and a sponge for stale smoke. All the seats were filled around the table and those members without chairs leaned on the walls smoking and drinking beer.
Jackson sucked in a gulp of air. “Okay guys, I know you’re not happy that I’m moving to Vegas and I’m not too happy about it myself, but George gave me an order to protect Portia and for me to carry out that order I’m going to have to follow her to Vegas.”
There was a lot of shuffling and body language. “What the fuck are we going to do about the Dogs while you’re on your fuckin honeymoon?” shouted Jimmie.
“Rusty and I are putting a plan in place. I’ll be in touch twenty-four seven and if something is going down I can be back here inside of four hours.”
“When the Dogs find out you’re out of town they’re gonna fuckin trample us, boss,” said Donnie. “Then what are we supposed to do?”
“Do what Rusty tells you to do. That’s what you’re gonna do. Stick to the fuckin plan and don’t back down. Don’t get sloppy and don’t make mistakes that can get you arrested. Every member that’s sitting in the slam is a member that ain’t helping the club. Remember that before you do something stupid.”
“We need George,” said Jimmie.
“Well, you ain’t gonna get George, are you asshole?” Jackson snarled.
“Guess not. Things were a lot tighter when the big boss was running the show. A lot tighter. Just say’n.”
“Shut the fuck up, Jimmie.” Jackson smacked him in the head and knocked him off his chair. Jimmie glared as he scrambled to right himself, but never made a move to retaliate.
“Rusty’s first job will be to tighten things up. No bullshit. No mistakes. A lot of hard work and I want everybody at the range at least once a week. No exceptions.”
“Cops know there’s gonna be an all-out territory war, boss,” said Donnie. “More patrols every day while we’re taking care of business.”
Jackson ignored the comment even though he knew Don Ferguson spoke the truth. This was the worst time possible for him to flit off to Vegas. Now Annie wanted to get married. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What a nightmare.
I have to marry her in a hurry and tell her we need to move back to Toronto. It’s the only way around it. The only way.
“Rusty, give them their orders for the week.” Jackson barked as he stomped into the tiny filthy kitchen to cool out. He lit up a smoke and paced.
Fuck, now I have to act like I’m happy to turn over the club to Rusty and move to Vegas. I’m gonna fuckin lose it in front of Annie. Feel it coming.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I HAD THE afternoon to myself to pack for the trip home. I folded the two pairs of jeans I’d brought and grabbed Jackson’s muscle shirts from the laundry basket at the end of the bed. Pressing the top of the suitcase closed, I worked the zipper all the way around then sat the case by the door.
Next, I did a walk-through to sort things out I wanted for the Vegas house. I had intended to ship my favorite pieces of furniture to the new house, but now that I was keeping Hawthorne Lane, for the time being, I would have to shop for furniture when I got back to Sin City. My brain was on overload. I took a couple of Advil and lay down. Sleep wouldn’t come.
I picked up my cell and pressed Race’s number. “Annie?” He sucked in a breath. “You okay?”
I choked back the tears that wanted to come when I heard his voice.
Why did I need to talk to him?
“I’m in Toronto. Back tomorrow.”
“You sound…upset.”
“Just needed to hear your voice.”
“Thanks for that.”
“Ditto.”
After my nap, I opened the fridge to grab a beer and was reminded of how much food I had to get rid of before our flight the following day. I texted Jackson and told him to invite Rusty to stay for dinner when they returned. I texted Billy and didn’t get a reply.
What’s up, Billy? Are you playing poker round the clock?
The boys wouldn’t be back from their meeting until dinner time and I was restless. Rusty’s truck was in the driveway and the keys were on the table in the front hall. I rolled the windows down and went for a drive. Ten minutes later I was parked in front of George’s Guns and Ammo. The shop was closed and I didn’t get out of the truck. Tears filled my eyes and poured down my cheeks as I stared at the dirty front window and the chipped red paint on the front of the old building.
I miss you, George. I miss you every day.
When the boys came back from the clubhouse they found me in the garden. They each had a cold one in their hand as they walked towards me. Jackson had never looked so stressed.
“How was your meeting?”
Rusty grinned like he always did. “Good,” he said.
I kept my eyes glued on Jackson and I knew ‘good’ wasn’t the rig
ht descriptor.
Jackson lit up a smoke. “I tried that asshole, Billy again, and still couldn’t get him to answer. Wonder what the little prick is doing?” He frowned at his phone.
“Out whoring around, or playing songs on the street corner, or some fuckin’ thing,” said Rusty with a chuckle.
“You guys are hard on him.” I smiled. I headed back inside to heat up the leftovers and fix plates for the boys. “Glad you could help out with cleaning up the food, Rusty. You’re a lifesaver.”
“I’m always available for any kind of an eating job.”
The boys cleaned up a lot of the turkey and vegetables. “We need to get rid of these pies,” I said. “How about it, Rusty? I have more whipped cream.”
“Give me a piece of each, Portia.”
“Me too,” said Jackson, “I love pumpkin, it’s my new favorite.”
The guys loafed into the living room with their coffee, while I cleaned the kitchen. The morning would be hectic, getting to the airport by nine. Earlier I had booked a pickup for eight a.m. I drank a coffee with Jackson and Rusty, then headed upstairs to finish packing.
Would things be any better between Jackson and me when we got to Vegas?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
JACKSON LOADED THE luggage into the airport van while I locked up the house and set the alarm. The driver was ten minutes late, but we had plenty of time before the flight. I had texted Billy several times but still nothing. My gut told me something was wrong but I didn’t want to alarm Jackson. He was uneasy since his father’s escape and I didn’t want to add to the stress on just a hunch. Now that he was leaving the Regulators on top of his other stress, he was not a happy boy.
We had time for bagels after we checked our bags. Jackson kept trying Billy. “That little prick is pissing me off.”
“Maybe he forgot to charge his phone,” I said.
“He’s such a fuckin’ airhead, it could be anything,” Jackson sighed. “Hope he remembers to feed Angel.”
“In four hours, we’ll see for ourselves. Stop stressing.”
Jackson was distant. He wasn’t holding my hand like he always did and his jaw was set.
Our flight took off on time, and there was little turbulence, even over the Rockies. We landed at McCarran at one ten Vegas time, found our luggage on the carousel and glanced around for Billy. He wasn’t there to meet us. We stood in the long taxi line and caught a cab.
My heart pounded when the driver pulled into our rental house. The garage door farthest from the house was open and the Hummer was gone.
“That little shit left the garage door open. Anybody could steal the bikes. Fuck,” Jackson hollered as he stomped into the garage to check things out.
I paid the driver and helped him slug the luggage to the front door. Angel was barking and yelping in the back yard like she was in some kind of distress. I tried the knob and the door was unlocked. The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I peered in. Warily, I gave the front door a little push.
“Billy, are you here?” I hollered as I rolled the luggage into the kitchen. I screamed when I saw him lying on the living room floor. I punched 911 into my phone and gave the address as I collapsed onto the floor beside him into a pool of Billy’s coagulated blood. His blond head cradled in my arms while my tears splashed down like rain onto his black and blue face. Billy was semi-conscious and was moaning like a wounded animal.
Jackson came running in from the garage when he heard me scream. “Holy fuck, Annie. I thought something happened to you. He was gasping for breath. Then he focused and saw Billy. “Is he alive? Did you call 911?” The color drained from Jackson’s face and he gripped the countertop. “Stan must have come back.” He punched the kitchen wall several times with his fist jolting the clock loose. It fell and smashed on the tile floor. “I hate him. I hate him,” he yelled. He kicked the wall with the toe of his Harley boot and knocked a big chunk out of the drywall.
The sirens became louder and louder as the police and ambulance approached. “Go to the door and let them in,” I called to Jackson, seeing him standing frozen in the middle of the kitchen. He didn’t hear me. He turned his head slowly in my direction and I knew he was fighting to gain control.
I pointed. “Open the door.”
He moved like a robot, opened the front door and the paramedics flew by him with a gurney. He shook his head, noticed Angel barking at the patio door and tried to calm her.
I relinquished my hold on Billy’s head when the paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher.
“Semi-conscious,” said the tall one. “Start an IV.”
“Gunshot wound to the right leg,” said the other.
They did what they could to stabilize Billy at the house, and then loaded him into the ambulance. The police arrived on the heels of the paramedics and started firing questions. I gave a short recap of what had happened since we arrived from the airport while Jackson focused on the dog.
“We’re going to the hospital with Billy,” I said to one of the officers and gave him my cell number. I took Jackson by the hand and led him to the ambulance. “Come on, Jackson, we have to go.” He was standing and staring into space, paralyzed by his father’s actions, yet again.
While a doctor examined Billy, Jackson and I sat in the emergency waiting room, drinking the deadly dark liquid he had purchased from a vending machine. I shook my head in disgust as I took another sip. “It’s hot. That’s all you can say about it.” I glanced up to see Officers Rodriguez and Johnston enter the room.
“More trouble at your residence, Mrs. Talbot?” asked Officer Johnston, none too politely.
“More of the same,” I said, ignoring his tone. “We believe it was Jackson’s father. He came back, stole our Hummer and tried to kill, Billy, our house sitter.”
“Did you see him?” asked Rodriguez
“We were in Toronto, and arrived home from the airport to find Billy semi-conscious, and the truck gone. You have to find him,” I said.
“There was blood on the garage floor where the Hummer was parked. Maybe Billy got a shot off and wounded the bastard,” Jackson said.
“Why were you in Toronto, Mrs. Talbot?”
“I was checking on my house there and cooking Thanksgiving dinner for Jackson and his friend. I had thought of selling that house, but decided not to. Does it matter?”
“Probably not, I have to make a note of your whereabouts, that’s all,” said Johnston.
“I’m not telling you how to do your job, but the OPP should be alerted that Stan is on the run again. I don’t know what agencies are looking for him in the US, but he’s on somebody’s most wanted list.”
Jackson nodded.
The doctor came into the waiting room looking for us. He was in his late fifties, gray hair and glasses, tall and slim. “I’m Doctor Gillis,” he said extending his hand. “Mr. Jennings is conscious, but he doesn’t remember too much of what happened and that’s normal.” He has no permanent head injuries, and his gunshot wound is clean.”
Johnston and Rodriguez jumped up to us.
“We need to get his statement before you see him,” said Rodriquez.
“After I make sure he’s up for it, you may see him for a few minutes,” said Dr. Gillis looking none too pleased.
I held Jackson’s hand and we waited in the hallway while the officers went into the room to question Billy. They emerged minutes later and brushed right past us.
Billy’s face was black, blue and disfigured from the swelling, just as Jackson’s had been. Stan’s methods hadn’t changed. The bullet wound in his leg had been cleaned and bandaged. “Hey, honey,” I said softly, taking him by the hand. He opened his eyes and tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. “Did Jackson’s father do this?” I asked.
He nodded. He tried to speak, but the words were garbled. I held my finger to my lips. “Don’t try to talk. Just rest.” Jackson and I stayed until visiting hours were over. I called a cab and took a silent Jackson home.
An
gel was relegated to the yard while the forensic team went over our house inch by inch. I wondered to myself when Stan had been here and how long Billy had been lying on the floor needing help.
“We’re almost finished, Mrs. Talbot, and we’ll clear out of here,” a member of the CSI team said. The others started packing up their gear.
“Did you guys do the garage?” Jackson asked.
“Yes, we did the whole premises.”
As soon as they were out the door I spent an hour cleaning up the mess. I uncapped two beers and sat down at the kitchen counter with Jackson. “We need to talk, sugar,” I said, taking him by the hand.
Jackson stared into space and didn’t seem to hear me. “Jackson, look at me, honey.”
He turned his head and looked into my eyes. “We have to take out your father.”
He looked at me and nodded. “We need a plan.”
CHAPTER FORTY
HOW LONG HAD Billy been lying helpless on the floor of our rental house? I blamed myself for not realizing sooner, that something was amiss. If I’d only gotten back to Vegas faster.
CAA had been alerted to my stolen vehicle status and a pleasant girl manning the hotline had promised a rental vehicle would be delivered to my residence later in the morning. Officer Rodriguez had called in the Hummer as a stolen vehicle with his report of the assault and attempted murder of Billy Jennings, as well as the sighting of a fugitive on the ten most wanted list. He assured me that all the appropriate agencies were aware of what had gone down and were acting accordingly. Not that I had any faith in the system. What had the appropriate channels done for us so far? Fuck all.
If you want something done right, do it yourself.
My next call was to ‘On Star’ to report my vehicle stolen and find out where Stan had dumped it. The lady in customer service informed me politely that the GPS indicated my Hummer was currently in Idaho, north of Boise and I relayed that information to the police. They, in turn, informed me that officers were already in motion and would get back to me. Shortly thereafter, I received a call telling me that my abandoned vehicle had been located in a strip mall parking lot in front of a liquor store and was being towed to impound for forensic testing. No sign of the elusive Stanley Traynor.
