Pea shook his head. “Man, it’s not good.” He tilted back a shot of something that smelled like rubbing alcohol, which made him appear as though he was going to projectile vomit at any moment. With a nasty burp, he said, “Right after the meeting, Cyril took Scat and Kentucky down to Salem. They took one of your company trucks. Cyril was hell bent on grabbing the cash before the Demons decided to burn the shop to the ground.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” And people had the nerve to call Vince reckless. “Have you heard from them?”
“Nope,” Pea hiccupped. “If things worked out, they should be back within the hour. I tried to call you, but all I got was voicemail.”
Vince cursed. “I was on the reservation part of the time. I don’t get service there.” How many calls had he missed from how many people? He wondered if Ariana had called and was glad he hadn’t been able to answer. He needed her as far away from him as she could get at the moment. If she wasn’t facing the loss of her father, he’d make sure she got out of town before this turned into Tombstone and the OK Corral.
“Well, it’s too late to do anything now,” Pea told him. “We tried to stop him. Traunch and Dustin and even Raw stood with me. Cyril and Dustin almost got into it, and Cyril threatened to pull a gun on the old boy. He’s in the bunk room, beating himself up for not taking Cyril to the ground right then.”
What the hell was going on with Cyril? Maybe he really did have a death wish, and he didn’t care who he took with him when he went down. “I hope he’s in a fighting mood when they get back.”
“I’m sure he will be. Especially when he hears about the deals you’ve been making today.” Pea chuckled, and Vince raised an eyebrow at him. How did he know already? “Oh, come on, Larson. I’m the smartest guy here, no offense. I knew what you were going to do. I would have done it myself, if I thought you weren’t going to. But it’s going to be more than a thorn in Cyril’s side.”
“Good. I want the bull’s horns today.” Vince stormed outside and let the cool breeze blow into his face. He hated getting this worked up. His blood pressure was through the roof, and he felt like he might suffocate with the heat of it. He shed his jacket, baring his arms to the moving air, and it helped a little. He reached for a cigarette but cursed and tossed away the empty pack.
He would have to go into the bunk room, where he kept a carton just for such occasions, which also meant talking to a less-than-pleasant Dustin. He knocked but didn’t wait for a response before opening the door. Dustin lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Vince opened the top drawer of the dresser and reached into the back, pulling out a fresh pack. “Hey, Dustin, I heard what happened.”
When Dustin didn’t answer, Vince studied him more closely to make sure his chest was still moving up and down as he breathed.
“I’m alive, asshole,” Dustin grumbled. “That son of a bitch wouldn’t have shot me. I should have just rushed him and knocked him to the ground. There were enough of us to get him tied up until he got a little sense back into his thick skull.”
“You did what you could, Dustin. No one expects you to take on our president single-handedly. What made him fly out of here so fast anyway?” Vince asked as he packed the cigarettes and tore at the wrapping.
“I don’t know. I know he suddenly had this idea that the Demons knew what we were planning. He talked about them shutting us down by taking out the printer and burning down the shop. I’m sure it made him more determined to go when he realized you weren’t here to stop him.” Dustin rubbed his forehead. “I should have at least suited up and gone with him.”
Vince scoffed. “And put yourself at risk? Let me tell you, at this point, I wouldn’t have put it past Cyril to shoot out your tires to keep you here. Do you really want to buy a new set tomorrow?”
Dustin didn’t respond, and Vince left the room, calling back, “Don’t worry, Dustin, I got this.”
He lit his cigarette as he walked through the bar area and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke burn his throat and lungs before he exhaled. Under the stars that were starting to appear in the darkening sky, Vince felt more peaceful, and he clung to that temporarily. He knew that peace would be blasted out of him as soon as Cyril pulled into the parking lot.
Pound and Traunch came back with Dawn, and Pound sent the curvaceous woman into the clubhouse while he and Vince discussed the problem. Traunch had filled Pound in. “Takoda’s men aren’t here yet, are they?” Pound asked. Vince shook his head, and Pound cursed under his breath. “What if the Demons are on their tail? We weren’t supposed to pick up this shipment for three more days. The Demons have every reason to get pissed. Not only did Cyril go in unannounced, but he took the shipment that the Demons were going to meet us with.”
“I realize that.” He had to hope that either the members of the tribe arrived before Cyril and the boys, or that they’d somehow managed to stay off the radar, though the former was far more likely than the latter.
He sat with his arms around his knees and stared at the road outside the complex while he smoked one cigarette after another. He tried to send Pound to do his deed with Dawn, but Pound disappeared for about five minutes and came back. Vince scowled. “I know you didn’t just pull a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am on the chief’s daughter.”
Pound chuckled. “No way. I’m tapping that for a good, long round. I just asked if she could sit tight and maybe pour herself a drink while I take care of a possible situation.”
While he didn’t admit it, Vince appreciated the company and the backup Pound offered. The other guys made their way outside, milling around anxiously as they watched for a reason to react. They all tensed and nearly jumped into action too soon as Takoda’s men arrived, and Vince let the others settle back in as he greeted the group and told them what was happening.
Two of them agreed to climb to the roof, where they could be safe and at a good vantage point. Two more took up stances around the sides of the clubhouse, out of sight but with a good view of the parking lot. The last went into the clubhouse and watched through a window. Vince couldn’t even tell any of them were there when he looked, and that was good—it meant they’d be out of sight of the enemy.
When the truck came barreling into the parking lot, everyone was on their feet, ready for the Demons to be behind them. But Vince didn’t see anyone else, not even Scat or Kentucky, and that set off an alarm in his head. Cyril jumped out of the cabin, hurried toward the back of the truck, Vince close on his heels. “What happened?”
Cyril slung the rear doors open, and the two men pushed out the ramps to roll their bikes out. “Nothing.” It was a lie.
“Dammit, Cyril, what happened?” Vince demanded, his anger red-lining.
It was Scat who answered. “We were almost out of there, and Mendez spotted us.”
Mendez was one of Gordo’s top dogs. “What the fuck were you thinking, Cyril? This was stupid. Now twenty Demons are going to round that corner anytime with the intention of blowing this place to hell.”
But Cyril shook his head. “No, they aren’t. They have to find the bastard first.”
Vince’s whole body went cold. “What did you do, Cyril?”
“I didn’t do shit except work cleanup crew. Ask Scat what happened.” Cyril walked away and headed straight into the clubhouse.
Vince rounded on Scat. “What happened to Mendez?”
Scat wouldn’t meet his eyes, just kept pushing his bike toward a break in the line where he could park it. “I did what I had to, Larson. I kept us safe.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” Vince stood in front of him, blocking Scat’s way around, and Pound stood at his back so Scat couldn’t run the opposite way.
Trapped, Scat broke. “He saw us, and he was going straight back to Cortez. I got on my bike and followed him, and when I had a clear shot, I made it. Straight to the back of his skull.”
“You dumb son of a bitch!” Vince roared. “You don’t think Gordo will notice when one of his men just disappears?
What did you do, bury him and his bike in the middle of BFE?” This was a disaster.
“It bought some time!” Scat shouted back. “We didn’t want them following us or trying to blow up the truck full of dough, right? So, now, we can get the money someplace safe and plan for the attack.”
“And still not have any damn guns!” Vince didn’t even bother with Scat any longer. He stormed toward the front door of the clubhouse in search of Cyril. His leader sat at the bar, a cigar in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. Vince confronted him. “What made you think this was a good plan, Cyril? It could have waited.”
Cyril shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s better to have the money here. If it stayed in that warehouse, the Demons sure as hell would have burned it to the ground out of spite.”
“So killing one of their men and giving them a reason for retribution is preferable? You’re insane!” Vince knocked the cigar out of his hand, and it went rolling over the counter to the ground.
Cyril’s eyes flared. “Boy, you’ve stepped over the line. Back off before you get eaten by the wolves.”
CHAPTER FORTY
But Vince didn’t back off. Instead, he pushed Cyril’s shoulder. “You stepped over the line, boss. You took risks that could get us all killed. It was bad enough to strike out like Indiana Jones, worrying the Soviets would steal the treasure. But killing one of the Demons and burying the body?!”
Cyril stood and threw his glass across the room, but Vince stood his ground. “That’s just inviting them to line us up and assassinate us. I might as well put a bullseye on your chest!”
Cyril gave Vince a two-handed shove to the chest. “I didn’t see you doing anything to protect our investment, Larson. You’ve been too busy moping around, caught up in your own little world for months now to be the least bit effective.”
Vince stood chest to chest and nose to nose with Cyril. “I’ve done more to protect the investment and the club in the last twenty-four hours than you’ve done in the last five years!”
Cyril took one step back and threw a right hook, but Vince caught his wrist and head-butted Cyril in the face. Cyril’s head snapped back, but he didn’t go down. He wrenched his arm from Vince’s grasp and went for Vince’s stomach with his left hand. Vince took the punch, which was weak from Cyril’s dizziness, and countered by rushing Cyril. He knocked him into a barstool that collapsed and landed on top of him on the floor.
Cyril fought dirty. He grabbed Vince’s hair and yanked his head back so he could swing at Vince’s nose. Vince turned his head, taking the blow to the back of his jaw instead, and grabbed Cyril by his jacket, lifted his torso, and slammed his head against the floor. Cyril raised a knee, getting Vince right where the road burn still stung and ached, and Vince grunted in pain.
But he wasn’t done, and with a growl, he sat up to straddle Cyril, pounding on his face. Cyril took several punches before he managed to get his legs up and his feet locked over Vince’s shoulders. He rolled so Vince’s back hit the floor, his legs bent and out of commission momentarily. It knocked the wind out of Vince and gave Cyril a chance to get up, but as soon as Cyril was on his feet, Vince straightened out his legs and threw a kick that landed on Cyril’s knee. He hit hard enough to take Cyril down again.
Vince rolled to his hands and knees with a growl and dove at Cyril, but unseen hands on his arms pulled him back. “Let go of me!” he screamed. He lunged and kicked, but he was held too tightly to get away.
“Enough, Larson.” Pound’s voice in his ear brought Vince back to reality and cleared his vision. As he gazed down at Cyril, he saw the damage he’d done. The man’s nose was broken and bleeding, and he would have a shiner the next day; his lip was swollen and cut, and as he sat up, he grabbed his head in pain and nearly fell over again.
Pound had one of Vince’s arms, and he turned to see Dustin holding the other. He shook them both off. “I’m fine. I’m done.” They let go but stayed close, and Vince brushed off his jacket. His adrenaline ebbed and sensation came back to his body. He hadn’t exactly come out smelling like roses. His jaw hurt and would bruise badly, and his leg injury throbbed so hard that it made him want to collapse. He took a seat on a still-standing barstool to save some dignity.
Taking the weight off his leg made other parts of his body scream, and he stared at his hands in disgust. They were a mess of blood, and from the looks of his knuckles, it wasn’t all Cyril’s blood. Pea pushed a shot of something foul at him, and Vince took it. He felt the burn all the way down through his chest.
Pea laughed and hiccupped. “You feel better now?”
Vince smiled, and it pulled at his sore jaw. He rubbed it and nodded. “Surprisingly, I feel much better.”
There was a stir, and Vince saw three guys holding Cyril, who apparently thought he was going to get a few more chances to smash Vince on the ground. “We’ve got to get your head checked, bro,” he heard Scat tell him. Vince hadn’t even noticed the man come in.
He motioned to Pea for one more shot. This one didn’t go down any easier, but he certainly felt a little calmer as he reached for a cigarette in his pocket. He lit up and offered one to Pound, who stared at him in amusement and took it. Vince scowled. “What?”
Shaking his head, Pound lit his smoke and grinned. “I’ve never had so much trouble pulling a guy your size off someone else. I can’t believe I had to get help. But I tried three times, and you weren’t going anywhere.”
Everything was foggy in Vince’s mind, and he didn’t remember anyone touching him until he actually came off Cyril. “It doesn’t take a genius to know the Demons won’t stop hunting us until we pay a two-for-one price on Mendez. I have half a mind to point to Scat as the gunman and hand him over.”
“I wish it was that easy.” Pound sat down on the empty stool beside him. “Maybe we should all split up and get out of town for a while.”
“I’d be surprised if Mendez didn’t crawl up out of that grave and already get to Gordo and Cortez,” Vince scoffed. “It’s hard to kill that kind of evil. We’d never get out of town in time. I’m surprised they aren’t here yet.”
Kentucky must have overheard them as he stepped up beside them. “I went to try to contain things. I was closing up the truck when Scat went after Mendez, and I couldn’t catch up in time. I almost killed him in the back of the truck on the way home.”
“Are you sure he’s the only one that saw you?” Vince asked.
Kentucky nodded grimly. “Cyril wanted to deliver the body with trumpets and flair. I told him we couldn’t do that if we wanted to make it home with the money and keep breathing. I’m sorry things went this way.”
Vince shrugged. “Too late now. At least we shouldn’t expect the Demons here tonight. They won’t go asking questions until tomorrow when Mendez doesn’t check in. Right now, they’ll just think he’s shacked up with some whore he paid to stay the night.”
But it was going to come down, and when it did, Vince had to make sure he didn’t have any connection to Ariana that the Demons could find. They’d use her against him, and he didn’t know how he’d handle it if anything happened to her.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Ariana hovered outside her father’s hospital room and tried to talk herself into going inside. She’d peered through the cracked door into the dark space to make sure he was alone. Part of her angered to find him by himself. Her selfish family should be spending every possible moment at his side. What if he died when no one was here? But he had to be alone if she was going to do this. She sure as hell wasn’t going to do it in front of her mother or Lorraine.
After several deep breaths, she pushed the door open and walked inside. Her father was sleeping, but she could tell it was restless—his head rolled back and forth and his face scrunched tight. She stopped next to the bed and laid her hand on his arm between the monitors and IV feeds. He twitched but didn’t wake up, and she reached to brush her other hand over his head. He jumped, his eyes flying open, and he looked around like he didn’t k
now where he was. How much morphine were they giving him?
She saw the moment he recognized her in the scowl on his face. “What are you doing here, Ariana?” His voice was hoarse, either from screaming or lack of use. She couldn’t really tell the difference.
“I came to see how you were feeling. I know it’s late, but it’s the only time I could make it by with work and school and everything.” It was hard for Ariana to look at him. His hair had been gray for years, but it seemed to have thinned just since his arrival at the hospital. He was so thin and pale he reminded her of the cadavers she’d had to work on in her first biology class.
He coughed and wheezed. “You know damn well how I am. Say your goodbyes and get out. I don’t want to hear you blame me for your troubles, and I don’t want to listen to your mother hound you about her problems. I don’t want to hear her tell you you’re inadequate, and I don’t want Lorraine looking down her nose at you because you didn’t marry a rich bastard who cheats on you like she did.”
DADDY AT THE ALTAR Page 14
