Protect (36 page)

Knuckles just raised one eyebrow.

“That man. I need him.”

Jayce frowned. “For what?”

“We are making inroads with suppliers down
this way, jobs that you will be the best equipped to handle for me.
But first, here and there, we have a few road blocks to remove. I
need someone quiet. Stealthy. Who won’t give a fuck who or what
they’re taking out.”

Jayce swallowed, his eyes flicking to
Knuckles. “It’s up to him.”

“Nuh uh,” Guidinger broke in, all lightness
gone from his tone. “You’re the president. You tell him what to
do.” Now Guidinger’s finger swung Fritter’s way and it took
everything he had not to rush the bastard and bite it off.
“
That
stunt has made Don Sachetti very nervous about this
club, but he trusts me. I can go to him and tell him it’s not a
concern, or I can go to him and suggest we scrape you and your
little band of misfits off.”

“These would all be hits sanctioned by
Sachetti?” Jayce asked, not sounding like he quite believed it.

“Of course. I’d be happy to tell him how
eager you were to help him grow his empire, too. How it was your
idea. An apology for the indiscretion with the sheriff.”

Shit.
This was all on him. Fritter
felt a bad taste in his mouth.

“I’ll do it,” Knuckles said, pulling the
toothpick from the edge of his mouth.

“We gotta talk about this.”

Knuckles cut his Prez off. “He’s threatening
us. He thinks he’s doing it cute but it’s a pussy ass threat. I
don’t got time to sit here and listen to this bullshit. I do this,
we keep working for Sachetti. I’ll do it.” Knuckles planted the
toothpick and between his lips, hands sliding into the front
pockets of his jeans.

Jayce’s jaw was working, but Guidinger was
already talking. “See? He’s an effective killer
and
smart.
That’s why you picked him, McClune.” Now he leaned into Jayce. “For
each hit he gets a payment. Not the club, and it won’t be as big as
most. But I figure we get a discount, since you owe us.” Now
Guidinger’s little beady eyes slid over to Fritter. “She’s not
going to win the election anyway. I suggest you find out what’ll
work for the incoming sheriff and come to an agreement. I don’t
know if Turnbull likes cock or not. Even yours, kid.”

Fritter felt the urge to rush the asshole but
Tank had a hand on his shoulder. Guidinger didn’t notice. He was
digging into his inside suit coat pocket, pulling an envelope
free.

“Don Sachetti was sorry to hear about the
loss of your brother,” he said, suddenly all humble sympathy. “I
understand he had a wife?”

Jayce jerked his chin upwards. “Yeah.
Jolene.”

“This is for her. With Don Sachetti’s
compliments.”

Jayce looked at the envelope. “What?”

“For the widow. Should she need …
anything.”

Glances were exchanged, then eventually Jayce
took the envelope with a nod. “Thanks.”

With another finger snap Guidinger vacated
the clubhouse, taking his two thugs with him. There was a long
pause after the door closed to make sure he wasn’t going to ooze
right back in again. When it became obvious that wasn’t the case
Fritter let out a breath and Jayce shouted, “What the fuck was
that?”

Knuckles took the toothpick out of his mouth.
Again. “He’s doing his own shit on the side. None of this is for
Sachetti, or if it is, he’ll be in line to take all the credit for
himself. That was a big fucking show threatening us, but if
Sachetti was done with us he would have either come and laid that
shit out on his own, or ...”

“Or?” Fritter asked.

“Or they would have come in shooting and
killed us all before a word was said.” Knuckles plugged the
toothpick back in his cake hole. “Either way, I think he’s fixing
to do something he’s going to want to hide from Sachetti. We watch
for it, figure it out, we have a card to play later.”

Fritter was nodding, since that all made
sense to him. But then again, he was kind of an idiot and not much
of a strategist. “Fuck, Jayce. I’m sorry,” he muttered, then turned
to Knuckles. “This is on me, man. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Knuckles grinned. “Whatever he gives me it’ll
still pay better than the US Army did. And honestly, the club needs
it. I’ll do it.”

His stomach still felt like it was trying to
work through a clump of mud. He’d fucked this up. A lot, not just a
little bit. How he still had his kutte was a fucking mystery to
him.

“No one finds out anything about what goes
down so no one can talk,” Knuckles continued, smile slipping. “I’m
the only that knows anything. So don’t ask me, because I can’t tell
anyone anything. It’s better that way.”

“I don’t fucking like this,” Tank spoke up,
and Knuckles gave the big guy’s arm a jab.

“It’s no different from anything I’ve done in
the past. You point, I go off. Just someone else with the trigger
now.”

“That’s what makes me nervous,” Jayce cut in.
“We won’t know the repercussions of what that ass clown has you
doing. He could drop you right in the middle of a fresh cartel war
and none of us would even know it.”

“We got no choice,” Knuckles pointed out.
“We’re over a barrel here. Sachetti won’t pull his
contracts
. He’ll put us in jail or the ground. Like I said,
if
this is all really him. And not that meatball.”

“You feel anything is off at any time, you
pull out. We’ll deal with him at that time if it feels like he’s
fucking us.” Jayce chewed his lip, deep in thought. “This all feels
really fucking wrong. And that asshole giving us shit on our own
turf really pisses me off.” He was thumbing the envelope open.

“How much is there?” Tank asked.

Jayce shrugged. “I’m guessing … ten
grand?”

Fritter gave a low whistle.

“Umm, Jayce?”

They turned anxiously, making the curvy
little blonde, Tessa, jump like they’d shouted. “What?” The Prez
replied.

“I think ... I think something’s wrong with
Neenie.”

“Neenie?” Jayce surveyed the group,
confused.

“New girl,” Tank replied. “She’s only been
hanging around a few weeks.”

“The one with the ink,” Knuckles supplied,
running his hand up his arm. Fritter remembered her then. A chick
with ink-black hair, parted in the middle and hanging all the way
down her back. Svelte to the point of being painful, always wore
tight jeans and rock band T-shirts with dog collars and blood red
lipstick. Fritter hadn’t fucked her but he knew Knuckles was liking
her for whatever it was he did with the more intimidating
women.

Sure enough, it was Knuckles who pushed
between Tank and Jayce to approach Tessa. “Where?”

“Kitchen. She was fine, cutting up lime for
the bar. Then she just collapsed.”

They were moving as a group through the
swinging doors behind the bar, Knuckles getting to the slumped form
first. Wendy was also crouched next to the girl, holding her hand
and slapping her cheek.

“Is she on shit?” Jayce asked, holding up the
girl’s head and slapping her a bit harder.

“I don’t think so,” Wendy answered
calmly.

“Go get her purse.”

Wendy nodded and scurried off to obey Jayce’s
command. Knuckles crouched on the opposite side, lifting an eyelid.
The girl’s eye was pointed straight up, the pupils pinpoints.

“Fuck. She’s strung out,” Knuckles
muttered.

Buck was already retrieving the garbage can
where the lime ends had been tossed. Fritter dropped to his knees
behind her as Knuckles pushed her up to a sitting position. With
Fritter holding her with an arm across the chest Knuckles took her
chin in one hand and shoved his fingers down her throat with the
other.

“Déjà vu,” Tiny muttered from across the way,
watching this while casually leaning one hip against the butcher
block countertop.

“No kidding,” Buck mumbled from behind
Fritter.

After a long moment he felt the girl’s body
heave, and he pushed her further forward just as her stomach
emptied. Knuckles got his hand out of the way just in time, holding
her hair back with one fist and pressing his other palm to her
forehead.

“Get it out,” he was cooing, soft and low.
“Get rid of all of that, honey.”

“Who’s checking the new girls?” Jayce asked.
It used to be Trinny; she’d watch them, see how they did on party
nights then ask the other girls if they saw anything bad. Like,
say, drug use.

“Rose is. She just asked Wendy last week
about her, and Wendy said the girl was clean.” That was Tank,
speaking as Wendy came wheeling back into the kitchen.

“She’s got this,” the girl said, breathless
from exerting herself with something other than fucking. A baggie
was clutched in one hand, and from where he was Fritter recognized
the little orange tablets inside.

“Fuck!” Jayce spat out, snatching the bag
away. “Where’d she get this?”

“She lives in Bakersfield,” Wendy answered
immediately.

“Goddammit.”

“Jayce,” Knuckles called, looking up at his
spitting mad Prez. “She doesn’t do this shit. I don’t know how it
got in her, but I know she’s been sober for a couple years.”

“She an addict?” Jayce snapped back.

“Yeah,” Knuckles answered. “We talked. She
lost a baby three years ago, then she almost OD’d after that. She’s
been clean since.”

“Once an addict always an addict,” Wendy
muttered.

Knuckles’ set his jaw, then after making sure
Fritter had Neenie with a head nod he got to his feet. “Is that
right? ‘Cause I’m an addict. If I keel over with shit in my system
I’d like to think people would be fucking suspicious over how it
got there.”

“Easy,” Buck mumbled, hand on Knuckles’
stomach to back him off. Knuckles’ aggression was a surprise to
Fritter but he wasn’t thinking about that. He was mostly relieved
that Neenie seemed to be breathing.

“Guys,” he called out, helping her as she
leaned back into his chest, limp and shaking. “She’s awake.”

Knuckles was back on task, kneeling down
again. “Neenie, what the fuck? Why you taking this shit?”

“Wha-what?”

Fritter smoothed her hair back, letting her
head rest on his collarbone. She was clammy.

“The Sunshine, doll. Why you taking that
shit?”

“I didn’t,” she whispered weakly.

“You sure?” Knuckles sounded exactly like an
addictions counselor.

“Wouldn’t do that. Just got my two-year
chip.”

Knuckles met his eye, and Fritter nodded. He
believed her, too.

“We should get her in a bed, and get some
water into her.” Knuckles lifted her under both arms and pulled her
up to her feet, hooking her arm around his shoulders.

“If she’s using she can’t stay here,” Jayce
cut in, hand out to stop Knuckles.

“She ain’t using. This is bullshit. Someone
slipped her something.”

“How do you know?” Now it was Buck
questioning Knuckles. “I mean, she might have shit going on—”

“I
know
,” Knuckles snapped, steel-grey
eyes on Buck. “Same way I know Gertie’s on the road to sobriety.
She’s just
there
. You can tell, all right?”

That backed Buck off, and they all stood
silent as Knuckles helped Neenie out of the kitchen. Wendy was
standing next to Tiny, staring at the ground, her hands fidgeting
in front of her.

“You got something to say, Wendy?” Jayce
asked after a moment.

“What?” Her head came up, eyes wide. “Me?
No.”

“Then scram,” Tiny barked and she jumped,
scurrying out of the room as well.

“Fucking Sunshine, back in Markham,” Buck
muttered, properly pissed off.

“Maybe she got it at home, brought her own
shit in,” Tank said.

Fritter shook his head. “Nah. She didn’t have
that. Wasn’t hers. Someone gave that to her, snuck it into her
drink or something.”

“How do you know?”

Fritter stared Tiny down. “Her voice. Her
body was slack. And why the hell would she lie? She didn’t get
tense or twitchy. She’s been clean for two years, you heard
Knuckles.”

“I’m not sure I buy that,” Jayce said,
rubbing the back of his neck. “People fall off the wagon all the
time. All respect to Knuckles, but I don’t think he’s a mind
reader. I’ll take his word for it for now, but she’s on notice. The
last thing I need is bitches dropping dead around here.”

As the guys turned to leave, Fritter had a
thought so intense it stopped him in his tracks. He grabbed the
Sunshine tablets from Jayce and held them up.

“What the fuck—”

“Thebaine,” Fritter breathed, heart starting
to pound.

“What?” That was Tank.

“The Thebaine. The shit we’ve been sitting on
for two years, stolen from the Gypsys.” Fritter was trying to
organize his words but they were tumbling out.

“What about it?” Jayce asked, eyes going from
the Sunshine to Fritter.

“It’s at Mickey’s shop.”

“Yeah, we know,” Tiny said slowly. “We
unloaded it there.”

“That’s what they were after!” Fritter
basically shouted. “Downey said they didn’t steal anything, but
they searched
everywhere.
Every cupboard and drawer. They
were looking for the fucking Thebaine!”

There were four hoists at the Grainger
garage. Underneath two of them the sand pits had been dug up one
night and roughly fifty pounds of Thebaine, the synthetic medicinal
ingredient in Oxycodone, were buried below the sand in large
zipper-lock bags. It was still there, waiting for the Red Rebels to
decide what the fuck to do with it. They didn’t like the heavy
narcotics. Sure they’d sell pot, but homemade Oxy pressed in Canada
by unreliable chemists was a far cry from weed.

“Mazaris are flesh peddlers,” Tank added.
“They didn’t do Mickey.”

“It was the Dirty Rats,” Jayce finished, face
closing down. “Markham Sheriff’s took their clubhouse, shut down
their storage arrangement with the Mazaris, they killed
Mickey.”