“This is all I get—three guys Dyson doesn’t want.”
“And killing one of them will tear Clem Carver up. That’s the terms.”
He was thinking straight enough to understand that it was the best chance he had. But he had to control what happened when they did these guys. “I’m on point. Rad stands back unless I say otherwise.”
“Agreed. I’ll talk to him.” Delaney sighed. “But, brother, take some counsel here. I’m the only one here who knows what happened to you. If you don’t want anybody else to know, then you think hard about what you do to these guys. What you did to Clem—that says loud and clear what kind of payback you needed. You do that, or anything like it, inside a circle of Bulls, and they’ll understand why.”
~oOo~
There was a room in the basement of the Bulls clubhouse—just an unfinished room, with two concrete-block exterior walls and two sheetrocked walls still showing tape and mud. Between the studs of those two walls, the Bulls had packed heavy-grade insulation, and the door was solid oak.
The floor was bare concrete. It sloped subtly inward from all directions, to a slotted drainage grate.
In this room, the Bulls exacted vengeance or extracted information. Sometimes both.
It had been used only three times in the six years Maverick had worn the Bull before he’d gone away. They’d had cause to inflict hurt more often than that, but they had a place off site, out of town, on Dane’s property, and they used that location when they could, because it was safer. Incapacitating or killing a man in a basement in the middle of Tulsa meant a complicated cleanup, with any number of opportunities to be seen. Killing somebody a mile from any road or neighbor meant more security and more leisure with the job and the cleanup.
But Maverick wanted these guys done in the Bulls’ house. He wanted them to know where they were. He wanted to be in the heart of the club when this went down. He thought maybe this would sync him up with the club, doing this thing with his brothers.
There were three men, all of them young, in their twenties. Rad had taken Eight Ball and Ox to collect the cargo, and they’d set them up in the basement before Rad had called Maverick down.
Maverick and everybody else. Even Slick. At the end of the meeting when they’d made this plan, Simon had put up Slick’s name, saying he should be in on the payback as well, since he owed Dyson some hurt, too, and these three were the ones who’d done him the damage.
The club had voted to patch him in right there. The ease of the vote gave Maverick some assurance that the kid was worthy.
Now, every member of the Bulls, from Delaney to Slick—his last name was Zabek, Maverick now knew, and his given name was Andrew—stood in the basement, outside the bare room. Rad stood near the door. Ox and Eight Ball had rolled out two big tool chests from the storage room.
They’d sent the women and the hangarounds away and the old ladies home. There was no one in the clubhouse but the Bulls and their prey.
“Room’s not big enough for everybody. We got ‘em naked and hog-tied right now, like you wanted.” Rad glanced at Mav, who nodded. “Slick, Eight, Becker, and Apollo are on cleanup. When it’s done, you wrap and pack, then out to Dane’s in the van. Bury ‘em deep. Stack em in. Got it?”
“Yeah, Sarge,” Eight Ball agreed. The others nodded.
“Slick, you want in on the doin’, right?”
The kid looked sick, but he nodded. “Right.” His voice was steadier than Maverick had expected.
“Mav, I’m told you want to lead this, so what’s your plan?”
He didn’t have a plan. For all his experience beating people up, he wasn’t an enforcer with the club, and putting this kind of hurt on people wasn’t normally his job. Rad was their SAA and did most of their wetwork. Ox was his right hand in that work. Maverick had been like Gunner and the rest—just muscle when he was needed.
He’d killed two men before this night. One had been an accident, and one had been an assignment.
“You gotta go in there with a plan, brother. How much hurt you want ‘em to feel?”
This was different from Carver. Carver had hurt him, had nearly killed him, body and spirit. Paying that back had filled in part of the hole in his head that son of a bitch had dug. And even at that, Maverick hadn’t killed him. But he’d wanted to, intended to.
The three men on the other side of that door had to die; that was Melvin Dyson’s price for offering them up. But Maverick didn’t feel any ill will toward them. They hadn’t come at him inside. They hadn’t sanctioned that attack. Fuck, they weren’t even Dyson anymore.
He’d hurt the man who’d done him most hurt. He couldn’t get to the man who’d okayed it. These were just scared young idiots who’d done other people some damage.
“Slick—these are the guys that beat you and Wally, right?”
The kid nodded.
“You get first crack, then. Leave Carver alive. The others, do what you want, long as they’re dead when you’re done.”
“You sure, brother?” Delaney asked. “This is the payback. There’s no going for more.”
He understood. But this wasn’t what he wanted. He’d get no satisfaction from torturing these kids who’d done nothing to him. He’d kill Carver’s brother, because that would give Carver more hurt, but he’d do it quick. He owed the kid no pain.
“Yeah. Slick’s the one with the claim against these guys. He should get to do the damage he wants.” He went to the stairs. “Call me when it’s time to end Carver.”
“Mav!” Delaney called, but Maverick ignored him and went back up to the party room.
~oOo~
Alone in the party room, with a bottle of Jack and a glass, Maverick picked up the phone and dialed The Wayside Inn. He didn’t know Jenny’s schedule, but she’d had quite a bit of free time earlier this week, so he took a guess that she’d be working tonight.
“Wayside Inn.” Her voice rolled over the honkytonk tune playing in the background.
“It’s me, Jen.”
A beat of silence. “Hi. What’s up?”
“You haven’t called. Starting to freak out over here.”
“It’s only been a couple of days. I haven’t had time to bring her over, and I’m not ready to—”
“Hand her over. I know. You keep saying that. Like you think I’d snatch her and run.”
She didn’t respond, and as her silence stretched, Maverick knew what he’d done. He’d cut her off and taken over. He sighed and took a swig straight from the bottle. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”
“Her birthday’s the day after tomorrow.”
That was a date he would never forget. He closed his eyes and saw the blue ink of Jenny’s handwriting, drawn across a white border: Kelsey, 8/21/93. “I know. Can I see her? You got a party planned or something?”
“I’m taking her and her friend to the zoo, and we’re having cake and presents after.”
She went quiet, but Maverick could sense that she wasn’t done. Afraid to say something and foreclose the chance that she was about to ask him to come along, he kept his mouth shut.
“You can come with us, if you want.”
“Yes. When? I’ll be there.”
“I’m going to try to get her to take a nap first. So about one? We’ll meet you there.”
Jenny still drove the shitty Escort she’d had when they’d met. He’d just bought the ‘95 Cherokee, and a car seat that Mo had said Kelsey would need. “I could pick you up. I bought a Jeep. It’s safer than your little car. Room for her friend, too.”
“Maverick.” Icicles hung from his name. “We’ll meet you at the zoo at one o’clock.”
He opened his mouth to make a case for taking the Jeep, but slammed it shut when he saw that he was doing it again. Shit, was she right? Did he always need his way?
No—the Jeep was better than the Escort. Simple logic. He was right.
But she’d shut him out if he pushed the point, so he took another swig and dropped it. “Okay. I’ll see yo
u then.”
She hung up.
Gunner came into the room as Maverick put the phone on its base. He was flushed and sweaty. “We’re ready for you.”
Maverick took another swig before he followed Gunner to the basement to kill a man he’d never met.
~oOo~
Slick stood just outside the room, panting noisily and staring at a wicked hunting knife in his hand. The blade dripped blood. Maverick recognized the hilt of that knife: Rad’s.
He stepped into the doorway of a room that stank of sweat and blood and piss. Two of the young men, the scapegoats, were dead, their throats slit. Their bodies were still naked but no longer hogtied. They’d been shoved off to the side, in a jumble of limp limbs, but Maverick could see that Slick had had some shit to work out. These boys must have hurt him and Wally bad. By the look of Rad and Gunner, the new patch had asked for some assistance in getting his revenge.
Blood rolled like a river from that pile of bodies toward the drain in the center of the floor.
One man remained hogtied and alive: Ellison Carver. He lay in a pungent puddle that streamed to the same drain and mingled with the blood; he’d pissed himself. What was he, twenty-one? Twenty-two? Fucking Christ.
His frightened eyes were round as silver dollars. The wadded shop towel in his mouth forced his frantic breath through his nose in ragged gusts. But he was unharmed. It seemed that no one had yet touched him; they’d simply left him to lie there and watch his friends’ brutal deaths.
Maverick was meant to be the agent of his end.
“Ellison Carver?” he asked, crouching before the terrified kid.
The kid nodded, his head jerking as if a part in his neck had gone rusty.
“Clem Carver’s your brother.”
This time, the kid’s head didn’t move, but those huge, frantic eyes managed to widen still more. Good enough as a yes.
“I owe your brother a lot of pain. You understand that? You know how these things work.”
The boy began to weep.
He patted his trembling shoulder. “But I don’t owe you any, kid. You got debts, but not to me. So I’m sorry.”
He stood, pulled his Glock from his waistband, and shot the boy in the head.
Now he’d killed three men in his life, and not a damn one of them had felt right.
~oOo~
He didn’t quite trust Jenny not to walk on across the bridge and into the zoo entrance without so much as a pause to wait for him if she’d gotten there first, so he was at the zoo at twelve-thirty. He bought two adult and two child tickets, and he went back to stand at the head of the bridge and wait. It was crowded for a Thursday, he thought, but he guessed it was probably the last week or so before schools started, so maybe parents were getting in a last outing before the summer was over.
She walked up at ten past, with Kelsey holding her hand and a little black girl about the same age holding Kelsey’s other hand.
He waved.
“Hi, Daddy!” Kelsey said as they stepped onto the sidewalk. She shook free of Jenny’s hand and dragged her friend to him. “This is Maisie. We’re forever friends. She has a daddy too and now I have a daddy and Mommy can get a baby in her belly like Maisie’s mommy and I can have a boy baby like Maisie gets.”
“Kelsey...” Jenny muttered.
Maverick didn’t know how to respond to that barrage of preschool logic, so he merely laughed and crouched to their level. He held out his hand to Kelsey’s friend. “Hi, Maisie. I’m Maverick.”
Maisie shook her head. “I’m supposed to say Mr. and Mrs. to grownups.”
“Okay, then. You can call me Mr. Mav. Will you shake my hand?” She did, smiling sweetly. Maverick turned to Kelsey. “Happy birthday. Can I have a hug today?”
“Uh-huh. I like hugs.”
Damn, he did, too. This tiny girl wrapped her soft arms around his neck and snugged her sweet-smelling head to his, and for that short capsule of time, the whole world made sense.
“You have a itchy face.” She rubbed her cheek when he let her go.
“Sorry. Should I make my cheeks smooth like yours?”
She put her hands on his face and rubbed back and forth. Maverick closed his eyes so he could focus completely on his daughter’s touch. “It’s prickles. I like it.”
“Then I’ll keep it.”
“Okay. Can we go to the zoom now? I want to see the giraffes first because I like them best.” She took his hand and Maisie’s hand.
Maverick stood and turned to Jenny. “I bought tickets already.”
“Oh, okay. I’ve got cash. I’ll pay you back when we get inside.”
“No, Jen. My treat. Please.” He felt like he had to beg for every concession from her, but if it got him close enough to Kelsey to hug her and hear her call him Daddy, then he’d keep begging.
She seemed nervous and unhappy, but she smiled. “Okay. Thank you.”
Maverick took a step toward the bridge, but Kelsey held back. “Mommy! You said we need to hold hands and make a chain!”
“You’re right.” She went toward Maisie.
“No, Mommy. Hold Daddy’s hand. Then it’s grownup, grownup, girl, girl. That’s called sorting.”
Jenny stared at Kelsey, then at her hands, and finally at Maverick.
For his part, he struggled with his temper. She behaved as if he were a monster she was afraid would eat her alive, but he could feel that she still loved him. It was all around her, all around them when she was close. When he’d had her in his arms, he’d known for a certainty that she wanted what he wanted.
But even the idea of holding his hand made her stand there, paralyzed.
“Mommy, come on!” Kelsey’s tone was impatient and imperious.
“Watch your tone, pixie.”
Maverick heard that word and flinched. When Jenny had been pregnant, they’d called the baby inside her a little pixie. She’d started it, and he’d picked it up. Even after they’d known she was a girl, they hadn’t yet settled on a name, and they’d kept calling her their little pixie.
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean to do mean talk at you. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“That’s two.”
Maverick heard that and took a punch to the gut.
Jenny hadn’t seemed to notice his reaction to the word ‘pixie,’ but her eyes met his when Kelsey said ‘that’s two.’
“Yep, that’s two.” She took his hand. “You want to see some giraffes?”
He nodded and let her pull their chain toward the entrance.
He was still struggling with his temper, and now he was hurt and aching, too. She’d said the other day that he’d bought their house, and she was right. But she’d lived their life. She’d had Kelsey, kept her all to herself, and she’d passed on to her the things that she’d shared with him. But she’d never told Kelsey that those things had come from them, from Jenny and him and their love for each other and for their baby. Until a few days ago, Kelsey had had no understanding that she’d even had a father, much less one who wanted her, who loved her.
Jenny had left him to rot and claimed all the good for her own.
He’d been in shackles when she’d turned her back, and she had him in shackles now, begging for the smallest scraps.
August 2, 1993
Maverick sat alone in the dingy courthouse meeting room and rubbed his wrists. The shackles they made him wear when he was in the same space as free people weren’t excessively tight, but it was like the metal burned him. Just the feeling of the steel lying on his skin made him itch and ache.
In here, they’d released him, so he sat on a hard chair and rubbed his wrists.
He didn’t know why he was in here. He had a plea deal—nine months in county jail and a five-hundred dollar fine, in return for his confession and saving the County of Tulsa and the State of Oklahoma the expense of a trial. Today was supposed to be a formality: stand before the judge, confess that he’d beaten Earl Jack Wagner of North Joplin A
venue and done Great Bodily Harm, get his slap, and do his time sitting on his ass watching daytime television. Maybe get time off for good behavior and only be inside four or five months.
But the guards had shoved him in here instead, and he got antsier with each passing minute. Something was wrong.
He was hoping he’d see Jenny in the courtroom. He’d asked if he’d have a chance to see her alone before he was sent back to County, and Percy had said he’d work it out. He’d only caught glimpses of her in the short time since he’d been arrested; he’d been denied bail while they’d all waited to see if Earl would croak. He hadn’t, and it no longer looked like he was going to, so the charge was Aggravated Assault.
Jenny was so pissed off, and she was frightened. That was a bad combination for trying to get through to her. He fucking hated that she’d have their little girl while he was cooling his heels, but he’d be out just a few months afterward, and they’d be okay. He just needed like five minutes to get her head straight, and she’d be okay while he was away, and then they’d be okay when he got out. The Bulls would watch out for her. She wouldn’t be alone.
The door opened, and Maverick tensed. Percy Clayton, the club lawyer, came in. Delaney was behind him. Neither man looked at ease.
“What happened?”
Percy sat down at the table, across from Maverick, before he answered. Delaney stood behind Maverick and put his hand on his shoulder. Oh, this was going to be bad.
“DA pulled the deal. She’s got new terms.”
“What? We signed off on this—she signed off.”
Delaney put steadying pressure on his shoulder, but Maverick wasn’t ready to blow. He didn’t understand enough yet to be angry. Just confused and anxious.
“I’m sorry, Mav.” Percy really did look sorry. “She got a lead on something, and she wants your help. New terms are same deal, but to get it, you talk.”
Now he understood why Delaney was in the room. Using the club lawyer hadn’t even been a question for Maverick—he was a Bull and had nothing to hide from the club he loved—but it meant that the lawyer was working for the club first and the patch second. Delaney was here because he wanted to make sure Maverick wouldn’t talk.
Slam (The Brazen Bulls MC #3) Page 15