by Tommy Twist
"Great, then give me my fuckin' beer."
I take it off the table and swallow a heavy mouthful, enjoying the bitter taste and the burn on the way down. Jesus, we should get out of moving drugs, I think. If someone actually came in to drink this stuff, we might be able to sell some of it.
"How long you going to keep us waiting, man? What's got you riled up?"
I suck a breath through my teeth. "We got trouble. Cop trouble."
"Then we go down south."
"I didn't get the impression it was the kind of problem that would go away any time soon. Nor the kind of problem that they'd have any problem solving south of the border."
"Okay, what, then?"
"This don't go outside this bar, or outside the three of us. That much clear?"
"Come on, man, I don't have time for this shit. I got places to be. Spit it out or fuckin' keep it to yourself."
"I got picked up today. They got nothin', cut me loose. But they said that McCallister is going to try something. Unless we want to get our shit cut off, we need to make sure that we get him first."
"When that shit happens—if it happens—then we'll figure out what to do about it then, but I ain't jumping for the cops."
"Then do it because I asked you to."
"Look at this, Brian," Logan said, his voice already holding more laughter than I liked. "Little bro's getting ideas in his head. Thinks we do what we ask him to."
I burned hot, but I drank another mouthful and kept my mouth shut. If this was what it took to get my brothers to listen to me, then I'd deal with it.
"Look, you going to help me or not?"
"McCallister's boys are taking plenty of our business," Brian said, more to their older brother than as an answer. "We could probably do a lot better for ourselves without him causing trouble for us."
"I don't know why the fuck you're asking me. I ain't even part of your god damned club."
"Oh, is that the problem? Brian, reach down behind the bar, get Logan that Raven I have back there for him." I waited for Brian to grab it and drop the patch on the counter. "You know you can have it the minute you want it. Founding member and everything."
"Won't that cause trouble with your boys?"
"Man, fuck that."
Logan's thinking about it, and I can tell he is, but then he pushes the patch away. "Let's say I help you."
"Let's say you do," I offer.
"What do you need my fuckin' help for, anyways? What are we supposed to do that big, bad Ryan Beauchamp can't do himself?"
"You can be a real fuckin' asshole, you know that, Logan?"
Brian laughed at Logan's jab, and then laughed more at my response.
"Well, if you think we can help, you know you got our help."
"First thing we need to do, I figure, is get his attention," I growl. There's more to the plan, but we need to keep an eye on something close. Short goals, things we can complete easily. Nothing too complex or far away.
"And how, pray tell, do you figure we do that?"
"We get him interested in us, and we get him interested by moving some stuff for him."
"You know he's got his own boys moving stuff, right? No way he needs some outside freelancers to come in and take over his business for him."
"That's what he thinks, sure. That's what anyone would think, a club his size. The business part of his club probably only takes a tenth of his members, and then they don't even probably work all the time."
"Are you going to be the one to tell him he's fuckin' wrong?"
"That's exactly who I'm going to be." I can feel the smile already twisting across my face. "I'm going to steal his dope from him, and I'm going to make damn sure he knows who did it."
Chapter Seven
MAGUIRE
I can feel the heat of the coffee cup in my hand. A rare treat. Usually the swill that they brew at the office has to suffice, but I'd say I did well enough to earn myself a trip out. They wrote my name wrong on the cup.
'Sara,' I told them. 'Sara, no H.'
But there's the fucking H, right there. I roll my eyes and set the coffee-sugar concoction down on the table to answer my phone.
"Maguire," I answer.
The voice on the other side of the line is frantic, and one I recognize well.
"Sarah? Sarah, I have to come in."
"Hawkins?" I pretend not to be sure who I'm talking to.
I bring the cup to my lips for my first delicious sip, but I get a look from some college student who thinks I give a shit that she's trying to study here.
"Can you take your call outside?"
I can feel my face twisting up in frustration at her, but I made a New Year's resolution not to curse at civilians this year, and I haven't managed to break it yet.
So instead I take the call outside. I'm not going to get into this with some snotty little shit, anyways.
It's not until the door closes behind me that I remember my cup sitting there on the table. I forgot to bring it with me. I curse my bad luck as Hawkins talks into my ear.
"Maguire, you said you were taking him in. You said I was—"
"Is this a secure line?"
"What? Fuck no. That's what I'm trying to tell you. A year, you told me. No, you told me six months. I need out."
"I'm sorry, did you think you get to tell me what to do?"
"Don't play fuckin' games with me, Maguire, so help me—"
"It sounds," I tell him, "like the life's rubbed off on you. Maybe you'll be just fine out there."
"Not a chance. They know something's up. I don't know what the brother knows, but Ryan's going on a manhunt. It won't take him long—"
Hawkins shut up real quick, all of a sudden. He's probably not in a safe place to talk. I smile at it, smile because he took me away from my coffee and because I can't bring myself to give a shit about him.
"I don't understand what the problem is, Spider."
"You bitch. You fucking bitch. I can't believe you're trying to pull this shit right now."
"Pull what?" I use my most innocent voice, but he apparently isn't convinced by it.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you fucking harpy. If you don't pull me, I'm going to—"
I click my phone off and step back inside. I pick my coffee cup up off the table and pull it to my lips again, hoping to just God damn enjoy one sip of something for myself.
My phone rings again. I check the I.D., not planning on talking to Hawkins again. Maybe when he's learned who wears the pants in the relationship, I can pull him.
Until then, I'm going to let him stew a little. That should teach him. I jab the answer button when I see it's not him.
"What do you want?"
"Maguire," the voice on the other end. Danny sounds like a movie star on the phone. Too bad he's never going to have movie star looks.
The snotty-looking college student's mousey hair practically stands on its end in fury that I would dare take my call inside. I heft my cup to show her I came back for a reason, give her a look that could kill, and head back outside.
Fucking college students, think they own the place just because it's right by campus and open 24-hours.
"Yes, it's me, did you have something you needed to talk to me about, or is this a social call?"
"You can be a real ass, you know that?"
"Sure, why not?"
"You heard from Spider yet?"
"No," I lie. It's easier that way. Life's easier that way.
"He says they've started executing guys."
"And he wants out, is that right?"
"That's exactly right, Maguire. It's your call. What do we do?"
"We leave him. We can't exactly extract him guns-blazing, everyone would know something was up. And if he just disappears, then they know that the cop's gone."
"Jesus, Maguire. He's going to get himself killed." I try to pause long enough to get a sip of my coffee, already feeling the heat seeping out of the cup into my hands. Danny prods me before I ca
n get my drink. "You listening?"
"Well, we'll have to figure something out. But getting him out isn't in the cards. We need eyes on the inside of that organization, and you—and Hawkins—know it."
"That's a crock of shit, Maguire, and you're the one who knows it."
"I'm the lead on this operation, and I'm not going to be questioned."
Hawkins fit in better with those drug runners than he ever did with cops. It was a feat that he'd managed to keep his nose mostly clean in the year that he'd spent there, but I've seen his file.
He doesn't always keep his nose clean, and they rarely find out how bad he's been hitting the dope until they start debriefing him. He's an addict, and worse, he gets too close to the fucking cases he works. I miss my chance to take another sip again, fuming about Hawkins.
"Well, you may be the lead, but you might not be lead of anything for long, if we get our informants fuckin' killed, Sara. You know that."
"Don't call me that."
"Sorry. Maguire."
"Better." I suck in a breath and put the coffee to my lips, already imagining the taste, imagining how much I'm going to enjoy it. A thought shoots through my head, distracting me from what I'm doing. "I'm not just trying to be a bitch, you know. It's not like I enjoy giving people shit, Danny. You know better than that. But just—I don't like being called Sara, not at work."
"I know. You're right. I should've thought it through."
"You don't blame me, do you?"
"Not at all, Maguire. I'm going to give Spider a call back, tell him to dig in. We still need a man on the inside, like you said."
"And if we pulled him, it would only be painting a target on his back, and showing Beauchamp our hand. We keep this close to the chest."
"Exactly right. Sorry to bother you, boss."
"It's fine," I tell him, jabbing the button on my phone. I put the plastic cup to my lips and wait for the phone to ring again. It always comes in threes, I think to myself. Could I just be lucky enough to get away with only two calls?
I tip the cup slow, waiting for the phone to ring. Delaying that gratification just one more second, two more seconds, three…
When it finally passes my lips, it's exactly as I realize that it doesn't feel particularly warm in my hand, and it goes down my throat lukewarm.
Unsatisfying doesn't begin to describe it. I let out a long breath. No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way.
I like my coffee hot. Hot enough to burn the whole way down. As it is, it's barely warm. Barely. For an instant, I think about going back inside, getting myself another cup. Having to tell that fucking woman my name again keeps me from doing it.
Besides, I don't even want to drink this damn stuff, I tell myself. The coffee cup drops convincingly on the top of the garbage, and soon, Spider will no doubt be joining it.
Chapter Eight
RYAN
I can't tell them what happened. I'd be a fool to even think it. There was a moment, however brief, where I thought I might tell them soemthing. Thank God I'd come to my senses soon enough.
But if I can't involve Logan and Brian in the search, then it means I'm on my own, and if I'm on my own…
There's someone on the inside. There must be. But how I'm supposed to find him is the rub. For a long minute I consider.
Is the timing significant? These cops, they can't control themselves. The minute they've got enough, they shoot in.
But then again, who knows. They were smarter than I'd given them credit for. They'd made moves I didn't expect so far. Maybe they were just playing me. I could go on and on, trying to figure all this shit out, and it means nothing.
Well, that's just too bad. What could they have gotten ahold of?
It's not hard to figure it out. It's got something to do with the delivery. It must have. I take a deep breath.
Los Diablos are going to be trouble if they don't get it. But if I find out those sons of bitches had something to do with my little excursion today, then they're going to have a whole world more trouble.
If I've got someone on my inside, then they've definitely got someone. I've seen their operation, and there's no chance in hell that those Mexican sons of bitches don't have some Feds sniffing them.
It would be nice to believe that they are the only ones who have some house cleaning, but I know better. If the Feds think that they know everything I'm doing, then they've got someone on the inside.
For a long, sickening moment, I can't shake the thought that Brian and Logan might be involved. If they want to get to me, then through my brothers would be an easy way to do it.
Neither of them showed any signs that there's any possibility of involvement, though. There's simply no way. Not the way that they jumped right up.
I already know who it is. Something in my head, an itch. A doubt. And that doubt was confirmed when the cops showed up. But I don't want to jump to conclusions.
Spider has done good work for me, this past year. It'd be a shame to have to put the hurt on him. As I sit, the gun in my hand feels heavy. I already know what to do, now.
It couldn't have been one of the drivers. Unless they had a constant rotation of guys coming in and leaving, which was possible in a sort of theoretical way.
It did the one thing that I never like to do, though, which is ascribing mythical powers to the cops. Anyone could be a cop, and it's true. But assuming that everyone's a cop, that's dangerous.
No, it's much easier to fit the collar on just one man, the one man who went from not knowing to knowing in the span of that afternoon.
Still, Ryan waited. He put the gun down. Took a deep breath and picked it back up. The phone came out of his pocket easy.
"Spider? I need you to meet me at the bar."
Spider's voice sounds bad. He knows I know, but that's part of the fun, isn't it? "Sure, boss. You need me there right this second?"
"Naw, take your time, man. Pick me up—you know those bite-size ice cream candies? Yeah, Dibs. That's the one. Get me some of those on the way over."
I click the phone off. Time to thin the herd. I jab a few buttons on my phone. Robin's never looked right to me. He's a squirmy kinda guy.
He's bad for business, you can't send him anywhere. Spider might be the cop, but people don't look at him and say, 'you're a fuckin' cop!'
They look at Robin and they don't say it becasue they already fuckin' left. Bad for business.
"What's up, boss?"
"I need you to meet me here."
"At the bar?"
"Yeah. Everything okay?"
Robin pauses a long time. "Sure, boss. I'll be there in five."
I hang up the phone, tap the gun on the table. Nervous habit. I should have kicked it a long time ago, but I just can't get rid of it. I hear the dull rumble of a bike rolling up.
Must be Robin. Spider drives one of those big fuckin' one-cylinder Harleys, a sound you can hear the difference in compared to Robin's V-twin.
The guy looks as shaky now as he ever has. I pour him a beer. The cold glass even looks tempting to me. Shame to waste most of it, but sometimes you waste things.
He settles in to the bar. I can tell he wants to ask what I called him out for, but he keeps his mouth shut, and I'm not going to tell him until Spider gets here anyways.
I wish there was some advice I could give the poor schmuck. There's nothing that can be done for him, though. If I told him that some tattoos might help, well, I would be lying, wouldn't I?
He looks like a square no matter what you do, down to that shitty English bike he drives. Most would have left by now, but Robin can't take a hint, and now it's gone one step too far.
A few silent minutes pass, the gun still sitting heavy on the ledge behind the bar. I can feel it there, like it's sitting right in my fuckin' lap.
The low, gravelly sound of Spider's engine pulling up outside tells me that there's only a few minutes more of the quiet. Soon, everything's going to go fuckin' nuts. The least that I can do is wait for those Dibs.
He comes in, cradling the bright red package in one large hand.
"Hey, Spider," Robin says, his movements shifty. Maybe I was wrong. Robin could be an informant, or at least he could be an informant, too.
Spider's low, gravelly voice matches the sound of his engines. "Hey. Everything okay, boss?"
I keep them both waiting a little longer. "You got those Dibs for me?"
He tosses them, and I catch the package, still cold, between my hands. I pop the top open, peel the cover back, and pop one into my mouth.
"That what you wanted?"
"Perfect," I tell him, smiling. I pour out a third beer, one for each of us. The place isn't lit up, not this time of night. Just the lights around the bar, like a spotlight on the three of us.
I pop another piece of ice cream into my mouth.
"Hey, Spider, I know I've been runnin' you a little ragged lately, dealing with so much of the day-to-day stuff."
I might not have noticed the way he squirms under the attention, if I didn't already know what he was hiding. But as it is, I do notice it.
"It's fine, boss. I'm just trying to do my part."
"I know," I tell him. "And that's just the thing. About the day-to-day operations. I just got word, you see. There's a mole. A mole, in our club. Can you believe that shit?"
Robin' sface twists up in confusion, even as Spider's trying to keep his face neutral, trying to hide the heavy swallow of nerves.
"A mole, boss?"
"Shut the fuck up, Robin."
Spider leans in, trying to look like he's not about to get shot.
"You got any ideas who it could be, boss?"
"I have a very good idea, man. I have a very good idea."
I pull the gun out and hand it over to him. "Clean up this mess for me."
I walk away. This is a test, and like all tests, it has to be taken in private. You check the test after, of course. If he wants to play cop, then he'll fire off the shot into the air, or something.
If he wants to play with the big boys, though, he'll have to find the balls to put one right into Robin's chest. That will answer the question for me. Can I use him? Or should I have dealt with it right then and there?