Nine sighs. He’s got a busted lip and a red mark on his cheek. “We’re on it, but not much luck yet.”
It’s the last thing I wanted to hear. I take a step toward him and feel the vein throb in my forehead with each step. The chords in my neck tighten. I lean down and point my smoke at Nine. “Nobody fucks with us in this town. That’s rule number one, and whoever is behind this is going to learn that the very fucking hard way.:
Nine doesn’t shy away from my order. He seems to embrace it. Gain confidence from it. As does Pike.
Nine’s shoulders straighten, and he nods.
I turn to Pike. “Don’t fucking stop looking until you’ve talked to everyone in this town, until you’ve turned over every grain of sand on that fucking beach. Don’t stop until you have a name or, better yet, a body.”
Nine stands. “You got it, Boss.”
I almost feel bad for the kid. He knows what to do and what his job is, but I’m too angry right now to muster up false fucking politeness for the sake of his feelings. “So, what do we know?” I ask, taking a step back and trying to fan the flames of my boiling blood.
Pike steps away from the wall and wrings out his hands. “We know that fuckers were wearing masks. Skeleton ski masks of all things. They didn’t sound or look familiar. If you ask me, they’re hires and not affiliated. The way they jacked us was reckless and not well planned. They shot up the truck tires from behind the guardrail, and we crashed into the median. They surrounded the truck before we could fire back and ordered us out of the truck. When Badger told them to go fuck themselves, they shot him.”
“How he holding up?” I ask. I don’t want anyone to die on my watch and in my town. Not if I can help it.
Pike shakes his head and lights a joint. “It was a through and through. We got him over at Nurse Jill’s spot. He’s on a half a bottle of Jack and some blues. He’s been whistling dixie for the last six hours. Literally. So, I’d guess that it’s safe to say he’ll be alright. Well, after the massive hangover I suspect the fucker will have.
I nod. “You said they didn’t sound familiar. So, what did they say?”
Pike hesitates and turns to Nine. “Tell him.”
Pike blows out a breath. “One of them said to tell you that there’s a new King of the Causeway in town, and he’ll take everything from you, unless…” He looks as if he’s about to take a bat to the dick the way he holds his breath.
“Unless what?” I ask, feeling the tendons in my neck strain. “Out with it!”
His eyes meet mine. “Unless, you give him what he wants.”
“And what the fuck is that?”
“I asked the same thing. He said you’ll be finding out soon enough.” Nine reaches up to his forehead and touches the angry red knot right below his hairline. “Then, he used the butt of his gun and knocked me the fuck out.”
“Hack into every security camera from here to fucking Miami. Find out where that fucking truck went. Pike, call up every blood-sucking connection you have from street dealers to the cartel. Get me a fucking name. And when you get one.” I take a deep drag. And blow the smoke out slowly through my nostrils like the angry fucking dragon I feel like right now. “You call me first.”
“On it,” Nine replies with a curt nod.
I leave with rage coursing through my body. Every muscle strained and tense. Whoever is behind this will pay the old-fashioned way. The way I built my name and my business.
In fucking blood.
I head up to the part of the house that doesn’t consist solely of dead trees and not much else. I half-expect the kids to run out like they usually do when they hear me coming up the steps, but there’s no one greeting me today.
Inside, I find my living room full of sleeping kids, both mine and Preppy’s. The only exception being Preppy himself who is wide awake and intently watching whatever singing cartoon is currently holding his attention.
I open the fridge and grab two beers. Preppy hears me and looks up. He stands from the couch and jerks his chin toward the back door. I wait by the door and hand him a beer, following him back outside. I slowly shut the screen door so I don’t wake the kids but keep the interior door open in case one of them wakes up.
“Where’s my girl?” I ask, taking a swig of my beer.
When we reach the grass, Preppy lights two smokes, handing one to me. “I sent her to bed. Well, I sent her to bed after giving her a famous Preppy foot rub.”
Instinct has my knuckles turning white even though I know Preppy is no threat, but when it comes to my wife, I can’t help the rage I feel when it comes to another man touching her, no matter how innocently.
“You’re so cute when you’re all jelly,” Preppy comments, staring at my clenched fists.
I roll my eyes and ignore the instinct to beat the smirk off his face. The kid has been through enough in the last couple of years. He doesn’t need my baseless wrath. At least, not today. And he is my best friend, although my blood pressure currently thinks otherwise.
The sun’s last rays of the day beam through the mangroves, and I realize how early it is. “Wait, she’s in bed already?” I ask, concern crawling up my spine like a spider making its way back to its web. Even pregnant, Pup isn’t the sort who takes breaks, even when they’re much needed.
Preppy takes a deep drag and shrugs, the movement constricting a deep jagged scar on his neck. “She says she’s tired, but if you ask me, the kid don’t seem like her usual herself.”
I see my concern mirrored in his eyes and I sigh out of pure frustration. “Yeah, I know. Every time I ask her about it, she tells me she’s fine.”
“She’s stubborn as hell.” Preppy quirks an eyebrow at me. “Reminds me a lot of her husband.”
“Even so, it doesn't change the fact that I still don’t know what the hell’s bothering her, or better yet, why she feels like she’s got to lie to me about it.” I’ve been stabbed and shot, but my wife not feeling like she can be honest with me hurts a fuck of a lot more than a bullet piercing through skin and muscle or a jagged blade jutting against bone.
“Tell me this, Boss-man. Why does anyone in a relationship, one where they actually like the other person, lie to their partner?” he probes.
I’m too worried about Pup to try to answer a riddle right now. “Why?”
Preppy stubs out his smoke. “Ugh, you’re hopeless. She’s trying to protect you, you fucking caveman. Why else?”
“Protect me?” I scoff. “From what?”
He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the banister of the stairs leading to the back door. “Let me put it this way. If she told you what’s really wrong, what’s the first thing you would do? Be honest.”
I shrug. “Easy, I’d fix it.”
He makes a finger gun and points it at my chest. “Bingo.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I growl.
“It means that maybe what she’s going through can’t be fixed with a punch to someone’s jaw or a bullet to someone’s head.”
“If it could only be that easy,” I mutter. I look down to the belts I wear wrapped around my forearms.
Preppy laughs. “Okay, or a belt around the neck. Whatever your girl is dealing with, she obviously thinks she needs to go through it alone because she doesn’t want to bother you with it. Or anyone else for that matter.”
“So...” I pause waiting for Preppy to say something. He doesn’t. “So, what the fuck do I do?”
He shrugs and takes a drag of his smoke. “Not sure. Maybe, you make her realize she’s not alone. That you’re not going to just try and fix it, but understand whatever it is.”
Preppy’s right, and it grates on me like a rope chafing my skin. “When did you get to be so smart?”
He takes a dramatic bow. “Death has a way of giving someone new perspective on shit. Things I never thought I even had an opinion on before. Like, don’t get me started on Oprah’s book club choices. Mainstream bullshit sponsored by a failing pub—”
&
nbsp; “Do me a favor, Prep?” I ask, stubbing out my own smoke.
“Yeah, Boss-man?”
“You’re smart enough, so don’t go dying again. You being brilliant would be even more fucking irritating.”
Preppy claps me on the back and follows me back into the house.
“It’s a motherfucking deal.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “What the fuck is going on with the shipment? Any word on who the fuck is involved?”
I shake my head. “No, but I’m gonna find out.”
Preppy cracks his knuckles. “Good, let me know when you do.” I see his eyes widen along with his smile when an idea passes over his face. “I’ve got the best idea ever.”
“Fuck, do I even want to know?”
“After you find out whose fucking with you, I know where we can take him. It’s been a while and I might have to spruce it up a bit, but it’s been way too fucking long. I’ll give you a hint. Three words. One of my favorite places in the world.”
I feel a smile spreading across my face. I can’t help but share in his excitement of what’s to come and where.
The Killin’ Shed.
Chapter 4
Ray
A few days later…
Our kids are chasing each other yet again. The little one is crying because she can’t keep up with the big kids. The one in my stomach is doing somersaults. Preppy is here again, but this time without the kids because his wife Dre took them to New York for a visit with their grandfather. They’re supposed to come back the day after tomorrow, but Preppy told them to be prepared to stay longer in case the storm shifts direction, which tells me he’s more worried about it than he led me to believe.
I’m pretty sure King has placed Preppy on babysitting duty (me, not the kids) while he’s trying to figure out the situation with the shipment. I wish I could do more to help, and I hate seeing King so angry although I know he’s been toning down the severity of that anger when he’s around me and the kids. I don’t mind Preppy being around. He’s been a much-needed help and distraction.
Art, tattooing used to be that distraction. I’ve come into my own over the years when it comes to design and ink. I itch to get back to it, but even if I wasn’t hugely pregnant and unable to sit in one position for an extended period of time, I haven’t exactly felt inspired. It’s been months since I picked up a tattoo gun or a pencil.
I’m cleaning up a broken remote for the tv, popping the batteries back in when King walks in the door and takes it from my hand.
“Who did this?” he asks, raising an eyebrow toward the kids.
“One of them that isn’t currently occupying space inside of my body.” I point to where all three kids are suddenly still on the couch. The picture-perfect trio of innocence smiles up at their daddy.
“Devils. All of them,” Preppy mutters from the kitchen. He points his pancake spatula at his own chest. “And for the record, it wasn’t me.”
“Sorry I took so long. It took me half an hour just to get from Bear’s club to the Causeway. Then, I had to turn around.”
“Why?” I ask.
“A boat crashed into one of the pilings. Did so much damage that they had to close it down.”
“Until when?” I ask. The Causeway is the only way on or off Logan’s Beach by car. I’m due in a few weeks, and the hospital is on the other side.
“I guess until they fix it. The worker who told me to turn around said might take up to a week.”
I feel a rush of relief wash over me.
King leans in and kisses my forehead. “Already thought about the hospital. That’s why I asked.”
He reconnects the remote pieces, tucking the batteries back inside and points it at the TV. He changes the channel to make sure it works and sets it down just as the weatherman from our local station clears his throat. “Good evening. I’m meteorologist Dexter Greyson here with a Hurricane Polly update. I know we were expecting category two winds at most with the category three winds staying more off the coast and up in the Port Charlotte area. Unfortunately, as of the 5am hurricane center update, not only has Hurricane Polly made a drastic turn south far from the forecasted cone, but it’s also picked up speed and strength. We are now expecting a landfall in the Logan’s Beach to Coral Pines area, today in the early evening hours. I’m sorry to report to the residents of Logan’s Beach that with the bridge unpassable and the waters already unsafe for travel by boat, that taking shelter in the highest, most sound structure is the most advisable course of action.” The harried-looking weatherman pauses to take a sip from his Channel Two mug. “Stay safe, and may God be with you all.”
I have no idea where to start. I sit down because my head is dizzy with jumbled thoughts. Will the kids be safe? Will we be safe? What about the house? Flooding? Our insurance? Power? Where is the generator?
“Breathe,” King orders, placing a hand on my shoulder. I cover it with my own. “It’ll be fine.”
Preppy shrugs. “It’s nothing we haven’t been through before. Besides, the dude from the weather channel isn’t even in town, and everyone knows that the only time to worry is when he shows up.”
The news anchor once again throws to the weatherman. “Just an update, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I have a report in that Jim Cantore from the Weather Channel has been spotted broadcasting from the bottom of the Causeway.”
“Fuck,” Preppy swears.
“Really, of all the things he said, that’s what bothers you most?” I ask, pointing to the TV.
To my surprise, King comes to Preppy’s defense. “Cantore goes wherever is considered ground zero during a storm.”
“What are we going to do?” I whisper to King, cognizant that the kids are watching us and not wanting to make them as fearful as I am.
“We are going to get through it,” King says, as if it’s as simple as that. I believe him because I have to believe him. Because I can’t imagine a world where any of us don’t get through it.
The reporter continues as the kids chase each other down the hall. “Although the winds will be a big factor in this hurricane, flooding will be the major concern for our area as we are on the low-pressure side of the storm. Get to high ground and an internal room to avoid flying debris. And I say this again with no bullshit, folks. May God be with—”
We don’t even get to hear him finish his sentence because the TV along with the rest of the power in the house goes out. The room is dim and yellow, lit only with the light of the setting sun.
Preppy gasps. “Shit, that was ominous as fuck. And he said bullshit on TV.”
“You can say that again,” King says with a sigh. He turns to Preppy. “Call Bear. I’ll get started here. You know the drill.”
“What drill?” I ask as Preppy pulls his phone from his pocket and races out the door.
“This ain’t our first rodeo, pretty lady,” Preppy replies in a southern cowboy style accent.
“Follow me,” King says as he also pushes out the front door. I do as he says and follow him down the steps. Preppy peels out of the driveway as we reach King’s shop which is attached to our garage. “We have a system in place. I put up the shutters and Preppy gathers the supplies. Food and medical. I’ll call Bear and see if he plans on heading here or staying at the Clubhouse. Either way, he’s in charge of water and generators.”
“I’ve never been through a hurricane before,” I admit.
“We’ve been through a few.”
“How many like this?”
King shrugs. “Had a four once. The only difference is that it was predicted to come, and we were better prepared. Never had one that just changed directions like this before.”
“A wild card hurricane. Unpredictable even when predictable.”
“Preparation is the same for all of them. We just need to be a little faster when it comes to this one”
“But the reality of damage isn’t. What about the addition and the kids—”
“Pup,” King says, and I didn’t realiz
e he moved until he’s right in front of me, cupping my face and forcing me to look up into his eyes. “All that matters is you, the baby in your belly, and the kids up in that house. The addition can fuck off. The house can fuck off. All the people of this town can fuck off. If we concentrate on what matters, we will be fine. I promise you that, and I would never fucking let anything happen to any of you. Ever.”
“That’s true when there are people coming after us, but you can’t fight or shoot a hurricane.”
King lifts the gun from the waistband of his jeans and smiles. “You wanna fucking bet?”
It turns out the gun is for after the storm in case looters came through and wanted to steal from homes they think are abandoned. The fact that anyone would take advantage of people like that, kicking them while they’re down is disgusting, but just because I wouldn’t do it doesn’t mean it wasn’t done and King was right.
We have to be prepared for anything and everything.
However, there are some things in life that no matter how much or little time you have, you’ll never really be ready.
Chapter 5
Ray
“Mommy, I’m worried about the hurricane,” Max says, standing between my knees.
My heart aches that she’s worried about something out of her control. “Hey, it’s the adults’ job to worry about those kinds of things. Stop trying to take my job, stinker.”
“I’m not a stinker! Sammy’s the stinker. Have you smelled his socks?”
“Unfortunately, I have,” I say, tucking an unruly curl behind her little ear.
“Sammy, you’re a stinker!” Max cries and runs back to chase her brother who is halfway up a tree.
King steps out onto the porch dressed in his usual all black with a plain black baseball cap on his head. “Hey, Pup.” His voice is a deep bravado that tugs on every nerve-ending in my body. I thought it would fade over time, but it hasn’t. Every day with him only amplifies my feelings.
Heart and body.
King of the Causeway: A King Series Story Page 3