by Meg Jackson
“Mina’s right,” Kennick said, taking a seat beside Kim, who sighed, taking Kennick’s hand in hers and leaning against his shoulder. “Our best bet is to take the offensive. If we can get the better of them again, they might get it through their road-addled skulls that they’re never going to win. We can scare them off to Cuba. Besides…”
His voice trailed off. Ricky leaned over, eyebrows raised, questioning her brother-in-law.
“We owe Jenner,” Kennick growled, looking down. Cristov visibly bristled at the man’s name.
“We don’t owe him shit,” Cristov said.
“You don’t,” Kennick said, sighing. “But I do. I gave him my word.”
“Fuck your word,” Cristov snapped. “He’s a snake. He tried to fuck us twice. Not just us, everyone. His own damn family. No one’s going to judge you for going back on a promise to a snake like that.”
“God will,” Kennick said. “And I will.”
“Give it up, Cristov,” Mina said, putting her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “You know as well as I do, a Volanis’ word is good as gold.”
Cristov grumbled and rubbed his hands together, but bit back his further protests. Mina stood up.
“I’m going to find out where they are,” she said. “Or, at least, where we can find them.”
“How do you plan on doing that?” Cristov scoffed. Mina shot him a withering glare.
“You get Damon to spill once, you think you’re like the chief brother-tamer. I’ve been doing it since I was five. You ever figure out who really took Dad’s prize-winning thirty-year-aged rum and sold it to Pavlo Surry?”
“Son of a bitch,” Cristov said, leaning back in his chair. “I always thought it was Nal…”
“I thought it was you,” Kennick said, looking at Cristov.
“See you in a few,” Mina said.
“How could you think it was me?” Cristov said, glaring at Kennick.
“Well, you got that light-up yo-yo right after…”
“I told you, I got that from giving Bernie Tobler my whoopee pies every day at lunch for a month…”
“Excuse me,” Ricky said, holding up both hands. “Is this relevant? At all? To anything?”
“It’s a matter of trust,” Cristov grumbled, looking away.
“Yeah, Ricky,” Kim said, now turning her attention to her sister. “Trust is a very important thing when it comes to siblings.”
“Jesus Christ…” Ricky moaned, slouching down in her chair as low as she could get before slipping off entirely.
37
“Damon,” Mina said, knocking on the closed door. There was a moment of silence, a rustling, and then his voice.
“Come in.”
Mina opened the door just enough to look through; Tricia was sitting on the side of the bed, her legs dangling over the side, her dress slightly rumpled.
“Can I have a moment?” Mina asked, sliding herself in and letting the door close behind her with a click.
“Anything you have to say, you can say…” Damon began to say, putting a hand on Tricia’s back when she made to rise from the bed.
“I know,” Mina said, walking closer. “I’m not Cristov. But I’d rather just talk to you alone.”
“I want to talk to Ricky, anyway,” Tricia said, sliding away from Damon’s hand. “God, the girl who couldn’t keep a secret…”
She smiled at Mina as she walked past, leaving them alone in the room. Mina approached the side of Damon’s bed, half a smile on her face, shaking her head slightly.
“My big, stupid brother,” she said softly. “We were scared for you. You understand that, right? The boys are mad because they were scared. You’re a man. You know how it is. Men can’t get scared, they just get angry.”
“I know,” Damon said, leaning back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.
“We need to talk,” Mina said. “About what we do now.”
Damon blinked, kept his eyes closed for a long time. When he opened them again, they were hard as stone and twice as cold.
“I have a name to give you,” he said. Mina sat down at the edge of the bed. Damon pulled his eyes from the pock-marked ceiling and let them meet hers. “A man who can lead you to the men who set me up.”
“Okay,” Mina said softly.
“He can also lead you to a man named Curly Gottlieb,” Damon said. “And Mina, I need to know where he is.”
“Damon…”
“Promise me, Mina. No promise, no name.”
“You realize, don’t you? You realize what you’re telling me? That even after this…after all this…you’re putting him before your family. You’re already hurt, Damon. You’re already in a bad way. Cristov’s ready to tear your head off. Hell, Kennick’s on the edge of banishing you. We need to end this shit with the Steel Dragons, for the good of the familia, the kumpania.”
“I know, Mina,” Damon said. “And you will end it. Just as long as you give me your word. There’s a way this can end where everyone gets what they need.”
“You don’t even know what you need,” Mina said, her voice soft and sad. “Give me the name, Damon. And I give you my word.”
38
It had taken another call to their man Vanos, and a begrudging transfer of a tidy chunk of change, but Kennick and Cristov finally tracked James Whitley down. The part-time agent, part-time drunk, and full-time junkie spent his days at a strip club in a seedy neighborhood. At least, the days where he had money to spend. Apparently, he’d been having a lot of those days of late. Rumors had been going around ever since the fight – and the most compelling rumor of all was that James Whitley’s recent financial windfall was the result of some double-dealing he’d done, playing both sides.
It had been harder to keep Kim and Ricky from coming along than it had been to find him in the first place. Not for the first time – and not for the last – both Kennick and Cristov found themselves questioning why they’d let themselves go crazy for girls who probably never learned to spell the word “can’t”. It had taken some well-phrased innuendos about Ricky’s condition to get the girls to stay in the hotel room they’d rented on a night-by-night basis.
That, and some lying.
They told the girls that they were just going after James Whitley for now, that after they found out where the Steel Dragons were hiding out, they’d regroup and make a plan.
That wasn’t true.
Kennick and Cristov planned on ending things that very day.
And Mina – well, they’d barely even tried to tell her to stay behind. There was no doubt that, if left behind, she would find a way to come along anyway. She insisted on driving, saying that they’d need a getaway car if something went awry. Cristov gave her a gun. Their father had taught all his children to shoot, and Mina was the best shot, though none of the boys would ever admit it. Kennick and Cristov had their own protection.
“This isn’t one of ours,” Mina said, examining the pistol warily.
“I know,” Kennick said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Kennick and Cristov had already run a few errands that morning, before anyone was awake. They needed supplies. Including the guns.
The neon sign over the dingy old building declared Jimmy Slick’s open for business. It was late afternoon on a Tuesday, and as Cristov and Kennick entered the smoky interior, their noses wrinkling at the smell of sweat, sex, and stale beer, they saw that they wouldn’t have much trouble finding their man. The overly friendly bartender, barely clad and an expert at creating cleavage where it didn’t belong, pointed them in his direction when she saw the crisp twenty sliding her way across the bar.
James Whitley sat beside the stage, where a tired-looking girl with a C-section scar and no top was winding her way around the pole to the tune of “Welcome to the Jungle.” She wasn’t moving quite as fast as the song itself, but none of the few men watching seemed to mind. They didn’t seem to be flush with cash, either, though, as the stage was practically barren.
; James Whitley didn’t notice the two men approaching until they were practically on top of him. His eyes were red as fire hydrants, his brown hair long and stringy, his body wispy at best. It didn’t take much to convince him into following them outside for a chat; a flash of metal at Cristov’s waist did the trick. Still, he looked like a runner, so Kennick kept a firm grip on his bicep as they walked out, Cristov waving at the friendly bartender.
“We’ve heard a lot about you, James,” Cristov said as they walked out into the sweltering day. “Or is it Jim? Jimmy, maybe?”
“James,” the man said, shuffling along at Kennick’s side. They made their way around the corner of the building into a secluded alleyway. “Listen, if Roper sent you, I didn’t know nothing, alright? I did everything he said, I got Curly to do him dirty, I didn’t know he’d have no friends, I didn’t know…”
“Roper, huh?” Kennick said, shaking James free. The two men stood in front of him, pressing James back against the wall. James looked at them with a dazed, limp expression. “You on good terms with Roper, generally?”
“Like to think so,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “I try to do best by him. I don’t want no trouble with you guys. I don’t want no trouble. I don’t want nothin’ but what I get by doing what’s right.”
“Are you on good enough terms with Roper to call him up?” Cristov asked, leaning in further, putting one muscled arm out and putting his hand on the wall right beside James’ head. The angle made his shirt ride up, giving James another chance to see the gun’s handle sticking up from Cristov’s jeans.
“What?” James asked, his eyes steady on the gun.
“Think you could call him up for us, buddy? Maybe tell him that you’ve got the man he wants, and that you’ll bring him over? That Damon Volanis lived, but you managed to get to him, and that if Roper wants to finish what he started, he ought to tell you where he is, so you can deliver?”
James looked up at the two men, confusion in his glassy expression.
“Why? Why’d I wanna do that?” he bubbled.
“Because we’re telling you to,” Kennick said, and shifted so that his own weapon was visible. “And we’ve got no qualms about giving a shithead like you what he’s got coming.”
“He won’t believe me,” James said, a pleading tone coming into his voice now. “He won’t believe me.”
“A desperate man will believe a lot of things,” Cristov said, putting on a fake smile. “Why don’t you just give it a try, huh? For us? We don’t have to play nice, but we’d rather you just try and make us happy, rather than us having to make you unhappy.”
“Don’t have…don’t got a phone,” James stuttered, shrinking back against the wall.
“No? Then how’d you make all those deals?” Kennick asked, and glanced at Cristov. In a heartbeat, Cristov’s hands were on the much-smaller man, patting up and down. His hands stalled at the man’s front left pocket, that too-wide smile beaming down onto James Whitley’s terrified face.
“If it feels like a phone and it looks like a phone and it rings like a phone,” Cristov said, dipping his hands into James’ pocket and pulling out a little gray flip-phone. “By golly, it’s a phone.”
“You seem like a man who’s good at looking out for himself,” Kennick said as Cristov put the phone into James’ shaking hands. “I’d like to recommend that you continue to look out for yourself. Do what we say, and you’ll probably come out just fine. Don’t, and you’ll definitely be shitting in bedpans for a good long while.”
“You don’t understand,” James whimpered. “You don’t know what they’ll do to me…they’ll…”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking they can do you any worse than we can,” Cristov barked. “Right now, the only thing standing between you and a bullet is me and my patience. And I don’t have much patience for two-timing junkie fucks.”
James coughed, the sound like a scream. He opened the phone and frantically pushed at some buttons, never taking his eyes off the two green-eyed men who had him backed into a very literal corner.
“Roper,” James said, finally, and watched the men tense slightly. “It’s James. I got something for ya. You’re gonna like it.”
39
“So I guess this means he’s playing nice, huh?”
Mina leaned across the passenger seat to get a better look at the man Damon had told her about. He looked like a weasel, that was for sure.
“I’m driving now,” Kennick barked. “We’ll drop you off at the hospital.”
Cristov pushed James into the backseat as Mina unbuckled herself and slid over into the passenger seat. All the doors seemed to slam at once. Mina turned, faced the man with the gun in his side.
“James Whitley?” she said, buckling her seatbelt again as Kennick turned out onto the street.
“That’s him,” Cristov answered for him. “Just face forward, Mina.”
“I have another question for you,” she said, ignoring Cristov, ignoring Kennick’s puzzled look as he turned to her.
“Tired of doing whatever you weirdos say,” James grumbled.
“Too bad,” Mina spat back. “Where’s Curly Gottlieb?”
Kennick slammed on the brakes, forcing everyone in the car to lurch forward. Cristov nearly lost his grip on the gun.
“What the fuck are you asking that for?” Kennick barked, glaring at his sister.
“I keep my word, too, Kennick,” she said, affording him only the slightest glance. “Damon gave us this fucker, but only if I gave him Curly.”
“Develesko mush,” Cristov groaned, exasperated, and Mina noticed how his knuckles whitened around the handle of gun. “That motherfucker…”
“Where is Curly Gottlieb,” Mina repeated, staring straight at James Whitley.
“I don’t tell little girls nothing,” he spat, a repulsive smirk on his face. “Fuck, I’ve had enough for one day without having to answer to some little bitch.”
Cristov didn’t hesitate a minute. The butt of his gun met the tender spot right on James’ knee, slammed down hard. James’ howl filled the car.
“Don’t call my sister a bitch,” Cristov hissed. He looked at Mina, shook his head slowly, and sighed. She wasn’t going to let this go. He hated his family sometimes. Not a damn one of them knew how to let things go, even when those things were a sure and sturdy poison. “And answer her question.”
“Goddammit,” James said, tears at the corners of his eyes, his hands curled around his knee, rocking back and forth slightly. Kennick was driving again. “He lives at some fuckin’ low-income shithole called Coral Manor. Fuckin’ dirty little immigrant hovel, alright? Fuck!”
“That was easy, wasn’t it?” Mina asked, turning in her seat to face the road ahead. Kennick looked at her, studying his sister. It was as though, for the first time, he realized how much she no longer fit the description of “kid sister”. She looked back at him, smiled. That smile took every inch of woman away from her, turning her back into the pre-teen who cried about braces. He turned back to the road, made for the highway that would lead them to the hotel. He didn’t have time, now, to ruminate on how time passed and people changed.
He realized, all too well, just what he and Cristov were getting into.
They might not ever get out of it.
Roper had taken the bait, which was good. He’d given James an address to meet at, expecting to see a wounded Damon, all gift-wrapped and ready to be killed. At least, that’s the best that Kennick and Cristov could hope for. That was the best case scenario.
The worst case scenario was that Roper was onto them, somehow, and luring them into a trap. Based on the number of cuts they’d seen at the fight, Cristov and Kennick knew they were outnumbered by at least eight men. Seven, if they could get Jenner a gun. But they didn’t want to have to shoot anyone. If they did things right, there’d be no blood – at least, not until they were far down the road.
Before dropping Mina off, Kennick took the gun back from her and slipped
it into the glove compartment. To make room for it, he had to readjust the other items in there. Items that made James Whitley’s eyes widen, made him lean forward in his seat until Cristov pushed him back, roughly.
“Where’d you get all that?” James stuttered, still looking at the glove compartment even after Kennick had snapped it closed.
“Miami’s a real playground, isn’t it?” Cristov hissed.
When they pulled away from the hotel, Kennick saw, in the side-view mirror, Mina pull out her phone and press it to her ear.
The address Rig had given was twenty minutes from the hotel, and they passed the time in silence. Cristov kept his eyes hard on James. Kennick knew that Cristov had the most at risk; Kennick would leave a wife behind if things went sour. That alone was enough to make him want to turn the car around and book it back to safety. Cristov – he may not have a wife, but he had something much more important to live for. Hell, Kennick almost wanted to turn the car around for Cristov’s sake.
But if they did that, it would never end.
And they needed it to end.
Before they led the bikers back to Kingdom, where it would only be worse, where more lives would be in danger. It was Kennick’s duty to keep his people safe. Of all the responsibilities of a rom baro, that was the most important, the one that could never be forgotten or ignored.
“When do you want to make the call?” Cristov asked from the backseat. The GPS told them they were close.
“Soon,” Kennick said, glancing at his brother in the backseat. “Soon.”
“Te avel mange bakht drago mange wi te avav po gunoy,” Damon said, absently: all we need is good luck. With luck I would not even mind sitting on a dunghill.
Kennick glanced back at his brother in the rearview. We need more than luck today, prala, he thought.