Chapter Fifty-One

 

DAVIS

 

I know Ryan recognizes the big guy who walks in. Michael Carabello isn't a face you forget easily, but that goes double for people who got their faces smashed in by the guy for the better part of an afternoon.

Logan's got his hand on my arm, and I might be able to yank it away. Might even be able to get the gun. But not in time.

It would take precious seconds, and it wouldn't take half that time to turn that gun, point the dangerous end at my chest, and pull the trigger.

So I move real slow and force myself to stay real still and try like the devil not to think any aggressive thoughts.

"Hey, Beauchamp."

"Sorry, you got the wrong guy. My name is Blake."

"Oh, sorry. You're right. It's written right there by the door. 'Blake.' My mistake. I have trouble keeping up with all the name changes."

He doesn't lower the gun. I let Logan guide my hand away from the butt of my pistol, let him put my hand on the arm of my chair. I don't like when he pops the pistol free of its holster, and I don't like it when he points the thing at me.

But I don't have much choice.

"What are you doing here, Carabello?"

"You know, Davis, Marissa likes you. You've got balls, yanno? Real cast-iron balls, to walk into our place and walk out with our hostage. All with big promises of bringing Beauchamp in and getting him out of our hair."

Logan cuts into the silence. "Ryan, stay calm. Listen to them, alright? Just listen, it's all going to be fine."

Carabello sits down on the foot of the bed, twisting to keep the gun pointed at Ryan.

"It's all going to be fine, Beauchamp. Long as you don't do anything stupid, we won't have any trouble. None at all."

"Good," Ryan growls. "Because I would hate to have trouble, you know. Trouble's the worst."

"I know."

Logan starts in again. "They just want you out of the picture, man. Nobody has to get hurt. We can all walk out of here. They'll even pay—"

The look that Ryan shoots over at Logan shuts his mouth real fast. Shuts mine, too, though I think the gun in my ribs might have played into that as well.

The big guy takes a deep breath and looks at Ryan. From the pictures, I expected something different from Carabello. Something rough. He seems tired. Like he's trying to make this go as smoothly as possible, not trying to be a real cunt about it. Better than I gave him credit for.

"Is that true, Michael? You'll let us walk out of here, money in everyone's pockets?"

"Your brother knows it is. Just ask him."

Ryan lays back in bed. "Logan? You want to tell me what the fuck's going on?"

The gun jabs into my ribs harder as he tenses up under his younger brother's scrutiny.

"Hey, man, it's not what it sounds like. I didn't do anything. Nothing at all. I just, you know, they said… look—" He cuts himself off, and for a long time he doesn't say anything. "Look, I have to do what I can to keep myself alive, man."

"I understand," Ryan says. He doesn't look like he's feeling very understanding, but he lays his head back and closes his eyes. "So, you're the man with the gun. What are my terms?"

"You'll be escorted out of the hospital. By me, of course. Logan's going to see that miss Davis gets on her way back to D.C. We'll give you five thousand to walk away from your house. You'll have four hours to pack up. You want to sell the place, you can sell it to us. We'll pay you a fair market rate for it. I've seen the place from the outside, and I'd guess we can do a hundred grand for it. You show your face back in Arizona again, and we come for you."

"So where am I supposed to go?"

"That's not my business, Beauchamp. I don't care where you go, and neither does Scheck. All we care is, you see a Crazy Horse, you see our colors, you see our badges, and you walk the other way."

Ryan takes a deep breath. He should take the deal. I know he should, and more than that, I know he knows he should.

That's what worries me, because he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who does what he's supposed to. Not ever. But hopefully, the pair of guns in the room will demonstrate well enough that we're not in any position to negotiate.

"And what about Jada's deal?"

"Don't call me that."

His face tightens into a little grimace. I shouldn't have said it, but I wasn't thinking.

"You're right. What about Davis?"

"For the girl? No deal. She gets to walk away. I think that's more than generous. It's downright giving away the farm."

"What proof do you have that she won't come right after you?"

Carabello looks at me for a long time. I don't like it. The way he looks at me like he sees right through me. He's got a flat expression, like a mechanic might look at a car he was checking out.

"I think we've got that covered. Scheck's not worried about it. Neither am I."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't worry your head about it, Beauchamp. Take the deal. I don't want to have to shoot you, man. This is a hospital. People get better here."

Carabello lowers the gun a fraction. The rest of his body hasn't moved, though. All it would take to bring it back into line would be a little jerk in his elbow, and then blam.

Ryan lays his head back. I keep underestimating how tired he is, but he looks tired. Like hell, in fact.

"No deal," he says, finally. His voice is a little hoarse.

Carabello's face twists up in frustration, but he doesn't bring the gun back up. Ryan hasn't moved, no reason to kill him if you can do it another second later.

"Why not? What don't you like about it?"

"The girl. Davis's important to me. She doesn't come with, no deal."

Carabello rolls his eyes. "You think she should have a say in this?"

"Not really," he rumbles. "It's selfish, but if she wants to leave, she can do it after we're away."

He looks at me. I'm still as I can be. I feel like even the tiniest movement will see Logan Beauchamp blowing the other side of my ribs out of my chest.

"Fine. She's not arguing, whatever. But the money doesn't change. We square?"

"Sure."

Carabello flips the safety on his gun and tucks it into the small of his back, under his slacks. The belt, loose before, now strains just a little to stay closed, but it works great. You almost wouldn't know he had it.

"I'm glad we could finally see eye-to-eye on this."

He holds out his hand to Ryan. Ryan looks at it, considering. Weighing his options. Then he takes it, and they shake.

"Logan, you can put that gun down now."

"What should I do with it?"

"I don't know. Keep it, if you want. Can't use it for anything. Maybe we could move it along the road, but she's always gonna know you have it."

"Can't give it back to her, though."

They're right. You can't afford to give it back to me, because I'll use the fucking thing. I don't like being put with my back up against a wall, and I like it least of all when it's some drug running piece of shit, and a guy who couldn't help cutting and running for the money.

I don't need to look Ryan's way to figure out what his thoughts are. But I'm done fighting.

"Keep it, give it back without any bullets, throw it in the garbage can, whatever. But could you take it out of my side?"

He does. Logan flips the safety on, and slips the pistol into his pocket, where it remained for the rest of his life.