Hammer

 

Hammer's forehead ached furiously where the paintball had hit it, and the streaks of red dye were already stiffening and cracking on his face. But he was so filled with glee that he didn't care. He hopped up onto the bar at The Clear View, pantomiming a shotgun and bellowing theatrically.

 

“It's time for some motherfucking payback, you worthless dago bitches! We're here for the girl, and you can't stop us! Eat buckshot! Blam! Blam!”

 

The room erupted with laughter except for Franny, who stoically poured out shots of whiskey for herself and the others.

 

“How about Brock, huh?” Cobra chortled, holding his sides. “The others are all cowering behind the car, and he's just standing tall like a badass, killing guys with each shot like he's fuckin' Dirty Harry or some shit.”

 

“My favorite part was Splinter's Oscar-winning performance,” Lash snorted. He clutched his chest dramatically, shrieking in a panicked falsetto. “'Oh, no! You wasted Hammer! You scoundrels! You dirty rats!'”

 

“'They're just too much for us, guys!'” Splinter chimed in merrily. “'We've gotta get out of here!'” He mimed hiking up a skirt and mincing away quickly, and several others followed suit.

 

Hammer laughed so hard he fell off the bar, tears streaming down his cheeks as they turned purple. “Stop it,” he wheezed, slapping his knee. “I can't breathe!”

 

“Hey, how about that Crack, huh?” Lash said. “Can you believe he switched out Adamo's gun without being noticed? Man, how does a guy that big have such fast hands?”

 

“Speaking of which,” Greg pointed out, “shouldn't he and Brock have made it back here by now?”

 

“Relax, they'll be here,” Robby assured him. “Brock is probably buying himself a drink at every bar in the French Quarter, patting himself on the back.”

 

“He goddamn deserves it,” Hammer said. He turned to Ben, touching his forehead and wincing. “Dude, those paint rounds sting like a sonuvabitch! You couldn't have made them any softer?”

 

“They were still fired out of a damn Desert Eagle,” Ben replied, rolling his eyes. “What, did you expect them to feel like dandelion puffs? I thought you bikers were supposed to be tough. You're just lucky Brock is such a crack shot, or you could've lost an eye.”

 

The door opened and Brock walked in with Crack. Everyone in the bar applauded, and Hammer put two fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly.

 

“You're finally here,” Robby exclaimed, getting up from his seat and bringing shots of whiskey to the two men. “What took you guys so long?”

 

Before Brock could open his mouth, Crack answered. “He fucked her.”

 

The room fell silent immediately.

 

“Hey, what the hell is that?” Brock sputtered, sounding annoyed. “Come on, don't say shit like that. How did you...I mean...why the hell would you think that, anyway? That's...”

 

Crack looked at Brock darkly.

 

“Brock, that ain't true, is it?” Hammer asked. His heart felt like it was dropping down an elevator shaft. They'd gone over the plan carefully, and this wasn't part of it. No, it sounded a lot like the kind of reckless stuff Brock had gotten up to when they were still a couple of silly kids.

 

The stuff that generally got them into deep trouble.

 

“Of course it's not true,” Brock said. “Hey, just because I was alone with her for an hour, you think I can't control myself? You honestly believe I'd jeopardize this whole operation like that, just for a quick screw?”

 

Greg shut his eyes tightly, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ, Brock.”

 

Robby leaned in close to Brock and sniffed twice. His eyes widened, and the corners of his mouth quivered with rage. “Holy shit. You did. You actually fucked her, you testa di cazzo, you stupid, selfish motherfucking stronzo—”

 

“Hey, hey, careful!” Brock protested. “I actually know what those words mean now, you know.”

 

Robby kicked a chair, sending it flying across the room. “Goddamn it, Brock, can't you take anything seriously? What did I say to you, huh? What were my exact fucking words? Do not fuck this girl. Not this one. We've got millions of dollars on the line, and you're pissing it away just so you can get your balls drained!”

 

“You've really got to work on your mixed metaphors, there, Robby,” Brock said. “Am I pissing, or am I draining my balls? I can't be doing both.”

 

“I should have known better,” Ben growled, slamming a fist on the bar. “I should have walked away from this the moment I saw it was you, because you always fucking do this. No matter what the score is or how many other people are involved, you always find some way to make it about you. But, no, I got greedy and fell for your horseshit all over again...”

 

“Men,” Franny sighed bitterly. She poured herself a double shot of whiskey, draining it in one gulp.

 

“And you!” Robby barked, jamming an accusing finger in Crack's face. “You were supposed to be keeping an eye on things. Why the hell would you leave him alone with her for an hour?”

 

“Couldn't exactly say anything, could I?” Crack asked.

 

“Guys, there's no need for any of this drama,” Brock insisted. “Okay, fine, I got caught up in the moment and went a little off-book. So what? Nothing has changed. The plan is still solid. If anything, it's even more solid now because she actually likes me.”

 

“This don't feel solid to me, Brock,” Hammer said sadly. He knew big, tough bikers weren't supposed to have hurt feelings, but, damn it, he had them just the same. “This feels bad. Like we can't rely on you to stick to the blueprint, so we'll all be sitting on one ass cheek waiting to hear about the next decision you made without telling us.”

 

Brock looked hurt. “How can you stand there and say you can't rely on me, Hammer? Haven't we known each other since we were in second grade? Didn't I come running the minute you said you needed my help? Didn't I come up with a plan to get ten times your money back for you?”

 

“Yeah, but now you're making moves that go against that plan,” said Hammer. “And for what? To get your dick wet? What is that?”

 

“I should have known better,” Ben repeated. “I should have realized the only way you could ever keep your head during a scam is if someone milked you like a fucking dairy cow every morning.”

 

“Oh, and are you volunteering for that job, Ben? Because if so, thanks but no thanks.” Brock let out a frustrated sigh. “Look. Clearly, you guys just don't understand. Even if I went a little too far, the fact is, seduction is still a crucial component of this whole thing. I mean, Christ, it's the Spanish Prisoner con.”

 

“I don't give a flying fuck if it's the Chinese Dentist con,” Robby snapped. “You had no right to take that risk on your own, and you know it.”

 

“So what, then?” Brock asked. “You guys want to just pack it in and forget the whole thing? You want to walk away from all that money and let these greasers shit all over you whenever they feel like it? Because it sure sounds like that's what I'm hearing.”

 

The others exchanged glances uncertainly.

 

“I think we can still do the rest of the plan,” Hammer said. He felt an uncertain twinge in his gut, but he couldn't help it. He and Brock went back too far, and he badly wanted to feel like he could trust his old friend despite this lapse in judgment. “But I'd say you owe everyone in this room your solemn promise that you'll stick to the script from now on.”

 

“Oh, his 'solemn promise?'” Robby blurted out. “What, like cross his heart, stick a needle, all that shit? You must think we're all in second grade if you expect us to fall for that load of crap.”

 

“I expect Brock to be the honorable man I know he really is, behind all the bluffing and bullshit,” Hammer said evenly. “We go back too far for me not to.”

 

Brock nodded. “Absolutely. Thank you, Hammer. That means a lot to me.”

 

Robby threw up his hands, exasperated. “We're going along with this fiasco? Fine. But from now on, Brock, you do not spend one second alone with that girl. Period.” He turned to Crack. “If he tries to send you away again, hoof him in the fucking balls.”

 

“Suits me,” said Crack.

 

“All right,” Hammer said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Glad we've got that sorted out. So what's next, Brock?”

 

“You'll need to find us a brick of heroin,” Brock told him. “As pure as you can find. And you can't get it from anyone who could get word back to Ricci. This has to be completely off the grid.”

 

Hammer thought for a moment. “There's a guy over in Mississippi who might be able to sell it to us. But it's still not gonna be that pure—my guess is, he'll have stepped on it at least three or four times by then.”

 

“That's no problem. We can make it work.” Brock turned to Franny. “How about it, Genius? Are you ready to bust out your chemistry set?”

 

Franny grunted her assent, pouring another drink for herself.

 

“That ain't the only thing.” Hammer shifted his weight nervously. “Scoring that much H is gonna cost us. Big-time. And we already chipped in for your suit, and for the hotel room—”

 

“Consider all of it an investment,” Brock grinned confidently. “By the time this is all over, you aren't going to care what anything costs anymore.”

 

Hammer wanted to believe him.

 

Except now, deep down, he wasn't quite so sure.