Chapter Eight
Ozzy
I don’t sleep much that night.
I catch maybe a few winks in between scrubbing the blood off the floor and the point when I sit down on the couch to keep watch over her and keep myself awake by playing around on my the burner phone. The bloody thing is cheap, I’ve probably spent more on breakfast at Macca’s than Gunney spent on this thing, but it’s still able to get online and I watch the last of the rugby game with the sound off.
The All Blacks win. There is some good in the world.
But between the bit of sleep I get and the rugby game, I spend most of the night on guard duty while my brain grapples with the problem of killing David Ardoin while Maria seems determined to stand in my way.
This isn’t going to be easy. This isn’t going to be simple.
I owe my life to the club. But she holds my heart.
While there’s still breath in my body and a heart beating in my chest, I’m going to keep her safe. While she’s sleeping she looks at peace — all the fear, all the anger, melts away. I want to keep her this way.
I could get used to this view.
Sometime just after sunrise, she starts stirring, and I rouse myself and put a pot of coffee on. By the time her alarm goes off and her eyes open, I’ve got a fresh cup ready for her.
She smiles at me, and I forget about how tired I am.
“Good morning,” she says as she takes the cup of coffee from my hand.
“Morning,” I answer. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good, considering all the shit going on. You?”
“Fine. It’s a good couch. Are you going to be alright today, doing the whole lawyer thing?”
Her eyes narrow and she sits up straighter, going prickly all of a sudden. “What do you mean? I know how to do my job and I’ve dealt with bullshit before. I’ll be fine.”
I sigh. She’s got on the same hard attitude as usual; she’s so strong, but if she doesn’t let herself bend a little, she’s going to break.
“It’s ok if you feel pressure. I’m not doubting your abilities as a lawyer. I just care about you, is all. You’ve probably figured this out already, but considering those bastards found you last night — so soon after you got here — it means they probably have someone on the inside. And it means we definitely haven’t seen the last of them.”
“Fucking christ,” she mumbles, downing her still-hot coffee. “This is a holy hell of a lot of horseshit to be dealing with.”
“I don’t mean to add to your concerns. Preacher and I will be watching your back, so, no worries, eh? We’ll keep you safe.”
She gives me a look that says there will still definitely be worries.
When she speaks, her voice gets even firmer and more resolute. “I’m going to a gun shop today, after I have another sitdown with my client. Will you come with? I want your help picking one out.”
I smile, glad to see her taking a smart step. “Yeah, of course. I’d be glad to. You have something specific in mind?”
She raises her hand, fingers clenched in the shape of a gun and makes a ‘bang’ noise. “Point. Shoot. Kill. I don’t have a small dick to compensate for, I just want to be ready if someone tries something again.”
“Fair enough,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee and rolling the whole situation over in my head. Even though it’s sensible, I hate the idea that she feels like she needs a gun and that she’s sticking around in a dangerous situation. Even thinking about the possibilities of harm coming to her riles me up. “You know I won’t let anyone get to you, right?”
Smiling gently, she slides out of bed.
The morning light filters through the partly-open window shades and illuminates her pale, lithe body. Her blazing red hair glows like a second sunrise. She comes over to stand by my side, hardly dressed but wrapped in the light of the early day, and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“I know, Ozzy, and I’m grateful. I’m thankful to have you in my life,” she says, giving me another kiss on the cheek. “But I’m still getting a gun. I need to be able to watch out for myself. It’s important to me. And if one of those sons of bitches does somehow slip by you, I’m going to blast his fucking head off. Now, come on, I’ve got a fucking job to get to.”
* * * * *
Maria and I hurry through the rest of our morning — finishing our coffee, grabbing a quick bite at the hotel breakfast — and I tail her rental car to the courthouse, parking about a block away to keep anyone from getting suspicious seeing her arrive with a rough-looking bloke like myself.
When I’m sure she’s safe inside, I make a quick detour back to the no-questions motel where Preacher’s staying. I need a change of clothes, and we need to figure this situation out.
Inside our room, I’m almost surprised to see Phil still tied to the chair. He’s now gagged and blindfolded. Preacher’s stretched out on the bed, drinking coffee, eating a crusty-looking muffin, and watching TV.
True Blood is still on. But they’ve left the good episodes far behind. There’s faeries all over the damn screen doing all sorts of weird stuff.
“Morning, Ozzy,” he says, not even taking his eyes off the TV.
“Morning, brother. What’s up with Phil over there?”
Still not looking away, Preacher shrugs.
“He was talking during the show, so I gagged him. I wasn’t in any mood for that after keeping watch over that other lawyer guy for most of the night, not to mention dumping that body.”
“But why the blindfold?”
“Dunno. He just asked for it. He asked for earplugs, too. I made him some out of toilet paper,” he says. “Hey, you want to sit down and chill out for a bit?”
“Yeah, nah, bro, I’m good. Besides, we got work to do, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. But we can get to it after this episode, right?”
I look over at the screen. “How long have you been watching this?”
He shrugs. “Time flies when you’re having fun. I think I slept a bit, kind of around the point where the gay cook goes to Mexico with his lover to become wizards or whatever. One second, they’re on their hero’s journey and the next, I’m waking up and the whole Vampire Illuminati plot is going on.”
I nod. “That’s with the Law & Order SVU guy, right? He’s cool — I like him. Seems like a tough bloke, but fair, you know?”
“Yeah. Christopher Meloni’s good in most of the stuff he’s in. A man’s man. So, why don’t you sit down, have some coffee, and we finish this episode?”
I shake my head. “With all due respect to Christopher Meloni, we gotta go. People could die, and that’s more important than a vampire soap opera.”
“It’s not a soap opera,” he says. “It’s a Southern Gothic horror-drama. And there’s tits and nudity in most every episode. Sookie is naked practically half the time. It’s great.”
I nod and think about sitting down. He makes a good point. “I’m not disputing that tits are great. But a lot Sookie’s nudity is with that Bill character and he always says her name weird, like he’s an angry cat with a lot of phlegm in his throat. Plus, half the nudity is because that guy who turns into a dog likes to show his ass off. Come on, let’s go.”
“Nah, I’m good here. It’s just twenty more minutes, Ozzy.”
“Brother, I’m not fucking around. There’s too much on the line for us to spend time with vampires. Come on.”
I grab Preacher by the arm and physically haul him out of bed and towards the door. Halfway out, he plants his feet and then jerks his other arm to point back towards Phil.
“What are we going to do about our guest? We can’t just leave him like that while we’re gone.”
“You’re right,” I say, and then head back into the room. I strip off Phil’s blindfold and earplugs. “We’ll be back later. Enjoy the TV and stay out of trouble until we get back, mate.”
His eyes get wide, flicker towards the TV and then back to me, and he looks kind of angry. He tries to shout something, but, with the gag still in I can’t really make it out.
He was probably just saying ‘Thank you’ anyways.
“Alright, let’s go.”
* * * * *
We find a coffee shop across from the US Attorneys office and, from where we’re sitting, we have a clear view of the entrance. It’s pretty empty in the coffee shop and, as we’re dressed in our regular civilian clothes, we don’t attract too much attention. We order a round of coffee and some food, and settle in to try and figure this mess out while keeping watch over Maria.
“The circumstances of the mission have obviously changed,” Preacher says. “We should call Gunney and see what he says.”
I shake my head and take a sip of my flat white. “Have they, though? This David Ardoin guy still needs to die. That’s still our primary objective. I don’t think we need to call Gunney just to have him tell us that.”
“Are you serious? He’s our president, he absolutely should know.”
Part of me worries what Gunney might say — that killing David and protecting the club takes precedence over anything else, including keeping Maria safe. Sacrifice one to save the rest, or something else military-like, is something I can easily imagine him saying. And I know if that order comes down, refusing it could put me against the entire club.
Preacher moves to reach into his pocket for his phone and I grab him by the wrist. “Mate, don’t.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I’m asking you, as a favor, to hold off on calling him. I’m in charge, and our mission is still the same. We’re still here to kill that guy before he talks. I don’t want Maria’s name swept up in this. She’s under enough pressure as it is.”
“I’m supposed to hold off on telling our president this because you’re worried some chick is under too much pressure? Be honest with me, brother, you just want to get your dick wet, don’t you?”
I tighten my grip on his hand until his knuckles pop.
His face reddens and veins bulge in his forehead.
“I’m not fucking around here, brother. Just give me some time to figure this out, ok?” I say. “I’m the enforcer, this is my mission, and I don’t want to have to pull rank on you, but I will if I have to. Let me figure this shit out before we go calling Gunney.”
He sighs, and I can see his resistance waver, so I let go of his hand.
“I’ll give you some time. I’m not trying to be heartless here, brother — Maria’s a friend of the club and anyone can see that last night was really hard on her — I just don’t think keeping everyone in the dark is the way to do this,” he says.
“Just give me a few days, ok?”
“Two. You get two days and then I’m calling Gunney. Any longer and it puts the club at risk because we don’t know how long before this guy talks.”
“Fine.”
I sigh and finish my flat white and then order an Irish coffee.
Two days.
Two days to figure out a way to save my club and plan an assassination while keeping Maria out of it.
Can I convince her to get out of the way? And if not, do I have what it takes to pull the trigger? The survival of my club depends on those two questions.
And if I can’t answer those questions, I know Preacher will.