TWELVE
~JACE~
A part of me—I liked to believe it was Logic, but who could be sure anymore—still hated the idea of leaving Mia the next morning. Having finally come back around from such an awful episode, and having all of the information out on the table, made the process of turning my back to her unbearable. On the one hand, there was the rekindled affection; it was almost physically painful to pull apart what had been so recently and tightly reknit. On the other, while knowing that the Carrion Crew was hunting for Mia—and outright gunning for me—was bad enough, there was the added deterrent of Mack to consider; that slimy-tongued fuck! Bad enough to have to leave your lover after such a rocky trial—and one we scaled and royally made our bitch, I might add—but to also have such a rising degree of danger added to the mix? Yeah, a part of me—quite a great deal of me, in fact—aggressively, morbidly, and violently loathed the idea of leaving Mia alone while I went out to handle Crow business.
Especially after how we’d woken up.
I remembered waking up the morning after Halloween as a kid, the taste of the previous night’s bounty still rich and haunting on my tongue, and just craving another sweet hit of chocolatey goodness before hauling off to school. In a sort of ironic, perverted moment of nostalgia, waking up with the linger of Mia’s love on my taste buds, I couldn’t help but want more.
The kid in me likes the salty-sweet tingle, I mused to myself, remembering the old commercial, but the grownup in me just can’t get enough of that pussy!
Admittedly, I had partaken—how could I not?—but the whole ordeal was more of an appetizer that had me more hungry for a meal that I knew I wouldn’t get to eat.
It was almost enough to get me to U-turn the chopper and go back for a second helping. Somehow, by some strange miracle, I’d managed to wake up, turn from temptation, and go through the motions of getting ready, holding back as I kissed Mia goodbye, and getting out and onto the road. But, ironically enough, it had been the process of being around Mia that made it possible to leave her—to be physically around her was to understand how important it was to go out and ensure her protection—and now that I was putting miles between us it was getting harder to solidify in my mind just why I wasn’t still there.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. They neglect to mention how distance makes the brain grow dumber.
Or how pussy makes slaves of us all.
Two thoughts came to me at that moment, both earning their own respective chuckles:
The first was the likelihood that Danny—self-proclaimed “fag” and slave to nothing but his work—would probably loom a statement like that over me and, no doubt, every other straight man until the day he finally dropped.
The second, admittedly more tongue-in-cheek—pun definitely intended, I thought on—was that I had a new idea for a potato chip flavor.
Now I just gotta figure out how to ring up those jerkoffs at Lays, I told myself, starting to laugh once more.
****
I was halfway to Danny’s when I noticed the sky beginning to darken. This didn’t surprise me, the forecast had predicted a chance of showers and the bubbly cartoon clouds blocking out a jagged cartoon sun made it obvious to even a child what to expect, but there was still something ominous and unnerving to it. Good intentions and good humor had defined most of my morning—had driven me out this far with nary a song in my heart, if I should be so bold and fruity—but they’d only go so far, it turned out. Going through life like a stick of gum—bold and fruity, I thought again to myself—was, apparently, a good way to ensure your good mood got chewed up.
And now’s the part where the world spits me out, right?
I didn’t want to take the growing cloud coverage as a bad omen. I didn’t want to wave adios to my good mood, to my good intentions, or to my good humor; but if I didn’t wave them off it seemed I’d be turning my back on them rudely as they left. I didn’t want to think that something as random and inconsequential as the weather could mean anything more than nature was taking its course; other than that the world, regardless of the Crows and the Carrions and regardless of me and Mia and the rest of the goings-on of the city, was moving on as it always had.
I didn’t want these things, but, my brain being the awesome and cooperative machine that it was, didn’t give a fuck.
I caught myself whispering Mia’s name, and as I did I cranked the handle and brought the needle abruptly to the triple digits.
Speed. Speed was key. The world, its clouds, and every little thing scuttling about its surface was more a slave to time than any straight man could be to pussy. Speed was a factor of time; a body in motion and all that jazz. Maybe if I moved faster—maybe if I kept on moving faster—time would slow, perhaps even be polite enough to stop, and I could finish everything—finish all of this—and be back home, back with Mia, before I’d even left her in the first place.
I couldn’t say with any rationality that I truly believed that…
But a man can dream.
Satisfied by that, I only drove faster.
From pussy-flavored potato chips to racing time itself, I thought with a groan as an unfortunate fly splattered against my cheek, stinging me and killing it. Jason, I think you may be insane.
I was laughing again, but a part of me— I liked to believe it was Logic, but who could be sure anymore—was saddened to realize there was no real humor in it.
****
“Didn’t expect to see ya so soon,” Danny said, turning to face me as I walked into the office.
I was still wiping fly guts off my cheek.
“Good to see you too,” I muttered.
“Get things settled with yer lady?” he asked, ignoring my mood.
I gave him a look, realized there was no way he could know what I was thinking—what I was feeling—and just as quickly wiped it off my face.
“I did,” I admitted. “Better than settled,” I went on, hoping to convey the illogical urgency I was starting to feel. “We’re so good now that I’m sort of uneasy being away from her. So can we get a move on?”
“That’s fair,” Danny said with a nod, turning to some printouts he had waiting beside him. As he handed them over, he did me the favor of summarizing their contents: “Couple of my guys were on the case, as it was. But it was a guy I ‘visit’ on Wednesdays that came through; inside guy”—he paused to chuckle at his own joke—“who works as a guard at the pen.”
I raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re fucking a prison guard? And for that he’s willing to share information?” I asked, disbelieving.
Danny outright laughed at that. “He wishes I’d give him that honor. No, boy, I let a prison guard suck my dick on Wednesdays. And ya can bet yer virgin keister that once he’s done swallowing he lets spill with just ‘bout anything I’ve got to ask.”
“You got beer-flavored spunk or something?” I asked, amazed.
I was met with a shrug. “That or bacon,” Danny answered with absolute sincerity. “Lord knows I eat enough of it. Anyway…” he drawled, nodding towards the paperwork, “he let spill that a certain someone—one Malcolm ‘Mack’ Chobavich, who was one hell of a submissive little prison bitch from the sounds of things—was suddenly and, quote, ‘inexplicably released due to some filing errors in the courts.’”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” I groaned. “And, what, they just happened to discover the error now?”
“Don’t shoot the messenger, kid,” Danny held his hands up, palms-out. “Or the messenger’s cocksucker, in this case.”
“This got something to do with the Crew?” I demanded.
Danny was already nodding as he folded his massive arms over his barrel chest and said, “Informant with the DA’s office says some money ‘might have’ exchanged hands behind closed doors.”
“Another guy lucky enough to suck your dick?” I asked noncommittally.
“Nah,” he shrugged the question off. “Just a poker buddy. The game, I mean, not—well, you get it. Anyway, he said he thought we might’ve had something to do with that little exchange. Care to guess why?”
I wiped my face and shook my head. “Stab in the dark:” I said with a groan, “they recognized a few former Crow members?”
“And ‘Bingo’ was his name-o,” Danny said, only half-singing the words.
“So the Crew sprang Mia’s brother,” I said what we’d already established aloud, testing the sound of it and deciding I really didn’t like it. I shook my head, confused. “Why on earth would they do that? The whole reason Mia was hooking for them in the first place was to keep him from getting offed by them. Why would they go through all the trouble of getting him out if the one thing that was keeping him alive ran off?”
“See, I was thinking the same thing,” Danny said with an appreciative nod. “And it got me thinking. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that Mack had outright paid off all his debts, right? Would it be fair to say that the Crew would no longer be gunning for him?”
“Presumably, sure,” I said, nodding.
He mirrored my nod with one of his own. “Right, one might even say they’d be square. Now let’s say that Mack had only sort of paid off his debts, what then?”
I frowned. “I’m not sure I’m following,” I confessed.
Danny sighed and leaned against the desk. “Consider this: Mack’s dug himself in deep with the Crew, an’ now he’s bein’ hauled off to the pig pen. Shit’s bad in there, sure, but it’s a lot worse out here, where the Crew is, an’ it could be downright fatal in there if he doesn’t do something to take the boot off his neck. So what if he made them some sort of offer? What if he gave them, not money—not exactly—but the means to make it? It’d take a lot of that heat off of him, wouldn’t it?”
My frown deepened into a scowl.
Danny nodded, seeing I was catching on. “So what would happen if that money-maker high-tailed it? The Crew’s come to see that, yeah, it works as a money-maker, and, worse yet, it’s startin’ to drag a bunch of other money-makers out of their pockets, as well. Worse yet, that money-maker’s bangin’ the head of their enemies, for all they know that money-maker’s makin’ money for us now.” Danny shrugged and shook his head for effect, saying, “They dunno that love’s a factor—prolly don’t give a rat’s piss-stained nutsack, either—but they do know that Mack’s bargaining chip has given them the slip. So what better way to get it back…” he trailed off then, staring at me.
I was shaking with rage. “Then to spring the motherfucker who gave it to them in the first place,” I finished for him.
Danny nodded, but there was no joy in it.
“So you think that Mack gave the Carrion Crew Mia? That he’s out there trying to get her back to cover his own ass?” I pressed on.
“Which makes more sense:” Danny offered with a groan, “that that’s the case… or that Mack managed to slip free on a legit technicality, decided to stick around, and has just randomly decided to fuck with ya two jus’ for fun?”
“Fuck,” I said.
“Fuck,” Danny agreed.
I sat down on the couch that waited along the side wall for just this sort of “I need to sit down”-moment. My vision blacked out as I dropped my face into my hands. I violently rubbed eyes with the heels of my palms, finding the hot pain exquisite. Freeing my left hand, I smacked myself in the temple—once, twice, and finally three times—and then, throwing my head back, roared in rage at the ceiling.
“MOTHERFUCKER!”
Danny watched all this, sympathetic but passive; he waited through my outburst. I appreciated him all the more for it.
It made perfect sense: send Mack to collect. Either he managed and the Crew had regained their asset without having to spend any of their own time or money to do it or they finally got to off Mack for all that he owed them.
And then they’d start investing their own time and money to regaining their asset; to getting Mia back.
Desperation.
The name of the game was “Desperation.”
The Crew was desperate. Mack was desperate.
And now I was desperate.
The problem, of course, was that I had an unfair advantage in this game.
The Crew? They got sloppy when they got desperate.
Mack? He got stupid when he got desperate.
But me? I got mean. I got crazy. I got vulgar and violent, and I got even. When Jason Presley got desperate, people got hurt. Mack had gotten me desperate for all the wrong reasons when he’d fed me all that bullshit about Mia, and she’d gotten hurt for it.
Now the target was set on a new target, a far more deserving one, and—oh yeah!—I was gonna get all sorts of crazy, vulgar, and violent; I was gonna get very, very even.
Because if I didn’t—if I failed; (if you’re not fast enough)—then Mia would be dragged into an even worse hell than before, I’d be dead, and the Crow’s would be left wounded and exposed to—
“Stop those thoughts right there,” Danny said and I was surprised to see that he was standing over me, his hands on my shoulders.
“Stop?” I croaked.
“I can tell what ye’re thinkin,’” Danny said, squeezing my shoulders tighter. “This ain’t yer fault and neither was Anne’s death. Ya gotta stop blamin’ yerself.”
“And if I fail again?” I asked.
“Ya didn’t fail nobody, Jace,” Danny shook me slightly. “Get that through that thick skull o’ yers. Ain’t nobody blamin’ ya fer what happened.”
“Nobody is left to,” I said, shooting him a glare. “Except me. And I blame myself every day.”
“Ya think this is what Mia needs?” Danny asked.
I stopped.
The guilt that grew at the reminder of Mia seemed to bring me back. I shook my head and leaned against Danny, clenching my eyes shut. Why did it have to be so hard? Why was everything so ass backwards?
“It’ll be alright, ye’ll see,” Danny said, patting my back.
“You getting sentimental on me now?” I asked, feeling a halfhearted smile on my face.
“When the time calls fer it.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. It didn’t seem fair. I finally felt that I was on the right track. That the Crows were doing what they could with the Carrion crew. That Mia and I were back together.
Things had seemed so good again.
Then everything came crashing down.
I had to stop Mack. Had to find him no matter the cost.
“What ya plannin’ there, Chase?” Danny asked, ironically using the nickname the rest of the Crows knew me by.
“Planning on living up to that name, I guess,” I admitted, then frowned. “But chasing’s no good if you don’t know where your target is.”
“Take it ya mean Mack?” Danny asked.
I nodded.
“An’ what about the Crew?”
I frowned and looked down. “I’m not sure,” I confessed, shaking my head. “But I know we’ll never survive a full-on war against them. The Crew’s got weapons and numbers—a lot of those numbers coming from our dwindling own, no less—and a direct attack would almost certainly ensure their win.”
“Those are facts,” Danny agreed.
I sighed and leaned back. “But the Crew are cowards. From the highest to the lowest. They were created by cowards, and they’ve only ever grown by scaring others into joining. They’re a pirated ship manned by not a single member who’d be willing to go down with the vessel should it start to sink.”
“Those are also facts,” Danny said, nodding.
“So how best to get a ship like that sinking?” I mused aloud.
“Ship’s already sinkin,’” Danny pointed out. “That’s why they’re scramblin’ like mad to patch ‘er up.”
I considered that for a moment, nodding. “Hey… yeah,” I said with dawning insight. “Yeah! The only reason they’re not running for the door is because the chicken-shits in charge are scarier?”
Danny nodded. “Ship’s sinkin’ slow, but the captain’s a crazy asshole with a loaded gun tellin’ ‘em that some loose floorboards’ll patch things up right as rain.”
“The captain…” I repeated, thinking. “The captain…”
“Ya sound like ya got a plan brewin,’” Danny said, and I felt his gaze on me, curious and intrigued.
“Maybe,” I admitted, shaking my head, “but it’s nothing solid yet. In the meantime,” I grunted as I pulled myself to my feet, “I was hoping you might get a few of your sources banded together to track down—”
My phone chimed, and I paused to glance at the notification:
FROM: UNKNOWN NUMBER
Scowling at this, I opened the message, already beginning to shake with rage as I read:
cornr of church
an lyle. 10 mins.
dont dispoint me
boy toy
I growled and shook my head. You’d think a manipulative little turd like that would learn how to spell, I thought, resisting the urge to take out my rage on my phone.
“Everythin’ okay?” Danny asked. “Ya sorta checked-out jus’ then. Mia send ya a dirty picture or somethin’?”
“Cancel that last order,” I heard myself grumble, starting for the door. “I know where he is.”
“What? What’chu talk—No!” Danny was following after me now. “Don’t tell me that weasely li’l rat-fuck…?”
I interrupted him with a nod. “He wants to meet,” I said, offering a venomous grin over my shoulder. “Same way as before—same place even.”
“That’s one dumb motherfucker,” Danny whispered, sounding almost sympathetic.
I nodded. “Sounds like the perfect candidate to be taught a lesson. We’ll worry about the Crew later. First I’m gonna—”
“Waste a bunch of time talkin’ when ya should be on yer bike an’ haulin’ ass out to kick his?” Danny challenged. “Boy, if ya don’t get out there and lay boot heels to that fag-fuck’s butthole I’m’a lay boot heels to yers!”
****
The rain had started while I’d been inside. Now it splattered my face as I sped down the highway, working to keep a steady speed going without hydroplaning off the road. I narrowed my eyes, fighting to see past the sting of the rain as it slapped my face. I had worn the helmet I had usually reserved for Mia, but even with the helmet, my eyes weren’t completely safe from the rain. I continued forward, driving faster and feeling the tires threaten to lose traction of the roads.
“Oh no you don’t!” I yelled at no one in particular, swerving slightly to retain a steady grip on the road.
I continued down the highway, desperate to end this all, but not wanting to risk my life. If I got into an accident, I would be no good to anyone. I hated how trapped I felt as I continued to drive down the highway at a slower pace. I wanted desperately to drive faster. To end all of this now!
“DAMMIT!” I roared over my engine, continuing forward.
I knew that if anyone saw me right now, they’d think I was crazy. They wouldn’t be half wrong, to be fair.
I was crazy.
Crazy to get to Mia.
Crazy to make sure she was safe and in my arms again.
And, sure, probably more than a little certifiable, as well.
But who could blame me? It was a crazy world, to be fair.
The exit for downtown finally came and I took it, crying out as the bike nearly slid right out from under me. At the last second, the bike managed to find its grip again and I held out tight, maneuvering the best I could as I prayed that the bike didn’t hydroplane again.
It didn’t.
I got to the corner in just over ten minutes later. I cursed at this fact, but decided it likely didn’t matter in the long run. I looked around and then down at my phone, unsure if I was expecting to suddenly notice some unseen detail in the first message or if I was expecting to see a new message waiting. In either case, there was nothing there to see. Looking back out, I squinted through the rain, wondering if he was standing somewhere else. I needed him to be there. Needed to end this all.
But there was nobody there.
There was nobody there…
But me.
Alone.
Occupying Mia’s old street corner, standing in the pouring rain, while Mack was out there, somewhere else, probably—
My eyes widened.
Somewhere else?
No…
There was only one place Mack would want to be. It was me who he needed “somewhere else.”
And wasn’t this corner just the best “somewhere else” to put me?
“Mia…” I whispered.
And then I was riding again, leaving rainwater and tears spraying out behind me as I went.