Breaker
“What’s your plan?” I ask as I talk into the phone over the noise on the other end. Aimee sure picked the worst time to pull off this job.
“I go in. I sit at the bar. And I order a damn drink. I figure I’m going to need one,” she answers, carefully.
“And you’re just going to act like nothing happened?”
Aimee corrects me, “Nothing did happen. I was short on funds, so I went out to town in hopes of grabbing a few extra bucks for some food after you dropped me off back at the hotel. I had zero idea that those guys were on the hunt for me.”
I know this excuse will probably work for a few of the slower guys in the club. Hell, it may work for me if I wasn’t deep in the situation, but she sure wasn’t going to pull this over on Biggs. My gut told me that I was about to let my woman walk into a lion’s den.
As if sensing my hesitation, she adds with an air of confidence, “Just give me fifteen minutes and walk into the bar. Act surprised to see me. Hopefully, no one saw you when you dropped me off at that store…”
“That’s not what I would worry about. I’m more convinced you’re about to end up in that fake grave with Henry. Should I get the shovel ready?” I can’t help being testy about this whole thing. I hate giving up control or not knowing what the outcome will be. She was really grating on my nerves by insisting on doing it her way.
“Just be there.” Aimee sighs. “The rest, well, leave it up to me.” I can almost see her bite that ruby red bottom lip of hers and wink at me as she says this.
My head smacks the back of the driver side seat in frustration as I hang up. What have I fucking done in my other lives to get wrapped up in an irritating, addictive chick like Aimee?
I count the minutes down as I watch the club from the parking lot across the street. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. The regulars and club members stream in and out with warm beers and hand-rolled cigarettes in their hands. A few hang out on the porch, talking so loud that I can hear them from here. I make a mental note to shut them up when things settle down.
But as I’m taking in the guys spreading Gravedigger secrets to the neighborhood, something through the window catches my eyes. Something—maybe an arm or an elbow or a bottle flies past the two framed windows and out of view. Someone’s large back gets up to stand, rushing towards where the object landed. The rowdy music is masked by the shouts of men and then one distinct yell—Aimee’s.
I knew it. I freaking knew that this was going to happen. I put the car in park as I dart across the street towards the bar. Already, a few of the girls are retreating, practically running away from the scene.
One of them says to her friend, “She slapped him! She fucking slapped him! She may be dead, but she’s got balls.”
Slapped who? Was this part of her plan? With Aimee, it felt as if anything was possible. I whip open the metal screen door. Frozen inside, I try to take it all in. The room is basically split in half. Biggs’ loyal men, with the new boys flanking Wesley, the punk that danced up on Aimee and then tried to fight me over it back at that hotel in Colorado. He holds his lily-white hand to his cheek where a small scratch leaks drops of fresh blood.
On the other side of the bar is Aimee. Her chest heaves in what looks like anger and her jaw grinds back and forth, but I can’t tell if it’s put on or not. Her tan fists clench at her sides. One of my friends, Red, stands behind her, whispering in her ear. She nods a few times, not wanting to turn herself away from Wesley.
I clear my throat as loud as possible, but no one even dares to blink. The tension seems to boil and bubble over so I do the only thing I can think of to break through. Grabbing an empty bottle left by the windowsill, I smash it on the edge of a black metal table. The glass crushes under my feet as I stand up on the faux-leather chair.
All of the heads in the bar turn to me as my voice begins to boom, “Does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on in here?”
Everyone looks over towards Aimee, and I realize that this is the time when I’m supposed to act surprised. I let my face fall, and then my eyes squint as if they don’t recognize what they see. She smiles slightly but then walks down at her hands.
I shout over the music towards her, “What the hell are you doing here, Aimee? Do you know we’ve been fucking hunting you down all night?!”
“I—I—I—” Like a child, she kicks at an imaginary rock on the ground while stammering with her well-thought out explanation. “I didn’t go anywhere, Breaker. I was only going to pull a job and then come back. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal…”
She almost sounded convincing. The side of the room with my friendlies even nodded as they talked amongst themselves. They seemed to take this at face value. After all, why would she come back if she was lying?
“She’s a lying bitch, Breaker!” Wesley breaks through the noise as he approaches my chair. “This skank ran and then chickened out when she knew she’d get caught.”
“What did you call me?” Aimee looks offended. Her hate for this little prick seemed to radiate off of her as she tried to defend herself. “I’m not lying! With Henry gone, I had to! You guys expect me to starve here?”
“Henry?” Red chimes in. My heart sinks as I realize just how much of a mistake Aimee has made by bringing him up. Henry’s “death” wasn’t supposed to be spread throughout the club. In the past, these guys just disappeared, joined new clubs, quit on the road… the darker inner workings of the club were kept quiet.
“We’ll talk later about that.” I snap, shirking the subject. “I want to know what the fuck happened.”
“That perv took another pass at me, Breaker” Aimee points at Wesley as she screams out. The men around her nod as they eye me, searching for some reaction that shows Aimee’s still my property.
Wesley laughs out loud with that sniveling twerp of a laugh of his. “This bitch doesn’t know shit. All I did was touch her knee. After all, Biggs told us that she didn’t belong to anyone and we could do what we want to her. She can’t pass me off if she wa—”
I have my hand up, ready to cut him off, but he stops short himself. His head turns towards the door where the offices are. Biggs steps into the light of the bar, dressed only in a pair of dirty jean shorts and a sweaty tank.
“Breaker! What the hell?”
“I was trying to break up this shit, boss. You wanna blame someone, blame the damn kid again.”
There’s a rumble of support, but Biggs doesn’t register it. His eyes are fixed on Aimee who is holding her arms across her chest as if it would help her shrink into the background.
“My office. The three of you.” He turns his back on us and walks off.
I let Aimee go first, Wesley next, and take the rear. The point of all of this is to act surprised and show no involvement. I couldn’t show my hand by being too eager to defend her. I had to put some trust in her that she knew what the hell she was about to do.
Aimee’s halfway through her explanation when I get into the office, her arms still crossed over her chest. She goes back and forth between us, looking as if she will cry one moment then punch someone the next. But she manages to keep it together, even giving elaborate descriptions of the places she claims to have been. Stick to the truth, Aimee, I think.
When she’s done, Biggs turns to me with a half smile, “You believe this shit?”
I pick my words carefully, “Yes and no. Why would she come back if she wasn’t lying? And why go out of her way to do a job on her own?”
Aimee turns to me with a look of complete disgust, but I can see the crinkles around her eyes that spark with something more like approval.
“I told you…” she jumps in, “I needed the cash. If Henry is gone, I won’t have any cash for meals.” Her hands rest on her thighs with her palms up, as if to say she’s got nothing but the air between her fingers to live off of.
“Well, you’re in luck. I’ve got a job for you. Do it right, and I’ll let this, uh, incident slide.” He clicks his fingers at Wesley. “You back off the chick. She’s still not anyone’s bitch, but you got no claim on anyone or anything in this club until you earn your full patch.”
Wesley’s head drops down towards his chest as he nods to himself and then walks out of the room, leaving Biggs and us alone.
Some time passes while he takes a drag of his cigarette and watches the smoke billow in the dim lit room. The small white clouds dissipating in the air only make it harder to read his face or Aimee’s silent instructions. He is literally trying to smoke us out. I can feel it.
“I’ll talk to Breaker alone, girl.” He points to the door with the toe of his shoe. Aimee seems to want to argue the point, but he shoots her down before she can get a sound out of her throat, “I’ve been fucking patient enough with you! Girls like you need a swift kick in the ass, and you’re lucky I’m not giving you up to that damn creep Wesley. So unless you really want to test me, I would get the fuck outta here until I call you back.”
She hesitates, appearing stunned, before storming away. As she opens the door, her head tilts just enough to the side so that I can see her bite that lip of hers. She’s nervous, and I don’t blame her. He clearly doesn’t believe her. And worse, the man I know most likely has got something in plan for retaliation for her dishonesty.
When the door shuts, I do my best to act casual. I do what I always do; sink into the leather chair near the door, with my hands running up and down the sides of the upholstery. I take a deep breath. I need my head to be as clear as I can get it.
“I need you to take Aimee on a job tonight.”
“Tonight? You think it’s a little late to be running marks at the mall? And what happened to me no longer working with her? I’m not exactly eager for her to make a dumb ass mistake and get me hauled away in some cop car tonight.” That’s it. I need to keep him on track, remind him that she isn’t as good as he thinks she is.
But maybe that’s his end game.
“It’s not civilians. I need her to rob someone else.” His eyebrow rises as he fingers a file sitting on his desk. “I got some intel on Vice and the Devil’s Fighters.”
“What?” I ask, the word stuck in my throat. Vice Elroy is one of the most feared bikers in the West. His club, the Devil’s Fighters, is another group of roamers. They travel with just a small band of guys, elites in our books. They perform high-risk jobs like heisting a bank or selling quality coke and then skip town before they can be tracked. The Feds have wanted them for years. We have wanted them for longer.
The last time we saw them was when Biggs had Aimee pulled that bank job on them. I had hoped it would be the last. Now it seems like Biggs has other plans for us.
Biggs can sense my mouth watering over this. “They’re in town for some business.” He looks at me with both eyebrows raised this time. The way he says business makes the hair on my neck stand straight up. “What I need you to do is bring Aimee to a drop point, have her get into his safe and take the cash. It should be at least thirty Gs. I know they finished a job just last week with at least that much.”
“Wait,” I say, stopping him as he contemplates. “You want to send Aimee into their den, grab an insane amount of cash, and get her out of there alive? You have to be fucking kidding me. There’s no way. No way!”
“That’s the point, Breaker. I don’t care what happens to her. All that I care about is that cash. You too. Alive or dead. It doesn’t matter, but don’t even think about coming back to the Gravediggers without thirty Gs in unmarked bills and Vice on your tail.”
“You’re insane. You can’t—”
Biggs stares me down, towering over me as he points a chubby, hangnail finger into my face. “You think I can’t do this? You’re fucking wrong. You may have been able to pull off that shit with Henry and break into my office, but you don’t dare cross me and then pretend everything is all fucking hunky-dory without getting put to the fire first. Prove you’re loyal, get the job done, and we’ll talk.”
He opens the door. The sounds of the bar explode into the room, but all I can hear is the rush of blood through my ears. In my peripheral, Aimee stands just across the way. Her hands run through her hair, sweeping it back. She looks hopeful, but I know the truth.
We’re walking to our deaths together.