I pass the girls at the bar. “Danny, what’s going on?” Rose calls. “Danny!”
“You move from that stool, Rose, I swear to God . . .” I stop and show her my incensed eyes, and she wilts, knowing now is not one of the times she should push me. Thank God. I toss the belt over my shoulder and load, ignorant to the attention of those who have noticed The Brit striding through the club armed with a fully automatic AR15.
I make it onto the street where Des is alone, guarding the entrance, a Heckler outnumbering the unarmed Russians.
None of which I recognize.
Not Volodya. Not Sandy. So . . .
“The Ox,” I say, taking in the guy up front in a badly fitted gray suit.
“The Brit,” he purrs, smiling. “Is this how you greet all your guests?”
“Ones I want to kill, yes.” I smile and hold up the gun, dipping into my pocket and pulling out my Marlboros. I grip one with my teeth, slide it out, and light it, never taking my eyes off him. “You deal in guns, and yet you turn up here unarmed,” I say.
“I told your Black friend here, I come in peace.”
“There is no peace in my world, never will be, so what the fuck do you want from me, except certain death?”
“I am a fair man, Black. I want to do business and exist in peace here in your fine country. You returning to Miami has upset my balance.”
“Perhaps some yoga will fix that.” I pout, exhaling smoke, hearing the other men join me, all now armed.
“You’re supplying the Mexicans,” he says.
“Correct. Are we done?”
“You’re undercutting me. Practically giving away the guns for free. Go back to wherever you were.”
“Well, you see, Mr. Ox, I would love to, but some fucker dug up my pops from his resting place. You know anything about that?” I lift the gun a fraction more.
Hands up in surrender, he takes a step back. “I think I can help you there.”
“You have information on my father?”
“Yes.”
I nod, lowering my gun, pulling on my cigarette and inhaling the nicotine deeply. “Why don’t you step into my office?” I ask, gesturing with the gun and moving aside, smiling my welcome.
Looking wary, as he absolutely should, he casts his eyes over me, James, and Otto, then indicates for his men to follow. I look across to the girls as I wander through, seeing both looking uncomfortably . . . comfortable. Like this is normal. Everyday life.
As I pass the DJ stand, I look up at the DJ, nodding my approval to the current track. Adamski Killer. “Can I get you a drink?” I ask. “Vodka? That’s what you Russians like, isn’t it? Or is that the Polish?” I look back at James, and he shakes his head in dismay, exasperated, but if I don’t adopt this style, I’m likely to make a mess of Hiatus.
“I prefer rum,” he grunts, as I let him in the office. All three of his men pass, all silent, not one having murmured a word yet. They can’t speak English.
Then my men follow, giving me questioning eyes as they step inside and I turn, closing the door. Just before the wood meets the frame, I see the DJ, his hand poised on the volume dial. I shut the door and face the room. “I’m assuming whoever dug up my father wouldn’t want to drag a dead body far,” I muse, almost thoughtful, holding up my cigarette and looking at the stick as it hisses, burning, glowing. “So I’m guessing we should be looking in the eastern area, because that’s where the cathedral is and that is where he’s buried.” I look up at The Ox. “Or was buried.”
“Correct.”
I nod, inhale, breathing out deeply. I see James, Otto, Brad, and Nolan in the edge of my vision move aside and hear the music in the club crank up. I slip my cigarette back between my lips. I’m done with his bullshit, outraged that he thought he could turn up here unannounced and tell me what I can and cannot do, where I can and cannot be and, worse, tempt me with knowledge of my father’s whereabouts.
I give no warning, no hint through my expression.
I turn and open fire, spreading the bullets between all four of the fuckers. Their arms lift and shake, like they’re fucking breakdancing, and I don’t stop until my belt is empty and my gun is clicking. I pull on my cigarette and breathe out, long and happily. I needed that. One less spider in the web. Or fucking animal in the god damn zoo. Whatever. But fuck . . . “What a fucking mess.”
“And still,” James says, looking across the carnage. “Nowhere near as messy as when Nolan lived in here.”
I look at him, bemused. “Seriously?”
“Mate, there was shit growing on shit.”
“True story,” Brad sighs, slapping the man himself on the shoulder.
Nolan shows the ceiling his palms. “Should I get this cleared up?”
“You should,” I grumble, dropping the gun. “And now I’m taking my wife home.” I open the door. “Don’t ask me if I’m going to fuck her or kill her, because I haven’t made my mind up.”
“Jesus,” I hear Brad breathe. “I guess I’m going too, in case he opts for option two.” He faces Nolan, pointing at him. “Be-fucking-have.”
I stop outside the office and have another drag, finding Rose at the bar, still facing this way, waiting. I point my cigarette to the door, and she gets up quickly, kissing Beau’s cheek and heading out of the club. Brad passes me to accompany her, and I make my way over to Beau. “The way I see it,” I say, prompting her to look up at me. “You’ve got two choices.”
“And what are they, Danny?”
“Live or die,” I answer, raising my brows. “I know which one I want you to take.”
“Are you saying you’ll kill me if I don’t stand down?”
“No, Beau, I’m saying you will kill you if you don’t stand down. And you’ll kill James too, because he and I share the same ethos when it comes to living.” Her head tilts in question. “We can’t do it without our hearts, as black and damaged and fucked up as they fucking are.” She knows I’m not talking about our internal organs. “Get some sleep,” I order. “You look like fucking shit.” Exhausted. Drained. Angry.
“Thanks,” she mutters as I walk away.
“That’s what friends are for,” I call back. “And for the record, I’m sorry about your father.”
I find Rose by the doors, and she launches the moment she has me within reach. “What happened?” she asks, scanning me up and down, looking for signs of damage.
“So now you’re talking to me?” I take her elbow and lead her to the car, putting her in the back as Brad slips into the front, aware of Tank’s absence.
“I’m not talking to you. I just want to know what happened.”
“What happened?” What happened today is I learned never to think that things can’t get any worse or more personal. What a fucking day.
16
ROSE
He went straight to his office when we arrived home. Alone. An hour later, he came to our room, undressed in silence, and showered alone, and he didn’t give me the opportunity to reject him in bed, turning over and going to sleep in minutes, obviously exhausted. Me? I laid awake in an unbearable state of insomnia, staring at the bandages covering Danny’s chest, begging my mind to shut down and rest. It was having none of it. Neither was the baby, who seemed hell-bent on making me feel her presence, either with heartburn or nausea. In a sense, it was reassuring, but with the relief came worry and guilt. Is my restlessness affecting her? My recklessness?