“Well, if it isn’t Bevis and Butthead,” Jammer says.
“Fuck off, asshole,” greasy hair dude says. He’s twitching so bad I wonder if his heart’s gonna give out before we get the fuck out of here.
Jammer glares at him. “Pete, you’re momma should have swallowed you, but here you are, the little sperm that survived.”
“Ha ha, you’re a laugh a minute, Jammer,” Pete says, scratching his arm so vigorously I’m waiting for him to draw blood. I wonder how many communicable diseases he has.
Mohawk man stays quiet and turns back to his work.
“N-nice bikes,” Pete stutters. “What are they?”
“Not yours,” I grunt.
“Always w-wanted me a bike.” He lifts his chin to my Devil Kings cut. “Think they’d let me be one of you?” His head starts to jerk to the side in some sort of drug related twitch.
I give Jammer a look he knows too well. “And you wonder why I hate makin’ these fucking runs out here.”
He grins.
“Hey, you guys want some Kool-Aid? I just made some. The red kind, not that shitty purple flavor.”
I whirl back on him. “No, I don’t want any fucking Kool-Aid, moron.”
“Got our stuff?” Jammer asks, shoving his hands in his pockets, for all appearances, relaxed. I know better. Jammer’s got a really good poker face, and most men don’t see the explosion coming until they’re lying on the ground, covered in proverbial shrapnel.
Me, I’m not so good at hiding my irritation, and right now, I’m itching to get the fuck out of here. The smell inside has already got my eyes burning, and in another minute I’m going to take a shovel to Pete’s head.
“Got our money, old man?” Mohawk dude says, glancing over his shoulder and sounding like Darth Vadar through his respirator.
I chuckle. Dude has balls disrespecting Jammer like that. It’s his first mistake. I fold my arms. This should be good.
Jammer doesn’t hesitate to correct his damn manners. He hauls him around, grabs him by a fistful of his shirt, and slams him up against the grimy wood-paneled wall. The trailer shakes with the boom. “Two things, you little snot-nosed, son-of-a-bitch. First of all, having a Mohawk doesn’t make you a badass, Louis; it just makes you look like a fucking rooster. Second, call me an old man again and you’ll be drinking through a straw you fucking punk ass, piss ant. Understand?”
“Get the fuck off me,” Louis snaps. His second mistake; I shake my head and laugh. Some assholes never learn.
Jammer yanks him forward, bends him over and drives him head first into the wall. Louis slumps to the floor.
I step closer and peer down, whistling. “Nice. If you didn’t break his neck, I’m pretty sure you cracked a vertebrae.”
“Y-you shouldn’t a done that,” Pete stutters, shaking his head until I grab him by the shirt as well.
“Pull your shit together, Peter Pumpkin Eater,” I snarl.
“H-he cooks all our stuff. I can’t do it alone, man.”
I pull the envelope of cash from my vest and slam it against his chest, releasing him. “Just get our damn product.”
He stumbles over, grabs a paper bag, and holds it out to me. I take it and look over at Jammer. “We done here or you want to beat on Rooster Head some more?”
He glances down at the still unconscious Louis and flexes his fist. “Waste of time if he’s not awake to feel it.”
“He’d feel it tomorrow,” I correct him with a teasing grin.
“True.” He pulls back his booted foot and kicks him hard in the ribs.
Five minutes later we’re pulling out onto the highway, roaring toward Atlanta.
We take an exit off I85 and make a right, heading deep into the Jack City neighborhoods. We take a dead-end street that backs up to the rail yards behind the metals plant.
We coast to a stop and shut off our bikes. The leather seat creaks as I stand beside my cooling engine with its ticking sound. I can smell honeysuckle growing somewhere nearby, probably climbing the sagging, rusted chain-link fence dividing the rail yard from us.
It’s quiet, but I can still hear the faint sound of a semi tractor rolling down the interstate.
Jammer makes the call to our customer, informing him we’ve got his product. Tonight’s exchange is worth about five grand. He disconnects and shoves his phone in his pocket. I stare up at the starry night and once again think of Tess. She’s been on my mind pretty much nonstop since I dropped her at her place this afternoon. I can’t get the taste and feel of her kisses out of my mind.
Jammer lights up a smoke and begins pacing. I know this is his least favorite part of this deal, so I try to take his mind off it.
“So, what was with the Kool-Aid Kid back there? I mean, there’s dysfunctional, and then there’s whatever the fuck that was.”
“He’s harmless, just a dimwit.”
My mind returns to Tess and something she said this afternoon, and I frown. “Hey, Jammer?”
“Yeah?” He takes a drag of his smoke.
“You think there’s any chance of Growler getting his conviction overturned?”
Jammer stops pacing and squints at me through the smoke trail from the cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Fuck no. Where the fuck’s that comin’ from?”
I shrug. “Just wondered.”
He lifts a brow. “Yeah? Well, quit wonderin’ about shit that ain’t gonna happen.”
“You ever hear from Reload?” I ask.
“Nope. Not since we took care of that lying rat of a VP of ours and ran him off. You?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Just thought he might turn up somewhere.”
“Him and Quick used to be tight. But the way I hear, Quick hasn’t had anything to do with him. Not since he found out our old VP double-crossed Growler and set him up to take the fall on those drug charges.”
“You really believe Quick didn’t know what Rat did?”
“He swore an oath on it. He stayed when he could have run. Yeah, knowing Quick, I do. He may have been thrown together with Reload a lot, but he was not on his level of asshole.”
“Suppose you’re right.”
“You worried about something?”
“I just always wonder if what we did the night we got rid of Rat and let Reload go…”
“Yeah?”
“Just wonder if it’s gonna come back around to bite us in the ass.”
“Quit worryin’.”
A pair of headlights crests the rise, and an old burgundy Cadillac rolls up.
Jammer pulls the rolled up bag from his saddlebag, goes over to the driver’s window, and makes the exchange. Straightening from the car, he thumbs through the bills in a white envelope, then nods and slides it inside his cut. The window rolls up and the car pulls off quickly. A moment later, it’s like he was never even here.
My cell vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and glance down at the readout.
Tess.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tess—
I lean against the wall in the line outside the bathroom, my phone pressed tight to my ear, so I can hear over the music. The band just started their second set. The line moves, and I sway as I push off the wall and stagger forward. Fuck, I shouldn’t have had that last shot.