Page 28 of Taming the Demon

Darrow played both sides of things. He memorized the license plate of the car. Along with the make and model. He would have preferred to grab the VIN too, but it was okay. He could use this info, along with footage from the cameras… Meanwhile Damien and Cyrus faced each other.

“Your rat problem is out there,” Damien said. “My rat problem ended. A lowlife. Also very low in my organization. Very sad to see. No chance of anything making it to me. But there’s an image to it. Except the detective…”

“He’s dead,” Cyrus said.

“That he is. Rotting and smelling horribly.”

“You found him.”

“That we did. I have to admit, it certainly looks like an awful death. One at the hands of some outlaws…”

“Let me correct you there, Damien,” Cyrus said. “A rat killed the detective.”

Damien nodded. He stroked his perfect chin. “And I suppose this is where I’m going to be told to trust you.”

“You can think and do whatever you want,” Cyrus said. “We’ve got our own issues here to deal with. We had an understanding and that’s that.”

“Perhaps our paths continue to cross for several other reasons,” Damien said. “Do you believe in fate?”

Cyrus grabbed between his legs and tugged. “This is fate. Outlaws make their own roads to ride. Take your vodka and get the fuck off our lot. Don’t show up looking for a fight when a war is ready to break out.”

“You can’t find your rat,” Damien said. “I guess we’ll have to do it for you.”

Damien snapped his fingers and nodded to his remaining bodyguard.

“Fitz wears our patch,” Cyrus said. “We have our ways.”

“And I have mine,” Damien said. “Like you said, why start a fight when there’s a war… right? Small fish to kill in a bigger ocean. I’ll be in touch, Cyrus. I think we can work something out here. Plus, I need confirmation of it all. I need to know if there’s an issue within my organization.”

Damien climbed into his car. Before shutting the door he reached back out and placed the bottle of vodka on the ground. Then all three black cars with the blacked out windows exited the lot.

Darrow, still holding his bloody knife, reached down and grabbed the vodka bottle off the ground using his free hand. He handed the bottle to Cyrus, who promptly slammed the bottle down to the ground, letting it shatter.

“He’s going to find Fitz and torture him,” Cyrus said. “Fitz will chirp. Not that we have any issues with the mafia, but we don’t need any of our secrets out there. Fitz sat at prayer. Fitz voted on a lot of stuff.”

“Fucking rat,” Linc said.

“Prez,” Slade said. “What’s next?”

“We might need to call in other charters. Someone better find Fitz. And fucking soon.”

Cyrus looked Darrow.

“I’ll run the plate,” Darrow said. “And I stole the big guy’s wallet. When I stabbed him.”

“Yeah?” Cyrus asked.

“Of course. We’ll have all his info. Damien is going to kill him, but the guy has to have family. Has to know someone. Right?”

“It’s not much, but I’ll take it,” Cyrus said.

“Christ, do we really want a war with the Russian mafia right now?” Slade asked.

The voice of reason. Nobody responded. Darrow needed to seize control of the moment. And fast. He rushed back into the clubhouse to find Mara sipping a glass of water. He grabbed her right arm and pulled her off the barstool.

“We’re leaving, now,” Darrow said. “We’ve got a small window to get out of here.”

“It’s not good, is it?” Mara asked.

---