Page 34 of Forty

And there’s another choice. Tell or don’t tell. Take the twenty and go get beers or ruin Lou’s memory of his dad. I take the bill.

“I need a minute to get dressed.”

“Go out the back.”

“I’ll go out whatever door I want.”

Lou waves his hand at me and goes back to whatever drama’s going down in our dining room. I take my sweet time pulling on skinny jeans and pink crop top. I tug my hair into a ponytail—the dryer’s in the bathroom—and then I leave. Out the back.

Then I creep around the house to the dining room window.

The sun’s gone down, and the lights are blazing in the house, so I can see everyone clearly. Nickel looks like he’s about to punch a wall. Charge seems to be talking him down. Big George is pacing, yakking on the phone.

Forty, Heavy, and Pig Iron are still leaning over the table, pointing at the map or whatever like generals in an old war movie. Forty and Heavy seem to be disagreeing. They’re something to watch.

When I left town, Heavy was an impressive guy, but he wasn’t this oversized character of legend. He used to be kind of nerdy for a redneck. He was so hulking, he was always careful not to bump you. He walked like a waiter holding a full tray.

Now, he’s an extra on a Viking series or video game hero with superhuman strength.

Forty’s changed, too. In a different way. He’s a machine. It’s not only how he carries himself, which screamssoldier. It’s not just his ability to shutter his face and dismiss me or go toe-to-toe with a behemoth like Heavy without flinching. It’s everything.

There’s no fear in this man. Not a second of hesitation. Not like there was with me the night behind Sawdust on the Floor.

I can’t imagine this man snuggling anything but a gun.

I do know him. And he’s deeply unhappy. Like me.

Whoa. Epiphany.

In the dining room, Pig Irons rolls up the map. I should get out of here before I get busted for spying.

Forty’s giving orders. Heavy’s getting on his phone. I creep toward my car.

There’s no way that man in there is going to swallow his pride and come after me. Not unless he has a reason. Or an excuse.

Whatever’s going on in the house, it definitely has to do with the Rebel Raiders.

I eye the hood of my car as a crazy idea pops into my head, and like all my crazy ideas, I know it’s going to blow up in my face, but I’m also fully, enthusiastically committed.

If Forty Nowicki won’t come for me, I’ll come for him.

5

FORTY

“This table is fuckin’ ridiculous.”

My dad, Eighty, leans back in his leather office chair, hocks, and spits under the twelve-foot, custom granite conference table.

“Show some respect. This is a ten-thousand-dollar table.” Pig Iron slaps Dad on the back of the neck and shuffles past him to his customary seat. He sets the three longnecks he’s carrying down in a line. Guess church is gonna run long tonight.

“Waste of money,” Dad grumbles.

“Cost of doin’ business.” Pig Iron cracks open beer number one.

“We ain’t fuckin’ businessmen,” Dad snaps.

Dad’s never held a job. Never did anything around the house except bitch and make a mess. After Mom left, he didn’t even bother to come home much. He crashed at the clubhouse or his girlfriend’s. In my opinion, he ain’t any fuckin’ kind of man at all.

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