Page 92 of Forty

I’m not sure if we can grow anything before the first frost, but it’ll be ready to go for next year.

Overall, life is pretty good. There’s this brand new saltwater pool in our backyard. With Steel Bones Constructions’ connections and some greased palms, it was done in no time.

And beside my pearl around my neck, there’s a fat diamond on my ring finger. I hold it up and admire it for the one thousandth time.

“No one likes a show off,” Fay-Lee calls from across the pool.

“Does it blind you when I hold it like so?” I stick it up high in the air.

“I’ve got a big-ass rock, too. I just don’t like wearing it in public.”

“You pawned it, didn’t you?” Fay-Lee was raised dirt poor. She has a thing about stashing away cash, hoarding food, that kind of thing. Her stories about growing up always make you laugh, and then later, they break your heart.

“I did. Dizzy bought it back, though. He hid it in his sock drawer. He thinks I don’t know. He’s probably got an elaborate plan to teach me a lesson.”

“You gonna pawn it again?”

“Most likely.”

We fall quiet, and Shirlene pads back out, dropping a fresh margarita for Fay-Lee on the side of the pool. I stretch in my floating lounger, dipping my feet in the cool water.

Larry gave me the okay for baths and the pool, but Forty thinks I still need to keep the wound dry. The lounger is a compromise. I’ve got a spray bottle to cool me off and ice tea in the cup holder.

After a long work week, it’s heaven.

So far, in addition to our daily rounds of the old peeps, Shirlene and I have cleared out Ray’s entire basement. Now we’re working on his garage. We started making progress a lot faster when we put Boom to work. I’ve got a permanent bodyguard now, even though I’m in the clear with the Renellis.

That was a crazy story. Apparently, the Feds had gotten Carlo to flip. The deal was that Carlo hands over the Renellis’ books, and he gets immunity and witness protection. The Renellis found out and cut off his access. Carlo had a contingency plan, though. A shadow ledger sewn into his messenger bags. Oops.

Carlo had to shake his tail to come after me, so there were no Feds to witness what happened in the parking lot. The Renellis’ problem disappeared, and they all had air tight alibis. So basically, the Renellis owe us a huge favor.

Sometimes I think I should feel bad about Carlo. It’s hard to keep my mind on the right and wrong of it, though. My brain skitters to the feel of his hand collapsing my windpipe. So I banish him to the same shadowy corner where I shove Ed Ellis. Damn if they don’t refuse to stay there, but I don’t have to look them in the eye all the time, so maybe it’s the best that can be done.

Forty wants me to go to a therapist. Apparently, Nickel has one, and now he’s into Zen and yoga or something, and he’s a changed man.

I don’t know about that. Story and Nickel were over here the other day for bar-b-q, and a hornet was bothering her, and he slammed that critter so hard he broke a patio table. Crushed it like a can and then casually plucked the sticker out of his palm.

I told Forty I’d go to therapy if he’d go with me. He has nightmares about the helicopter crash still. And Lord knows he has mother issues. Don’t we all.

Anyway, overall, everything would be almost perfect except Forty wants to go to the clubhouse tonight. There’s going to be a party. He wants me to make nice with Heavy, Harper, and the others.

It’s been two and a half months since Larry pulled that bullet out of my chub. I’ve managed to avoid the clubhouse since then.

It’s not because I’m afraid to see where I got shot. It’s because I love my fantasy world where I’m the queen and Forty’s king and no one can come between us.

And as soon as I see Heavy and Harper and the others, that fantasy’s busted. From all the way over here, I can make out the tattoos on his arm—the scales, the nickel, the handcuffs, the wrench, and the XL. And there’s me. The insane cat exploding from a bomb.

I guess my fantasy world’s not totally intact, even hiding out here. Forty’s gone at least ten hours every day on club business. Sometimes he gets calls in the middle of the night. Sometimes he doesn’t come home. He always picks up his phone on the first ring, and I’m not worried he’s cheating or anything. At least, not with a woman.

It kind of feels like the SBMC is his side chick, though. And that sucks.

“Forty wants me to go to the clubhouse tonight.”

“Yeah?” Fay-Lee perks up and paddles closer. “For Roosevelt’s thing?”

“Is that the occasion?”

“Yeah, he got his patch. The private party was last week. This is the big shindig. Everyone’s invited.”

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