Page 155 of Fearless

Fielding nodded, hooked one thumb in his pocket, let the other arm hang limp. Awkward. He would never look at home in his own skin. He’d gotten more comfortable with being a pain in the ass, though.

“Jasper Larsen says you and your boys rode out to threaten them yesterday.”

“And my old man said he had tea with Winston Churchill during his last round of chemo. Did you come here so we could swap tall tales, or is this actually about the murder victim?”

A faint smile tugged at the man’s lips. “Your son’s got a chip on his shoulder; nice to be reminded it’s hereditary.”

“I’d imagine he hates bullshit as much as me. We’re crazy like that.”

The smile tugged again, then disappeared. “Didyou threaten Larsen?”

“I’m real confused here,” Ghost said. “One of my boys turns up dead, and you’re asking me about some dipshit I don’t know or care about.”

“I’m asking because I smell a goddamn biker war on the horizon, and Knoxville, Tennessee isn’t about to become an MC battleground on my watch.”

Ghost took a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting his arms relax, folding his hands together over the flat of his stomach. “Vince, did you ever meet my uncle? Duane?”

His face hardened. “Everyone at the department knows who Duane Teague was.”

“Yeah, but did youmeethim?”

“No.”

“No, ‘cause you were a baby when he died, right? ‘Cause I was only ten. Shit, you weren’t even born yet.”

Fielding crossed his arms, anger replacing some of the awkwardness. “Neither was your wife. What’s your point?”

“Uncle Duane was the sweetest man I ever met; sweeter than my dad. My old man would smack me upside the head if I so much as breathed too hard. But Duane, he was good to me. He put me up on his bike in front of him when I was five, and let me twist the throttle. He got me into Harleys.”

When the sergeant didn’t interrupt, he said, “Duane gave more money to charity than anyone else in this town, in his glory years. He took toys to the kids on the cancer ward every Christmas, and he gave out candy at Halloween, and he helped little old ladies across the street. And he was the president of this club for ten years.” He thumped the end of his forefinger onto the desk for emphasis. “This club – my club – has been a part of the fabric of Knoxville since 1960. And never during that time has the club hurt Knoxville.

“You’ve got one problem and one problem only, Vince. The Carpathians. The fucking Larsen family is going to burn this city to the ground if you let them. They killed my guy Andre, and here you are, asking if I hurt Jasper’s feelings. Now you tell me, what the hell kind of police work is that?”

“Andre had two different narcotics in his system at the post-mortem,” Fielding said.

“Never said he was a good guy, just said he got murdered.”

“And how do you know it wasn’t one of your own? Where was Lécuyer when the murder happened? You think just ‘cause he escaped charges in Louisiana, no one remembers what happened down there?”

“I think,” Ghost said, grinning, “that you’ve spent too much time looking through our personal business, trying to sprinkle on dirt when you can’t dig up any. I know the mayor’s putting the heat on you, telling you you’ve got to break down the Dogs, but you’re looking at the short-term win here. This mayor won’t last but the one term. This city – that’s forever. You scrape out the Dogs and let the Carpathians take our place – what does Knoxville look like after that? Are you willing to trade the devil you know? Just for a little instant gratification?”

Fielding turned his head and stared through the gapped blinds, out at the sunshine beaming on the asphalt, the busy foot traffic of Ghost’s corrugated steel empire. “You know,” he mused, “I’ve accused you of things over the years, but I was wrong on one count.” His eyes came back to Ghost. “You’re not stupid.”

Ghost tipped his head. “Guess I gotta take what compliments I can get.” He made a shooing gesture. “Your time’s up. Come back if you get a warrant.”

Fielding turned.

“Oh, and Vince?”

He paused, looking irritated that he’d obeyed. “What?”

Ghost leveled a sharp look on him. “The next time you mention my wife, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

Thirty-Four

Ava felt wicked. There was no other word for it. Thoroughly, whole-heartedly wicked. She’d spent an entire day introducing herself to professors and students, playing those little get-acquainted games, entrenched in an academic environment – and they’d been talking about writing. The serious study of writing as an art form, and as a legitimate career. It felt like getting away with something. It felt like majoring in recess, that was how fun her subject matter was to her. To blend study with passion like that – wicked. She felt as if she’d been truly delinquent.

And she’d more or less broken things off with Ronnie.

---