Page 33 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

Aidan nodded solemnly, and lifted a hand from his mug to signal the waitress.

“Getcha somethin’?” Darlene asked when she arrived at the table, with that patented blend of welcome and indifference so remarkable in all the Waffle House waitresses Aidan had met.

“Coffee, please.” When Darlene was gone, Nowitzki turned her big doe eyes back on Aidan. Someone get this chick an Oscar.“I’m surprised you reached out, honestly.” Flicker of a smile. Oh, poor Aidan. Poor confused, traumatized boy. “But I’m glad.”

Darlene returned with coffee, and then Aidan shooed her with a little flick of his hand that left her rolling her eyes before she retreated.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “Last time…It didn’t feel like the clubhouse was the best place to talk.”

She tilted her head to a searching angle. “Too many curious ears around?”

“Something like that.” He sipped his coffee, and glanced up from beneath his lashes to pin her with a look. He didn’t think it would work – no one had ever told him he had that whole penetrating stare down like his old man, or Walsh, or, well, anyone else, really – but she stiffened a moment, before sitting forward with her elbows on the table. Leaning in, getting cozy. That moment of hesitance was good, though. “Any word on my nephew? Have y’all found him yet?”

Her lips compressed, and frustration flashed in her eyes before she schooled her features back toward empathy. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not on that case.”

“Yeah. I get it.” Lying bitch, he thought. There was no case. No one at the FB fucking I was searching for Remy. Maybe a frightened handler or two were flailing for the end of Boyle’s leash, but that was it. What was one missing or possibly-dead biker kid to the guys and gals at Quantico? “Could you maybe put in a phone call, though? Just to check? As a personal favor to me.”

Her brows twitched. “Personal favor?”

“Yeah.” He sipped his coffee. “I figure, if I give you some of the information you’re looking for…”

She stilled again, but this time it was eagerness that sparked to life in her gaze.

“…then maybe we could get a little quid pro quo thing going. A favor for a favor.”

“Well. Yes, I suppose–”

“But off the record. I’m not turning informant. I’m not squealing.”

“Right, yeah. Of course not.”

“But…” Here, pain flared hot and choking at the base of his throat, and he swallowed against it. “My old man’s gone. I had to – shit, I had to call my stepmom and tell her over the phone, like…” He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.Get it together. It would be far too easy to get sucked down, down, down into the depression spiral again. That wasn’t what needed to happen here, now, in front ofthisperson.

He took a deep breath. “Y’all tried to arrest my brother-in-law, now he’s dead, and, just…my family’s getting smaller. The club is – I dunno what’s gonna happen to the club. I have to look out for my nephew. For my wife and kid.” He made eye contact, and held it. “I want to do the right thing.”

He could see the way she did a victory dance in her head. Outwardly, she plumped her lips in anoh poor babygesture and slid her hand across the table. Glanced her fingers over the backs of his, her flawless nude manicure striking against the roses tattooed below his knuckles.

“I think that’s really brave, Aidan.”

He nodded. Peered down into his coffee a long moment, and then sighed. Let his shoulders slump. “There’s…”

Her hand shifted to cover his fully, smaller than his, but rigid with tension. She pressed her palm hard over his tats. “Yes? What is it, Aidan? You can tell me.”

“Mercy, he–”

“It’s okay.” She leaned in closer. Her breath smelled like coffee, and wintergreen gum. “You can tell me.”

He took a deep breath and let it explode out of his mouth. He didn’t have to fake the nerves; they were very real, churning in his gut, making him glad he hadn’t ordered lunch.

He said, “I don’t know for sure about the bodies in New Orleans. But I know where the bodies are buried here.”

~*~

Unused to working one-on-one with Fox, Ghost somehow wasn’t prepared for all the explaining he would do in the lead-up to whisking Deborah Sawyer away in their “Justice Department” SUV. He always seemed so above-it-all and removed amongst the group, but Fox enjoyed teaching, Ghost realized, even if, in this case, he was teaching his president, who was more than a decade his senior.

“The trick,” Fox had said earlier, “is to offer just enough information to hint at credibility, without saying too much. Real fed boys don’t run their traps. It’s just ‘we have a few questions,’ and ‘I’m not at liberty to speak.’ That sort of thing.”

Ghost had given him a flat look. “Do I look like one of your little proteges?”

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