Page 57 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

Tango sat up straight, expression tightening. “They’re here.”

“See.” Ian leaned in to whisper. “What did I tell you?”

Just inside the door, Lewis dragged his ballcap off his head and began rolling the bill between his hands in a clear show of nerves. The man standing beside him looked the wayLewis doubtless would in thirty years: same wheaten blond hair, flattened from a ballcap, silver at the temples. He was clearly the source of Lewis’s nose, and jawline, and eyes, but lined and weathered from years spent in the sun. Hands knobby and callused and work-roughened stuck out from the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt. He looked every inch the farmer.

And every inch skeptical. His brows tucked low as he surveyed the inside of the bar, mouth curved in a harsh frown. He scanned the walls, the floor, the table, the bar in back like he was hoping to find a flaw, but Aidan knew there was none. Bell Bar had never looked better. In fact, he and Tango were the shoddiest things in the place.

Lewis spotted them, and relief touched his face a moment – then his gaze shifted and he caught sight of Ian. His brows flew up, and he froze in the act of turning toward their booth, and Aidan wished he’d been able to keep Ian out of this part of it. He needed his financial reassurances, though, so he gritted his teeth, forced a smile, and lifted a hand.

Lewis stared at him a moment, then nudged his dad, and headed for their table.

“Try not to act like a Bond villain,” Aidan muttered to Ian out the side of his mouth.

“I beg your pardon.” Ian smoothed his jacket, his deep purple shirt, and stood, hand offered across the table as Lewis and his father reached them. “Misters Parker, hello, lovely to meet you,” he said in his Boss Voice, which was more melodious and friendly than the Bond Villain Voice he’d exercised on the Lean Dogs the first day they met him, what now seemed like centuries ago. His smile was wide, and disarming, though cut-crystal enough that it never seemed truly innocent; there was no helping that, it was just his posh genetics.

Lewis had seen Ian at the festival, though he still looked shocked to see him here.

Lewis’s father stared at Ian like he might grow a second head. Once the shock wore off – a span of seconds – his brows slammed down, and a surly frown tugged at the sun-worn grooves of his face. “I’m supposed to be meeting with the Lean Dogs.”

Ian retracted his hand in a smooth motion as though he’d never offered it, and adjusted his cufflinks. “And so you are.” He gestured to either side, Aidan and Tango, before smoothing his jacket and resuming his seat. “My name’s Shaman, and I’m a close confidant, associate, and financier of the Lean Dogs Motorcycle Club.”

It was effort not to roll his eyes.

“This is Tango Estes, and Aidan Teague, who I believe you spoke with over the phone this afternoon. Please.” He motioned to the two chairs. “Have a seat.”

Father looked at son, silently demanding an explanation, but Lewis dragged out a chair and thumped down into it without looking back. After a beat, frown deepening, the father followed suit. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded tightly across his chest, ready not to believe anything they had to say.

Ian gathered a breath to continue, and Aidan held up a hand. “Nah, I got it from here, man, thanks.” He patted the back of Ian’s arm where it rested on the table, and caught the fast flicker of Ian’s smile, quickly smoothed.

“Mr. Parker.” He addressed the father. “I’m the one who wanted to meet with you.” He didn’t offer his hand because he didn’t think the man would take it. “Lewis came to see me a few months back, wanting to prospect the club.”

Lewis made a choked-back sound of affront, and earned a sharp glance from his father, before the man turned back to Aidan. “That’s news to me.” His voice was clear, and cold, and twangy at the edges with Tennessee. Aidan was reminded, uncomfortably, of Ghost. Of his lifelong disapproval, and hisstubborn immobility. A reminder chased by grief of the kind that he swallowed, and pushed down, and tried his best to ignore.

“He was persistent,” Aidan said. “Signed up at our booth at the festival, and then came by the shop looking for me.”

Lewis earned another glare from his father, and he glared at Aidan. “Dude.”

Mr. Parker said, “Six months ago, I’d have called you a damn liar, because no way was my son gonna sign up to be a criminal. But after yesterday…” He shook his head.

“Dad–”

“Was that you?” Parker asked Aidan. “It was, wasn’t it? Sending the FBI to dig up my damn pastures.”

“I didn’tsendthem.” A lie, but one that couldn’t be proven, thanks very much. “The feds have been terrorizing us, and the whole city, for months. Ask around.”

The man’s frown deepened, which meant he already had.

“I told Lewis,” Aidan continued, “that he didn’t want any part of that when he came by the shop, but he kept trying anyway. Not because he wanted to become acriminal.” Aidan rolled his eyes. “But because he wanted to help his family. He said you guys had already sold off most of the farm and might lose the rest of it.”

Mr. Parker’s gaze slid toward his son, without turning his head, then back to Aidan. “We’re fine,” he said, tightly, folded arms tucking even closer into his middle.

“Yeah. Sure, buddy.”

“I’m not your–”

“Buddy? No. You seem like a real stuckup dickhead, actually. But I’m guessing that’s partly the FBI’s fault. And the fact that you can’t pay your bills.”

The chair screeched across the hardwood as Parker pushed it back and stood.

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