Page 64 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

Mike’s brows flew up. “Who says?”

“A friend.”

“If he’s that good of a friend, why hasn’t he been here the whole time?”

Neither of them answered him. Ghost looked at Fox, whose gaze had gone somehow withdrawn and dark at the same time. A look that expected – no, demanded – action on Ghost’s part.This is your mess, now fix it. Which was fair, even if it left Ghost bristling.

“Come on,” he said, and turned to the door.

His hand was on the latch when Fox struck across him with a blocking arm. Ghost stepped back, and Fox opened the door, and stepped out first. He’d put his gun away, and he held his empty hands aloft, walking with slow, deliberate steps. He made it fifteen or so paces before he turned back, shrugged, and invited them to follow with a tilt of his head.

They made it to the BMW, inside, and Fox started the engine. Not a single shot was fired.

~*~

“What do you say?” Aidan asked, and offered his most disarming smile. He’d always used it on women in the past, but it eased some of the tension in Mr. Parker’s face now. “Do we have a deal?”

Aidan had freaked a little when Ian left the table, not at all confident in his ability to run the numbers game. But Tango had slid over to take Ian’s empty seat, and, sitting with their shoulders pressed together, he’d reminded himself that he’d looked at all the paperwork, and that he’d actually listened when Ian did the math with the bank, and that heknewthis. That it was his idea in the first place. He took a deep breath, and centered himself.

Across the table, Parker scratched at his jaw, which was an improvement: he’d relaxed enough to uncross his arms, and finally ordered a second drink, and his cheeks were a little pink from the alcohol and his mouth no longer a flat, pinched line of unhappiness. “My grandfather would be rolling in his grave,” he commented, and there was something rueful about the shake of his head, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Sitting down with Lean Dogs?”

“Letting someone else run the family farm.”

“Well, technically,” Aidan said, encouraged, “you’d still be running it…”

Parker was nodding and waving him off before he was finished. He drained the last of his whiskey sour and said, “Yeah, yeah, I know. You laid it all out.” He tapped the folder Aidan had offered him earlier, filled with a comprehensive business plan, one only edited by Walsh, but initially written up by Aidan himself.

Parker sighed. “Well. I don’t guess it matters what he’d think: he lost eighty acres before he died. I’m about six monthsfrom having to sell of what little’s left, and then the whole place’ll be gone.”

“Dad,” Lewis said, prompting, and Parker nodded and motioned for him to be quiet. Aidan didn’t miss the kid’s unhappy look.

“Fine,” Parker said at last. “But if something happens to my son–”

“I’ll sponsor him myself,” Aidan said, with a twinge of guilt, because there was no way to protect anyone associated with the club fully or indefinitely. “I’ll watch out for him.”

Parker contemplated the ice in his glass, the folder, and then a patch of empty table, before he finally lifted his head, and met Aidan’s gaze head-on, unflinching. He stuck his hand across the table. “We have a deal, Mr. Teague.”

Aidan gripped his hand, and tried to keep his smile in check. “Just Aidan.”

“Glenn,” Parker offered, and his hand was dry, and work-roughened, and his grip was honest.

Ian reappeared, suddenly and far less gracefully than normal. He’d been his usual composed and self-assured self when he excused himself from the table, but now sweat sheened his temples and his hair was ruffled, his collar rumpled like he’d been tugging on it.

“Whoa, what happened to you?”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay.” He turned a toothsome, half-crazed smile on the Parkers that left both men pressing back in their chairs. “Lovely to meet you both. I trust Aidan conveyed our interest in working alongside you? Wonderful,” he said, without waiting for an assent. “Aidan, be a dear and walk me out.”

Bewildered, Aidan pushed up from the table as Ian, Bruce in his wake, stalked to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

On the sidewalk, Ian was pacing a tight circle. The Jag was parked in one of the slanted spaces at the curb, and Bruce hit the remote start on the fob; the car came to life with an expensive purr.

“What’s going on?”

Ian stared across the street a moment, and when he turned to Aidan, he looked so pale and spooked that Aidan felt a lick of cold fear echo in his stomach.

“What?”

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