Page 135 of Severed Heart
“I’ve been thinking the same, and we’ll have that conversation once you come through. Heads up, you’ll have some help from a little birdie, so keep your ringer on. He’ll be in touch in a few, and so will I.” I swallow. “I really need this—”
“Say no more. It’s done,” Phillip assures before cutting the call.
Easing off the gas when my radar alerts me there are cops ahead, I dread the fact that of all the fucking days that Dom decided to go rogue, this particular is one of a few in the calendar year that the number of cops on patrol increases significantly, making our collective task tonight a lot riskier. Holding up my cell in the dim light to dial, I can’t help but lash out.
“Shut the fuck up!” I bark toward the back, cursing the fact that I’ve been so short of time since this shit happened that I’ve been stalled in making the two most important phone calls.
“Want me to drive?” Russell asks, and I shake my head, adamant. Resigned to my mission—nothing fucking happens to Dom.
Another lone firework explodes, sliding across my windshield. The strays lit by individual residents to celebrate since shows have been canceled all across North Carolina due to the threat today. As it bursts in a cloud of glittering gold, I curse the geniuses who decided to honor freedom in any way by dedicating an entire night to plaguing vets who might not be able to handle hearing mock war in the sky. Some probably cowering from the inescapable nationwide celebration. Vets like my father, who just celebrated his latest sobriety chip two years in now, sadly falling off a second time in the years since he started rehab. A fall I didn’t and won’t condemn him for. Dialing the next number as I watched purple streak the sky, I’m thankful when Beekman also picks up on ring two.
“Hey motherfucker, I was just thinking about you,” he greets.
“Change of plans,” I clip, “no time to chat about the why. I need you on, now.”
“Done,” Beekman’s voice instantly morphs into all business, “talk to me.”
“I’m dropping off thefinger paintsthe kids made in your jurisdiction within the hour.”
“I thought we were—”
“Like I said, change of plans, couldn’t be helped,” I reiterate, knowing Beekman is already doing what he can without flagging himself inside the Bureau to start to build his case against the dirty officials.
“Nail these motherfuckers,” I bite out with emphasis, “and make it look convincing, bro. They getno grace. Make their downfall a spectacle.”
“I’ll do my fucking worst,” Beekman assures.
“I feel the need to stress at this point that this can’t fall into anyone else’s hands but yours,” I relay, tightening my hand on the wheel, thankful as hell that Beekman set up shop in the last twelve months in a branch in the North Carolina sector of the FBI. His involvement is one of the reasons that Miami is so bent out of shape in wanting access to Beekman and any others like him. Access we fucking denied.
But with my favor being called in and Beekman being our inside bird to build the case, we’ll be close to out of the woods. As long as the trail on the ‘second suspected gunman’ goes ice cold, and the takedown of the military officials is enough to steal Dom’s current media spotlight.
“Don’t lose an ounce of sleep over this,” Beekman speaks up, sensing my state. In his imparting tone, I can practically hear his heavily bolded wings twitching to life. “I’ll snatch this shit from local as soon as I’m able. Just make sure you get it over state lines to make it federal.”
“Already on it,” I tell him. “Thanks, man.”
“Oh, it’smy fucking pleasure,” he declares, equally as offended for our military brethren. “Make sure to keep a few copies in your pocket in casetheyhave someone on the inside to cover for them.”
“Fuck,” I snap, that possible oversight stinging me. “I didn’t even think of that. Will do.”
“Well, you can’t be Supermanevery day,” he jibes. “Rest easy, I’ve fucking been ready for this for too long,” he assures again. I can’t help the shared pride that this is precisely the kind of situation we’ve been breaking our fucking backs for years to position ourselves for.
“Not happy about the circumstances, but yeah,” I agree. “I’ll call you in a few.”
“Before you go, you need to know I have a few anxious friends waiting to meet you.”
“Good to know. We’ll catch up after my meeting, which is going down intwenty. I called in a favor,” I state. Though Beekman never got the call-up for the GRS, he’s spent his time wisely by obtaining his status in the FBI. “I’m sending you a number to the helping hand I mentioned who’s now chipping in on this bill. He’s waiting for your call. Gentle reminder, he’s inkfree.”
“Say no more,” he clips before ending the call.
Holding my phone out to Russell, I give him my order. “Message the number I called first to the number I just hung up with.”
“On it ... and fucking genius, bro,” Russell compliments, in the know about Phillip and Beekman as I glance back in my rearview at my other most trusted. Sean and I had decided to divide and conquer. My team consists of Denny, Jeremy, Russell, andPeter—whose earned ink is still fresh. All strapped and ready to do whatever it takes to protect our brother.
“Who’s got the prints?” I ask.
“I do.” Denny speaks up about the prints we extracted from the officials’ houses and transferred on some of the bullets for this purpose. With the victimless crimes we’re about to commit in addition to Dom’s this morning, it should be just enough to get our feathered fed the green light to yank it from local police’s hands. Our dilemma in bringing it to Beekman’s level was solved by Dom’s stunt this morning. Something Domknewwas necessary to further our plan—thebrave, brilliantmotherfucker.
“Keep a few in plastic forinsurance,” I emphasize, and Denny nods.
