Page 101 of The Trust We Broke
“Gonna have to think about how to tackle that one without you couriering it to me. Let me work on getting the money, first. I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks, Vex.” The phone line goes dead.
Catfish puts his hand to his forehead. “Feel like I’m gonna puke.”
“Yeah. Don’t feel so great myself. Even once we figure out how this was done, we’re going to have to figure out how to shore ourselves up. Go home. Get some rest. Once we get the intel from Vex, we’re gonna need a plan and resources to fix it.”
Catfish nods. “You should tell the brothers. Call church early in the morning. Send ‘em all home for some sleep without hangovers. You included.”
“Good advice. Thanks, brother. Drive safe.”
I watch Catfish as he ducks back inside. “Why can’t I, for once, have a fucking win?” The words are muttered aloud.
On autopilot, I send the message I’ve received hundreds of times before.
Church.
I put in the time.
Then, I write a second note, telling everyone to get some sleep because tomorrow’s going to be a real long day. When I slip my phone into my pocket, I look up at the ink-black sky. I hate this time of year as the daylight hours decreases in parallel with the temperatures. I’m more of a warm-weathered person, and it feels as though Mother Nature is putting shutters on my soul for four months.
On the way back inside, I see a beer can lying in the snow, and I kick it hard, sending it flying toward the door. Tomorrow, I’ll find out who left it outside and put them on snow-shoveling duty for the rest of winter. It might seem like overkill for a pieceof trash, but A, I’m already pissed…and B, you let one piece of trash slide, the next, your clubhouse looks like a hog pen.
When I walk to the door, I pick it up and put it in the trash. No point leaving it outside to get covered in more snow.
Maybe I’m also feeling itchy because it’s the start of cage season. I need to do the winter maintenance on my bikes and get used to the idea that most driving will be done in my truck.
Lucy is sitting with her laptop open in front of her when I reach the kitchen. She’s munching absent-mindedly on a piece of pizza while her nose wrinkles as she studies whatever she’s looking at.
The lights are on, though they’re dimmed, but the effect is almost like Lucy is in one of those noir crime movies. All she needs is a long cigarillo or something to make the image perfect.
Her fingers move furiously over her keyboard. And periodically, she’ll bite down on her lower lip as she considers something.
My mom once told her she was too pretty to be a lawyer. And Lucy just laughed, thanked my mom for the compliment, and then, revealed that she thought it was going to be her secret weapon. That men would be too egotistical to take her seriously, and then she’d swoop in and get her client off the charges.
She’d bank on them routinely underestimating her.
But watching her now, I wonder why she thought she’d be underestimated. She looks utterly competent, and I’d trust her to represent me in a heartbeat.
As I watch her, I wonder if, in the same way Butcher brought Greer to the fold to help the club out medically when we need it, maybe I can convince Lucy to join us to represent members of the club.
Even better, I wonder if she would have the time to figure out if there are any grounds to get my father’s sentence reduced. I’m realistic enough to know a full-blown appeal is out of thequestion. But if there is any trick she could use to give him a shot at riding his bike again before he dies, I owe it to Dad to ask.
She looks up, and her face changes from one of concentration to that look she always had when she caught me watching her. Like it had been years and not minutes since she last saw me. Like I was her man. Like I was the one who had the ability to make every day perfect for her.
Forgot how good that feeling is.
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know how long you’d be, so figured I could catch up on some emails.”
“It’s not a problem. If you have work, you have work. I don’t want to get in the way of it.”
She puts her chin on her knuckles. “It’s nothing that can’t wait. I was just being productive.”
“Everyone’s gone home. Checked every room myself, and only yours and my vehicles are in the lot,” Catfish says, breaking the moment as he stomps into the kitchen. “I’m out. You okay locking the place down, Prez?”
“Yeah. I got it. Get some rest.”
“Night, Lucy,” Catfish says. “It’s good to see your face around here again.”
