Page 23 of Spyder
For the first time since I arrived, I feel like I’m home.
Chapter Ten
Spyder
I get off my bike and look around the yard. The guys are clustered together in small groups, all of them looking tense and tight. I’m not sure what’s up, but I can tell that something is, and whatever it is, it’s not good. I see Milo off to the side of the garage by himself working on his bike. I wander over and squat down next to him.
“What’s going on? Somebody die?” I ask, trying to sound lighter than I feel at that particular moment.
“Pretty fuckin’ close to it,” he replies without any sense of levity.
It feels like a twenty-pound stone has dropped into my gut. Milo’s face is as serious as his tone, reinforcing the flutter of nerves inside of me, as well as the certainty that something bad is going down.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Don’t know the details. All I know is a couple of the guys were on a run and got shot up,” Milo replies, never looking up at me as he works on his bike.
“Zavala?”
He shrugs. “Probably. Not sure.”
“You’re not curious?”
“I figure they’ll tell me when there’s something I need to know.”
I chuckle wryly. His casual attitude to what’s going on suddenly makes me feel like the town gossip. But if what’s happening is cartel-related and it impacts all of us then we should know.
“They said nobody in or out right now,” Milo says, as if reading my mind.
“I’m a persuasive man,” I reply, flashing him a grin.
He chuckles as I get to my feet and stalk off, heading for the clubhouse. As I hit the steps that lead up to the porch, Domino is just stepping out, wiping his hands on a rag, a grim look on his face.
“Is that blood?” I ask, pointing to the rag.
He nods. “Yup.”
“Whose blood?”
“Boogie’s and Disco’s,” he replies. “They were on a run and got tagged by some of Zavala’s crew.”
“How bad is it?”
“Not as bad as it could’ve been,” he tells me. “They’re both damn lucky to be alive if you ask me.”
The twenty-pound stone in my gut seems to double in weight and my head is spinning as I ponder all of the implications. Something about seeing the crimson stains on the rag in Domino’s hand somehow makes it all the more real for me. Not that it wasn’t before. I accepted the fact that we’re going to war. But there’s a difference between accepting it in your head and seeing a visual confirmation like the rag he’s holding. I move past Domino and head for the door, but his voice stops me.
“They said nobody goes in just yet,” he says.
I shrug and go inside anyway. When the door slams shut behind me, Prophet and Cosmo look up, both of their faces darkening. I know I shouldn’t have come in. I’m sure I’ll catch hell for it. But I needed to see for myself firsthand. It’s not that I need to see the blood and gore. I’m not like that. I just feel like I need to see what I’m getting myself into. Like I need to see what could be in store for me when we go to war with Zavala. It’s like I need to mentally prepare myself for what might be coming down the pike.
“I said the clubhouse is sealed,” Prophet barks.
“Yeah, I know. But I figured you might need a hand,” I say.
I cross the clubhouse and stand next to the chair Boogie’s sitting in. He’s a big, burly guy, as wide as he is tall, and has a beard that rivals the ones the guys in ZZ Top wear. His face is pale and drawn, and he’s biting down on a leather strap while our club Veep, Doc, is fishing in his arm with what looks like an oversized pair of tweezers. As he shifts the instrument, a strangled cry issues from Boogie’s mouth.
“Easy, man,” Doc says. “Almost there. Just hang in there.”
