The Unwilling(43)

“I didn’t really know her at all. We spent a day at the lake. That’s it.”

“I need to find Jason.” He palmed his face, so distracted he was barely there. “I need to bring him in.”

“Bring him in…” I couldn’t believe it. “Listen to yourself!”

“Safely, Gibby. Bring him in safely. Tyra’s death was … hard. Cops aren’t taking it well. Emotions are running high.”

“Jason didn’t kill her.”

“But they were sexually involved. They fought in public, and it got violent. She pulled a gun…”

“I know. I was there.”

My father froze. Three full seconds. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

“Yeah, I was there. She was out-of-her-mind drunk.”

“Did she threaten you?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Motive. It’s the first thing cops look for.”

“You keep talking like you’re not the cops.”

“Do you know where Jason is or not?”

“I don’t.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not,” I said, but was. Jason had a safe full of guns and cash. What would happen if the cops found it?

Prison, I thought.

No question.



* * *



My father threatened and begged, but I had nothing else to say; and when he left, he was furious about that silence. I gave him a thirty count, then rolled my car to the bottom of the driveway.

Ten minutes to the city line.

Another twenty to my brother.

I drove fast, and thought of Tyra, not dead on a slab, but as I’d seen her at the lake, naked and unashamed and laughing.

I didn’t see the headlights behind me.

I didn’t even care.

When I reached the Pagans’ private club, I parked at the curb, and jogged for the door. No guard. No people or music. Inside, it was quiet enough to hear the argument upstairs, the raised voices and the clank of metal on metal. Halfway up the stairwell, I recognized Jason’s voice. “I hear what you’re saying, Darius. But it is what it is. I’m out of here, and all of this goes with me.”

A mumbled response.

I climbed higher.

“No.” Jason again. “That was not our deal.”

“You’re not taking the guns or the cash…”

At the landing, I risked a glance through the door. Guns were stacked on the bed, others still in the safe. Jason was there, too, raking out cash as three bikers crowded around him, two with pistols wedged in their jeans. The oldest one spoke—Darius, I thought. He looked familiar. The muttonchops. The white in his hair. “I’m not messing around, Jason. The cops want you. That’s tough, but it happens. You can leave right now, and none of us will say a word. But the guns stay. Same with that money.”

“You’ve had your cut.” Jason dropped bricks of cash on the bed, and went back for the duffel that held the rest. “The guns are mine. Cash, too.”

“You think that matters now? How long ’til the cops raid the club? Call it hush money or compensation—call it whatever you want—but that stuff stays.” He gestured to one of the bikers. “Do it, Sean.” The biker reached for the cash, and Jason hit him so hard and fast he went down like a dropped rock. Darius reached for the weapon in his belt, but Jason moved in a blur. He caught the wrist, twisting it up and back before taking the pistol himself, and putting a bullet in Darius’s foot and a second in his knee. Darius fell screaming, and Jason pushed the barrel at the last biker’s face. “Gibby, anyone else downstairs?”

I pointed dumbly at my chest. I didn’t know he’d seen me.

“Gibby? Anyone else.”

“No. Uh. No one.”

“Go downstairs. Lock the door.”

“Um…”

“Go ahead. I won’t let you miss the good stuff.”

It was something Robert used to say. Do your homework, little brother. I won’t let you miss the good stuff. Stumbling from the room, I locked the door and ran back upstairs.

“We’re good?” Jason asked.

“It’s locked.”

Jason gestured with the gun. “On your knees.”

The third biker knelt, but did it slowly. “Look, man…”

Jason took the pistol from the biker’s belt, and tossed it on the bed. Then we heard the banging downstairs, someone pounding on the door. “Gibby, if you would.” He tipped his head at the window, so I peered out and down.

“Oh, man, I think it’s Dad.”

Jason pointed at the biker. “You. Keys.”

“What keys?”

“The van out back. Front pocket. Toss them to the kid.”

I caught the keys. On the floor and bleeding, Darius said, “I’ll kill you for this, French…”

“Shut up, Darius, before I put a third one in your head.”

“You’d best do it now. Pagans don’t forget or forgive. We’ll find you and we’ll fucking kill you.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Jason pistol-whipped the kneeling biker; knocked him cold. “And then again, maybe not.”