Golden Trail (The 'Burg #3)(75)
Layne had f**ked up twice and both of them were royally. The first time was out of his control when the condom broke when he was with Gabby and it was now not debatable that he’d f**ked up nailing Gabby in the first place, drunk or not. The second time was when he left his sons and the last year he’d given a lot of headspace to trying to remember why the f**k he did that at all.
Gabby was a bitch and divorcing her made her worse and Rocky was in that town. Layne had felt tied down, not by his sons, but by the history with Rocky and Gabby that fenced him in. This brought up the urge to get out of that ‘burg and roam. There were things he wanted to do, wanted to see and wanted to learn, things he couldn’t learn, see and do in a small town. He’d told Rocky all about this shit when they were together and she was with him all the way because she shared his need to roam, to learn, to see, to do. They had plans and, once she graduated from Butler, they were going to go. They didn’t know where but it would be somewhere.
He found what he was searching for in St. Louis, San Antonio, Reno, Phoenix and LA but he lost more by leaving what really mattered at home and he’d paid a mighty price for that f**k up. Nevertheless, he made more friends than enemies along the way, case in point, Devin Glover dropping everything and hitting town after getting a phone call.
Jarrod Astley and Stew Baranski hadn’t learned not to shit where they lived, where they worked, wherever they wanted. They didn’t care who they screwed over. You couldn’t live your life like that and not face retribution eventually.
And it was closing in on Astley and Stew’s judgment days.
Layne and Colt hit the even smaller town next to the ‘burg, a town right on the outskirts of Indy. It held a Raceway and was a decent place, generally, but could get pretty rough when the races were on. The ‘burg had J&J’s as its hotspot, no other drinking establishments in town because every one that sprung up failed due to people’s loyalty to J&J’s. J&J’s wasn’t the only place to drink, there were restaurants that had bars, but it was the only place people went to meet friends, listen to the jukebox, play a game of pool and tie one on.
This town wasn’t the same. They had tons of bars, most of them rough due to their clientele being race groupies or race hangers on. Layne swung into the one Colt informed him they were going to and parked.
He switched off the ignition and turned to Colt. “There a way we need to play this?”
Colt shook his head. “You don’t play Ryker. He either likes you or he doesn’t. He likes you, he shares. He doesn’t, we’ll know in about two seconds and then we’ll go have lunch.”
Layne nodded and they both turned to their doors.
The day was overcast with intermittent rain. Even if there was sun, the light in the bar would be dim stating openly to its customers that anything goes. You could f**k a race groupie in the corner and not be noticed. You could also make a drug sale or slide a blade into an enemy.
Colt led Layne to a corner table where a man sat alone with his back to the wall and a bottle of beer in front of him on the table. It was cold outside but the guy was wearing a black tank top stretched across his bulky, ripped torso, jeans and motorcycle boots and he wasn’t resting with his coat slung on his chair. But he was lounging back in that chair, one of his long, beefy legs straight in front of him, foot resting on its heel, the other leg cocked with foot flat to the ground. He looked relaxed but Layne knew he was alert to anything. He had two sleeves of tattoos running up his arms, full on wrist to shoulder ink, both sleeves slithering up his thick neck. He was bald, he was ugly and it was easy to read he was not a guy you messed with.
“Ryker,” Colt greeted and didn’t hesitate before he sat down at Ryker’s table.
“This guy a cop?” Ryker asked, his eyes locked on Layne.
Layne took a seat at the same time he held Ryker’s eyes.
“Nope,” Colt answered.
“Smells like a cop,” Ryker commented and, even though Colt was a cop, he did this in a way that stated plainly cops were not his favorite people.
“Used to be one, now he’s a PI,” Colt replied.
Ryker’s eyebrows shot up and he kept his eyes on Layne. “A dick?” That was meant to have two meanings and Layne clenched his teeth.
“What he is, for the purposes of this meet, is Gabrielle Layne’s ex-husband,” Colt told Ryker.
Ryker’s eyes cut to Colt. “Who the f**k is that?”
“Stew Baranski’s woman,” Colt answered.
Ryker grinned, he knew who she was but he still asked, “Fat bitch?”
“Ryker,” Colt said low.
“Dumb bitch.” Ryker refused to read the warning.
Layne was done so he entered the conversation.
“She and I have two boys, one of ‘em saw Baranski hand off an envelope to Carlito at the house. Gabby tells me Stew has troubles. You know anything about that?”
Ryker’s eyes sliced to Layne on the words “two boys” and he waited a beat before he answered, “I know Carlito is a f**kwad.”
“I know that too,” Layne returned.
“And I know Baranski is an assclown,” Ryker went on.
“Yeah, you aren’t tellin’ me anything I don’t know,” Layne informed him. “Not here to find out shit I know, I’m here to find out what’s goin’ on because I’m not a big fan of my boys witnessing Baranski makin’ a payment to a loan shark.”