At least in prison I won't have to wear an apron, he thought, rolling over onto his side and closing his eyes.
45
Tricia was reclining on the bed, her back against the headboard. Damon sat at the foot, re-applying his bandage. Tricia had stocked up on enough antiseptic ointment, gauze, and bandages to keep a small army supplied, and she was making sure he took his antibiotics. She had wanted him to go back to the hospital after meeting Curly, but he'd refused, saying he had more important healing to do.
She understood this, and let it go.
He would be leaving soon to meet his brothers; he'd be going alone, just as his brothers were going alone. For the first time in a long time, it would be just the three of them.
Damon had just tied the bandage in place when the news story caught his attention.
"Eight men associated with the notorious Steel Dragons Motorcycle Club were arrested in Carol City early last night. Police were responding to an anonymous tip when they heard gunshots from the house, pictured here. Inside, they found two pounds of heroin, four pounds of marijuana, and multiple illegal firearms. They also found a fugitive, who sources say is not a member of the Steel Dragons, but who has multiple warrants for his arrest in Delaware. Several of the men were immediately incarcerated for violating their parole, and all will face charges … "
"Woah," Tricia said, her body going slack.
"They did it," Damon muttered, watching the aerial view in the corner of the screen.
" … say that a band of gypsies were responsible for the gunshots, but a witness who was at the scene says that it was one of the gang's members who did the shooting. More on this story as it develops."
The newscaster's emphasis on the word gypsy made Damon's lips quirk upward. He rose, pulling on his shirt.
"Guess I'm going to get a sneak peak at the 11 o'clock news," he said, turning to Tricia, who crawled across the bed to him. He leaned down, covered her lips with his, and felt stronger with the taste of her on his lips.
The bar where he met his brothers was a nice-looking establishment in South Beach, with an after-work crowd in white shirts and brown slacks hanging around the small, round tables. Damon saw his brothers before they saw him. They looked like brothers, like they belonged together. And so they did. And so do I, he thought, feeling an awful pain in his heart, a sensation like grief. He wasn't sure if that was true anymore. That's what he was there to find out.
When Damon sat across from them, taking up a comical amount of space at the small table, they ordered a beer each. None of them seemed particularly eager to start the conversation, but Damon decided it would be a good way to start paying penance.
"Saw the news before I left," he said, nodding to the waitress as she returned with their drinks. "You guys made the 6 o'clock."
"Shit," Cristov said, glancing at Kennick. "Names?"
"No," Damon said, shaking his head. "Just ‘band of gypsies.' And I don't think the newscaster was buying it."
Kennick cleared his throat and gave Damon the full story, the whole story, from Jenner's call to buying the drugs and the guns to their getaway.
"What was with the gunshots?"
"We needed to make sure they had a reason to search the place," Kennick explained. "Paid our good friend James to say that he saw Roper out there waving a gun around. And we got an alibi."
Damon raised an eyebrow.
"We were at a strip joint all night," Cristov piped up, looking slightly amused in spite of himself. "The girls weren't too happy about that excuse, but the bartender at Jimmy Slick's was very obliging."
"Good. Clean," Damon said, nodding and taking a sip of his beer. If he'd been a part of the planning, there wasn't much he could have improved. "So it's over?"
Kennick shrugged.
"As over as we can make it. You never know. They could pop right back, like weeds. But hopefully they see two for two as a pretty good reason to stay away."
"Cost us a shitload of money, this whole deal," Cristov grumbled. Damon glanced at his brother, his mouth screwed up to one side.
The kumpania was in good shape, financially. Much better shape than their choice of abode or thrifty ways would suggest. Their businesses brought in good money, they were savvy with saving and investing. There was always enough to provide for everyone and keep the communal pot loaded. And that didn't even include the Volanis' personal fortune, accrued over many years and generations of people who'd been pushed around – and saw wealth as a way to make sure they wouldn't be pushed around anymore.
There wasn't much he could say about the money that had been spent, so Damon turned back to Kennick.
"And Jenner?"
"I kept my word," Kennick said, his voice gruff. "I got him out of there."
"We'll get him a lawyer," Cristov said, less amused by this than he had been about the strip club. "If he plays nice and supports the story about Roper shooting up the joint, we might even get him a good one."
"How about you, Damon?" Kennick asked, cutting to the quick. "You got any more loose threads?"
Damon swallowed, found it hard to meet Kennick's eyes. He remembered how his brothers used to trust him. It hurt to be questioned like this. But he had done that to himself.
"Kind of," he said.
"Kind of? That doesn't cut it anymore," Cristov snapped, his knuckles tight around his drink.
"I went to see him," Damon said, not breaking Kennick's stare.
"We know," Kennick said. "Mina got his information for you."
"I went to see him, and I got a video of him confessing to what he did. I don't think it will mean anything to anyone. It's probably not admissible evidence. But I'm going to take it to Providence, and I'm going to give my statement. That's all I can do."
"And it's enough?" Kennick asked. Cristov was brooding, looking down at his pint. Damon shook his head.
"It's not enough," he admitted. "But it has to be. I have to let it be enough. I'm not going after him again."
Silence lingered between the triad. Cristov glanced up at Damon, sucked in a breath of air.
"Is there anything else we need to know? Any more deep, dark secrets that weren't worth sharing? Any other tea parties we're gonna have to break up to save your ass?"
Damon saw the hurt in Cristov's eyes. He shook his head again.
"I should have told you. I should have told you when it happened. I made a mistake. And I kept making it for twenty years."
Cristov nodded absently, studying his brother. He looked tired, suddenly. Like all the energy it took to be mad at Damon was waning at last. His shoulders slumped and he leaned back.
"Well, you better not make mistakes like that again," Cristov said. "Especially not if you're going to be doing this thing with Tricia … "
At that, a devious sort of smirk crossed Cristov's lips.
"You know, Ricky was about ready to kill you for putting me in this situation," he went on. "If you do anything to put Tricia in harm's way, she'll be making baby food out of your spleen."
"That's disgusting, Cristov," Kennick said, sneering and leaning away.
"I won't," Damon said, knowing that Cristov was joking but taking it seriously. "I'll never put Tricia in danger. Again."
She'd almost died for his sins once. He wasn't going to let that happen again.
"So it's serious, huh?" Kennick asked. Damon nodded.
"You know, Kingdom's a damn small town, but we sure know how to make it smaller, don't we?" Cristov said, smiling again. "Shit, can't I have a girlfriend without my brothers marrying her sister and best friend?"
"I'm not married yet," Damon pointed out, letting a grin spread over his own face.
"I had Kim first," Kennick argued at the same time, their words meshing together. "Me and Kim's the whole reason there's a baby in your girl's belly."
"Actually, I think my extremely virile equipment is the reason there's a baby in Ricky's belly," Cristov retorted, smiling over the top of his glass. Kennick groaned.
"Ugh," Damon joined in, not wanting to have to think about his younger brother's "extremely virile equipment."
"Can you believe this guy is going to be responsible for raising another human being?" Kennick directed the question at Damon, gesturing to Cristov.
Cristov slapped Kennick's hand away and leaned in slightly.
"The next rom baro, to be precise," he said. Kennick blanched.
"Shit, I didn't even think of that … " He turned to Damon again, looking horrified. "Someday, a little Cristov might be running the kumpania."
"He'll be great," Damon said, looking at Cristov with a newfound and bittersweet pride. "We just have to make sure he doesn't stick his head out of any car windows. That's what messed this one up so bad … "