About an hour later, Jack and Carl approached Derk, who was in conversation with the Eastern territory leader's wife about her daughter she was trying to set him up with. Why any mother would willingly try to pawn their daughter onto him, who knew? Talk about questionable parenting.
"Excuse us," Jack said politely.
"Of course," the portly woman said then scurried off to her husband.
"Can we talk?" Jack asked.
Derk pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and nodded toward the doors. "I need a smoke."
Carl rolled his eyes. "Those things will kill you."
“How original,” he responded dryly.
They strolled out the door and around the corner to a quiet, secluded area on the side of the building. Derk leaned against the tan brick.
"We need you and Smith to look after Courtney tomorrow at the funeral service and burial," Jack said, straight to the point. He motioned between him and Carl. "We're on Derrick."
"Is something going on?" He raised a brow and blew out a puff of smoke.
"Nothing more than usual," Jack answered.
"Fine." Shit, that meant he'd be gone all day again tomorrow. When the hell was he going to get to see Mac again to ravish her luscious body? Maybe later tonight he'd stop by the bar. After the visitation, everyone planned to head to Murphy's Pub and chill before the next day. He could have Smith drop him off, then drive her back to his place in his car he leant her. Yep, that worked.
"What's going on with you?" Jack demanded. "You've been acting like an ass for weeks now."
Carl chuckled. "He's always an ass, he's acting psychotic."
"Fuck you, both," he snapped.
"No, wait. I know what this is," Carl said, the bastard's eyes lighting up. "Derk's got a woman and it's not just a wam-bam thank you-ma'am. Is it?"
He inhaled another drag off his cigarette, but drilled both men with a warning glare. One that clearly didn’t disturb the two rat bastards. Obviously Carl knew about Mackenzie. Which meant Murphy had him followed and kept tabs on him. Hell. He should be pissed, but it was Murphy’s paranoid style to keep a bead on all the close members of his team.
Jack's demeanor perked up. "Reeeally? You don't say, Carl? Well, what do you know? Derk got himself tagged."
Flicking the cigarette away, Derk pushed off the wall and went back inside, his blood boiling. Who the hell did those two think they were giving him a hard time? Both those men were married to old ladies, who looked like beat-up, worn hags. Graying hair, coke-bottle glasses, assess wider than the doorway. And they fucking nagged the hell out of their husbands. Yeah, like they had any right. Not only that, they didn't know jack shit. He wasn't tagged. He'd never get engaged, hitched, married, whatever. There was too much crap that came with that type of dedication. Disastrous union was not in his future.
His mood not exactly friendly, Derk took position off to the side of the Murphys.
"Ignore them," Smith said.
Good thing Derk didn't surprise easily. Smith's uncanny ability to move stealthily unnerved most. He could sneak up on anyone. Briefly and for the first time, he considered Smith might be former military.
He slid his friend a glance.
"What do they know? Their wives are hags and they have more affairs than an entire US Navy fleet," Smith said.
Derk snorted. Funny. Smith actually cracked a joke. "I'm not going to Murphy's Pub."
Smith didn't reply.
"Need a ride to Cards."
"No problem," Smith said.
They were interrupted by Courtney stepping in front of them, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Can I ask one of you to get me a bottle of water? Derrick's talking to someone." She waved to that damn Western territory idiot, who was intent on being the center of attention.
"I got it," Smith said sympathetically.
Derrick leaned over, snatched a box of tissues off a table, and handed it to Mrs. M.
"Thank you," she whispered and blotted her face.
"I'll get Mr. Murphy," Derk said. Time to let this territory asshole know that Mrs. Murphy came first. While Jack and Carl were busy outside busting his balls about Mac, they should have been inside doing their fucking job and keeping Murphy away from business.
He stalked straight up to Murphy and positioned himself between the two men. He nodded to Courtney. "Mrs. M."
Sliding a quick, calculated glance over to his wife, Mr. Murphy seeming casually turned and went back to his wife's side. Derk knew better. In public, Derrick Murphy acted the part of a detached, hands-off husband. That was far from the truth. The boss's obsession with his wife was unrivaled. Mr. Murphy slyly slid a hand around Courtney's waist and pulled her in snug to his body. She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest, as her husband supported her.