"We clear?" Sly said. He'd moved to the desk at the end of the room, leaving Billy and me still sitting at the conference table. Billy shrugged.
"Sure thing. I can handle DiSalvo's people. No worries." His eyes found mine and something flickered behind them. I loved the guy. I did. But we were definitely going to have to settle this the way we used to in the old days if his attitude didn't improve soon.
"Good," Sly said. "Can you send Tiny in here with last month's receipts? I want to run through some of the Den stats with Dex and bring him up to speed there next."
Billy smacked a palm to the table and stood up. He was being dismissed and he clearly didn't like it one bit. As soon as he'd left, Sly sat back at the head of the table.
"Tiny's in charge of receipts?" I said, raising a skeptical brow.
Sly laughed. "He's got a knack for spreadsheets. Who knew?"
I shook my head. "You know we've got a problem brewing with that one?" I pointed my thumb toward the door Billy had just exited.
Sly nodded. He leaned back in his chair and rested his feet on the table, crossing one boot over the other. "Yep. It's been coming on for a while."
"Really? Here I thought it was just about me."
Sly shook his head. "That's made it worse. I won't lie to you. Billy wants to fight me on every damn decision I make."
"Can I ask why you made him your V.P. then?"
"Who else would it be? It was Charlie in the first few years but he's too damn old. He's earned his retirement and the right to sit out there in the bar and tell stories while he looks at pretty cocktail waitresses. Tiny doesn't have the head or the heart for it. He's too much of a softie. Colt, Sawyer, some of the other guys closer to our age serve me better in other positions. Billy's stubborn as hell, smart, and when push comes to shove, he's had my back. Even though he's a son of a bitch along the way."
I nodded. "Look. I didn't mean to try telling you how to run things. I've said this before. You did what you had to do and I wasn't there to back you up. I am now though. I hope you know that."
Sly smiled. It was that same shit-eating grin he'd had since the day I met him. The same one he used to flash at my mother to try and keep her from boxing his ears when she caught him doing something he shouldn't, which was often. She'd given his nickname because of it.
"Thank God you're back, man," he said. "We're going to set things right in this club, I swear it. Billy sees the writing on the wall. He's happy you're back too but the guy fears change. He's bore most of the brunt of the shit we've still had to do for Pagano. I'm going to find a place for him that suits him better. In the end, he's going to realize he'll be a whole lot happier without that V.P. patch."
"Great," I said, smiling. "So what kind of shit sandwich am I biting into taking it from him then?"
"Agh." Sly rose and slapped me on the back. "Get ready to raise hell, my brother. Of course, I think my next order of business as club president is to get you good and laid. You keep walking around like that and you're liable to have a heart attack or go blind or something."
I laughed and slugged Sly in the arm.
"Come on," he said. "We can look over Tiny's bar spreadsheets tomorrow. Let's punch in our time cards and hang out at the bar. It's Friday night. Let's see what kind of wing man I still am."
I followed him out of the back room and we took two stools at the end of the bar. I had Charlie on one side of me, Sly on the other and pretty soon a tall draft in a frosted mug in front of me. It was the happiest I'd been since walking out of Marion.
Except for one thing.
Charlie slid a bowl of peanuts in front of me and I grabbed a handful. My thoughts drifted to Ava, as they always seemed to. I knew the decent thing to do was let her go. Let her figure out whether she wanted to see me on her own terms. I'd spent so much time waiting, with no control over my own destiny. I knew I could give her space, but only for so long.
Billy tuned the flat screens over the bar to a replay of last week's fight. Sly explained we were watching a couple of rival fighters that would take on our guys in the coming weeks. He explained some things we had to resolve with the promoters and issues he was having with one of the new trainers he'd hired. I listened, interested, but I was unsettled thinking about what Ava might be doing this very minute. I wondered how long I'd be able to keep my promise to myself to let her come to me. She wasn't married. Of all the things Sly said about her, that was the one that stuck in my head. She wasn't married. I still had a chance. Even though I knew probably the best thing for her was to have me far away.
Charlie sat at his perch on the corner end of the bar like some king. He was happy, beaming even. The waitresses took turns bringing him beers and way too much food to keep his heart happy. He was lucky Mo was out of town visiting her sister tonight. If she saw how much he packed away, she'd throw a fit. Once or twice I gave him side eye when one of the girls brought in a heaping plate of mozzarella sticks and plopped them right in front of him. He growled at me just like a grizzly bear and I threw an arm around his shoulder and hugged him.
This was good. This felt right. I was home. But I should know by now that it never lasts. It was after eleven. The dating crowd started to clear out, leaving the harder-core partiers behind. The atmosphere in the Den got more raucous. Nothing was a problem yet, but I could see Tiny and the bouncers start to shift, taking ready positions around the room in case they were needed to break something up. The problem didn't start in the bar though. It came from outside.
Two of the newer prospects charged through the back door of the bar and ran up to Sly.
"Boss." The younger one, Gunner I think was his name, slid onto the stool next to Sly and tried to catch his breath.
Sly straightened and so did I. I didn't like the look in the kid's eyes and my fingers twitched at my side, reaching for the gun I hadn't carried in years. I knew I was probably going to have to remedy that real soon.
"Trouble," Gunner gasped. "Big trouble."
The other kid, Curtis, came beside him. "Somebody grabbed Franco right outside the gym when he was getting into his car. They threw him into a van and drove off. Avery and Big John were working security. They tried to chase after them but the van shook 'em."
Sly's face went gray. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. "How long ago?"
"Fifteen minutes maybe," Gunner said. "We flew over here as quick as we could."
"Shit," Sly said again. "What the hell was he doing out there so late?"
Gunner shrugged. "He crashes there some nights. Sleeps in one of the loft apartments on the second floor."
"Hawks?" I said. In all the time he'd spent catching me up to speed, Sly hadn't said one word about any turf war flaring up. I didn't even want to think about the other possibility.
Sly shook his head. "I'm not sure. It could be anything. I didn't think DiSalvo's people would take anything that far. We've got to get over there."
"Let's ride," I said. Adrenaline shot through my veins. As much as I had concern for Franco, a part of me sprang to life in that moment. A part of me that I'd had to force to be still for far too long. This was my club, these were my brothers and someone had reached out to try and hurt us. I missed being a soldier.
We made it as far as the back door before we heard a bloodcurdling scream from the front of the bar. Sly and I moved together, running at top speed toward the source of the scream. It was Catherine, one of the college girls Sly had on as hostess. She stood in the open doorway to the parking lot. At her feet was Franco, covered in blood, his glassy eyes staring up at her. Tires squealed as a black van sped out of the parking lot. I just glimpsed a white hand slamming its double back doors shut. It had no license plate and the windows were tinted.
I got to the kid first. I slid to my knees and got his head on my lap. He wasn't dead. I felt a pulse. But his skin was waxy and white and he was shivering. I lifted up his t-shirt; it was soaked in blood and more gushed out of an ugly gash in his stomach. The knife was still in him. He had another slash across his left cheek. The skin flapped open and I could see muscle and fat.
"Get me a towel," I shouted to Catherine. "Something I can use to apply pressure. Call 911."
Sly already had his phone out and made the call. The kid's right hand was mangled and bloodied too. I guessed he'd probably tried to fight off whoever came at him with the knife. His other hand came up and he clamped it over my arm. His eyelids flickered and he tried to focus but then his eyes rolled back into his head.
"It's all right. You're gonna be all right. I got you."
He moaned and tightened his death grip on my forearm. We were about to find out just how strong a fighter he really was. Catherine handed me the towel and I pressed it against his stomach, trying to staunch the flow of blood. The other wounds were bad, but it was easy to see that's the one that could prove deadly.
"They're on their way," Sly said. He sank to his knees beside us. We locked eyes and I shook my head. It was bad. It was real bad. If the kid didn't bleed out on the bar floor, he might have a chance.
"Chicken Hawk," I said to the kid. It occurred to me the thing to do was keep him with us, keep talking until help arrived. His skin grew colder under my touch and he started to shiver harder.