“You cheated on my brother, so I put you in the fucking toilet where you belong,” Missy said with a steely voice.
As this happened, two other Eagles named Keith and Bones walked over to the port-a-john and shoved the lid down on Tooth's head. Then they rolled it upside down so the door was pressed against the pavement with the weight of the toilet on top of it. Tooth banged on the inside a few times, then fell silent.
“I'll put you in the morgue, you psycho!” Marian wailed, lunging at Missy with her fingers hooked into claws.
Missy side-stepped Marian smoothly, then kicked her hard in the lower back, sending her to the blacktop face-first. Before Marian could try to get up, Missy planted the sole of her boot on the back of Marian's head and steadily applied pressure, pushing her face down until her nose was squashed against the ground.
“You're right,” Missy said. Her voice was low and steady, but burning with rage. “I am a psycho. And I'm telling you to pick your bony ass up off the ground and run it as far away from here as you fucking can. Because if I ever see your face again, Marian, I swear to God, you will be picking your teeth out of your shit and trying to glue them back together. Understood?”
Marian's shit-splattered hair moved up and down in a weak nod as she sobbed. Missy took her boot off Marian's head and kicked her hard in the backside, leaving a muddy blue boot print. “Good. Now go.”
Marian staggered to her feet and started to limp away, her high heels dragging on the blacktop. After a few seconds, Bones took out his gun and pointed it at the sky. “Faster, bitch!” he yelled, firing it once.
Marian immediately started clip-clopping away much faster, heading toward the highway.
Missy nodded, scraped her boot against the port-a-john to remove any excess sludge, and stomped back to the Lost Knife, slamming the door behind her.
Cain turned to look at Hunter, and what he saw was the third and final guarantee that this would be a day he'd always remember.
They'd been through more high-pressure scrapes together than Cain could count, and every time, Hunter had shown himself to be utterly unflappable. In any situation, no matter how sudden or shocking, Hunter was the first to spring into action decisively. Nothing could faze him or make him hesitate.
But in that moment, Hunter was absolutely paralyzed, his face frozen in an expression of surprise that was almost comical.
After that, of course, everyone participated in stomping Tooth into a gibbering bag of bloody pulp and tossing him in a ditch next to the highway. Then the party continued past dawn the next day, and life went on pretty much as usual. Missy stayed in the background and never had another outburst like that, at least not in front of Cain or any of the other Eagles, and after a while, Cain mostly forgot about her.
Still, Cain thought as he zipped up his jeans and headed around to the front of the motel, that had been one hell of a night.
Now he was here at the Teepee Motel with Keith, doing a routine errand for a VP. A dealer had set up shop in one of the rooms, selling small quantities of meth and 'shrooms. And even though these drugs didn't directly compete with those the Eagles sold and the Teepee was so close to the county line that it was barely Eagles territory, principles were principles. Anyone who deals on anything resembling Eagles turf needed the MC's blessing, and more importantly, they needed to kick up thirty percent of their profits as a cost of doing business.
This dealer hadn't bothered to reach out at all. The Eagles had to find out from a third party.
That would cost him an extra tax. And a stern warning.
Keith was waiting in the parking lot in front of the Teepee, leaning on his bike. Keith had the body of a wrestler, broad and beefy, with arms like slabs. His black hair was shoulder-length and greasy, and he had a long, braided beard.
“Can't believe you pissed back there, man,” Keith said, shaking his head. “Right on the ground, in public. Fuckin' disgusting.”
Cain raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? Public pissing offends your delicate sensibilities?”
“Breaks the social compact an' shit,” Keith grumbled. “We live in a developed fuckin' society that took thousands of years to invent aqueducts, sewer systems, an' eventually, indoor goddamn plumbin', to say nothin' of a social construct that includes simple niceties like not exposin' other people to your bodily functions. An' here you are just leavin' your piss around for people to step in like you're some kinda animal.”
Cain laughed. “Aqueducts, Keith? Holy shit. Have you been watching the History Channel again?”
“Never mind that,” Keith said. “What about if one of the guests here is lettin' his little two-year-old daughter run around back there barefoot, huh? What if she loses her balance an' falls face-down on the grass you pissed on? Would you feel good about that?”