HARDCORE: Storm MC(99)
“Aw, Hunter...” Cain began, protesting.
Hunter held up a hand to silence him. “They'll stay outside,” he assured Cain. “I know you've already got more company than you're comfortable with. But if you guys need anythin' else, you send them to get it for you, understand?”
“So now I've got your sister as my nursemaid, and a pair of fully-patched Eagles working for me as delivery boys,” Cain groaned. “Hooray for me.”
“Live with it, pal,” Hunter countered. “I ain't riskin' my VP or my sister again while this thing with Gaspar is goin' on. Fuck that. Missy told me you've been doin' a good job stayin' put, so just keep it up.”
Cain glanced over at Missy, silently thanking her for not telling Hunter he'd tried to ride off on Gooch's bike. She gently nodded her response.
“I'm gonna leave Keith here first,” Hunter continued, “while Bones an' I haul this bushwhackin' piece of shit off to the dump. Stay out of trouble, an' stay close to your phone so I can reach you.” He turned, pointing to Missy. “That goes for you, too.”
Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the front door. Cain saw Hunter and Missy jump at the sound.
“I think you can relax,” Cain said, smiling weakly. “After all this shit, I kinda doubt Gaspar's guys would just walk up and knock on the door.”
Hunter sighed and nodded, moving toward the door. He opened it, revealing the imposing frame of Sheriff Hemmick.
“Goodness gracious me,” Hemmick rumbled amiably, grinning and surveying the living room. “What a busy day I've had! First there's some kind of weird multiple hit-and-run at the Shop-N-Stop that leaves one man dead, and two more badly injured and unwilling to talk about it. And just when I'd darn near given up hope of solving the blasted thing, I get a report of shots fired in this neighborhood, and as I'm driving up to investigate what I'm sure is a totally unrelated incident, hey-presto! There's the very same car from the hit-and-run parked in the driveway, with blood and dents matching the crime. Isn't that a neat coincidence, that the two would be connected like that? Why, I thought that stuff only happened on detective shows!”
“You're not cute, Ham-Hock,” Hunter sneered, “no matter how hard you try to be.”
“My wife would disagree,” Hemmick replied, stepping past Hunter and into the living room. He surveyed the blood and bullet holes, then let out a low whistle. “Anyone feel like telling me what happened here, or how it relates to the ruckus at the Teepee the other night?”
“Not really,” Hunter answered, “so how about you just tell us how much this'll run us, then fuck off an' find a donut sale?”
The smile dropped from Hemmick's lips. “All right,” he conceded, “I'll drop the cuddly routine. If you want all this heinous shit you've dropped in my lap to go away, it'll cost you ten grand, period.”
Hunter's jaw dropped. “You can't be serious.”
“I'm about as serious as a 380-pound man on a morgue slab with a tire track through his brains,” Hemmick snapped. “I wouldn't fucking test me today if I were you. We had an arrangement, Hunter. It wasn't a complicated one. You keep your fucked-up deeds out of the public eye, and I agree to look the other way in exchange for a little extra pocket money. Now I've got witnesses to a brutal beating at the Teepee, I've got witnesses to some kind of vehicular horror story at the Shop-N-Stop, and I've got witnesses who heard seven shots from their neighbor's house while they were tossing the ball around the back yard with their kids. How in the holy living fuck am I supposed to get re-elected when people see all this gangster shit going on around them?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Hunter asked. “I'm not your campaign manager, am I?”
Hemmick raised his bushy eyebrows. “No. You're not. But you just became my biggest fucking donor. You give me my ten grand and you make sure that from now on, this nonsense happens far away from any voters. Otherwise, all bets are off, and I feed you and your boys to the fucking feds, along with your sister for dessert. Let's see you assholes raise hell when you're doing twenty-five to life up in Gertler Penitentiary.”
“You give us up, we give you up,” Cain pointed out.
Hemmick turned his glaring brown eyes on Cain. “Your word against mine,” he said. “A decorated officer with a distinguished record against a pack of multiple felons. How do you think that's gonna go?”
“Fine,” Hunter hissed. “You'll get your fuckin’ money. But if you really want to make all this public shit disappear, you should be going after Gaspar Hernandez, not us. He's the one provokin’ this stuff.”