Gil's place was first on the itinerary. She'd always run back there before when shit went raw.
Daddy would probably be there to console her, tell her what a good girl she'd been to walk out on the bald headed fuck who'd always been too bad for her.
My body tightened, ready to tear open throats like a tiger. Didn't get any better as I rolled into our old neighborhood.
Hit the breaks when I circled by my parents place, now property of some young couple who'd probably make their kids a hundred times happier than I'd been. I let myself have one long glance at my the home I'd left years ago, feeling the grim past staring out the windows, looking right at me.
The fucks who'd bought my parents' place changed the color and the landscaping, but they couldn't do anything to banish the ghosts inside.
I could still hear my folks bitching at each other, before my old man walked out. Then the shitty soap operas and dog shows my ma used to watch, smoking and drinking herself to death. The woman put away more poison than half the guys I'd ever met in the club.
She hadn't lasted more than a year or two after I'd gotten patched in and blew town. Spent her last half year on this earth in a shitty fucking hospice, all she could afford on her meager bennies.
I remembered how shell-shocked Elle Jo used to look when she walked outside, not long after her ma died. Saw the girl cry while she was alone at the bus stop several times, while I played hooky at home and smoked in my room.
How many times had I wanted to march out there, pull her into my arms, and squeeze her 'til all her tears stopped coming, if only for a day? Shit, how many times had I stared at her ass while she disappeared inside her house? How many fucking times had I thought about her later while I fucked the nameless sluts I started pulling as a prospect, the only good thing that came outta my time with the Tacoma charter?
Too many brutal memories in this old neighborhood. I sped the rest of the way to her doorstep, letting my engine roar loud and lonely.
Maybe it was the Jack in my system, or else the hole in my chest that bitch left behind when she walked away. It hit me hard to stop and stare up at her old man's porch, remembering the first kiss that hooked me forever.
Even now, I'd kill a man to taste those lips. Preferably her old man, but fuck, anybody would do if it got me back in bed with that woman. I'd spill blood to feel her nipples go soft on my tongue, sink my teeth into her shoulder while her pussy clenched around me.
I had to shake off the lust. Remember why the fuck I was standing here, stepping off my bike and pulling out my binoculars about a block up to take a good look at the house.
The whole neighborhood was dead silent. I stood my ground and watched for a solid half hour, waiting for somebody to stagger out for some fresh air or a piss.
Her old man always had a prospect or two hanging around, but I didn't see so much as the dot of a lit cigarette shining into the night.
My girl had either avoided daddy's place entirely, or else there was nobody home.
Fuck it. I ran down the street and snuck near the back, climbing over the locked gate. There wasn't a bike in sight, the biggest sign yet the place was deserted.
If Gil's boys were here, they'd be guarding the back door, the flimsy weak spot most homes had. With one hand on my gun, I slammed my boot across the knob. Fucking thing splintered with barely any effort.
Nobody greeted me with a bullet or a blow to the head as I stepped inside. The interior was just as pitch black as the porch outside. I latched onto the adrenaline in my blood and didn't let my guard down, but I took a quick scan through the entire house.
The basement was a little more interesting. A couple shotguns were laid out on a work bench, too clean and new to be antiques hanging out in Gil's place.
Papers were strewn across the chipped table, next to a couple hammers and a case of beer. I grabbed them and flicked on my lighter for some light.
“Holy shit.” Couldn't stop the words when I saw what the fuck I had.
It was some shit scrawled in black ink over a ledger with the Ivankov logo at the top. The Russian mobsters based around Chicago did business with us sometimes out West, usually smuggled their shit through Seattle with our blessing and a hefty protection tax.
Chinese dealings ramping up in SeaTac, and they mean business. They'll hit your club hard if you don't hit the fuckers harder first.
Fool them. Play nice. Then break their skulls open. We'd rather do business with your boys than the Black Dragon assholes any day.
-Lev
Shit was dated about a month ago. Snarling, I tore the corner, stuffing it into my pocket. The other shit was a mishmash of notes back and forth between Gil and some asshole in the Black Dragon mob.
The lying Tacoma Prez acted real friendly, pretending he wanted to sit down for drinks and deals with the fuckers.