Take Me, Outlaw(37)

Hell, I thought, I might just be on my way to finding one of them today.



I pulled the clothes on, ignoring the sullen stares from the other Reapers. The jeans were large enough to fit me and three other guys, and I ran out of holes in the belt. I flipped an awl out of my Swiss Army knife and punched a few more holes, then finished dressing and tucked both of the handguns into my waistband.



I'd left the AK-47 in the Saab too, which was a boneheaded play. I knew the reason I'd probably been so fuzzy-headed and forgetful was the residual damage from the concussion, which made me even more uneasy about facing Jester head-on. I was doing my best to hide it, but I was still having occasional dizzy spells.



Still, it wasn't like the AK would have been very practical to have with me on this trip. Hunkering down with it next to the highway was one thing, but waving it around down at Belmont Harbor was a good way to get the cops' attention. So I'd have to rely on the two pistols and hope they'd be enough if it came down to a firefight.



I walked out of the bar, seeing Rosie standing at the end of the line of bikes out front. Sperm, Boomer, and Bard walked out with me.



“I gotta go,” Boomer said. “I'm already late for my gig. Good luck.”



“Thanks for going to get her, and for taking care of her,” I said to Boomer as I straddled Rosie and strapped my helmet on. “I know it's more than I deserve, and I appreciate it. I'll do everything I can to end this quick.”



“Well, you won't be doing it alone,” Sperm said, mounting another bike and putting on his own helmet as Bard did likewise. I remembered that Bard used to ride a gorgeous Vincent Black Shadow, and I almost asked him what happened to it, but I figured this wasn't the time.



“Listen, guys, I'm grateful for the help,” I began, “but...”



“We're not doing this for your gratitude,” Bard said, starting up his bike. “We're doing it so we can make sure it's done, and done properly. I wouldn't even be bringing Sperm, except that he's the MC's Treasurer which means right now, he's the closest thing I've got to another ranking officer in the Reapers.”



Sperm glanced away for a moment, embarrassed.



“If this thing had gone the way it was supposed to go,” Bard continued, “no one wearing a Reaper patch would have been within a mile of it. But since we're involved now whether we want to be or not, I figure the sitting president of the MC should be present at this transaction to lend it weight and credibility. And unless you're in the mood to lose several of your front teeth over the next minute or so, concussion be damned, I suggest you shut up and ride.”



Bard revved his bike and rode south with Sperm right behind him. I gunned my engine and followed, hoping I could still fix this and find some way to get back on Bard's good side. I'd spent most of my life without a father, but Bard was the closest thing I'd had, and his disapproval felt like a knife in my heart.



Something else was bothering me, too. When Jewel had asked why we didn't hand the file over to the other Mafia families so they could handle it themselves, I had told the truth about my reasons. But it hadn't been the whole truth.



Deep down, I knew that I was doing this because I needed to end Jester myself. I needed my payback if I was ever going to be able to give things a chance with Jewel. Otherwise, I'd be starting off with that hole inside myself, wondering if I'd ever be whole enough to know who I really was with her.



I could only make sense to myself if I finished this my way. I could only know peace if I watched the light go out of Jester's eyes and knew that I'd sent him to hell myself.



We rode down to Belmont Harbor, the wide cement cove just off the upscale neighborhood of East Lakeview. This was where the wealthier people in Chicago kept their boats docked during the warmer months. The sunlight sparkled on the deep blue waters of Lake Michigan and families walked down the docks together, loading coolers full of snacks and drinks onto their boats so they could take them out to watch the fireworks later.



We parked our bikes a short distance from the harbor and started to stroll down the docks. A few people shot us weird looks since our biker clothes made us look a little out of place, but most of them were too busy laughing and playing around in their boats to notice us.



“So what are we looking for, exactly?” Sperm asked. “It's not like they'll be flying a flag with their stupid symbol on it.”



“I wouldn't be too sure about that,” Bard said, pointing.



We looked at what Bard was pointing at, and saw it was a huge white yacht with tinted windows. The flag it was flying had a medusa head in the center of three bent legs, and three stalks of wheat. The name on the hull was The Pride of Palermo.



“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I said. “It couldn't be this easy, could it? If the feds know they've got a yacht out here and it's this goddamn obvious, why haven't they come and arrested them by now?”



“Maybe the feds don't have enough hard evidence on them,” Bard answered. “Maybe they do, but they've been paid off. Maybe the Thorns are just hiding in plain sight. No way to know for sure.”



“Well, now what are we supposed to do? Just walk up to the boat, knock, and ask for Jester?”



Bard thought for a moment, smirked, and shrugged. “I can't think of a better plan than that, unless you feel like it'd be best to just spray the boat with bullets, lob a grenade or two in there, and run off. That might ruin a few bystanders' holiday plans, though. So let's approach them nice and slow, like we're the neighborhood Welcome Wagon.”



Bard started walking toward the yacht. Sperm and I exchanged an are-you-kidding-me look, then rushed to follow him. “Be ready for anything,” Sperm muttered to me, reaching behind his waist to brush his fingertips against the handle of his pistol.



We marched over to the gangway connecting the boat to the dock just as a fat, sweaty middle-aged man in cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt walked up it. He was carrying two canvas folding chairs under his arm and hauling a styrofoam cooler by its plastic handle. He had close-cropped graying hair and dark skin.



“Yo, Giuseppe!” the man called up to the boat. “I got three more chairs in the van. You wanna send the boys down to gimme a hand with 'em or what?”



“Hey there!” Bard called out to him cheerfully. “You need a hand getting those up to the boat?”



The man looked at Bard and smiled. “Hey, yeah, that'd be great! Thanks, man.” He turned and bellowed up to the boat again. “Never mind, Giuseppe! You go ahead an' keep sittin' on yer ass, you fat friggin'...” He trailed off, shaking his head.



Bard looked at us and jerked his head toward the man. I stepped forward and grabbed the cooler while Boomer took one of the chairs. Bard took the other and we carried them up to the top of the gangway.



“Thanks a bunch, fellas, I really appreciate it,” the man said, digging into the pocket of his cargo shorts. “Here, lemme give youse a little somethin' for yer trouble...”



“No need,” Bard said, holding up a hand. “We're just happy to help. You guys heading out to look at the fireworks?”



“Yeah, me an' the boys have been lookin' forward to this fer weeks,” the man replied exuberantly. “We been workin' real hard, so now it's time to reward ourselves. A little grillin', a little Uncle Sam, maybe even a little bit o' this if they behave themselves.” He reached into the cooler and rummaged under the ice, producing two bottles of beer. “Can I tempt ya? We got plenty.”



“No, thank you,” Bard said. “Very nice of you to offer, though.”



He mopped his sweaty brow with his short sleeve, then extended his big, meaty palm to Bard. “Well hey, happy Fourth, huh? Name's Antonio. Pleased to meetcha.”



“The pleasure's all ours,” Bard replied, shaking his hand. “My name's Bard, and this is Rafe and Sid.” I stifled a laugh. It wasn't like Bard could introduce him as “Sperm,” after all.



“With them vests an' patches yer wearin', I guess youse guys are bikers, huh?” Antonio asked. “I always heard you fellas was supposed to be real patriotic types. Are you here collectin' donations for cancer research or Toys For Tots, somethin' like that?”



“That's a very good guess, Antonio, but no,” Bard answered. His tone was still light and breezy. Meanwhile, the gentle rocking motion of the boat under me was making my head spin again. I took a deep breath and prayed I'd be able to shoot straight if it came to that.



“Actually,” Bard continued, “we were looking for your yacht. It's a real beauty, by the way.”



“Thanks,” Antonio answered. His smile stayed in place, but his eyes darkened with suspicion. “Lookin' for my yacht, huh? An' why is that? You lookin' to buy it or somethin'?”



“No, but we heard that Jester might be inside,” Bard said evenly, “and we were hoping to have a word with him, if possible.”



Sperm and I bristled, preparing to draw our guns depending on Antonio's reaction. But Antonio just frowned for a moment, confused. “Chester? I'm afraid you might have the wrong boat, there, pal. There ain't no one named Chester here.”



“How about Angelo?” Bard asked without missing a beat. “Might he be around? We really do hate to bother you, but we had some business we wanted to discuss with him.”