Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Selkie
It’s the middle of the night, we’re in Eight’s truck and driving aimlessly around Sagebrush looking for our idiot escapees.
“What the hell is wrong with those kids?” I say. “Taking off like that in the middle of the night.”
“I told them to stay put,” Eight says.
“I mean, Henri, I get. But Oscar? She must’ve coerced him.”
“Red said he’d look after them, but I guess sleep is more important than the safety of my kid.”
“Henri has a curfew. She’s not supposed to be out after 10. Just because I’m not around doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply.”
“I’m gonna be talking to Red. Fuck. No, I’m not. This is my fault. I should’ve taken them to the clubhouse.”
“I need to be a better role model. Henri has that same independent spirit I have. I need to cook a meal once in a while. Be more domestic.”
“I can’t figure out why Oscar would make such a shit move. And take Henri with him.”
“I could be a more supportive mom too. So Henri sees the empathetic side of me. I do have one, but sometimes I have to dig deep.”
“Oscar acts too much like me. Has a hero complex. I don’t though, not really. I just can’t stand by and watch when someone’s in trouble.”
I look up. Eight’s been muttering beside me. “Are you even listening to me?”
“I’m busy trying to find our kids.” He circles the same block he’s already done three time.
“We aren’t going to find them driving in circles. We need a plan.”
“You’re right.” He pulls his truck over. “So what do we do first? We don’t know where the fuck they’d go. They’re on foot, have no money.”
“Henri doesn’t even have her cell phone.”
“Let’s be logical. Sagebrush is small enough they could walk anywhere but big enough that they wouldn’t go far.”
“Yeah, and Henri doesn’t like to walk, so she’d start complaining after a block.”
“Well, they didn’t go to my place,” Eight says.
“Obv,” I reply. “Maybe they went to mine.”
Eight nods and pulls back onto the road. It’s late in Sagebrush, not much traffic, which speeds us along. When we get to my house, the lights are blazing. “Your mom home?”
“Don’t think so. Workday.”
“Then they must be here.”
“Well, that was easy.” I yank off my seatbelt and get out of the truck.
Eight is momentarily stunned by the color of the house. “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to be arrested by the good-taste police?”
“Mom’s the mastermind behind the color. She’s brainwashed me into believing she’s done the right thing.”
Inside I’m grinning. Eight does have a sense of humor. Also, the tension is gone from my shoulders.
That’s short-lived. “My purse is in my car, which is in the Sagebrush vehicle compound waiting for me to fork out more money than the car’s worth.” When I knock on the door, no one answers.
“Knock louder,” Eight orders.
“And wake the neighborhood?” I go to get the key we keep hidden in a plant, but it’s not there. “What the hell?”
Eight says, “Never mind. The door’s open.”
“Of course it is,” I mutter.
Eight checks out the main floor and basement as I bolt upstairs hoping and praying that Oscar and Henri didn’t make up the way adults do. They’re almost adolescents after all.
No one is in any of the rooms. I meet Eight at the bottom of the stairs. He’s shaking his head. “Not here, but they have been.”
I really want to say ‘duh’ but I remember we like each other now. So instead I ask the vapid question. “How do you know?”
Obviously he’s forgotten we like each other because he looks at me like I’m stupid. “Follow me.”
When I see the kitchen, I suck in a breath.
Mom is going to blow a gasket. Several slices of bread are spilling out of its bag and onto the counter and crumbs are scattered everywhere.
The peanut butter jar is open and the knife used to scoop it out is next to it, leaving smears on the granite.
There’s a pile of crusts on the counter next to the knife, which clinches the deal that Henri’s been here.
She refuses to eat what she calls burnt bread parts.
“My money jar!” I exclaim as I spy the jar. The lid’s next to it, the jar’s empty.
“Oscar stole your money?” Eight is outraged.
“This is Henri’s doing. Oscar’s an accomplice. But they didn’t steal the money. The jar was empty.”
“Fuck,” Eight says as he picks up the used knife and smears some peanut butter on a bread slice, then tops it off with another slice. “Want one?”
How the hell can he eat at a time like this? The kids are missing, they have no money. Henri doesn’t have her cell. “Yeah,” I say.
We leave the kitchen as we found it sans two peanut butter sandwiches and head to the door. “Where now?” Eight asks as we get into his truck.
I think about it. “Maybe Monty’s. Maybe they went to talk to mom.”
He nods. “Worth checking.”
We get to the bar in record time. “Weird,” I say as I walk through the door. “Usually, there’s a bouncer.”
Mom is flirting with some guy over the bar counter, her eyes sparkling. I can’t help but wonder if Tyler is soon-to-be-caput. She looks up and smiles widely. “My favorite couple!”
“Stop it,” I snap. Yes, we are a couple, but this is neither the time nor place to tell mom about it. She’ll spend the next hour in rapture. “You seen Henri and Oscar?”
The smile slides from her face. “Why?”
“They took off.”
“You lost your children?” she says like she’s never lost me before. When I was ten, she forgot me at a truck stop. Took a half-hour before she came back.
The guy mom was flirting with says, “Maybe they went into the forest. Look for a trail of breadcrumbs.”
Eight grabs him by the back of his shirt and hauls him off the stool. “You think this is fuckin’ funny?”
“It’s not funny,” mom says. “It’s neglectful.”
“Mom! They took off!”
“They’re not here!”
Eight raises his voice. “Anyone here see a couple of kids? Boy and girl.”
Some guys glare at us. One of them says, “The little fuckers bummed a smoke then stole my wallet.”
“Well, that can’t be them,” mom declares. “Henri doesn’t smoke.”
God help me and my genetic make-up. I’m surprised I’m functional at all. “It’s them, mom!”
Eight groans. “How much did they take?”
“$240 off me. The wallet was next to me, but fuckin’ empty.” He swipes a hand over his mouth, then stands. The rest of the guys at the table follow suit in solidarity. They’re all so drunk they’re swaying like a strong wind’s blowing.
“Sit the fuck down,” Eight roars as he reaches behind him.
They sit down like they rehearsed it.
“No,” mom cries. “Don’t shoot them! They’re my best tippers.”
I hold my breath as he produces a wallet and opens it. He counts out several bills and slaps them on the table. “Here’s your fuckin’ money and enough to buy a couple of rounds.”
“Hey man, you’re okay,” the mouthpiece slurs.
“Do you have any idea where they went?” I ask him.
“I think they wanted to go to Reno. Tyler said he’d drive him.”
“Tyler’s gone!” Mom exclaims in horror.
Eight lowers his eyebrows. “Who the fuck is Tyler?”
“Mom’s boyfriend,” I say.
At the same time, mom says, “Also my bouncer. I can’t believe he left this place unprotected!”
She seems to be overlooking the reason Tyler left. “Mom! Priorities! He took Henri and Oscar into Reno!”
“Why would they want to go there?” she says.
Under his breath, Eight says to me, “Probably to rescue you.”
“Jesus,” I reply as chills course through me. “You think they went to Kozlov’s place?”
“Who’s Kozlov?” Mom asks. “And why did you need rescuing?”
“Long story,” Eight grabs my arm and drags me outside. As we get into the truck, he says, “I’m gonna kill that fuckin’ bouncer.”
“Get in line,” I reply.
Eight breaks a few speed records getting us to Reno.
“Do you think Kozlov will hurt them?” I ask en route.
“Depends. If they’re disrespectful, he might.”
I groan. “Henri’s dead then.”
“Look. Don’t worry. They’re not gonna get through the door without knocking. Kozlov’s probably giving them shots of vodka and telling them about the good old days back in Russia.”
I shake my head. “Henri probably picked the lock.”
He swivels his head and stares at me in disbelief. “Henri can pick locks?”
“Eyes on the road,” I rasp. “And, yeah. I taught her in case she gets in trouble.” I glare at him. “But she bloody well cannot pick pockets.”
“Fuck,” Eight mutters. “We’re raising criminals.”
“We may as well start our own crime family.”
In Reno, he heads straight to the Grand Sierra, and parks at the curb outside. The valet, name tag, Pierce, approaches. “Welcome to the Grand Sierra. If you give me your keys, I’ll—”
“You’re not touching my fuckin’ truck,” Eight spits out as he curls his fists. “It stays here and when I get back, if it isn’t, I will run you over with it.”
“Sir, I can’t just—”
“We have a meeting with Denis Kozlov,” I intercede.
Pierce visibly pales. “Of course. I understand. I’ll make sure no one moves your truck.”
Eight reaches behind him.
“Please, I promise.”
He produces his wallet, takes a few bills out of it and stuffs them in Pierce’s pocket. “Make sure that you do.”
I’d like to say we took a dignified stroll to the elevator, but instead we run across the lobby, arriving just as the doors opens
Two guys and a couple start to step inside, but Eight pushes them out of the way. “Take the next car,” he growls.
“Get lost!” one of the young men protests.
Eight punches him the face. “I said take the next fucking car.”
“You can’t do that, man!” his friend growls as the couple walk slowly backwards.
“He just did, man,” I sneer as the elevator doors close. I’m perversely ridiculously proud of my guy.
When we arrive at the penthouse, Eight says, “Okay, here’s the plan.”
I ignore him and start pounding on the door. “Kozlov, open up! You got our kids, I want them back!”
A few seconds later, one of Kozlov’s men throws open the door, his gun pointing at me. “You fuckin’ better—”
I punch him in the face. He reels back and hits the floor.
“What the fuck!” Eight says.
“Oh sure, you can do it but I can’t.”
“He had a gun!”
“The safety was on.”
The goon starts to get up, but I give him a hard kick in the gut. “Stay down, bastard, or I’ll have my goon here make you regret you have legs.”
“I’m not your goon,” Eight hisses as he follows me into the main area.
“I thought we decided back at your house that you were officially my goon.”
Kozlov’s voice interrupts our bickering. “It’s hard for a Russian to get a good night’s sleep around here. What are you doing assaulting my man?” He stares at the asshole I hit laying on his back, hands clutching his stomach as he groans. “I’m running out of goons.”
Eight shoves me behind him. “Where’s our kids?”
Kozlov looks blank. “You mean Henri and Oscar? The kids who broke into my suite?”
I suck in a breath and try to step out in front of Eight, but he blocks me.
“You fuckin’ harmed a hair on their heads,” he snarls, “you’ll go to war with Hell’s Jury.”
Kozlov smiles smugly. “I’m not interested in hurting children.” He scrunches his brow. “But those two. I might make an exception.”
“You sonofabitch,” I say as I struggle out of Eight’s grip and lunge. Eight grabs me around the waist, holding me back.
“I didn’t of course.” He meets my gaze. “They said they were looking for you. I told them you weren’t here and sent them on their way.”
“You what?” I gasp. “You just let them leave? In the middle of the night? In Reno.”
He shrugs. “I’m not familiar with how kids should be looked after. Since they arrived here in the middle of the night, I thought they were allowed to be out on their own in the middle of the night.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ play games, Kozlov,” Eight snarls.
Kozlov throws his hands out in front of him like he’s surrendering. “They were on a mission. I don’t think I could have stopped them.”
“Why didn’t you tell them you let me go?”
“I did tell them, but for some reason they got the impression that the 311 Boys had you.”
I gasp. If I were a fainting woman, I’d keel over. “You… the 311 Boys. Jesus Christ!”
Eight grabs my arm and heads to the door. “He’s feeding us bullshit, Selkie. Oscar and Henri wouldn’t have gone there on their own.”
“Then where the hell are they?!” I say to Kozlov.
Kozlov yawns. “You are the ones who lost your little criminal children. Don’t put this on me.”
On the way down the elevator, Eight says, “He’s lyin’. Baiting us.”
“Then where are they?”
“We’ll find them,” he says grimly.