Chapter 24
24
DAX
“Shit, I thought you forgot about me,” Jimmy McFee grumbled when I found him in his bar room ninety minutes later. “Had to pick up the shears from the sharpener?”
He was a forty-something, two-pack a day smoker who owed Bones Biggles over eighty Gs. Jimmy was going to be on my pickup rotation for a while.
“No way to forget you, Jimmy.” Except I had, because of Fiona.
“From anyone else, I’d think you were flirting, but then I remember it’s you.”
“Kinda hard to count liquor bottles with your fingers when you’re missing one,” I countered, taking in his left hand with one finger short because I’d chopped it off a few months earlier. This was how Bones got his nickname, wanting fingers and other body parts when someone couldn’t pay up.
Bones wasn’t a fun guy, but I got a cut of every payment I brought in for him and I wasn’t squeamish about his preferred type of persuasion. The life of a fixer wasn’t all unicorns and rainbows.
“Please tell me I don’t have to take another one today,” I told him.
“Why? Having a rough day?” he asked, sarcasm lacing the words. I doubted he wanted to have another finger removed either. In fact, he wouldn’t look so calm if he was expecting the amputation. I rarely dealt with anyone who needed a second reminder. While Jimmy wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, he also wasn’t that stupid.
“You have no idea,” I muttered. The scent of spilled beer and cheap air fresheners only added to the shabby feel of the place. This wasn’t where middle managers came for happy hour unless they wanted to pick up some kind of food poisoning from bad chicken wings.
He dropped his clipboard on a shelf beside the cheap vodka and moved past me and to his office. I didn’t worry he’d run. I had five inches on him, fifty pounds of muscle, and his pinky. Plus, this was his business, the only way for him to make the money he needed to pay Bones back. And not with more fingers. He had nowhere to go, so I was patient–or as patient as I could be–as he dropped into his desk chair, then unlocked one of the side drawers. He pulled out a thick envelope and handed it to me .
I didn’t need to count it to know it was the right amount. He had too much to lose if it was off. A cat had nine lives. Jimmy had nine fingers to go.
“You look… off,” he said, studying me.
I kept right on frowning.
“Holy shit, you’ve got woman problems.”
Now I glared.
He made the come-hither gesture with both his hands, the stump where his pinky should have been if I hadn’t chopped it off very noticeable. “Tell Uncle Jimmy all about it.”
Uncle Jimmy? We weren’t friends. We weren’t even acquaintances. We were… hell, what did he think of me, the guy who’d removed his left pinky with a pair of garden nippers? Asshole? Satan? Yet he wanted me to unload my love life on him?
“I’m not sure if you’re the best person to be handing out advice, Nine Fingers,” I muttered.
“I helped your buddy, Jack,” he reminded.
When he still had ten fingers, Jack came with me once for a pickup. Jimmy hadn’t had the cash, but Jack made a deal with him that I wouldn’t take his finger if he helped write a text to Hannah, who he’d been hardcore stalking at the time. He’d given ridiculous advice about texting emojis or other stupid shit. He wasn’t Dr. Ruth or Dr. Phil.
“Come on,” he prodded. “I have the money this week. We’re buds.”
I huffed. Buds? Us? The only bud I had was Jack and he retired from the life. Left me to deal with lowlifes like Jimmy all by my lonesome. Settled into a town where he had a very short list of bad guys on his pantry door, and they included an eleven-year-old with a bad throwing arm.
What it didn’t include was the pickle shop guy. I’d never seen him before and since he wasn’t on Jack’s list, he either wasn’t a bad guy or hadn’t crossed Jack’s radar.
But he crossed Fiona’s and because of that, I’d have to check him out.
I sighed and gave in, leaned against the doorframe. I wasn’t touching anything in this place. “Fine. There’s a woman who’s driving me fucking crazy.”
“Can’t decide if you should strangle her or fuck her?”
Even though all Fiona and I had pretty much done besides yell and fuck, I didn’t like him talking about her like that. But Jack was away, and I didn’t really have anyone else to talk to about this. I had to take what I could get.
“Pretty much,” I replied.
He smiled. “Then you’re in love.”
I stared at him. Blinked a few times. Had he been drinking his own stock? “What the fuck are you talking about?”
He waved his four-fingered hand like a game show hostess. “That’s what a relationship is like. Hell and the best sex of your life.”
“Hell and good sex? That makes no sense.”
“Neither does love.”
I tipped my head and eyed him. “You’ve been divorced how many times?”
“Three. ”
“Then you’re the last person to dish out this kind of advice.”
“ Au contraire, mon frère. ” His use of French made him sound ridiculous. Why was I talking to him about this? It made me question my own sanity. He was the owner of a shitty dive bar who owed a shit-ton of money to a ruthless loan shark. “I’ve fucked up enough to be considered an expert.”
“In fucking up,” I reminded. I sighed again. “Fine, fuck it. My parents had the perfect marriage. They loved each other. I don’t mean they hated and fucked. I don’t want to think about them having sex.”
I cringed.
“They divorced?” he asked.
“She died.”
His smile dropped and something akin to gentleness crossed his weathered face. “Sorry, kid. That’s rough.”
I ran a hand over the back of my neck, uncomfortable with this odd bonding moment with a guy whose finger I’d removed with gardening shears. “I saw what happened to my dad after that.”
“Yeah, heard about Big Mike. He’s like the mysterious Big Bad Wolf around here. His name’s still whispered in fear across town.”
It should have been with the way he took out the trash during his time. He made me and Jack look like candy stripers.
“I’m not going to be like him,” I said .
“Kid, you’re just like him.” He sat back, crossed his arms over his chest. “You and Jack, both.”
I shook my head. “No. Destroyed by love.”
He leaned forward, making his old chair squeak again. “Listen, love destroys.”
I chuckled. “Exactly.”
He shook his head. “Why do you think I married three times? Because being in love is the best thing ever. When it’s good, it destroys you. When it goes bad or you lose someone you love, it destroys you.”
“Again, exactly. Why the hell would I ever want to get mixed up in that shit?”
He shrugged. “Because it’s worth it.”
Was it? Big Mike turned into a fucking vigilante after Mom was killed. He turned me and Jack into killers. Jimmy here knew firsthand the kind of dark soul I had. All because love destroyed. Whatever I felt for Fiona wasn’t love. No way. She drove me insane. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much she did that.
That sure as hell wasn’t love.
He clapped his hands, bringing me out of my thoughts. “Tell me, kid. I’m dying to know. She’s not a librarian like Jack’s woman, is she?”
I shook my head. “Worse.”
He frowned. “A nun?”
I grimaced. “She’s an FBI agent.”
Jimmy started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh until I went over to him, grabbed his shirt and hoisted him up onto his toes. Got in his face. “What’s so funny? ”
“You’re in love with an FBI agent!”
“What?” I opened my grip, and he dropped into his desk chair, making it squeak and creak in a way that signaled it wasn’t going to last much longer. Nothing in this place was. The only way to get this place clean was to burn it to the ground. “Hell, no.”
I wasn’t in love with Fiona. Nope. So maybe I called Nitro on the way down the mountain and told him to look into her coworkers. Find out who her partner was. Make him pay for fucking with her.
That didn’t mean I was in love. Helping an FBI agent with a partner problem was the dumbest thing I could ever do. Yet, it was happening.
Oh, the guy was going down. No one fucked with my girl.
“Then bring her here. I’m looking for wife number four.”
Jimmy getting his nine fingers on Fiona? “No fucking way. I’ll break all your fingers and then snip them off one by one.”
He arched a shaggy, overgrown brow. “You know what’s going to motivate me to have Bones’ money for him the next time? To find out what happens next in the Fixer FBI Fiasco.”
I glared at him because he was enjoying this way too much.
“Fuck you.” With the money in hand, I stormed out of his office, his laughter echoing off the dingy hallway walls. Fucker.