Chapter Forty-Seven
Hunter
Just as I pull up to the clubhouse and sling my leg off my bike, I get a text from Diesel. About to have my job interview. Wish me luck .
I want to throw my phone in rage.
First, Havoc and Mayhem call me in because it’s time to execute the hit, and now one of my closest friends is about to be an innocent bystander to a shooting.
And since when is Diesel ever an innocent fucking bystander? It feels wrong to even think of him that way.
Somehow, I have to delay this mission long enough so that my friend doesn’t get caught in the crossfire and so he has enough time to get the information about what men Moretti has sent to town and where they’re hiding out.
I feel about as clueless right now as when I first plucked Charlie from my brother’s house.
The moment I throw open the doors to The Noble Fir, I nearly bump into Havoc and Mayhem, who are both toting an assortment of firearms enough to equip a medium-sized militia; sawed-off shotguns, a clutch of pistols, a chainsaw, and a foam Nerf bat.
Mayhem sees me staring at the bat and says, “It’s for later. I found it at a garage sale and thought Charlie might want it. Maybe you and him could play a bit of ball later. Have a catch or whatever.”
“He’s five months old,” I say. “He can’t even crawl yet.”
“And he never will at this rate. Give the kid a push sometimes. He can make a fist, right? Open and close?”
“Of course.”
“Then he can grip and throw a ball. Never too early to start,” Mayhem says.
“That’s all irrelevant right now,” Havoc says. “Are you ready to go do this thing? You armed? If not, get yourself inside and ask for directions to the weapons cache. Grab yourself some hardware.”
I have to think of something to delay this thing.
Think. Fucking think.
“Actually, I’m going to need a few minutes before I’m ready.”
“Why’s that?” Mayhem says.
“I have to take a wicked shit.”
“What?”
I nod. “I don’t know what it was I ate — might’ve been the gas station burrito I had for breakfast, or it might’ve been the couple of bites I snuck from Charlie’s baby food — but something is just shredding my insides into confetti.”
“What kind of baby food was it? Fetterman’s makes some delicious flavors. They have one called ‘Mango Sunrise’ and it’s excellent. They do a pretty good spring pea medley, also,” Mayhem says.
“Their blended chickpea and root vegetables are sublime,” Havoc adds.
“You two eat baby food?”
“They’re healthy, ready to eat, and come in good portion sizes. Excellent for snacking. I usually keep a jar or two around for those times I need a little munch-munch,” Mayhem says. “Anyway, go take your shit and we’ll be waiting for you. Hurry, though. We need to take care of those Red Room assholes pronto.”
I nod and hurry inside, making a beeline for the bathroom. Once inside, I lock the door and pull out my phone. I need to warn Diesel, but I can't be too obvious about it. I type out a quick message:
Hey, good luck with the interview. Might want to reschedule, though. Heard there's some crazy shit going down in town today. Stay safe. Text me back as soon as you get this.
I hit send and hope he gets the hint. Now I need to buy some more time. I flush the toilet and run the sink for a minute, then splash some water on my face, muss my hair, and emerge looking marginally disheveled.
"Fuck, that was rough," I say, approaching Havoc and Mayhem. "Think I might need a few more minutes to make sure I'm all clear. Don't want any surprises when we're in the middle of things, you know?"
Havoc narrows his eyes. "You sure you're good for this? We need you at a hundred percent."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I assure him. "Just give me five more minutes and I'll be ready to roll."
Mayhem shrugs. "Alright, but make it quick. We've got a job to do."
I nod and head back to the bathroom, my mind racing. I need to come up with a plan, and fast. As I'm pacing the small space, I realize I have yet to hear from Diesel. I take out my phone to call him, silently urging him to answer.
It rings once and goes straight to voicemail. Fuck, he must not have any service in that casino.
“Diesel, get the fuck out of there.”
Message left, I end the call and stare at the screen, gears in my head grinding for some sort of solution to reach my friend and pull him out of the impending firefight.
Just then, there’s hammering at the bathroom door.
“Hunter, we have to go. Now.”
I flush again and then open the door.
“Ready.”
The three of us march out to the parking lot, where I find a cloth-wrapped cache of weapons strapped to my bike.
“You guys sure about this?” I say. “What about civilians and other gamblers who might be there? We should take some more time, survey the place, do some recon.”
Havoc shakes his head and slings his leg over his bike. “They don’t open for gamblers for another couple of hours. The only people in there are staff, mostly security, and everyone armed is to be considered hostile. It’s the perfect time for us to strike. So that’s what we’re going to do — hit them hard and kill everyone.”