Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Johny B
T here are at least four in the bar that I recognize from the intel we have, that are known to run with the DVI, but as yet, there’s no sight of Dunne.
It’s been three weeks since I left my Nevada brothers clubhouse and moved into the shitty motel. I left my Harley behind, switching it out for an old Dodge Aeries, which seemingly belongs to Oriana, and holds some kinda sentimental value to her. Stone agreed she could keep the beater, as long as it got fixed up. Visually, it looks like it belongs in the junk yard. but Diesel has been working on it and, under the hood, the car is sweet. The paint job has yet to receive the attention it needs, but that’s a good thing because it works perfectly for my cover.
So, every night I drive the few miles from my motel to the bar, string out a couple of beers and watch the cocksuckers drink and play pool. In the hope that these dudes will lead me to Dunne.
I notice a tall guy, out of a group of four, as he walks towards the bar. Fair hair, cut short around the ears and back, a little longer on top. He must be close to six-three in height and around three hundred pounds, and I’m talking muscle, not fat. After assessing the crew over the past weeks, my guess is that this guy is the leader of this small pack. My hope is when it comes to infiltrating the DVI, and getting an introduction to Dunne, he’s a strong contender.
I take this opportunity to make my initial move, and walk towards the bar to grab myself another beer. I slide onto the stool right next to where he’s standing, his huge hands with thick knuckles are curled over the polished wooden edge of the bar while he speaks to the attendant. When the attendant turns away to fill his drinks order, I make my move.
“You up for some competition?” I say to him, going in strong. No point fucking about with small talk. I’m hoping that, after seeing me around the place for the last few weeks, he’s not going to think it strange.
He turns to look at me, brows furrowed as if I’ve asked him to explain the meaning of life.
“Pool,” I offer quickly, because although I can’t say I’d totally hate it, I’m sure his head will explode with the pressure of thinking If he has to do it for much longer. Lots of brawn but zero brain, and quite possibly he lacks the ability to converse with anyone other than his close-knit community. “Not knocking your buddies over there,” I gesture towards the pool table, where one of them is racking up the balls for another game. “But they’re not much competition. You’ve walked all over them every time.”
“So, what you saying?” His thick, nasally New Jersey accent tells me he sure ain’t local. “You think you can beat me?”
“I can give you a better game than they can.”
“You willing to put your money where your mouth is?” he challenges me. “Say fifty bucks?”
“Let’s say a hundred, make it a little more interesting,” I counteroffer. “In fact, I’ll even cover this round of beers to sweeten the deal.”
For a moment or two, with the way he’s shaking his head, and his attention moves to the uncapped bottles of beer the bar attendant has just place in front of him, it looks like he’s going to knock me back. He laces his fingers around the bottles, two in each hand and turns to walk away.
“Pay the man,” he hollers back at me as he makes his way back to the others.
Quickly, I order one more beer for myself, pay and walk towards the pool table. The rest of the guys are watching as I get nearer. I see the distrust and annoyance. at my injecting myself into their group. clearly in their eyes.
“This is Carl,” he points out the smallest of the group, who has a mop of curly brown hair on the top of his head. Around five-seven, medium build, but his wide silver, gray eyes have a hint of crazy that even gives me the shivers. “And these two, fuck knows who’s who. I’ve known them for years and still can’t tell them apart, are Rory and Nolan.” The twins are most definitely identical. Blazing red hair that, if let free from the top knots their sporting, must fall to their shoulders. Two sets of sage green eyes stare at me with a hint of apprehension. Even me, being a hundred percent heterosexual man, can appreciate how fucking handsome these two are. Why on Gods earth they’re not hitting the catwalks in Milan, or plastered over billboards in the latest designer gear, rather than walking in the shadow of Dunne, is beyond me.
“Hey,” I offer in response.
“And what will we be calling you?” he side-eyes me. While tipping his beer bottle to his lips.
“Jackson. Jackson Byrne.”
“You don’t sound Irish,” he squints back at me, his head on a tilt.
“Great-grandmother,” I explain. “Came over here late 1940s after finding an American soldier that was stationed in the south of England. She was working there, their paths crossed, she got knocked up and decided to come looking for him.”
“So, how come you ended up keeping the Byrne name? Did she not get her happy ever after?”
“Turned out he was already married, so she ended up fending for herself. Not like she could go back home, now, was it? Young catholic girl, unmarried and pregnant. She’d have been disowned by the family and sent straight to a home for disgraced women, and her baby taken off her as soon as it had taken its first breath.”
Giving up my families past doesn’t sit well with me, because what I’m spurting out like verbal diarrhoea is the truth. If they look back into my life, this is exactly what they will find. A woman who struggled to survive, to bring up a child, my grandfather with literally nothing. Not the best start, and one that led to a life of hate and punishment. But that’s another story, that for now, I’m keeping firmly under wraps.
“Are you going to break, or am I?” I ask gesturing to the pool table in an attempt to steer him away from more invasive questions. He continues to eye me up for a few more moments while continuing to sip from his bottle.
“Malachy,” he suddenly holds out his hand to me. “But most call me Mal.”
I reach out and slap the palm of my hand against his. “Nice to meet you, Mal.”
There’s no doubt that Mal is a good player, yet I’m better, but I take it right up to the last two balls on the table before I take a bum shot on purpose, letting him win the first game.
“Double or quits?” I offer, at which he instantly takes me up. I knew he’d wear his arrogance like Superman wears the letter ‘S’. Bold and proud.
This time, I take it right to the black ball and looking like it’s a done deal, but the shot I make sends the white ball following into a pocket that looks like a fluky move. I’ll admit it’s not an easy shot to make, unintentionally or not, but it’s one that I can pull out of the bag if the right situation requires it.
“Fuck,” I shout out throwing the cue onto the table, faking frustration.
“Damn.” Mal chuckles with relief. I saw him getting worked up the further into the game we got, with all signs of me coming out on top. “You’re good, that’s for sure. But your finishing is shite.”
“Don’t suppose you want to go again, do yah?” I grumble when I see him checking out his watch.
“Sorry, Jackson. Playtime is over. I gotta get back to work.” The rest of the guys start finishing off their beers, grabbing keys, cigarette packets, lighters and anything else they’d left on the round table nearby.
“You all work together?” Mal gives me a curt nod. “What is it that you all do at this late time?” Immediately, I’m hit with an icy stare, his friendly exterior stripped away with that simple question.
“Why you ask?” he steps up a little closer, his hackles up as if ready for a fight.
“Hey, no reason other than I’m looking for work myself,” I hold my hands up defensively, despite my need to cave his arrogant face in. “Didn’t mean to get all up in your business.”
“Why are you in town, anyway?” One of the twin’s pipes up.
“Exactly that reason.” I take a step back, looking submissive goes against the grain, but I do it to show that I’m not looking for trouble. Not yet, anyway. “I was working construction in Oregan but had a disagreement with the site manager.”
“Disagreement?”
“Yeah.” When he raises a brow at me wanting more, I expand my reason. “I slit the fuckers throat when I found him trying to fuck a local girl around the back of the local bar.”
“Was she your girl?”
“No!”
“So, what was your problem?”
“She was barely fifteen, and far from willing. He was fucking raping her.” I growl back at him.
“Then why not report him to the cops?”
“Because the two guys that were getting their kicks watching him attack the defenceless girl were his paid lackeys, and they’d have given a different turn of events. One that would have found me facing the death sentence.”
“And what about those two? Surely, they didn’t stand there with a handful of candy-corn watching the show. Didn’t jump in to help him?”
“Sure, they did.” I smirk back at him. “I ended them, too. Then left town, jumped state and ended up here.” The room goes quiet. Only the sound of the retro jukebox, that sits opposite the bar pulling up its next play, can be heard. “I covered my tracks and got rid of the bodies, but you can never be too careful.”
“Violent little shite, aren’t you?” He says finally breaking the silence. “So, what happens now?”
“I go wherever the work is, and stay the fuck out of Oregon.”
“Meet me here tomorrow at eight-forty-five. I might have something for you.” With that he nods at the rest of the guys to follow him towards the door, and they disappear out into the night air.
I step into the bar at eight-fifty-five, ten minutes after the agreed time, simply because I don’t want to look too desperate. Thankfully, Mal and the guys are still here.
“You’re late,” Mal snaps at me when I get within earshot.
“Yeah, was planning on getting here early so I could grab food before you came, seeing as I ain’t eaten since this morning. But the fucking car had a busted tyre, so I had to change it out and it took far longer than it should have.” I’m conscious that I’ve started to babble, so I shut the fuck up before I end up looking like a total dipshit.
“Well, if your belly’s more important than work,” he throws up his hands and begins to turn away. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“Nah,” I say quickly. “Truth is, if I don’t start earning soon, I ain’t gonna have money to eat.” He turns back towards me. “You said you might have something for me?”
Instead of answering my question, he takes his time perusing me, drilling me with a stare as if trying to work out if I’m trustworthy or not.
“Let’s grab a seat and I’ll fill you in.”