Chapter 13 Jagger
JAGGER
“How’s it going?” I ask as Ford slides into the booth at The Pelican.
It’s an old bar on Main Street and has been around for as long as the town has.
Ford asked us to meet here at eight. It’s nine-thirty.
Bastard’s fashionably late, just like always.
The irony isn’t lost on me. The man’s a fanatic for numbers, but only when it’s backed by dollar bills.
Outside of money, he couldn’t care less.
Hawke follows after, setting down our third beers for the night. We drained two while waiting for our little brother to show.
“Good. Expensive as shit, but don’t worry, I’m staying on budget.” His mouth lifts, and he steals Hawke’s drink. “You’re not gonna believe what I’m doing to the haunted house.”
Hawke’s eyes thin as he watches Ford swallow down half his beverage. “What are you doing with the haunted house?” he asks.
“Aw, come on,” Ford jokes. “You don’t wanna be surprised?”
The idea alone is laughable. Hawke hates surprises. None of us like surprises, but Hawke despises them. So much so, he doesn’t even bother answering Ford’s rhetorical question as he turns back to me. “Do you know what he’s up to?”
“Do I ever?”
“Speaking of plans.” Ford rubs his hands together. “Roman, where would I order pig's blood in bulk?”
Hawke’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
With a deadpan look, Ford draws a cross over his chest. “As ED.”
Roman barely catches his amusement as he rubs at his jaw, looking bored. “Sounds promising.”
“About as promising as Gus’s nephew showing up out of nowhere,” Ford volleys. “Any updates on that front?”
“What are you using it for?” Hawke interjects. “The blood.”
“It’s a surprise,” Ford answers, giving Roman another pointed look. “Can you get me some or not?”
Roman studies him carefully. “You know I can get you whatever you need.”
Ford grins. “Perfect.”
I’m not sure if perfect is a word I’d use to describe access to pig’s blood in mass quantities. Twisted, sure. But perfect? Clearly, my brother has my father’s sense of unhinged drollery. I’m just glad he’s an ally instead of an enemy.
“Any update on the Gus front?” I ask, looping back to Ford’s original question.
Scratching his jaw again, Roman turns to me in the booth and drops his voice low. “Probably not one you wanna hear.”
“Tell us,” Hawke says. He leans on his elbows and uses his body as a barrier between our conversation and the outside world. Normally, we wouldn’t discuss this shit so openly, but The Pelican’s especially crowded, and it’s late enough that we don’t have to worry about any eavesdroppers. Not really.
“Gus says his nephew’s presence is nothing to worry about.” Roman takes a swig of his beer, then sets it down. “That’s it.”
“That’s it?” I push.
“That’s it,” Roman repeats. “If you want me to set up a meeting so you can speak with him directly, I can, but if he has any plans involving his nephew, I doubt you’ll get anywhere.”
Ford shakes his head. “What a weasel. Who says shit like that? Oh, my nephew popped up?” he mimics. “That’s weird. Don’t worry about it.” He scoffs. “Yeah, okay, asshole.”
“Careful,” I warn. “We don’t have to like Gus to need him.”
My brother sighs and leans back in his seat, knowing I’m right.
“For now, we keep to the original agreement,” I announce then turn to Roman. “Did you give him his cut for the last event?”
“You mean, the fight night his nephew already cleaned up on?” Ford interjects.
Roman ignores him and gives me a nod. “Just like always.”
“Good.”
“What about the old carnival grounds?” Ford prods. “Did he ask about it or change his mind or—”
“If he had, I wouldn’t have agreed to find you a shit-ton of pig’s blood,” Roman replies.
Ford sags into the booth even more. “Finally, some good news.”
“How do you want to play it, Jag?” Hawke prods. “Gus and…everyone else.”
Everyone else. As in, Ethan Morgan and his posse who’ve been following him around The Drift like lost puppies.
Between Hawke and Roman, Ethan’s had a tail on him since the fight.
Something feels…off, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.
That’s the most frustrating part of it all.
Why the hell is Ethan Morgan in The Drift?
And does it have anything to do with us?
“Keep your ears to the ground,” I decide. “If you hear anything, and I mean anything that feels off, we discuss it and go from there.”
Hawke and Roman share a look. “We got you,” Roman murmurs.
“Okay, I changed my mind,” Ford interjects. He leans closer to us. “Let me tell you everything I have planned for the carnival.”