13. Wombat
Chapter Thirteen
Wombat
Have you ever wanted to chew your own arm off?
Or maybe, there was something to the whole, “It’s not you, it’s me” attraction imbalance. But in this instance, it was definitely her.
I worked Walt’s plan. Ask a few noncommittal questions about her boyfriend, get the dirt on the college crowd, and see who was moving and shaking what.
But no one warned me I was working with a nutjob. Yeah, that’s harsh, but one-hundred percent true with Winter Fuller. Tonight’s “emergency” was a prime example. It was all, “Oh no, Wombat! He’s here, he’s going to kill me.”
Was it wrong of me to stop at every red light? Naw. I’d just gotten off probation and didn’t want to go back. So, I arrived late to a scene.
And not how you think that scene would be. There was no blood. No dead bodies. Just Winter in a nightgown she’d torn off one shoulder.
There was a table tipped over in her apartment. Conveniently, the vase on top of it was standing up on the floor next to it. The dry floor, mind you. That tipped me off that the whole thing was staged.
It was on the tip of my tongue to call her out on the lie. Instead, I stuck to the program. Butter her up, get the info, and exit as cleanly as possible. “What happened?”
“Oh thank god you’re here. He was crazy. I’m so scared.” She pressed against me but wasn’t trembling. Which meant she’d told another lie.
If I were any other Destroyer, I’d leverage fear to stop her from doing that.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t my default setting.
Half-heartedly, I prompted her to keep talking.
“From the top.” No wonder cops sound so jaded when they question you. They already know you’re going to lie.
“Christian broke in and started pushing me around.” She held up her nightgown strap as evidence. “He tried to rape me.”
Really? The last time I talked to good old Christian, he almost pissed his pants thinking I was looping back around to break his other hand. Imagine his relief when I only asked about Winter. He flat out told me he was glad I took her off his hands.
That should have been wrapped in a big-ass red warning flag. Stupid me, I thought he was just kissing Destroyers’ ass.
I pushed Winter out to arm’s length and stared her in the eye. She looked down quickly. But if any shame lingered there, I’d bet my patch it was over the flat-out fiction she was weaving. “Do you need to sit down?”
Her eyes went wide. “No, I just need you to hold me.” A couple of sniffles, the slight awkwardness as she snuggled in, and she played the part well.
I held my hands away from her body. If she was recording this for blackmail, I wasn’t going to take the bait.
Then she started touching places she had no invitation to touch.
“Stop. Maybe holding you isn’t the best thing.” I pushed her as far away as possible without losing control of her, because as soon as I did, she slipped right back in.
That was hella sus.
I pushed her away again, using the excuse of looking for bruises that weren’t there. “Do you want me to take you to county?”
“No!”
Bingo. “Why not? Don’t you want to press charges?” It was a risk offering to take her in, but I might be wrong and she really needed help.
“No, he didn’t, um, you know.”
Right. “So, he came in, tried...” I glanced at the table and vase, “...knocked you around a bit, and you called me? Then he what? Left?”
“Yes. Please hold me.”
I’d rather hold a feral eagle with lice. “Sit down, I’m going to get you some water.”
“I need something stronger.”
No, she didn’t. “Water or Electrolytes, or both.” I rummaged through her fridge. She had Margarita mix, diet, and Bloody Mary mix, again, diet, and ginger ale.
You can guess what kind. I popped the can anyway. “Here.”
“You’re so good to me.”
The next time I was at the club, I was going to ask Fin to tattoo “sucker” on my forehead.
Either that, or I’d get DA’s full name there in big gothic letters.
Those moon eyes she was fluttering my way clearly meant my badass image was shot to hell.
I might as well make an effort to shore it up. “Listen, I got shit to do.”
She set the soda can down so fast it jostled. “Please don’t leave.” She scooted to the edge of the couch, poised to move.
I slow-walked toward the door, knowing not to turn my back on her. “It’ll be okay. I’m going to grab a couple of my buddies and we’re going to go hunt down ol’ Christian for you.” And probably give him a medal. Or at least find out if he had an alibi.
I bet he did.
And that thought must have telegraphed because Winter started begging. “Please don’t do that. It wasn’t that bad. I don’t want you to get in trouble over me,” and more BS like that, punctuated with no fewer than two “please don’t leave me’s.”
Now, if she’d been sincere, I would have stayed.
But I can read body language—mostly in animals, but also in humans.
I know when the rescues we bring in are scared.
Winter wasn’t. She reminded me of the raccoon kits Lemon insisted we nurse to their inevitable criminal adulthood.
They suckered her every time. Slipped their cages, got into the foodstuffs, ripped holes in the carpet, and terrorized the squirrels.
Yeah. I was familiar with the type. She was plotting.
I could guess the title of her tell-all book, too. It was called, trap the biker.
With one last-ditch effort, I tried to out-psyche her. “Don’t you want revenge?” I mean, that was the only reason you’d call a biker in the middle of the night.
“I need you. Revenge can wait.”
She delivered that line with the sultriness of a professional hooker. Maybe Indy could use a girl like her somewhere. That was some good acting.
But it was also a bear trap.
“You must have mistaken me for someone who gives a damn.” I took another step toward the door.
“No!” She pounced. Her leap landed short, but she glommed onto my leg with both arms. Her fingernails dug in. “Please don’t leave me. Please.”
Okay, that was desperate. And talking wasn’t getting me anywhere. I took another half-step toward the door and dragged my trailing leg, grade-A1 clinger and all, across the carpet.
The begging got louder. I stared at the door, knowing this was going to make a scene.
But it had to be done. The image of an old fox we treated for a broken leg came to mind.
He’d been caught in a snare and fought it, breaking his own leg.
There were teeth marks near where the rope had gouged into his skin. Poor guy.
But he recovered.
Like that old fox, I swore if my actions took me down to a stump I’d get out. My hand hit the handle.
“I’ll tell the cops you broke Christian’s hand.”
I stared down at her. She’d loosened her grip but was still kneeling at my feet with those moon eyes. But instead of luminous, they were maniacal.
That meant no more Mr. Nice Guy.
“I have a whole club full of witnesses and a lawyer who kicks ass for breakfast. I dare you to do it. They’re going to subpoena Christian, and if he’s got an alibi for tonight, your little plan is toast.” I leaned toward her a little so she’d hear me as I lowered the volume to a whisper.
“And that club I belong to? They don’t like snitches or liars. ”
I stood up and switched back to my normal volume. “Let go of my leg.”
Her grip loosened.
“We’re done.”
I meant it. I shut the door on her and started down her steps. My next step was to report this to Walt, so he’d get Nickel laying surveillance on her. He bought GPS chips in bulk. I’d tag her car. Slip one in her purse while she was at work. Tag her shoes. Every single one of them.
Maybe after she found twenty or so, she’d get the hint?
The door flew open. She stood in the hole, stark fucking naked. “I’ll kill myself!”
There was a neighbor in the shadows waiting for their dog to finish taking a shit. Both the human and the dog looked at her, then at me.
“You wanna be a manipulative, self-centered bitch like that and waste good resources on your snit? I say, go for it. It won’t bring me back. Fuck you.” I punctuated the last two words with a raised middle finger.
For good measure, I acknowledged the dog-walker. “Crazy bitch. May I get your name as a witness that she was still alive when I left?”
Winter noticed the person I’d spoken to with a screech and then slammed her door shut.
He held out his free hand. “It’s Craig. I’m in 2B.” That was more than enough info to track down should the worst happen.
I took the outstretched hand, and gave him a heartfelt shake. “Thanks, Craig. I appreciate that. Nice dog.”
Then, I texted Walt to warn him I was on my way.
Tears.
Actual fucking tears.
Walt dried his eyes with a bandana, but couldn’t stop the giggles that had taken over his whole body. For about the hundredth time, I thanked my good fortune to be named Wombat, because a story like this? Hell. My shame would be passed along the biker grapevine for decades.
Nickel wasn’t much better. His face was red, and every once in a while his shoulders would shake.
He sighed. “Maybe I should put Flyspeck on it. He’d get laid.”
“Oh, Jesus. She’d kill the poor bastard. Unless...” Walt leaned in, “you ain’t still mad at him, are you?”
With Nickel, it was hard to tell.
He finally admitted, “Maybe a little.”
“Man, you gotta let that shit go. It ain’t healthy.”
Of course, Nickel took Walt’s suggestion wrong. The humor fled and he shot our president a dead-ass stare that spoke volumes.
Walt spoke again. “It ain’t. You know that.”
Nickel’s shoulders lifted and fell. “I’m trying.”
“I know. And we all got your back. Put Nasty on it. Maybe that will give his redhead competition, and he’ll wise up.”
Nickel snorted.
It was a good plan. Nasty had been chasing a sweet piece of tail for a while. But there were signs she wasn’t in it for the long haul. He’d get his heart broken soon. That would leave us in a world of shit.
“Speaking of shit,” I started.
Walt pointed a finger at me. “You gotta stop that crap.”
“What?”
“Changing subjects. We’re talking about Nasty and that redhead. You know redheads ain’t nothing but trouble.”
I squinted at him. If anyone had changed the subject, it was him. “Walt, can we focus here? I tell you she’s going bite us in the ass.”
“Redheads’ll do that.”
“Winter is blond. Focus.” Just because his first wife was a redhead didn’t mean all were that way.
“I am focusing.”
Nickel shot me a lifted eyebrow. He’d already formed a plan and was only waiting for Walt to get caught up before proposing it. That meant, he was letting our president circle like a damn vulture.
The trouble was, it was my dead carcass he was circling. This whole BS about redheads was him gearing up to hit me with a killing shot. One guaranteed to hurt worse than the personal shame I’d admitted to them. He was stalling until he got it loaded and aimed just right.
Sure enough, Walt chuckled again. “I bet she’s got carpet burns on her knees.”
This was my gallows he was joking about. I mused aloud, “I wonder, is it assault if she wouldn’t let go?” I’d ask Honoria, but...
Instant nope on that one.
“I think you can argue self-defense in that situation. What she tried is an attempted wombat-napping.” Nickel contained his smile with pursed lips and another twitch of his shoulders.
“You two are never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Hell no.” Walt had the gall to laugh again.
Nickel finally broke and almost rolled under the table as he struggled to contain himself.
“Too bad Kid ain’t here.” Walt wheezed out through his laughter.
“Fuck, please do not tell him,” I begged.
“He doesn’t have to. Walt’ll tell Boots.” Nickel dipped his head to Walt.
“...and Boots’ll tell everyone.” Walt barely got the words out with his shoulders shaking so hard.
Both men were on my shit list.
Who needed a tattoo around them? I’d wear this albatross to my grave.
That image cracked me up. I’d much rather wear an albatross hung from my neck than have Winter Fuller clinging to my leg.
The scene played out in my head, quelling the humor immediately. Patience hadn’t worked. Understanding certainly hadn’t. Pissing her off?
Well. Hopefully that worked. I knocked once on the wooden table for luck.
Thank goodness for witnesses.
Being the bad guy had its advantages.