Chapter Six
Butch and Sundance
Dutch
Dutch lay on his back on his couch with a book in his
hand and a cat on his chest.
The only reason he was there and not out on the streets
looking for Carlyle was because they’d spent the afternoon searching for
Carlyle.
They’d checked everywhere they’d known to check, and being
on the kids beat, Georgie knew even more spots than Dutch did.
They’d also put bugs in as many ears as they could talk
into, including Vance Crowe.
And Georgie had phoned her two street kids-not-kids to ask
them to keep on the lookout and do that with a purpose.
These dudes called themselves “Banga” and “Kraken,” and just
that made Dutch’s stomach tighten at the thought she was associating with
whatever lunatics these guys were.
Because seriously…
Kraken?
He listened over her speakerphone as they assured her they
were on it.
And then it started to get late, and Georgie had pitched a
fit about Dutch continuing to look while she was on her date-not-date because,
“Who’s going to keep Murtagh company?”
He was in love with her cat, but he wanted to find Carlyle
more.
Georgie impressed upon him he couldn’t run himself ragged or
they’d never find Carlyle.
She then told him they had to let the folks they’d roped in
to help have time to do something about it, adding something about a watched
kettle never boiling.
She ended all this on what really did it.
That if Murtagh did not have time to get used to his house
before she got there, no way she could spend the night with him, because if she
brought Murtagh over, he would be disoriented in a new space and she wouldn’t
be able to concentrate on Dutch.
Obviously, on that, he gave in.
It was when Dutch was hanging at her pad while she got ready
for her date-not-date, already having taken all of Murtagh’s shit and Georgie’s
overnight bag down to his truck, that things got iffy.
Because she came out looking shit-hot in a little black
dress that was way off the shoulder, had long bell sleeves, the hem hit her
just above the knees, it was skintight, and the capper was the pair of sexy
black stiletto sandals on her feet.
He had, he thought, justifiably lost his mind and told her
to go change.
She had, he thought, totally insanely lost hers and told him
he couldn’t tell her to change her clothes or tell her to do, say, anything.
“You’re wearin’ that to get info
from this guy? And you walk out to me wearin’
that dress and I know you’re wearin’ it and up to
that? Are you serious with this shit?” he demanded to know.
“No, dummy,” she retorted. “I’m wearing it for you.
I mean, who am I going home to at the end of the night?”
Well then.
“He’s still gonna see you in it,”
he pointed out a lot less heatedly.
“Who cares? He’s the means to an end and that’s all. And
seriously, Dutch, you gotta trust me, that’s all.”
“I know that’s all, but the way you describe this guy, I
don’t got a good feeling about him.”
“He’s a lech, but he’s also a good source, and I can handle
myself, and you have to trust that too.”
Shit.
He did.
And right then, that blew.
“Don’t call me a dummy,” he said.
“I will when you’re being ridiculously bossy and a dummy. I
mean, gross. I’d never wear something sexy for Jackson. Or
anyone for purposes such as that. I want justice for Carlyle, but there are
certain lines a girl doesn’t cross. At least this girl doesn’t.”
“Good to know,” he muttered.
“And anyway, this is just a cute dress. It’s not sexy. You
just like me.”
“Babe, when you grow a dick, you can say shit like that.
Trust me, it’s sexy.”
“Really?” she asked, looking down at herself.
Fucking hell.
What was he going to do with this woman?
He knew.
“Get over here. I wanna kiss you
stupid so you don’t forget who you’re comin’ home to
at the end of the night.”
She shook her head and added rolling her eyes. “Like I’d
forget, Dutch. You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever dated, and I’m saying that
peremptorily, because we haven’t actually been on a date. And I’m not counting
lunch with two cops as a date, no matter how good my burrito was.”
“Okay, now you gotta get over here
so I can kiss you stupid because what you said was so sweet and you’re bein’ your usual hilarious.”
“You just want to kiss me because I’m in this dress.”
“I wanna kiss you all the time,
but I need to kiss you now because you’re in that dress.”
“There you go, Dutch, the reason I’m in this dress.”
He was seeing he needed to have his head examined because he
was a total dummy getting hooked up with a woman who was absolutely not.
In the end, he went to her to kiss her stupid.
He then crated her cat, grabbed her laptop case, she went
off on her date-not-date and he came home with Murtagh.
The cat had something to say about his new environs, and he
said that something continuously.
Until his food was down.
Then Murtagh couldn’t give that first shit where he was.
And now, the only thing that had happened that night was
he’d avoided two calls from Jag, one from his mom, and got a text that read, Call
your mother from Hound.
To which he’d replied Is everything okay?
And got the response, Don’t know, you tell us.
He wasn’t going to go there, and he wasn’t feeling great
that they were wondering, but he’d thought he’d ended it (for now) with, Later.
We’ll do a family dinner or something.
When Hound didn’t text back, he was left with counting down
the hours until Georgie came to him, of which he was giving her two, and he was
barely at the end of the first one.
“It’s gonna be a long night,” he
told Murtagh.
Murtagh’s responding “murr” was
interrupted by a banging on his front door.
The cat sunk his claws in, and Dutch had to hand it to the
little bugger, he was Sundancing this shit, not
leaving Dutch and looking at the door with an angry “Mwryow!”
“Open up!” Hound shouted.
Murtagh stood up, somehow gaining twenty pounds—in each
foot—and shouted, “Mwrrryow!” back.
“Right, Sundance, Butch is gonna
go open the door,” Dutch said, picking up the cat, getting an angry noise,
putting the cat down on the couch after he angled off it, and hearing the thud
of him jumping to the floor and following Dutch to the front door.
He opened it.
And he had no choice but to step aside when his entire
family stormed in.
“Mwryow, mrr mrr, myow,
myow, mrr,” Murtagh
demanded to know why they’d interrupted his quiet night.
“What the fuck?” Jagger asked, staring down at the cat.
“Oh my God, that cat is the cutest thing I ever saw,” his
mom declared.
“MWYOW!” Murtagh shrieked.
“What’s the matter with it?” Hound asked.
Dutch bent down, picked up the cat, and because big brother
shit never died, he fell in love with it even more when he stretched out a paw,
claws extended, scratching toward Jagger like he wanted to eviscerate him.
Dutch started laughing at the same time encouraging, “Atta
boy.”
“What’d I do?” Jagger asked.
“Give him to me,” his ma said, and didn’t let Dutch move.
She came to him, entirely unafraid of Murtagh’s murderous intent toward her
middle son, and she took the cat. “Look at you,” she cooed, cuddling Murtagh
close. “My first grandbaby.”
Murtagh immediately started purring and butting his mother’s
jaw with his head.
“Jesus Christ,” Hound grunted then scowled at Dutch. “You
know now I’m gonna have to get her a fuckin’ cat.”
“What are you all doing here?” Dutch asked.
“When did you get a cat?” Jagger asked in return.
“What are you doing here?” Dutch repeated. Then he looked to
his mother. “And where’s Wilder?”
“We do know how to get a babysitter for your little
brother, Dutch,” she replied. “Bev and Tad are with him. It’s getting late.
Close to his bedtime. And anyway, his presence during this visit is
unnecessary.”
His five-year-old brother’s presence wasn’t necessary during
this visit?
“Okay, then someone answer my first question,” Dutch
demanded.
They all looked at each other.
“Do I need to read minds? Go out and get some tarot cards?
What the fuck?” Dutch prompted.
“Cool it, son,” Hound said.
“Not feelin’ cool with you all
here, acting weird,” Dutch returned.
“We’re not acting weird,” his mom said.
“No one’s answering my question, that’s weird,” Dutch
replied.
“Gotta admit, it is weird,” his mother said under
her breath to Hound.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dutch said to the ceiling.
“You haven’t been to the shop in five days,” Hound declared.
Dutch looked to him.
“And you came to the Compound, got toasted, when you never
get toasted, and crashed there, when you rarely crash there,” Jag put in.
“On top of not being in the shop for five days,” Hound said.
“In fact, you haven’t been back on Chaos at all since you tied one on.”
“A brother does what he does. The shop not been covered?”
Dutch asked.
“You know it has, but that’s not the issue,” Hound answered.
“What’s the issue that means you all show up unannounced at
my house and act weird?” Dutch pushed. “I haven’t disappeared. It’s not like
I’m not answering texts. I’ve just been busy.”
“With what?” Jag asked.
“That’s my business,” Dutch answered.
“Dude, we’re just worried about you,” Jag replied.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Dutch stated.
“Now, Dutch,” his mother said.
And that was all she said.
Shit, shit, shit.
“I’m good, Ma,” he lied.
She gave him a look that said she knew he was lying.
Fuck.
“Listen, I just got something I’m workin’
out. I’m on it. It’s cool. And when I feel like sharing, I’ll—”
Dutch didn’t finish that.
His back straightened.
Jag and Hound both looked toward the side door.
Murtagh called, “Mwrr.”
And Georgie could be heard shouting, “Oh my God!
Remind me never to agree to do anything like that again. I do
not care how righteous the cause. You were so right. That Jackson guy
is pond scum. He—”
She stopped speaking and stopped moving when she was one
step into the living room, her face going pale as she stared at his family.
But Dutch’s vision was blurry, his head was fuzzed, and his