Chapter 16
NICK
An hour and three dozen sugar cookies later, Jax shows up. When I called him earlier, I heard the hesitation in his voice, but he was too savvy not to show up. Rule of the streets is play your last hand all the way out and, when all else fails, just keep throwing bullshit.
I wipe the flour off my hands and herd him into my office on the other side of the house.
“Were you baking?” He enters my office with a confused expression.
I ignore his question and settle behind my desk, offering him the chair facing me.
“You sure got a lot of Christmas decorations.” Jax huffs out a nervous laugh. “Looks like Cheryl went all out.”
I keep my poker face intact. I’ve been told over the years that I can look fuckin’ scary when I want to, and this is one of those times.
What Jax did went against every street code, and although I am pissed as shit at him, he’s still like a brother to me, and I’m not gonna hand him over into Graham’s slimy hands.
“I was surprised you wanted to meet here instead of Wicked. I’m also surprised you’re not at Wicked.”
I steeple my fingers, and Jax shifts in his seat. Then I draw in a long, deep breath. “I’ve been surprised by a few things over the last few hours too.”
Jax keeps eye contact with me as we stare each other down. First one to speak is the loser. Another old rule.
“You gonna tell me what you want?” Jax asks and shifts again.
“What I want? Interesting question.” I inhale and exhale. “I guess what I want is a lifelong friend who’s loyal.”
“I’m loyal.” A bead of sweat pops out on the big man’s forehead.
“Who says I’m taking about you?”
“I just figured since I’m here, that a . . .” he stammers.
“Are you loyal?”
Now I got the fucker twitching. “Yeah, of course.”
“You gonna compound this shit by lying?”
“Lying? I’m not—”
“Portia’s waiting for me to watch Elf with her, so I’ll cut to the chase.” I lean forward, resting my arms on my desk. “You sold us out to that fucker Pierce.”
“No, no,” Jax yells.
“Save it. I know you were feeding him information about Wicked, along with our lease agreement and a whole bunch of other shit about our past.” I cock my head. “But what I don’t get is why, after all these years. I mean, you and me met in juvie. We were what, fourteen, fifteen years old?”
“Fifteen,” Jax confirms.
“We ran the streets together since we were kids. Even before I hooked up with Samson.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
“You lost me.”
“It was always you and me, then Frank took on Samson, and all of a sudden it was you and Samson who Frank came to. It was you and Samson who took over the Oasis. He gave me shit.”
“Sounds more like you’re pissed at Frank.”
“Then you guys got tight, opened up the club in Manhattan, and I was left with nothing.”
“You always said you didn’t wanna deal with all the spreadsheets and headaches of running a club. That you were happy staying in the background running security and busting heads.”
“Then you moved out here, and you still treated me like your lackey.”
“You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that,” I admit.
Jax’s eyes bug out at my admission.
“But if you were pissed off enough to sell us out, then you should’ve said something instead of siding with that fucker Pierce.”
“He offered me a good deal.”
“You sure about that?” I ask.
“He said, once he owned the club, I’d be the general manager, plus a lot more money. He made me feel important, like my opinion mattered.”
“I fucked up in that department, but—”
There’s a knock on the door, and Samson saunters in, gives Jax a look and settles in the other chair facing my desk.
Jax eyes Samson. “He know about this too?”
“Yeah, fucker.” Samson turns to him. “You had a lot of balls pulling that shit. Especially after we brought you out here and set you up.”
“I never wanted to come to Vegas,” Jax says. “Fuckin’ place is surrounded by desert and boiling hot in the summer.”
Samson and I exchange a look. “We’ve been out here for three years. You could’ve said something before this.”
“You wanna go back to New York?” Samson asks.
“Sure.” Jax swallows hard. “But I don’t think I’d make it outta Vegas. I know how this goes, and I also know how you both dealt with betrayal in the old days.”
“One of the main reasons we came out to Vegas was to leave the old ways back in New York. Doesn’t mean there won’t be some repercussions, but you’re gonna keep breathing.”
Jax’s body relaxes for a minute.
“Funny thing, though, your buddy Graham plans on getting rid of you the minute he has ownership of Wicked.”
Jax’s back stiffens. “What?”
“Yup, heard it with my own ears. Him and his rich buddies were laughing it up about how uneducated we all are and how you’re gonna be the first one to go—permanently.”
“Shit. Where’d you hear him say that?”
“Not important.” I wave my hand at him. “What is important is that you’re gonna help us take that bastard down.”
“I am?”
“Yup, you’re gonna set him up, and then, if you wanna go back to the ass-freezing winter in New York, be my guest.”
“You get ahold of Cobra?” Samson asks.
“Talked to him before. He’s gonna meet me at the Gold Mine.” I turn to Jax. “After you get Graham to the garage at Wicked.”
“But how am I gonna—”
“You’ll think of something, and it better be good, ‘cause, remember what I said, you’re worthless to him, so don’t even think about another double-cross.”
“‘Cause if you fuck this up, me and Nick will have no choice but to go back to our old ways of dealing with betrayal,” Samson adds.
Jax shakes his head. “I won’t fuck it up. I never meant to—”
“Never what?” Samson growls. “Never meant to stab two guys in the back who you’ve known most of your life?” Samson flicks his wrist at Jax. “Save the fuckin’ apology; we ain’t interested.”
“Mamba and Rattler will be at the garage to grab Pierce. All you gotta do is get him there,” I say. “You think you can do that without fuckin’ it up?”
Jax lowers his head. “I won’t fuck it up.” He turns to Samson. “I just—”
“Save the bullshit. Just get Pierce in the garage at four. Do it right, and we’ll pay for your ticket back to New York. Fuck it up, and you’ll never make it to McCarren.”
“And make sure Pierce is on time,” I add. “‘Cause Cheryl’s got dinner at six, and I don’t plan on being late.”
Jax nods.
“Just remember what we said.” Samson jerks his head toward the door. “Get the fuck outta here and make sure this goes down without any bullshit.”
Jax jets out of the room, and Samson blows out a long breath. “You think we can trust him?”
“I hope so for his sake, but as added insurance, I’ve got Rattler following him in one of the beat-to-shit vans the Serpents use for tailing people.”
“I meant to ask you before,” Samson says. “How did you know Graham plans on icing him?”
“You can thank Frank for that.”
Samson furrows his brow, and as if on cue, my phone buzzes, and it’s Frank.
I swipe at the phone. “Thanks for calling me back.”
“What’s up?” Frank’s gruff voice rasps through the phone.
“I wanted to ask you about Sal who used to own the Pit in Brooklyn.”
“Fuckin’ guy ran that shit-hole into the ground. Selling crack over the bar and letting the girls fuck for money in the champagne rooms. Main reason I pulled out and let the Russians have it. Last I heard, the cops closed it down after two gang bangers got shot at the bar. What about him?”
“He’s out here in Vegas.”
“Vegas?”
“Yeah, he’s been hanging around Wicked, talking to the bouncers and the bartenders. Asking questions about me and the club.”
“That’s not impossible.”
“I saw him myself. He approached me twice in Wicked’s garage. Talking bullshit, probably looking for a handout.” I left out Sal’s appearance in my dream. I don’t need anybody else thinking I’m crazy.
“I don’t know who you saw, but it wasn’t Sal.”
“It was Sal. He looked exactly the same. Short, fat and sloppy, chomping on a cigar.”
“It’s not possible.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause the fucker’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah, he got gunned down in some shitty underground card game out in Queens.”
“Recently?” My heart kicks up at an irregular speed as I remember Sal’s bloodstained ghost.
“A few months ago,” Frank confirms. “A guy from the old neighborhood told me.”
“You’re sure it was Sal?”
“Hang on, I’ll send you his obit.”
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes, and Sal’s obituary pops up on my phone screen along with his picture.
“Shit!”
“Can’t come as a big surprise. The guy was a fuckin’ loser, always cheating at cards. Probably tried to pull that shit with the wrong people. You know those guys in Queens don’t fool around when it comes to losing money.”
“Yeah, right?” I can’t stop staring at Sal’s obituary.
“I’m happy to hear you’re taking tomorrow off.”
“How’d you know?” I ask.
“Glad to see you learned something last night,” Frank mumbles.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I gotta go.”
“Yeah, sure.” I disconnect the call and turn the screen toward Samson.
He reads Sal’s obituary, then looks at me. “You said you saw him last night in the garage, and the day before.”
“I know.”
“According to this, he’s been dead for three months.”
“I know.”
“So, what do you think . . .”
“I don’t know what to fuckin’ think anymore.” I massage my temple with my thumb and forefinger.
“Maybe the funeral home got the dates wrong.”
I throw Samson a side-eye. “Yeah, maybe.”
Samson knocks a cig out of the pack on my desk and lights up. “I thought you’d mention all the bullshit we’re having with Pierce to Frank. Maybe have him take care of the problem.”
“Nah.”
“I mean, he’s practically your father-in-law.”
“Not yet.” Marrying Cheryl is another thing I have to iron out. “It took us years to break away from Frank. I’m not stepping in that shit-show again.”
“But it’d be a clean job. We wouldn’t have to involve the Serpents. We probably wouldn’t even know when it went down until we saw it online.”
Samson made a point, but . . . “The only difference is the Serpents will do the job, and unlike Frank, they won’t have their hand out afterwards. We worked too hard to separate ourselves from that life.”
“Once you and Cheryl get hitched, you’re gonna be family whether you like it or not.”
“As long as he stays out in L.A. and we’re in Vegas, it gives me some space.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to separate shit.” Samson cocks his head. “Old habits die hard.
“The only thing that’s gonna be dying hard is that fucker Pierce.”
I look back at my phone showcasing Sal’s obituary. No matter how many ways I twist it, the fact remains. I saw and talked to Sal in the garage twice, or at least I thought I did, way after the date of his death. Then he shows up in my fucked-up dream.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah, four of them.”