Chapter 42
Sarge
Irish Car Bomb.
Rose has a glass filled and ready on the bar counter before I even reach it.
I grab the drink and make my way to our usual table, sinking into my worn seat.
Swirling the amber liquid, I wait for the guys to grab their rounds and finish their hellos.
It’s not common for us to be here on a Sunday, making me wonder if the crowd will be any different.
My eyes scan the open space, cataloging the same faces I’m used to seeing fill every inch of the room. Do these people really have nothing better to do than hang out at a shitty dive bar?
It’s late, and the bar is busy, considering tomorrow is a workday for most. Raydar, Wolf, Bear, and Ace all find their seats at the table with me, while Gizmo holds down the bar and Chef keeps watch from the front patio.
We kept Scarlett back at the clubhouse under the watch of Grimace and two prospects; no part of me trusts her to be in the room with us when it all goes down.
We’re set and ready. Scarlett’s uncle should be here soon—it’s nearing midnight.
When she called him, he already had plans to hit Velvet with some friends, so she offered for him to hit there first, with this place as the second stop.
I don’t know how she convinced him, and I don’t really care.
I just need the asshole to show up. Need to know everything he knows.
Waiting all day has been hell, but it gave us time to make a well-thought-out plan. Now, we wait some more.
I feel Scarlett’s phone buzz in my pocket and pull it out. Her uncle, Daryl, texted that he’s on his way.
Fucking finally.
“Alright, shit-for-brains is on his way,” I announce to the table—low enough that the sound doesn’t carry, but sharp enough to snap the guys to attention. Velvet is ten, maybe fifteen minutes from here. Time is crawling.
Once he crosses the threshold of this shit bar, Gizmo will move in.
The goal is to pry him away from his buddies and get him over to our table.
We won’t cause a scene if we don’t have to.
But we will get answers by whatever means necessary.
Hopefully, the uncle is feeling generous.
If not, we’ll help put him in a giving mood.
Ray did some digging and found out Daryl’s been running back-door distribution for his rich piece-of-shit friends.
Seems knowing doctors on a personal level gives him easy access to scripts for heavy-hitting painkillers.
I imagine Glaxosil wouldn’t be thrilled to hear their golden boy is moonlighting as a dealer.
I don’t give a shit about him or his career, but I’ll bet he does, and that’s the only leverage we need.
Rising to my feet, I tap the front of Bear’s vest to catch his attention over the noise.
“Gonna hit the pisser before he shows up. Keep an eye out—let me know the second he’s in sight. I won’t be long.”
I scan the room as I move, taking in all the faces.
Nothing stands out. Not like the night I met my Butterfly.
Her energy hit this place like lightning.
She didn’t just stand out because her face was new; she brought life to every dead corner of the room.
That smile, the way she watches everyone while pretending she isn’t, the way she loses herself in a line dance with strangers.
Watching her reminds me to live and be thankful for it.
So much of my time has been spent just surviving. Recovering. Mourning the man I was before the war. Hannah helps me focus on the man I am now and value the fact that I’m still here, still breathing. Too many soldiers can’t say the same, and yet I still catch myself dwelling on what I lost.
My biggest hope is that my Butterfly still has that light in her when all this is over. Because I will get her back. I’ll do it even if I have to fucking die in the process. She isn’t paying for our sins. She’s already paid far too much.
After finishing up in the bathroom, I wash up and push open the door.
The noise hits me full force. Lights of all colors bounce with the music.
People fill every free inch of the bar’s small space.
It’s only been a few minutes since I left the table, and things look steady.
I turn to the right and move toward the entrance leading behind the bar.
“Rose,” I call over the music.
She turns and meets my gaze. I hold up a finger to let her know I’ll take another of the usual. While I wait, I spot Sam across the room at his usual table. He has his wife beside him tonight. My heart sinks at the thought of Hannah not being here with me.
It isn’t just that she’s gone. It’s where she is instead. Here I am in a fucking bar while she’s going through hell in some unknown location.
Rose sets my drink down and moves to the next customer. Even with help tonight, they’re slammed. Everyone is trying to get their fill before last call. I lift my glass and start to turn back toward the table, but I stop short as my arm collides with someone.
Whiskey spills down my vest and onto the floor. I look up to find the dipshit who now owes me a drink.
“Oh shit.” Absolute terror fills his eyes. “I’m so sorry, man. I didn’t mean to... I... fuck.”
“Booker, it’s fine. You owe me a drink, though.” I give a short laugh and slap his back. “You so fucked up you can’t watch where you’re going?”
Booker takes two steps back, stumbling into the wall. The guy is a wreck. The only time I ever see him sober is when he’s on the clock. Between his glassy, bloodshot eyes and the way he’s swaying, I’d bet he’s on more than just alcohol.
“I’m s-sorry, man. I’m s-s-so fucking s-sorry. You gotta know nothing happened, man. Nothing happened.”
I look at him, my hand still resting on his shoulder. His voice is thick, the words tripping over his tongue like he can’t fully catch them. He’s shaking. It isn’t just the booze or the pills. This is fear.
“Nothing happened? You spilled my drink, Booker. That’s all that happened.”
You would think he had just knocked my bike over, not just spilled a drink on me.
“It’s fine, man. Buy me another drink, and we’ll call it even.” I give him a smile, but he doesn’t match it. He just stands there against the wall, eyes darting with fear like I might kill him right here in front of everyone.
Damn. Do people really think I’m that much of an asshole? I’m not gonna paint the walls red over a wasted drink. It isn’t worth the effort. Something isn’t right, though; his fear doesn’t match the action.
“You good? Need me to call you a ride or something? Call a friend?”
Does he even have friends? I’ve never seen him here with anyone in particular. He usually bounces from table to table. Working here, he knows everyone, but he’s close to no one. A ghost in his own workplace.
Booker doesn’t answer me. Instead, he keeps staring like I’m a ghost myself. My gut is screaming at me now. This isn’t just a guy who’s had too many rounds.
“Nothing happened. Nothing happened.”
He’s mumbling now and wasting my time. The guy seems off, but I need to get back to the table with the guys before Daryl gets here.
“Listen, Booker, it’s fine. Clothes wash out, and I can get another drink. Forget it even happened.”
Chances are, he will, with how fucked up he seems.
“I didn’t touch her man, she knows that. I never touched her. I swear. She’ll tell you. I told her to tell you. She knows. She’ll tell you nothing happened.”
Both of my hands fly to his shoulders, and I grip his shirt. My fingers dig into the fabric. “Who, Booker? Who is she?”
“She knows. She knows...”
I look to my left and see Rose side-eyeing me, silently asking me not to make a scene in here. Fine by me. Between my machine gunner ears and the music, I can’t hear for shit in this place anyway.
Gizmo must have been watching from the bar because he’s next to me before I even call for him.
“The fuck is up over here, brother? Booker all fucked up again?”
“Yeah, seems that way. But I think he knows something. Need to get him outside. Stay and keep an eye out for Daryl. I’ll have Wolf take over in here.”
On a nod, Giz goes back to the bar. I half-pull, half-drag a mumbling Booker toward the back of the bar.
Gripping with all the strength my left hand will give me.
I fill the guys in as I pass the table and head for the rear exit.
Raydar pushes open the only other door to this building, and I shove Booker out onto the cold pavement.
“Answer me, Booker. Who the fuck is SHE?”
Shouting, I tower over his crumpled body. He’s shaking and curled into a ball like a little bitch. I kick him in the ribs with my steel-toe boot. He lets out a huff when my boot meets his side, but he gives up nothing. Instead, he starts to cry.
Not a fan of hurting him, but I have to. Time is not on my side, and listening to Booker mumble about some mystery she is not getting us anywhere.
“Please, man. You gotta know. Gotta know...” He trails off.
“I can’t know shit if you don’t tell me!” My voice is at full volume. I am done playing games.
I pull my piece and point it at his head. “I don’t have time for your cross-faded bullshit. Who didn’t you touch, and what do I need to know?”
I wouldn’t kill him, not here, and not without getting answers first. This is a desperate attempt to coax him into saying whatever it is he clearly wants to say but isn’t.
He continues to cry. His body still curled tight and shaking with fear.
“Sarge.” Ray’s voice cuts in. I almost forgot he followed us out. “We’ll take him to the basement and let him sober up. I’ll get answers from him personally if I have to.”
He says it in a way that makes it clear exactly what he means. Not crazy about torturing someone I consider a friend, but if it comes down to him or my woman, I am choosing her every time.
I nod. “Alright, get the bouncer to come watch him with you while a prospect brings a van. I’ll meet you back at the clubhouse after I deal with Daryl.”