Chapter Twenty-Three – Mortician #2
Mortician and Gypsy kept a steady stream of conversation as he ate his burger and fries.
Since it was near closing and no one else came in, Tee and Symphony joined them after Mort finished eating.
Gypsy and Symphony took turns choosing music that they danced to.
Sometimes separately. Sometimes with each other.
“Get beers for you and me, Symphony,” Tee instructed, casually stretching his arm over the booth behind Gypsy, as Symphony arrived at the booth with Mort’s third beer and Gypsy’s fourth. “Then lock up.”
The bells chimed at the opening door.
Grimacing, Symphony glanced in that direction. “Sir, we closed,” she said.
“Door’s open,” Wally Jr., said.
Mortician recognized that motherfucker’s voice even before he turned and met his beady fucking gaze. “Call Outlaw,” he whispered to Gypsy. “Then hand me the phone so I can talk.”
“That’s Junior,” Gypsy returned. “And Outlaw might not pickup. He rarely ever does when I dial his number.”
Learning Gypsy’s ‘Junior’ was Wally, Jr. annoyed the fuck out of Mort and he scowled. “Call Meggie then. Tell her I need to talk to Outlaw.”
“Suppose he hears?”
“Then text Outlaw and Meggie,” Mort said in frustration. “That’s fucking better. Or get the fuck up and go to the bathroom and call. One or the fucking other. Just fucking do what the fuck I’m telling you.”
“But–”
“Now, Gypsy,” Mortician ordered.
“What’s this motherfucker ordering you to do, cunt?” Wally, Jr. asked, swaggering his little ass closer.
“Don’t fucking answer him. Just make the fucking call.” Expecting Gypsy to follow his orders and unable to believe she was housing a Dweller fugitive, Mortician got to his feet and pulled Symphony behind him. Hopefully, the angle of his body protected both her and Gypsy. He’d deal with her later.
“I come in peace.”
He would leave in death. That motherfucker hurt Mattie. Nothing he could say would save his fucking life and if he discovered Gypsy aided and abetted Wally, Jr., her days were numbered, too.
Wally Jr. raised his hands, startling Mortician. That little motherfucker could’ve pulled a gun and shot all of them.
Mort was so fucking off his game right now.
“I have a message to relay,” Wally, Jr. continued.
“Not interested in hearing it.”
“You aren’t curious?”
“Not at the fucking moment.” Mortician debated on whether to pull back and show himself as friendly, so he could snatch that motherfucker without endangering the two women. “Outlaw will be here soon. You can tell him whatever it is.”
“It isn’t for him.”
“Say what the fuck you got to say,” Mort said irritably.
“Can I have a beer?”
Wally, Jr. wasn’t close enough for Mortician to snatch that motherfucker, knock him the fuck out and tie him up, until somebody brought the transport van.
He’d take him to the meatshack. Any other time, calling Johnnie would be priority number one, but since that motherfucker belonged on the table too, Mort wasn’t sure.
“What do you say, brother? One beer.”
“This not a social visit, Wally.”
“You don’t have your gun out and I’m Junior.
Pa said it was to tell us apart. Never been nothing but Wally, Jr. My boy’s Wally though.
Like Pa. But since Pa’s dead, I don’t think Pa would mind.
We call Lil’ Wally by the name of Wallace, too.
” His eyes widened and made him look like a homicidal leprechaun. “Lil’ Wally. I like the ring of that.”
There was one of that motherfucker and Mort.
The odds were stacked in his favor, but his back was to Gypsy.
Although he stood fully in front of Symphony, he didn’t know where Derby’s woman was.
What the fuck he did know was she hadn’t made that fucking phone call.
He didn’t hear a motherfucking peep from her. As for Tee, he was on his fucking own.
“No gun drawn on me,” Wally reminded him again.
“Don’t fucking matter. We not friends. Especially after Bash sent you to fuck with Mattie.”
If Wally, Jr. took the bait, Mort could prove Bash’s guilt or innocence. Prez seemed to believe what the fuck Bash said. He must’ve had a fucking disease, since Outlaw believed Johnnie, too.
“Wasn’t waiting for that little redhead. I was waiting for the cunt who beat my boy. Big Willy said that blonde cut class all the time and that was the way she went. He said to be careful because Outlaw taught his blonde cunt how to fight.”
“So Bash didn’t send you?”
“I don’t even know where that motherfucker at.
He don’t care about my Eliza or nothing.
All he talk about now is fucking peace. He says it’s for what’s her name—that other redhead.
But I know it’s for fucking Cee Cee. Stupid fuckhead.
Cee Cee always wanted an alliance with the Dwellers.
Bash sees this as a way to honor his daddy.
” Tears rushed to his eyes and he stomped his foot.
“What about my daddy? What about my bitch? Bash said to leave all those cunts alone. I was just going to come in that blonde’s face.
Nothing too much. Maybe carve her up a little. ”
Behind him, Symphony squeaked. Hopefully, they were getting the seriousness of the situation. Mort had to hold his shit together and not break this motherfucker in a bunch of pieces for Mattie and Rebel in a public place.
“I saw them searching for me,” Wally, Jr. announced, sniffling. “Earlier today. But I was hiding in the fucking tree. Way up.” He stepped closer, hands still up.
“What did you do, Junior?” Gypsy demanded. “When I saw you in the food court at the mall, you told me you were here alone to take care of some business and needed a place to crash.”
“I ain’t lied,” he snapped. “They wouldn’t think to look for me at your place.”
“You told me not to tell Derby who you were. It’s because you fucked over the Dwellers?” Gypsy sobbed. “Why would you do that?”
“As much as I miss my Eliza, I ain’t interested in joining her. Derby would’ve brought me to Outlaw or Johnnie.”
Which was exactly where the fuck Mort was bringing that motherfucker.
“You give good head and got a decent ass to fill with my cum. It’s probably leaking from you right now.”
“Ewww,” Symphony mumbled behind Mort.
Ewww was fucking right.
“Still wish I could’ve got in your cunt, but you reserve that for Derby and I decided not to force my cock in you since you was so willing in every other way.”
“You used me to see Mortician?” Gypsy wailed.
“Cunt, you opened your fucking mouth and told me why the fuck you wanted to come here. I would’ve just dropped you the fuck off if you ain’t said you needed to meet this motherfucker about plastic surgery.”
“You fucking found me,” Mortician inserted, praying Gypsy had sent the fucking text since she hadn’t moved her ass and left to make a fucking call. “What the fuck you want?”
“Cleaner’s been looking for me, too. Motherfucker never looked for me before. I know what that meant. Bash is pissed and sent him to fuck me up.” His nose reddened and more tears pooled in his eyes. “After everything I did for Bash, too.”
“That’s not fucking explaining why you wanted to see me,” Mortician gritted.
“I wanted one beer with you and Gypsy? And a burger because I’m hungry. I’ll clear out afterwards.”
Allowing this little motherfucker to sit and break bread with them would allow Mortician to text Outlaw while they waited for the order.
Once Wally, Jr. started eating, Mort would excuse himself and make the call.
Fuck, he didn’t like that plan because he didn’t trust the motherfucker.
This wasn’t a fucking situation with limitless time and endless possibilities.
Urgency stirred in Mort’s gut, especially because two defenseless women were in the mix.
“I’ll cook you something when we get back to my apartment,” Gypsy offered, still crying but not fucking falling apart. Instead, she was opening her fucking mouth for the wrong fucking reason. “We can stop at the market on the way there.”
He couldn’t allow Gypsy to ride off with the motherfucker. Against his better fucking judgment, Mort caved. “Fine. Eat, but you paying.”
“Always fucking heard you was cheap.”
“Take the offer or get the fuck out.”
“This is a public establishment.”
One of the fucking problems.
“I can pay,” Gypsy offered.
Wally, Jr. ignored her, hooked his thumbs in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “If I can’t have a brew and a burger with an old friend, can I at least take a piss in this public place?”
“We was never friends, motherfucker,” Mort snapped.
Tee slid out of the booth and looked at Wally, Jr. “Let me know what you’d like to eat. I’ll be happy to cook it.”
“Listen up, motherfucker,” Mortician growled. “This motherfucker not here as your fucking friend. You need money that fucking bad? I’ll give it to you.”
Wally, Jr. snickered. “I’ll take a leak while you two settle this,” he said, strolling past Mortician and smirking at him.
“This is my establishment, Mort,” Tee gritted, the moment Wally, Jr. disappeared from view.
“Don’t give a fuck. Don’t ever interfere in my fucking business again. That motherfucker not here for you.”
“Maybe not originally, but then he asked for a beer and you turned him down. I own this place.”
“If you want to stay the fuck alive to enjoy this motherfucker, sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up. Unless you don’t have ears, you heard him talking about a blonde and you fucking know the only two blondes connected to Outlaw are Meggie and Rebel.
Or, maybe, it’s your fucking brain that’s the fucking issue and you didn’t put it together that not only did he want to hurt one of them but he fucking attacked Mattie. Johnnie’s daughter.”
Still not willing to give up, Tee swallowed. “I don’t know all kids…”
Mortician narrowed his eyes at that blatant lie. “There’s a lot of little motherfuckers running around but I fucking know you aware of Harley, Rebel, and Mattie.”
“I need the money and this is still my fucking business. Besides–”
They were wasting time with the back and forth, so Mortician looked at Symphony. “Go in the back. Don’t come out until I fucking tell you.”
“You motherfuckers not always around,” Tee snapped as Symphony ran to the kitchen. “You’re putting me in the middle of club shit that could get me killed. I got a fucking family—”
Mort opened his cut and pulled out his .380. Shutting the fuck up, Tee sucked in a breath.
Ignoring him, Mort indicated Gypsy. “Go outside. Call Meggie. Tell her to send Outlaw now.”
“That’s Junior,” Gypsy repeated, not moving her ass. Derby had trained her to listen to the wrong fucking thing. Instead of coaching her to ask questions later and get the fuck immediately, he taught her to fear disobeying him. “What did he do?”
“I’ll explain later,” Mort told her.
“I shouldn’t leave you. Derby will never forgive me if I get one of Outlaw’s brothers killed.”
“I can take care of myself,” Mortician swore, trying not to lose his patience with her. “Just listen to me.”
She slid out of the booth, but she still didn’t fucking leave.
“Get the fuck out, Gypsy,” he ordered, waving his gun and pointing it toward the door. “Go. Now! This shit not feeling right.”
“Will you be okay?” she pressed.
Mort grabbed her elbow and started pulling her toward the door.
She dug her heels in and he stumbled at the sudden dead weight of her body. “Wait, Mort. Maybe, if I suck his cock, he’ll be easier—”
“Fuck! No! You don’t have to do that, Gypsy.”
“I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you.”
“Nothing happening to me, but I don’t want nothing to happen to you.”
“Let me stay. I’ll just be a bundle of nerves outside. Derby doesn’t trust me to stand at his side. I promise I won’t get in the way.”
Gritting his teeth to swallow his anger, Mortician focused on the fear in Gypsy’s eyes. “Follow my fucking orders and everything will be fine,” he promised her, lifting her to throw her over his shoulder to carry her the fuck out.
A gunshot sounded, and she went limp in Mort’s grip, her dangling feet twitching. He didn’t have time to process the full fuckery of the situation because he had to save his own fucking life. Somehow, he kept one arm around her and jerked them out of the way, squeezing the trigger.
Wally, Jr. howled, struck somewhere. “A bitch for a bitch. That settles the debt for my Eliza, motherfucker.”
Breathing heavily, Mortician released his hold on Gypsy and got to his feet. Wally, Jr. stood near the jukebox, the left side of his jeans bloody from a thigh wound. He met Mortician’s eyes and raised his hands.
There was no way to explain coming into the diner and shooting Gypsy in cold blood. She’d had nothing to do with Eliza Bart’s death. Besides, she’d given that motherfucker shelter.
Asking no questions and wanting no fucking answers, Mortician shot Wally, Jr. once in the heart and once between the eyes, then ran back to Gypsy.
Blood trickled down the side of her head—only the whites of her eyes showed.
Derby’s old lady was dead.