39. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“NICE PLACE YOU’VE GOT HERE.”
HALE
The text came in while I was standing in the feed aisle, holding two near-identical bags of scratch grain and trying to remember which one Dolores hadn’t turned her beak up at.
Annie: i want in.
Me: In what?
Annie: whatever you’re planning for Shaun. And i know you’ve got something planned.
I set the feed down.
Me: What makes you think that?
Annie: everybody else wants to be the bigger person. thoughts and prayers. let karma handle it
Annie: you’re not going to wait around for karma. i can tell.
Annie: so whatever you’re doing, i’m in
Me: Leave it alone, Annie.
Annie: he shoved her. in her own damn house. so no.
Me: It’s handled. Or it’s about to be. You don’t need to be anywhere near it.
Annie: tell me or i tell Yasmine.
Me: She’s stressed prepping to leave. You’d really dump this on her?
Annie: if that’s what it takes.
I stared at the phone, then called her bluff.
Me: Go ahead then. Wreck her last couple weeks just to get your way.
The pause stretched long enough that I almost thought she’d dropped it.
Then:
Annie: fine.
Annie: i’ll handle it myself.
My blood went cold right there between the chicken feed and the cat litter. Because she absolutely would.
I could already see it—Annie rolling up on Shaun alone, mouth running, no backup, no plan, nothing but fire between her and a man who had already proved he would put his hands on a woman.
Me: No.
Annie: then quit telling me no and tell me when.
Me: Annie.
Annie: you bring me, you control it. i go alone, you control nothing.
Annie: your call, cowboy.
She had me cornered clean. The only way to keep her out of trouble was to keep her where I could see her.
Hell.
Me: Tomorrow night. You do what I say, when I say it. You don’t open your mouth unless I tell you to.
Annie:
Me: I mean it. Not one word.
Annie: wear something i can move in. got it.
Me: That’s not what I said.
Annie: see you tomorrow!!
The bar didn’t have a name. Or if it did, nobody who drank there used it.
It sat off the county road on a lot that had once been a filling station. The pumps were gone, but the concrete islands remained, cracked and bleached by decades of weather. A faded Miller sign glowed in one window. The other had been painted black.
Inside, the air smelled of beer, motor oil, and whatever had been fried in the kitchen twenty years ago and never fully left.
License plates covered one wall. A jukebox near the bathrooms played Lynard Skynyrd through a blown speaker.
The pool table leaned slightly to the left, which everybody knew and nobody warned strangers about.
Outside, a line of bikes sat so straight it looked military.
The Iron Kings kept to themselves. They didn’t start shit, but if shit found them, it usually learned not to come back.
I’d started working on their bikes six years ago, after their usual mechanic retired and every other shop within fifty miles found a reason not to take their business.
I took the business.
I fixed what they brought me, stayed straight about the bill, and somewhere along the way that turned into being welcome.
Which was how I could sit at the back table on a Wednesday night with Annie beside me and Shaun’s truck parked out behind the building where he couldn’t see it from the road.
We’d taken the truck two hours ago.
Or Annie had.
I’d planned to hot-wire it myself, which I knew how to do the honest way, after a lifetime under hoods. Annie had it running before I got the panel off.
I’d raised a brow at her.
“What?” she’d asked, all innocence.
I didn’t push it.
Some questions a man was better off not asking, and how a woman with a dog-treat startup knew how to steal a truck in under a minute ranked high on the list.
An hour ago, I’d sent Shaun a picture. His truck sitting crooked in the gravel, the Iron Kings’ bikes lined up behind it like a fence.
Come get it before it’s scrap metal. You’ve got one hour.
I hadn’t included an address. He’d know the place by reputation, and he’d know exactly what it meant to come out here at night, alone, into a room full of men he’d only ever heard stories about.
The point was, he’d be scared shitless.
Annie was on her second club soda, studying the room with open approval.
“This place is great,” she said. “How have I never been here?”
“Drink your soda.”
“I’m just saying. The vibe is committed.”
Sal came out from the back then, and beside me, Annie sat up straighter.
He was late forties or older, salt-and-pepper through the hair, and he carried his size without advertising it. Slow movements, steady eyes, a face that gave away exactly what he wanted it to and nothing more. He ran the Kings.
He stopped at the bar, exchanged a few words with the bartender, then headed toward us.
“Hale.” He tipped his chin. “Everything all right?”
“Getting there.”
His gaze shifted to Annie. “Who’s this?”
“This is Annie.”
She leaned forward on her elbows and looked up at him through her lashes like a woman ordering dessert. “Hi.”
Sal studied her. “Evening.”
“Nice place you’ve got here,” she murmured, eyes making a slow crawl over his body. “Nice everything.”
I put a hand flat on the table. “Annie.”
“What.”
“Be cool, Jesus.”
“I’m being friendly.”
Sal looked down at her for another second, and then, God help me, the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. Small, dry, amused, gone in a second, but definitely a smile.
He nodded at me and moved on.
Annie sat back, glowing. “I think he’s into me.”
I dragged a hand over my face. “Do not make this a thing.”
“Let me live my life, Hale,” she said, her attention still firmly fixed on Sal.
I let it go. I had one problem tonight, and Annie flirting with the head of a motorcycle club would have to wait its turn. That was trouble for another time.
We waited.
Conversation carried on around us. A cue cracked against a ball. Somebody fed quarters into the jukebox. Two men near the bar argued quietly, neither willing to admit they were saying the same thing.
Nobody stared at us, which was hospitality here. They’d notice everything and act like they hadn’t.
Annie stirred her soda with a finger. “How long’s he gonna make us sit here?”
“Long as it takes him to work up the nerve.”
“You think he’ll come?”
“He’ll come.” I checked the time on my phone and put it face down.
Behind the bar, the bartender lifted his chin toward the front window.
Headlights swept across the gravel, and a sedan stopped near the road. The passenger door opened, and Shaun climbed out. The car reversed almost immediately, swung wide, and disappeared back toward the highway.
Shaun stood alone beneath the security lights, staring at the motorcycles, his truck, and the building between them. His ride had abandoned him with impressive speed.
I stood.
Annie was already beside me, that dangerous brightness back in her eyes.
“Not one word,” I said. “I mean it this time.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Annie.”
She pointed toward the door. “Behind you, boss.”
I pushed it open and stepped into the dark.