18. Iron Jack
IRON JACK
Tuesday is Greta’s last full day in Miami. She will fly out tomorrow morning.
My brain grinds on this problem as we have breakfast with the club and I direct everyone to their assignments.
I’m supposed to have a protection gig today, escorting some rural sheriff’s wife to deliver food in a shady neighborhood. It’s nothing critical, so I assign it to Fancy. He’s charming and good with the wives, as long as he keeps his hands off. Which he won’t.
He hasn’t gotten bumped off by a jealous husband over it yet. He’s glad to be off the demolition we’re doing in South Miami, which has been heavy grunt work, and worse today with the endless rain since last night.
Greta and I sit on the back porch through lunch and early afternoon, watching a light mist fall on the yard. It’s not a great day for going anywhere, not on a bike. And no good for shooting lessons. But we’re all right sitting back here, hanging out.
Greta has her eyes closed, chin high. Her finger taps on the arm of her lawn chair. Her nails aren’t perfect and glossy like they were when she arrived, now scratched and chipped and looking a lot more like a woman who gets things done.
Her clothes are nice, though, a silvery sweater hugging her curves. She had to wash all the jeans she brought, so she’s got on shiny gray pants, like she’s headed to someplace that serves tiny bits of food on circles of bread.
Christina pops out the door. “Hey, Merrick called.”
Greta sits up. “Is he okay?”
Christina waves off her concern and turns to me. “Yeah, totally. He called asking if Jami and I could come help out. The rain has left a lot of the bikers without work today and they are slammed at the bar.”
I sit forward. “Sure. You need a ride?”
“Chain said he’d take us in his truck.”
Greta jumps up. “Can I go? I should see them again before I go back home.”
“Okay. We’ve got room.” Christina holds the door open for her.
I follow the women inside. “I’m coming, too.”
Christina pauses. “We’ll fit, I guess.”
Not in Chain’s truck we won’t. “I’ll bike there.”
Greta hesitates, and I know she’s thinking she ought to go with me. She looks down at her fancy outfit.
I let her off the hook. “No need to get wet riding with me. You go with Chain.”
Our party separates.
The mist is heavy, but it’s not proper rain right now. Makes no difference to me. I fire up the Harley.
I open the throttle wide and roar down the highway, leaving Chain’s truck behind.
The ride to the Leaky Skull isn’t long, but it will give me time to think.
I don’t know how to get Greta to stay. She’s got a job in Jersey, and a kid.
I want to ride fast, so fast that I beat this problem, get out in front, and Greta and her son find their home with the Wild Hair.
Screw the ex jerkoff. And screw the Pickles.
She’s got her brothers here. That’s good enough.
The Harley speeds down the asphalt, spraying dirty rain from the tires. I’m so deep in my head, I almost miss the entrance to the parking lot. I brake hard and turn in.
Cars and trucks and bikes stretch in every direction, like it’s a Saturday night and not a Tuesday afternoon.
There’s going to be some seriously cooped-up laborers in there, itching to cut loose.
I’m glad I’ve come along. It might have been a lot for the women to manage, even with both Diesel and Merrick there.
The first thing I notice when I step inside is that goddamn Kin member is back. He’s not wearing his cut this time, and he has his stringy black hair tucked up in a gimme cap, but I know him.
He’s sitting at the bar, hunched over a beer mug. Diesel isn’t three feet from him. Does nobody realize who he is?
I pause for a moment to take in the situation before I go off half-cocked. Are there other Kin hiding in the room? They didn’t appear at the wedding, despite the rumors. Maybe they found out the entire Wild Hair had showed up and chickened out.
But is the reason the bar is full today an ambush?
I take in the tables. Some Wild Hair. Six that I can see. That’s good for backup. Stoney is among them. He’s got a good instinct for danger lately.
Wingmen don’t come here, and there’s none today. I’ve seen them all recently, and I never forget a face, so there’s no Kin alliance happening. I don’t think any club would side with them. Most everybody knows they’re a drug-selling, cowardly bunch.
The other tables are filled with blue-collar workers, wet and annoyed, mud caked on their steel-toed boots. A few women are scattered about, half in flannel, like they were part of the crews as well.
I move slowly toward the bar so I can see the booths lining the walls. Two more Wild Hair. Hoss and Two-Shit. That’s good. I tilt my head toward them. They’ve already spotted me. They instantly slide out of the seats and come my way. Stoney notices them and heads over as well.
I don’t see anyone I could peg as Kin, other than the one who got away a week ago.
Time to find out what he’s here for.
I grasp the edge of his stool and spin him around to face me.
He looks up with weary eyes, like he was prepared for this moment and it doesn’t thrill him none to be here.
“What the fuck are you doing back here?” I ask him.
“You gone let me finish my beer?”
“Not likely.”
The room has gone quiet. Merrick turns down the music blasting through the speakers.
The front door opens, and in walks Chain with Christina, Jami, and Greta.
“Her again?” the Kin asks. “City girl still around?”
“Don’t say a goddamn word about her or I will skin you like a pig,” I tell him. “State your business and get the hell out of here.”
“My business is the same as last time. You done fucked up knocking back the Kin on account of you thinking they killed your folks.”
My anger flares. “I knocked back the Kin on account of you lowlifes bringing a drug trade into my territory.”
The man glances past me at the door. “You got two of our women. Those were the property of Anarchy and Halo.”
Christina and Jami clutch at each other. I remember the night we carried them out of the Kin’s drug den, before Fancy thrashed it. They must think this man is here to take them back.
Like hell they will. “They’re mine now.”
The Kin nods. “They don’t look like scarecrow whores at least.”
“Say your piece and get the fuck out of here.”
“You got it wrong, and the Kin know it.” His bloodshot eyes dart around the room, watching everybody. “They’re gonna come here ’ventually to claim what’s theirs.” He glances at the girls. “The property and the women.”
“We can handle the Kin,” I tell him. “We don’t need your warning.”
“I said what I came to say.” And with that, he picks up his mug, downs the beer, and jumps off the stool. He nods at Christina and Jami, then pushes out the door.
“You want me to fetch him and get more out of him?” Stoney asks.
“No. But Hoss, you got your bike?”
“You bet, boss.”
“Follow him. See where he lands.”
“On it.” Hoss takes off.
“You want someone behind him as a second?” Stoney asks. “He threatened to take both of our house mouses.”
“Nah. Hoss can handle himself.” I turn to Jami and Christina. “Don’t you worry. No Kin is going to take you back.” I step up to the bar where Merrick is picking up the empty mug. “How long was he here waiting?”
Merrick runs a towel over a spill. “Couple of hours. I didn’t realize he was the same sorry SOB.”
“It’s fine. We got half the Wild Hair here and nobody else saw it either.” I stare at the door, something tickling the back of my mind. This doesn’t make sense. Why would he warn me? It was basically the same line as last time. And pointless.
The message has to be something else.
“What did he order?”
“Some piss water.”
“Did he talk to anybody?”
“Not a one. Just kept to himself.” Merrick tucks the towel behind the counter.
“I don’t guess he used a credit card or anything.”
“He did, actually.” Merrick turns to the register and pulls the last few printed receipts off a spike. He passes one to me. “Most people like that work in cash. But I ran it.”
“So he had cashed out ready to leave before I got here?”
“Yeah. He’s been nursing that beer.”
“He was waiting for you,” Stoney says. “What’s that receipt say?”
I peer at the print. The name across the top is one I haven’t seen since I left L.A. My blood runs cold. I crumple the paper in my hand.
“Anything?” Stoney asks.
“Nothing to speak of,” I say calmly. But inside, I’m quivering with rage.
Greta comes up beside me. “Iron Jack, you okay?”
I squeeze her arm. “Merrick, pour some Guinness for me and my girl.”
I stalk toward the booth Stoney and Hoss vacated, right as Merrick says, “You’re his girl?”
Yeah, I outed us. Damn it. I have to get my head on straight.
None of the Wild Hair follow me. Stoney knows my moods. He’s more level headed. And that’s a good thing, because if what happens next goes south, he’ll be taking over the Wild Hair.
I can practically feel the receipt in my pocket. I should have seen that coming. I should have known.
Aaron Nelson, known in the MMA circuit as Grey Beast.
Things start to fall into place.
But before I can brood on it, Greta arrives with the beers. “I guess my brothers know now!” she singsongs, sliding my glass to me. “I think I’m supposed to be helping, but I’ll drink this one with you.”
I grunt, taking a long swig. The other Wild Hair gather near the bar, occasionally looking our way.
“You’ll sit here until I’m ready to deal with them.” I angle my head toward the cluster.
“What was on that receipt?” she asks.
“Just a name I know. I’ll handle it.” I force a neutral expression. There will be time for revenge later. Right now is for Greta. I reach across the table. “You leave in the morning.”
“Yeah. But, I’m lost here. Why is that Kin in your face?”
There’s nothing to tell her that won’t make her a target. “Just getting a message across.”
“And you have it now?”
“I do. Nothing to worry about.” Not for her, and not the Wild Hair. This problem is all mine.
Greta sips her beer. “It’s going to be strange, going home after all this.”
“What are you going to tell your uncle?”
She shrugs. “That you’re a bunch of outlaws, and he can’t do anything about it.”
I force out a laugh. “Sounds about right.”
She turns to the bar. “Diesel and Merrick are in their element, I guess. They like it.”
“It’s a kickass bar.”
“I like Symphony and Marietta. I think they’re good matches.” Her expression falters.
“What about you?” I ask.
She takes a long pull from her beer, probably to give herself time to think. “I guess I have to accept my role as the failed sibling. Wrong man. Wrong life. At least I have a great kid.” She flashes a brief, unconvincing smile. “And I had this little vacation from my white-bread life.”
I want to tell her she can stay, but with that name in my pocket, I know it’s not time. “You’ll come around again, I expect.”
She jerks her hand away to drop it in her lap, but not before I see it tremble. “Of course. My brothers are here, you know.”
Fuck. She’s upset.
I reach across the table and hold out my arm. “Greta, take my hand.”
She lays her cool palm on mine. “I know I have to go.”
“What do you want to see happen?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Her voice is wavery. “You come to Jersey and be a big bad MC president from my living room?”
I consider this. Her idea is meant to be a joke, but it might actually work out for me to follow her.
I know where Grey Beast lives and trains, south of D.C. in northernmost Virginia. He was the one who got my spot when I blew out of the circuit.
It was his plan all along.
I see it now. I played right into it. The Kin didn’t kill my parents to start their drug trade. They had already infiltrated while they were alive.
But Grey Beast saw an opportunity. If I went home, he could take the pro spot I jumped ahead of him to earn. We’d talked about the club. He knew I’d left it to do MMA because my parents were running it fine.
He even came to their goddamn funeral.
But now I know the truth. My parents died because of me. My MMA future. A rivalry I didn’t even know was happening.
He will die for this.
The knowledge of what I have to do is ice in my belly. But I have a part to play right here, with Greta. “What part of Jersey are you in?”
She seems surprised I’m asking. “Northish. It’s an hour by train to Manhattan.”
I do the math in my head. Grey Beast’s gym is about four hours from North Jersey. And if I go to Greta first, I have a reason to leave Miami that won’t involve tipping off the Wild Hair.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s run the Wild Hair from your living room.”
“What?” She sits up straight.
“I’m coming to Jersey. It’ll take a couple days on my bike. You fly ahead.”
Her eyes are wide. “But. My uncle. And Caden.”
“You withdrawing your invitation?”
“No.” She presses a hand to her throat. “No, we’re doing this. We’ll introduce you around. Sherman wanted a report. I’ll bring him the man himself.”
“Good. I’ll make the arrangements with the club to cover the protection gigs I had. We’ll get you on your plane in the morning. And I’ll get all my affairs in order here.” I release her hand. “We’ll have a hell of a time in Jersey.”
She seems dazed. “We could go to the museum. A family dinner. There’s so much to show you.”
“Whatever you want,” I say. “Now, go on and help your brothers tonight. I’ve got to talk to the club.”
She stands up, still in a bit of shock. But I like this idea. I can spend a few days painting the town red with Greta, then pretend I’m headed back to Miami.
And make a side trip to Virginia.
I can face this asshole all on my own. No collateral damage.
Just me.
And him.
Like it was supposed to be three years ago, before he took matters into his own hands.