Chapter 4-2
931 Words
After two hours, Garrett’s ass was numb and he was about to crawl out of his own skin with boredom. “Jesus f**k,” he muttered to Durant. “You think Silverback got his s**t mixed up?”
“Relax,” Durant said. “Silverback ain’t senile yet.”
No, he wasn’t. Silverback was as sharp as the day Garrett had met him.
He had an uncomfortable memory of himself at seventeen, bristling with rage — at his father, at his teachers, at anyone who dared come between him and his carefully cultivated teenage angst.
Silverback had been as quick with a cuff to the back of the head as he was with a compliment, and eventually, Garrett had settled down. Getting his first bike had helped. A beat-to-crap old Yamaha, but a bike all the same. Freedom. An escape route. Something to take care of. He’d worked his ass off at the auto shop — and part-time at McDonalds — to pay for that thing. It was still in the clubhouse garage. Still ran okay too.
“He’s just sayin’ he could be balls deep in p***y right now.” Chevy’s voice. He was standing over Garrett and Durant, who were seated on the floor.
“Chev, what’re you doing here?” Durant demanded. “Get back to your post. We need a lookout in back.”
“I’m bored as f**k. And my post is only about fifty feet from yours.”
“Jesus, you’re an i***t,” Durant muttered.
“What, you wanted some space to make out?”
“Shut up,” Garrett said, whacking at Chevy’s calf.
“You two, thick as thieves, and me always getting sent off to the corner to play by myself. You know it’s true.”
Durant leaned his head back on the wall. “What is this, middle school?”
“Aww, Chev, we love you.” Garrett laughed, tugging Chevy’s pant leg. “C’mere and get a noogie.”
“Get off!”
“We’re definitely not inviting him on our ride next week,” Garrett said.
“Oh, for sure,” Durant agreed. “We’re not even gonna tell him about it.”
Chevy shook his head. “I’m leaving you two ladies to your sleepover.”
“What’s going on?” Suddenly Mica was there too.
“Hey, kid.” Garrett’s voice was sharp. “Get back to your post.”
“Gimme a smoke.”
Chevy laughed, wheezing slightly. “Listen to him. ‘Gimme a smoke.’”
Garrett handed him a Cameronel. “Keep it out of sight.”
“No shit.” Mica knelt. Stuck the cigarette between his lips and accepted a light off Garrett. Took a drag and choked. Chevy couldn’t stop laughing.
“Aw, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Mica snapped, leaning back against the wall. The effect of his glare was kinda f****d up by the coughing fit. “So what, you guys are thinking about a ride?”
“Maybe,” Garrett said. “You’re too young, though.” He liked getting under the kid’s skin.
“f**k off.”
Chevy and Durant oohed.
“You need to respect your elders,” Garrett said mildly, lighting his own cigarette.
“Hey!” Durant hissed. “Someone’s coming.”
A rust-colored pickup approached. They ducked and stubbed out their cigarettes as the headlights flashed in their eyes. They slowly rose again as the lights were killed. In the moonlight, they could see several dark figures leap from the truck. The figures were speaking Spanish in low voices. They had duffel bags and guns.
Big guns.
“s**t,” Chevy said. “This is serious.”
Garrett watched grimly as one of the guys opened a duffel and started counting bricks of cocaine.
“Think we should call for backup?” Chevy asked.
Garrett’s answer was “no.” The more dangerous the situation, the more he loved it. But he wasn’t about to endanger his brothers unless they all agreed to it.
Durant shook his head. “No. I wanna party.” He signaled Mica to stay still.
“Yeah,” Chevy agreed. “You’re right. We got this. Just gotta wait for the rest of the party to show up.”
A few minutes later, another car pulled up. A sleek black BMW. It stopped and shut off. A tall, slender white man got out. He dusted off his old but elegant suit jacket and surveyed the situation, then went over to talk to the Mexicans. He glanced inside one of the duffel bags, then the conversation continued, too low for the Fury to hear.
“All right, cowboys,” Durant adjusted his holster. “Let’s go set these amigos straight.”
Garrett yanked his weapon out of his pants. Chevy had drawn his smaller Ruger, and Durant had one hand on the butt of his Smith & Wesson. Yeah, Garrett’s Glock was bigger than what the other two were packing. So sue him — he liked big toys. He felt the familiar rush of power and righteousness as he approached the group. They all turned as a unit, and a couple of them stumbled back. Others reached for their guns. “Easy fellas,” he called. “We don’t want any trouble.”
Mica and Durant fanned out behind him, weapons drawn. Durant trained his on the white man, who seemed to be in charge of this show.
Two of the guys shouted in Spanish.
Garrett went on. “This is Fury territory, and we won’t hesitate to defend it. I would suggest all of you get in your vehicles and leave before things get ugly.”
Instead of turning tail, the Mexicans became more agitated.
“C’mon!” Mica had appeared with his Colt. His voice was tense. “Get out while your kneecaps’re still intact.”
“Jesus, kid,” Garrett muttered to him. “Take it easy.”
“Whose fuckin’ side are you on anyway?” Mica shot back.
“Hey!” Chevy said.
“Gentlemen,” the white man said calmly. He fixed his gaze on Garrett. “Is there a problem?” He asked in a low, pleasant voice.
“Yeah,” Garrett said. “There is. This is Fury’ territory.”
“Is that so?” The man sounded more curious than anything.
“Yeah, asshole, get your hands up where I can see them.”
“Garrett,” Chevy warned in a whisper. “I don’t like this.”
The white man simply c****d his head, staring at Garrett. The moonlight gave his silver hair a ghostly glow.
Garrett c****d his gun.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the white man said amiably.
“Why the hell not? I’ve given you plenty of warning.”
The white man nodded at something behind Garrett. “Friend of yours?”
Garrett whirled to see Durant in the clutches of two men Garrett hadn’t even noticed before. One had a gun against Durant’s temple. Garrett whirled back to the white man, who now had a pistol trained on Garrett.Fuck.
The white man took a step closer. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He held out his free hand. “Cameron Willard? I’m Russell Powers. I believe you know my daughter.”
- Writer
