“Lips. Zipped.” Jules held up a finger. “I’m fuckin’ serious. I’ll tell Cold you know what’s up seein’ as how you know this Doc guy, but he doesn’t want the other Gentlemen to know what he’s up to yet. Not even Roger.”
“Fancy fuckin’ plan time?”
“You know it.”
“What’s going on?” Mickey frowned. “Is this all because of Dickie?”
“Duplin ain’t lettin’ up, and well…”
“What?”
“Cold thinks we got a rat. Ain’t no way nobody should have found Dickie’s body.”
“Unless somebody told them.” Mickey grimaced. He remembered all too well what happened the last time they had a traitor among them. “Good thing I’m out now, huh? I’m good at killin’ rats.”
“Fuck yeah.” Jules smacked Mickey’s shoulder affectionately. “The best.”
“Yeah.” Mickey pulled up in Jules’ driveway and parked. He leaned back in his seat, sighing. “Damn.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Feels weird. Bein’ out. It’s real good.” Mickey squeezed the steering wheel. “Just… it’s a lot.”
“Go handle your shit.” Jules patted his arm. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Can’t wait.”
Mickey took off the second Jules was safely out of the car. The keys to his condo were in his personal effects the prison gave back to him, but he wasn’t ready to head home yet.
He wanted to go see Pops.
There was a flower shop on the way to the Strassen Springs Cemetery, and Mickey stopped for a bouquet. He never knew what to get, but he didn’t want to show up with nothing. Cold had that weird thing with calla lilies, but those didn’t seem right for Pops.
Red roses were good, classic, just like his lady.
Someone had been taking care of the grave, and he made a mental note to thank Cold for that. He laid the flowers down, kneeled, and pressed his brow against the headstone.
“Hey, Pops… it’s me.”
The stone felt cool, and the cemetery was quiet. The last time he’d come here to visit was with Roger before he’d been arrested.
Damn it.
He couldn’t even pay his respects without thinking about that stupid slut.
Mickey didn’t stay long, knowing he needed to go home and get ready for the party. His condo was exactly the way he’d left it, clean and sparse, everything in its proper place. The few family photos he owned were hanging in his bedroom, including an empty frame by his bedside.
He took it off the wall, carefully removing the back and pulling Roger’s photo from his pocket. He put the picture back inside and closed it up, but he hesitated to hang it again.
The picture was from Rowena’s twenty-first birthday party. It seemed like ages ago now. Rowena had insisted on setting out disposable cameras on all the tables so everyone could take pictures.
Mickey had snapped this photo of Roger, drunk and smiling, right after…
He put the frame face down on the bedside table.
Maybe he’d hang it later.
He took a scalding hot shower and stayed beneath the spray until his skin was red and raw. He wanted to get clean and wash away all the grime from prison. After he dried off, he went to his closet and found a new garment bag hanging inside.
