“How would you feel your first few weeks have gone here in this office, Angela?”
I tried to get a sense from Beth about whether she was using the question to set me up for a tongue lashing or if I had just misread her in the first place. Unfortunately, with the amount of nerves going through me right now, I wasn’t really in a spot to understand what her expression might mean.
“I feel like I’ve learned a lot and that it’s going well, why do you say that?”
“Well,” Beth said, clearing her throat. “I do understand that you are new and that it will take some time to adjust. However, I have to say I am disappointed in the lack of progress on the drug dealers and rings in Springsville. So far, I have not gotten anything from you. I don’t have an arrest warrant, I don’t have a POI, I don’t have anything. Literally, I have nothing.”
I gulped as I realized just how much of my time had been spent looking into the Black Reapers and how little of it had been spent on the drug trade. I could say without even looking at any of my files who was most responsible for bringing drugs into Springsville—the Fallen Saints. But they didn’t kill Shannon.
Or, at least, they weren’t the ones to put Shannon in position to be murdered.
And even if so, there weren’t any official arrests or warrants out.
“I know that you are a smart woman, you blew us all away in your interviews with us,” Beth continued. “However, we have three months’ probationary period for a reason, and it is that the person who shines in the interview is not always the person who can do the job to the highest levels.”
I’ve been focusing on the wrong MC this whole time. Even if the Reapers are at fault for Shannon’s death, no harm would come from bringing down the Saints and working on them. Instead, I’ve put myself in a position where I’m about to get fired.
“I need to be blunt, Angela. This isn’t an easy job. You deal with a lot of hell in this job, you deal with a lot of stress, and you deal with a lot of high-pressure situations. You have to answer to the public, your clients, and the state. This is not a job that we can just sit idly by and hope you get right. We need to see that you get it right. So let me make it clear. Bring some evidence or some proof of work to me by the end of next week, or you’re gone.”
My eyes went wide and my chest tightened. She wasn’t kidding. She seemed deadly serious.
Fired... because I wanted to help my friend... I’m letting my own selfish desires get in the way.
“Do you understand me, Angela?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, my mouth dry and my voice weak.
“We hired you because you seem passionate and dedicated to a cause,” she said. “But that cause needs to align with what the city needs from you. Don’t let your own personal desires and wishes get in the way of doing your job. Not even when you believe it aligns with what the city needs—because you’re new and don’t know what that is.”
I gulped as Beth rose from the chair. She wished me a good evening and then left without another word.
I had never felt so... so stupid and so low in my life. Beth’s last few words were perhaps the strongest thing said yet that indicated I needed to back off the Black Reapers. Beth was smart enough to not come out and accuse me of using the position for personal need. We lawyers were too good at distorting the truth for our own personal interests.
But this wasn’t a courtroom, this was an employer-employee relationship. I had to do it right. I had to do it better. I couldn’t help Shannon if I couldn’t help myself because I was unemployed.
For now, though, I could only think of two things that would help me. First, some time spent only looking at Fallen Saints’ profiles.
And then, I needed a goddamn drink.
Lane
On a typical night, even on a weekday, Brewskis usually had at least someone roaming around.
Aside from the fact that it operated as a sort of demarcation zone between the Saints and us, the kind of clientele that it attracted did not exactly keep regular weekday hours. Even I, someone who had fought for the last year to remain detached and above it all, didn’t really keep regular hours. It wasn’t at all unusual for Patriot and I to come here on around eight at night, play some pool, and have some beers well past “happy hour.” It also wasn’t unusual to stare at some Saints in the interim, with only an odd mutual understanding preventing war from happening at this place.
But tonight, somehow, aside from Jess behind the bar, there was no one else here.
I kind of liked it this way, to be honest. The silence and the complete isolation were much needed after the rush that had come from being in the middle of a firefight. I was so amped from what had happened, I knew if I didn’t do something to calm myself down, I would be up until a week later. A good beer and some quiet time alone would hopefully do the trick.
At first, I just ordered a Yuengling and quietly watched sports on the TV. There was some talk about early season baseball and some basketball and hockey playoffs, but I wasn’t much of a sports guy. The highlights were more of a way to kill time and try and get my mind out of what had transpired than they were something I kept up with closely.
I managed to make it all the way through the first beer without even thinking too much about the shot to my shoulder that still needed some real treatment. A couple of Reapers who had experience in the medical field had done some quick work to remove the bullet. Then a doctor who was a friend of the club had come by and given me some stitches, though he swore he would stop coming if we kept putting ourselves in harm’s way like this. Perks of being in an MC, I suppose, but all in all, it wasn’t something I worried about that much. And if we needed to get someone new, well, I’d just send Patriot to the hospital and tell him to charm his way with some nurses.
But when I raised my arm—not even to a high level, just out in front of me to give Jess the empty bottle—a dull ache struck, and I grimaced as I did nothing but pull my arm back. I rubbed my shoulder gently, and it brought back the memory of what had happened.
Patriot was right. Once the fight had begun, I had just gotten engulfed in the action. In fact, I had gotten a little too involved. Patriot had to pull my ass down before someone planted a bullet in my skull and ended my life.
Now that I had the reminder of what happened, and I had a beer in me to quell the adrenalin, I couldn’t really say if I was happy to have gotten involved.
