“A badge, yes. Don’t carry a weapon, though. I own a handgun, but…”
“Oh, I thought—”
“Some people choose to. That’s not the type of probation officer I want to be. Less force, more psychology.”
“So you’re more of a hand-to-hand combat kind of gal.”
“Indeed.” Jessie narrowed her eyes at George and cocked her head. “Wanna take my class?”
“Self-defense?”
“Yeah. Monday nights. You should come. You can close up shop and just swing by next door. I know you don’t wanna talk about those bruises, George, but…whatever happened to your face is—”
“Independence Day insanity,” George replied. “A couple of kids. I thought they were hurting each other and got in the middle and…” She pointed at her black eye. “Well, this happened. Anyway,” she went on, thinking of Andrew Blane in her office earlier. She wouldn’t have been able to see him tonight if she’d done the class. Stupid, stupid thought, since it wasn’t like they were “seeing” each other anyway. He was a patient. A patient, George. “I don’t think self-defense is really my thing.”
“You sure?” Jessie tipped her bottle to her mouth with a wicked smile. “You’d get to kick my brother’s ass.”
With a laugh, George sat back and soaked in this woman’s company and conversation, the back of her mind still caught up on a memory of fathomless dark eyes, heartbreakingly battle-scarred skin, and the way his hand hadn’t wanted to let go.
* * *
There was nothing better, as far as Ape was concerned, than the wind in your face, the hot rays of the sun setting on your back, and the highway under your tires. Especially when you added all that to the satisfaction of a job well done.
Tying up loose ends felt good. Better than good. It felt right, like this was exactly what he’d been born to do. Him on the road, taking care of business with a few good brothers behind him. Guys like Jam. Brothers you could count on.
He shoved back that itch of irritation at Handles. The guy’d had everything, as president, and he’d gone and let cops into the club.
No way that would have happened on my watch.
Ape hadn’t trusted either Indian or Candy Land from the moment they’d started showing up at the bar.
Man, Handles had fucked up. A lot. It made Ape wonder, once Handles got out, what other mistakes he might make. What if Handles wasn’t the right guy to head up a club like the Sultans? Maybe it took someone harder, more decisive.
Someone like me.
He glanced back at the two guys behind him and gave a nod before pulling back on the throttle and passing the row of slow-moving cars hunkered down in the right lane, like sheep. Man, it felt good to leave those fuckers in the dust.
Things would feel even better once he’d taken care of Agent Clay Navarro. And they were close. So close he could smell it.
OceanofPDF.com
7
Small-town life was boring as hell. Well, it was if you had nowhere to go, nothing to do. Clay had never been very good at just sitting around, waiting. He’d awakened early that morning, wishing he had a job to go to. A job. He had a fucking job, but he couldn’t actually do it right now.
In his room, the vodka bottle shone, half-full, from the bathroom counter like a clean, white obelisk, offering blissful oblivion.
But Clay knew better. He didn’t need that shit, he decided. Beneath the ink and the scars, his body was his best tool. My temple, he thought wryly. The last thing he needed to do right then was ruin it any more than he already had.
Hunger beyond what he could satisfy with his collection of local farm fruit finally got him outside, where he’d spotted a diner just off the main strip.
It was early afternoon, and the place was pretty empty, for which he was thankful, because the stares were over the top. Yeah, he felt like saying, not your usual small-town fare. Well, don’t worry, all you innocent people—I’ll be gone as soon as I can.
He sat in the far booth, back to the wall, and snagged a menu along with the newspaper spread across the middle of the table.
“What can I get ya?” asked a line cook from behind the counter.
“Burger. Provolone. Bacon. Whatever else you got to put on it.” Anything to give it flavor.
