He was a dumb son of a bitch which meant he wasn’t thinking then and he probably wasn’t now, and just like that I knew where he’d be.
The rundown, three-story apartment building where he’d met the woman with the bad dye job. I saw lights inside when I turned into the parking lot and shadows behind the curtains told me they were still awake. I didn’t imagine that even as dumb as Vigo was, that he’d sleep away from the protection of his own home when so many people wanted him dead.
I waited.
And waited.
Pissed off and angry, I waited and let my anger fester and boil until it was full blown rage in search of a target. I wanted to pound something, preferably Vigo’s face, until I was too tired to do anything but stop. It was all too much. The fucking city was screwing with us left, right and center, and I had no fucking clue why. Even after talking with Tanya again, I hadn’t been able to figure it out. Yet.
“The inspector is off your ass. For now, because he didn’t have a leg to stand on, but Cross these guys don’t just randomly pick businesses to fuck with. They’re like dogs, they go where they’re told.”
I’d replayed those words at least a thousand times since Tanya had called back and given me her expensive advice. The paper pushers had been sent by someone and not just some regular rich asshole, but someone with some actual juice to guarantee they didn’t pay for their own crimes. I didn’t have all the pieces yet, but I would. I’d taken the rest of Tanya’s advice and had the guys go through every single business we had and make sure everything was up to code.
“Get proactive so the next time these fuckers come by, I can get them on harassment or something and earn that healthy retainer you pay me.”
I’d just grunted and hung up, unable to see the humor in a never ending shit storm of stupid that had become my life lately. Just thinking about that shit again had even more anger pulsing through my veins.
Vigo chose that moment to leave the apartment, and I followed him as he took the backroads connecting Mayhem and Vegas that few tourists actually knew about. In many places the damn road got so narrow, I’d have sworn I was threading a needle.
A dark, cloudless night made it doubly hazardous. Tonight, though, the moon lit the way, the dented guardrails and handmade crosses testaments to all the people who’d met their end on this lonely stretch of road. Hollywood would have you believe the mobsters took people out here to kill them but the truth was it was almost always the desert that killed them. A ten-mile hike in the Vegas sun, or worse, the desert at night, would do in even the toughest mother fucker.
I thought about leaving Vigo to that fate, but he slammed on his breaks and jumped from that yellow target he was driving, which I filed away for another time.
“You stalkin’ me, Cross?”
“Yep.” No point in lying when his days were numbered anyway. I stepped out of the Toyota and stood beside it.
His eyes widened and though his chest puffed out, he didn’t make any moves towards me. “You gonna do something about it?”
“Yep.” The more he talked, the angrier I got. Thinking about Jana bleeding from the neck, Max’s near homicidal rage until she woke up and Moon covered in Jana’s blood. Yeah, this was the moment.
Vigo was twitchy, probably high. His skin was pale and even on this dark night I could see sweat dripping down his forehead.
“Yeah? What?”
His hand slid near his waistband and I knew what he was about, what he’d always been about.
“Reaching for that girly ass, pearl-handled pistol you love? Go ahead. Pull it.”
I wanted him to, badly. But I hoped he didn’t make me take him out too soon because I wanted to make him suffer. It was my duty as club president to see that he did.
With a sneer, Vigo brandished that gun and aimed it at me but I ducked behind the car door as two shots whizzed by the window. Hitting nothing. “I don’t think so, asshole.”
I heard the car door slam and the sound of his tires as he peeled away. I jumped up, hopping back into the car because there was no way Vigo was getting away. By the time he made it to the wide curve that would take us right to Las Vegas Boulevard, I’d caught up to him. It was hard to blend in when you drove a flashy car and when he hooked a right on East Harmon Avenue, I was right behind him, racing past the Hard Rock Casino.
“Keep running,” I practically growled into my car and made a quick left onto Paradise Road.
Vigo thought he could outrun me and he probably had a few backup plans. But what he didn’t know was that none of it fucking mattered. He was mine. Right after we passed the convention center, he turned right again down a quiet street. A dark and quiet street, but he kept going.
And going.
Finally, he must have got tired of running like a little bitch because he slammed on his brakes and got out, leaving his door wide open as he pounded his chest.
“You want me? Then come and get me motherfucker because I’m not running from you!”
“You should,” I told him, deadly calm as I stepped out of the car, quickly gaining on him. “But it’s your choice.”
Vigo waited until I was just a few feet from him to throw his first punch, a jab that grazed my jaw and I stepped in and landed a jaw-shaking uppercut. “Son of a bitch! Bit my tongue.”