Wanting Judge to be right, I pull myself into the truck and turn it back to the apartment. Abel is already there when I arrive.
“Hey Chelsea.”
“Abel.” I raise my hand in a weak greeting to the former Marine who decided to throw his lot in with the Death Lords. I’m not sure who his sponsor was or where he’s from or how he found his way to us. Those are questions maybe only Judge knows. His military bearing along with his buzz cut gives away part of his background. He’s got a nasty scar that runs from his temple to the top of his earlobe but he’s never been anything but kind to me. “Come on up.”
The apartment looks worse than I remember.
“Shit.” Abel pulls out his phone and starts taking pictures. When he’s documented it to his satisfaction, we get to work putting the apartment back together.
“You like the winters, Abel?” I ask as I finish placing all the kitchen drawers into their runners. The dishes will need to be washed.
“Nope but I’m used to them. Come from Bemidji.”
“This must seem practically tropical.” Bemidji is about four hours north and close to the boundary waters. It’s cold up there nine months out of the year.
“I’ve seen worse.”
By the grim tone, I get that this applies to more than just the weather. I pull open the dishwasher and tear up when I see the clean dishes. Grant got up in the middle of the night and cleared the table and started the dishwasher. Shit, he’s a good man.
“You okay? You aren’t going to cry are you?” Abel says alarmed.
I swipe at my eyes. “Yeah. Just thinking about Wrecker in jail.” I start unloading the dishwasher.
“He’ll be out tomorrow,” Abel assures me.
I wish I was as confident as everyone else but Chief Schmidt has a thing for the Death Lords. I don’t know why it started. Some people attribute it to Schmidt wanting the new librarian, Pippa Lang, and her choosing Judge instead. But Schmidt’s hatred for Judge and the Death Lords ran far deeper than that.
My best guess is that Judge is the real power in Fortune. The town didn’t have a meth problem like so many other small rural towns and for the most part, the only crime around here is petty thievery. Plenty of people use drugs and drink too much around here because there isn’t much else to do, but it wasn’t cooked up here. We can pretend that we’re fucking Mayberry and it probably galls Schmidt that it’s more because of the Death Lords’ presence than any fear of the Fortune police.
And until Schmidt breaks the Death Lords’ hold on Fortune, he’ll keep coming after us and for now, Grant is his favorite target because Grant’s the Death Lords president’s son. Grant will always have a target on his back here. Always.
4
WRECKER
The Minneapolis attorney shows up close to dawn. By that time several other Death Lords have showed up and the jail lobby looks more like a club event, what with all the leather cuts and Harley’s sitting outside. Or at least that’s what Amelia tells me.
“Decided to have one of your club meetings right in front of Chief Schmidt?” She smooths a hand down the back of her skirt and takes a seat across from me. “You can leave any minute.”
That’s directed to Officer Paulson who can’t tear his eyes off Amelia’s ass. She clears her throat when he doesn’t move.
“Officer, you don’t shut that door and you’ll be in danger of violating my client’s constitutional right to speak to his attorney. I don’t think detective promotions are handed out to officers who are responsible for civil rights suits against the city.”
Paulson’s face morphs into instant rage as he slams the door shut.
“You made an enemy there,” I warn.
“We were enemies the minute that I walked in the door and announced I was representing you.” Her red lips curve into a happy smile. She gets off on the fight. I think she likes it more when everyone hates and underestimates her. “Now, I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.”
“I have.” I spread my hands. “Can’t help that Schmidthead has a hard on for me.”
“There are two sworn statements that place your vehicle in the proximity of the country club last night.”
“Don’t know how that can be when I was home with Chelsea since seven and before that I was at Wheels Up.”
“All day?”
“Other than having lunch at the sub shop, yeah. Judge has a waiting list longer than your arm and we’re trying to work our way through it.”
“Anyone other than Chelsea at home with you?” Her questions are rapid fire.
“No, but the Cut-n-Curl is open until nine. Someone may have seen me go up.”
This tidbit elicits a small nod of approval. She makes a note and asks another question. “How do you know Jessica Trainor?”
“Don’t. I heard she and Chelsea got into it at Carmichael’s grocery but she’s part of the country club set that doesn’t pay much attention to folks in Fortune.”
“So you resent them.”
“Don’t know enough about them to have any feelings.”
“But you and Judge are very protective of Chelsea.”
That isn’t a question. Everyone knows that Chelsea is off limits so I didn’t answer.
“How long have you been sleeping with your sister?”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek until I can taste the copper of my blood. Good thing my hands are under the table so she can’t see them form into fists. “Thought you were on my side counselor.”
She leans forward. “I am on your side. You should know by now that the questions I ask aren’t anywhere near as intrusive or offensive as the prosecution will throw at you.”
When I went to prison, I wasn’t soft by any means. I’d grown up in the club and as soon as I graduated, my dad had me doing small runs with him, getting me ready for my patch. But prison had made me hard, not just in my body but in my mind. No one is breaking me now. Not Miss Amelia and her razor sharp questions or Chief Schmidt and his immoral pursuit of the Death Lords.
“I took Chelsea’s virginity when she was seventeen and she’s been mine ever since. That’s how long I’ve been sleeping with her.”
If Amelia is surprised by this, she doesn’t show it. Back when she represented me four years ago, Chelsea begged me to keep my mouth shut. She hadn’t wanted Judge to know that we had started something. Maybe she didn’t trust my intentions, but I knew—even if she didn’t—that taking her virginity was the same as making her a promise that there’d not be another woman after her.
When I got out, I was tired of hiding. Didn’t matter to me what other folks said. Chelsea wasn’t my sister, no matter that Judge looked after her since Chelsea was fourteen. She’s my girl, my old lady, my motherfucking heart. So no, I didn’t care what a million Mrs. Trainors had to say about my relationship with Chelsea.
“Fine. What did you do after you got home around seven?”
“Ate dinner. Had sex. Chelsea fell asleep and I got up around two to watch some television when Dumb and Dumber showed up.”
“Dinner lasted how long?”
I could see her mapping out a timeline. “Half hour max.”
“And then you had sex?”
“Yeah.”
“And after sex you went to bed?” She raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
“Chelsea was wore out.” She actually might have passed out after our second go around. Since I’d come already, I held off for a long time, making sure that the only feelings Chelsea had were good ones.
“That’s all you did was eat and have sex? All night?” Amelia taps her pen against the paper.
“It was only about three hours.” And for the first time since I was dragged from the apartment, I grin because Amelia is dumbstruck.
“No one has sex for that long,” she hisses.
“You ain’t never had a Death Lord in your bed have you?”
“Incredible.” She stares and then starts laughing. “I have to go to one of your parties, don’t I??
?
“Invitation is always open. Of course, I don’t know if half those fuckers would know what to do with a classy broad like you.”
“Three hours, Grant. I don’t know what to do with them.”