“You need to pack a bag,” I say.
“Why’s that?”
“Because your bed is too damn small for me.” Going the sex route is both truthful and less damaging to her pride than bringing up Schmidthead and the issue of her housing status.
She gives me a hard look. “Sleeping in your bed isn’t going to make that residency requirement go away.”
I like that—how she faces her issues head on instead of skirting around a problem. I need to give her a helluva lot more credit.
“True, but it’s a solution that allows you to flip off Schmidthead in more ways than one.”
She rinses her mug out and places it in the dishwasher before responding. “Am I being targeted by Eric because of you or because I turned him down?”
“Probably a bit of both.” I take care of my own cup because while I don’t know a thing about cooking, I’ve washed and dried plenty of dishes in my long years of bachelorhood. Gesturing for her to proceed to her bedroom, I continue, “He’s a guy with a small dick and a big gun. He uses that badge to compensate for a shitty personality and bad technique.”
“And you know this how?” she asks, watching as I root around for a suitcase. I find one in the back of her closet.
“Girls at the club talk.” Throwing the case down, I wave for her to gather her things.
She reaches over and pulls the case away from me. “Residency is more than sleeping in someone’s bed. It’s having an address to call your own.”
“Right. I’ve already called the cable company to get your name added on the address label. They said it’d take seven to ten business days. I told them to overnight it.”
It’s easy to grab the case from her slack hands and even easier to start throwing shit from her small dresser into the case. I zip the case shut and exit the bedroom. A quick glance behind me shows her mouth is still ajar.
I don’t mind catching her off guard. I feel like those times will be rare so I’m going to savor this one. Outside, I put the case in her toy car. An old lady or two or maybe Chels, if it’s not weird for her, can come out and get the rest of her stuff. Morgen is lying in the sun, panting like he’s gone hard and needs a breather. When I slam Pippa’s trunk shut, Morgen moves toward the door of the trailer. She has him well trained.
“You coming?” I ask, opening the door to let Morgen in. Pippa gathers her purse and phone and stomps out.
“I don’t have time to argue with you because I need to get to the library, but we aren’t done discussing this.” She opens the driver’s door, climbs in and shuts it with a bang.
“My son Wrecker just got out of prison. He spent three years in a medium security facility for killing a white supremacist in self-defense. Everyone present gave statements that it was self-defense and the prosecutor could have chosen not to pursue, but Schmidthead banged the drum loud and long until the prosecutor felt that he had no choice but to file charges. Yeah, it’d be fair to say we’ve got issues. Didn’t know that would blow back on you but it has, so I’m going to do my part to make sure you stay our town librarian.”
“Oh.” She’s pissed off but not at me anymore. The pursed lips and narrowed eyes are focused forward in Schmidthead’s direction.
I have her drop me off at the garage. Wrecker is already there. We’re working on a couple of projects at the shop. I’ve got a 1965 Stingray in the middle of a restoration and 1968 Shelby Mustang getting an overhaul. That last one is close to the paint stage. I’m going to be sorry to see it roll out. I love those Shelbys. Pippa would look sweet in one. I don’t know how long I can sleep with a woman who drives a Mini Cooper.
“Wrecker, office,” I call out when I finally stroll in. He wipes his hands on a rag and tosses it on the table. Most of us wear a work uniform of blue coveralls but Wrecker told me that the cover-up reminded him too much of prison. He wears jeans and a T-shirt and no one gives him shit about it, least of all me.
I drop into a cheap rolling office chair I’d picked up during a county swap meet.
“What’s up?” He kicks the door shut behind him and leans against the edge of the desk. The office has two main functions—billing and parts inventories. I eye the paperwork unfavorably. One of these days I need to hire someone to take control of this office.
Turning away from the pile of invoices I need to work through, I get right to the point. “I’m sleeping with a woman who turned Schmidthead down. He’s none too happy about it. I’m sending you and Chels to Minneapolis to get some parts for the Stingray.”
Predictably, Wrecker is angry about this. “What the fuck, Dad? I’m not running out of town like a scared rabbit. Schmidt can watch me all he wants. Maybe the shitstain will learn something.”
“I’m more worried about the two of you being targets. He’s mad and he’s going to want his pound of flesh. No doubt he’s got the skinhead club on speed dial telling them to send down some expendable punks. I don’t want Chels caught in the cross fire or you to have to palm a gun which—as we both know—would violate your parole.”
He scowls and curls his fingers into fists. It only takes a second before one of those fists is punching the metal filing cabinet behind him. “That asshole. One day we’re taking him down,” he vows.
“One day, but it’s not going to be today or this week. We don’t have any solid evidence that he’s involved with the Eighty-Eight Henchmen or anyone else running meth along the river. Until we do, Schmidthead is untouchable.” I pick up my cell. I need to call Easy, one of my enforcers, to set up watch outside the library—or maybe inside. “When you two get back, I want you to think about moving into the apartment above the Cut-n-Curl. It’s shitty now but in a few weekends, we can have it fixed up.”
“You serious about this woman?” Wrecker gapes at me, rubbing a hand across his sore knuckles.
“You sleeping with my stepdaughter?”
He grins, unembarrassed by this. “Can’t wait to tell Chels about our new mom.”
“Get out of here, fool,” I laugh.
Wrecker whistles as he exits the office. I’ve got my kids out of danger and out of my house.
It’s still a good morning.
Doesn’t stay that way, of course, but it started out good.
Chapter Six
Pippa
“You need something, Annie?” I ask. My assistant has been hovering around me like a bee to a flower the whole morning. She desperately wants to ask me a question and has been biting her tongue for hours. It’s got to be so sore by now. I take pity on her. “Is it about Hank Harrison?”
“I think he’s called Judge,” she corrects shyly.
Annie’s the sweetest thing. She’s tall, a little gangly, with a cloud of soft brunette curls. Her father’s the pastor at the local Methodist church and besides playing the organ and serving as a part time secretary, she volunteers at the library two mornings a week and on Saturday.
She’s a complete treasure so I don’t really mind her curiosity about Judge. It’s not her fault that gossip travels faster in small towns than a bullet train in Japan.
“You know about the club?” I ask. Maybe we could trade information. I’d tell her
that Judge is the beast she imagines him to be and she can tell me all about the town. I might as well learn a bit.
She scrunches her nose, not in distaste but frustration. “No, I wish I did. I hear they have the most amazing parties. And the guys in the club are incredibly good looking but my dad would have a complete coronary if I was seen with one of them.” She sighs wistfully. “But I would do a lot to ride on the back of one of their motorcycles.”
I give her a gentle smile as we log in the returned books. “‘Judge’ is his road name and you’re right, they generally only go by their road names.”
“Did you know Judge before you moved here? Is that why you came to Fortune? What about Chief Schmidt?” The questions tumble out, one on top of the other. She was clearly saving up.
“My dad’s a nomad—a biker who doesn’t have any club affiliation. He heard there was an opening for a librarian in Fortune and sent the news back to me. I thought it would be wonderful to be a director of a library, in charge of acquisitions, setting up programs and helping others find the right book for them so I applied and here I am.” I spread out my hands.
Annie’s eyes get wider at the mention of my dad’s loose connections with Judge’s club. “Have you ridden on the back of a bike before?”
Smiling, I gather up the books and place them on a cart for Annie to shelve. “Yes, but it was my father’s.”
She’s disappointed by this and I kill her fantasies more when I tell her that Judge is just a friend. “Judge came by last night at the behest of my father. He’s checking up on me.”
That doesn’t really explain why I drove into town with Judge in my car but I’m saved when two moms walk in with their kids and I escape before Annie can question me further.
We’re both kept busy throughout the rest of the morning. About an hour before lunch, a tall, muscular man wearing a Death Lords cut and sporting hair too pretty and too long to be worn by a male walks in. His black boots make a thud against the wooden floor. Every eye turns to him. The women titter and the children gasp. Every female above the age of twelve takes in his solid legs and nice ass encased in a pair of worn denim.