Tied (Owned 2.50)
And now I was paying for it.
I sat in my office, contemplating what to do. There really was only one option left. I picked up my phone and dialed the number.
“What?” His low, menacing growl was unmistakable. Seven was not a man you disturbed unless you absolutely had no choice. It was like waking a dragon. The dragon didn’t care what it burned; the fire blazed indiscriminately.
“It’s Charlie.”
“I know who the fuck this is,” Seven snarled. “You think everyone has this number?”
“I need your help.” There was a long pause on the line. I knew Seven hadn’t hung up, he just wanted me to squirm. Seven was nice like that.
At last he said, “What did you do?”
I retold the story of Vera to Seven. The further into the details I got, the more like a shithead I felt. Seven didn’t make it any easier.
“You can’t handle a fucking small-town drug dealer?” Seven scoffed.
“I got too close,” I explained. “I let myself be clouded by emotions.”
Seven laughed bitterly. “First Vic and now you. Are they putting something in the vaginas down there?”
“Are you gonna come bail me out or what?” I growled.
“I’ll be there tomorrow. Don’t fuck anything up in the mean time.”
* * *
Seven was a beast of a man, tatted out from head to foot with a smattering of scars. Him and his crew were called The Boogiemen, because they went bump in the night and you never saw them coming. One minute you were alive and the next you were dead. They slid away without a trace.
To be a Boogieman you had to be ruthless. You had to be soulless. You had to be utterly blackened. I was a bad man, I did things the devil would balk at, but I ruminated on my sins. I acknowledged my evil. Seven reveled in his. At the moment, I was grateful for that, because to have a Boogieman on your side meant everyone should run and hide. It meant I had a chance at getting Vera back.
“So this cunt made of gold or what?” Seven asked, leaning on the side of his car. The McLaren was out of place in the swamp and brought attention, but Seven wasn’t one to worry about drawing attention. He knew anyone who tried to fuck with him wouldn’t live to regret it.
“Something like that,” I responded. Seven was acting friendly, but I knew better than to think him a friend. He dealt in favors and blood, and I was going to owe him one of each. If I could help it, I would rescue Vera and leave her out of it. If I could help it, I would use Seven without him meeting Vera.
“Well hop in.” Seven got in the McLaren and I followed suit. He peeled out of the gas station we’d agreed to meet at and we were zooming down the highway before I even shut the door. The car was so smooth against the ground, I barely even noticed how fast Seven was going.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
“Get the girl and kill the guy.” Seven paused. “Maybe I get a po’boy afterwards, I haven’t decided.”
“Will you take this fucking seriously?”
“This isn’t fucking Algiers—fuck, do you remember Algiers? Goddamn nightmare…” Seven made a hard left onto a dirt road. Many people would cringe at the mere thought of bringing a McLaren on a dirt road, but no one was like Seven.
“Anyway.” Seven turned to me. “We’re in Louisiana hunting a fucking small-time drug dealer. It took Ghost five fucking minutes to find the guy.” Ghost was another Boogieman, a member of Seven’s crew. You wouldn’t want to know the reason they called him Ghost.
I punched the dashboard, sick of Seven’s shit. “I told you, I’m not thinking clearly.”
“No shit,” Seven said. “It isn’t the chick. You haven’t thought clearly since the day you lost that leg.”
“Fuck you,” I growled.
“No thanks,” Seven replied sardonically as he pulled the car to a stop outside an abandoned house. With a rusted tin roof and rotted wooden siding, it looked like it hadn’t been inhabited in years. It was the only place for miles. “Your girl is in there.”
9
CHARLIE