to sort discipline issues out by brute force. Being beaten by the guy was bad, but being cut loose was deadly. Blokes who got cut lose had fatal accidents and their relatives got a visit from Maisy all dressed up like a Women’s Weekly reader, bearing a sizable donation to help with the loss.
Fuck, maybe something else was going on here. He was only an entry level delivery boy the VP’s wife had taken a shine to. She’d taken him in like a lost puppy and Wacker had indulged her. He was too lowly to warrant disappearing. Shit, he’d been careful, real careful, no mistakes, no slip ups, in more than two years, aside from the risk he took with Nikki this morning, and forming a quick inexplicable attachment to a hire car driver, and inviting her back into this mayhem.
Neither Wack or Maisy gave a twist about Nikki. Truth told, maybe Maisy was pleased she’d gone. She’d have kicked up a storm about it if she’d cared.
He couldn’t connect the dots on this by himself. He needed to talk to Stud, but not now. Now he needed to see how serious Wacker was. The big guy still wasn’t looking at him, not seeing his award-winning performance as drunk, fucked-up delivery guy.
“Wack. I’m sorry. I’m real sorry. It’s me birthday. I didn’t think you’d mind me havin’ a little drink.”
“Why didn’t you say, you silly bloke?” said Maisy, throwing her arms around him. “You know Wack, that little bitch Nikki ran out on him.”
That got Wacker’s attention. He looked up. “Did she now?”
“She took my money, Wack.” A logic slip. He can’t possibly have known she did because he hadn’t been in his room yet, but it went through to the keeper when Maisy said, “Little slut, on your birthday and all,” making the event timeline slippage redundant, and confirming him as another year older, a year closer to his real thirty-two years of age. “You get outa my sight, Fetch. Not a fucking peep from you tonight.”
“But it’s his birthday, Wack.”
Wacker silenced Maisy with a look that could carve flesh into ribbons and have the living wish they were dead.
“You have pick-ups to do tomorrow. Six of them. Every fuckin’ appointment better be on time. I get one call about you being late, and I don’t care what good standing you were in with the Reds, you’re out in the cold.”
Fetch nodded.
“Tell me you understand, fuckwit.”
“I understand, Wacker.”
“Now get the fuck out of my sight.”
He should’ve been relieved not to have to throw a fight. He should’ve been grateful for the hot shower and the chance to lie down. But he was wired with worry. In his room he sent Stud a text. A Lara Croft girl with a long plait and sprayed-on cat suit that was slashed to the waist. She had a knife strapped to her knee and a fierce expression on her face. She was their signal something was off. He lay on the bed and looked at the ceiling, water-stained and paint peeling, waiting for Stud’s response. If Stud sent back a picture of a big-eyed anime girl it meant he was investigating at his end. If she carried a stuffed toy it was to give him an all clear. It meant whatever he was worried about was likely localised to the club and not something bigger picture.
His phone beeped and he downloaded the picture. Anime girl kissing a Great Dane. He sat up and swung his legs to the floor, his knee protesting at the sudden movement. Crap . That meant hold tight. It meant something in the broader gang world was happening, but Stud couldn’t be sure if it was linked or not. It meant be on your guard.
There was another party that night. Fetch was a good little boy and stayed in his room, taking the plate of food Maisy delivered gratefully. Tonight, activity was centred on playing Call of Duty Black Ops . Less painful for Neighbourhood Watch to live with, but still hard to sleep through all the killing. Not that Fetch was going to do much sleeping. Being crept up on by a sixteen year old in her underwear, and the
Fuck, maybe something else was going on here. He was only an entry level delivery boy the VP’s wife had taken a shine to. She’d taken him in like a lost puppy and Wacker had indulged her. He was too lowly to warrant disappearing. Shit, he’d been careful, real careful, no mistakes, no slip ups, in more than two years, aside from the risk he took with Nikki this morning, and forming a quick inexplicable attachment to a hire car driver, and inviting her back into this mayhem.
Neither Wack or Maisy gave a twist about Nikki. Truth told, maybe Maisy was pleased she’d gone. She’d have kicked up a storm about it if she’d cared.
He couldn’t connect the dots on this by himself. He needed to talk to Stud, but not now. Now he needed to see how serious Wacker was. The big guy still wasn’t looking at him, not seeing his award-winning performance as drunk, fucked-up delivery guy.
“Wack. I’m sorry. I’m real sorry. It’s me birthday. I didn’t think you’d mind me havin’ a little drink.”
“Why didn’t you say, you silly bloke?” said Maisy, throwing her arms around him. “You know Wack, that little bitch Nikki ran out on him.”
That got Wacker’s attention. He looked up. “Did she now?”
“She took my money, Wack.” A logic slip. He can’t possibly have known she did because he hadn’t been in his room yet, but it went through to the keeper when Maisy said, “Little slut, on your birthday and all,” making the event timeline slippage redundant, and confirming him as another year older, a year closer to his real thirty-two years of age. “You get outa my sight, Fetch. Not a fucking peep from you tonight.”
“But it’s his birthday, Wack.”
Wacker silenced Maisy with a look that could carve flesh into ribbons and have the living wish they were dead.
“You have pick-ups to do tomorrow. Six of them. Every fuckin’ appointment better be on time. I get one call about you being late, and I don’t care what good standing you were in with the Reds, you’re out in the cold.”
Fetch nodded.
“Tell me you understand, fuckwit.”
“I understand, Wacker.”
“Now get the fuck out of my sight.”
He should’ve been relieved not to have to throw a fight. He should’ve been grateful for the hot shower and the chance to lie down. But he was wired with worry. In his room he sent Stud a text. A Lara Croft girl with a long plait and sprayed-on cat suit that was slashed to the waist. She had a knife strapped to her knee and a fierce expression on her face. She was their signal something was off. He lay on the bed and looked at the ceiling, water-stained and paint peeling, waiting for Stud’s response. If Stud sent back a picture of a big-eyed anime girl it meant he was investigating at his end. If she carried a stuffed toy it was to give him an all clear. It meant whatever he was worried about was likely localised to the club and not something bigger picture.
His phone beeped and he downloaded the picture. Anime girl kissing a Great Dane. He sat up and swung his legs to the floor, his knee protesting at the sudden movement. Crap . That meant hold tight. It meant something in the broader gang world was happening, but Stud couldn’t be sure if it was linked or not. It meant be on your guard.
There was another party that night. Fetch was a good little boy and stayed in his room, taking the plate of food Maisy delivered gratefully. Tonight, activity was centred on playing Call of Duty Black Ops . Less painful for Neighbourhood Watch to live with, but still hard to sleep through all the killing. Not that Fetch was going to do much sleeping. Being crept up on by a sixteen year old in her underwear, and the
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