Break Me Open (16 page)

"Metaphorically. I’m going to find out what they want and cut a deal. Maybe help them put the Scorpions in a grave."

"Fuck yeah," Spoke said.

"That doesn't mean they're off our ass," Dyno said.

"It doesn't," Nico echoed from the other side. "It also doesn't stop them from wanting to talk to your girl."

I snapped to him.

"They heard she was a witness. How can she withstand a FBI interrogation?" Nico asked

I'd known that this would come up. "We'll find a way."

Nico snorted.

"They got a criminal claiming he heard she saw something," I said. "That's a fucking game of telephone, not a real lead. Easy to keep it buried."

"So long as she stays hidden here," Dyno said. "No one will know."

"Speaking of that," I said. "Nico, we gotta talk."

He frowned at me. "We're talking now.

"Alone."

The room went silent, as he eyed me. I could almost hear those hands crawling back toward those waists. Probably actually could hear, if I was fool enough to spike.

"Give us five," he said.

Chairs groaned and the room cleared. It was the first time we'd been alone since I returned. In the silence and emptiness, it felt like I was up in Nico's face. He leaned back, feeling that same tension.

"This about the FBI, I hope," he said.

Not about the hit squad he'd sent after Katie. "It is. I just want to make sure that one of us isn't in on it."

Nico's chair clapped back down. "In on the investigation? You think we've got a mole?"

"I'm saying we better make sure we don't."

"We don't have a damn traitor here," he said. "Besides the feds just got here."

"Yeah, they did. Five days after we start hurling bullets at the Scorpions? They didn't even give the sheriff a chance to fuck the investigation up. They're after something bigger than a few dead bikers."

One thing I had to give Nico. He could wise up real quick. I saw it click in his head. "Well, shit. That’s not a bad point.” He leaned back on his chair. “ Damn, it's good to have you back on our side."

"I didn't leave for the hell of it."

Nico stood and paced away a bit, as if this were a duel. "I had to do what I did," he said. "There's no turning from that. You think I wanted to? I'm not a killer by nature. I'm not..."

His mouth didn't finish what his brain was thinking:
I’m not you.

"I will do what it takes to protect my own," he said. "And I'm not going to apologize for that."

"Good," I said. "Then we understand each other. Just remember, she's one of mine now."

"She's one of us now," Nico said.

I didn't quite believe it. The wound still wasn't scabbed over. It was a start though.

"Doesn't mean she's ready for the FBI," he said.

"I'll worry about that," I said. "You just make sure you vet our guys."

"Yeah..." Nico stared off. "Shit, I hope they're all clean."

"Hope they're not clean, you mean."

"I mean they better not be pigs. You get me."

He poured himself a glass and tossed it down. He would drink all times of the day and never get a hangover. I didn't bother trying to mimic. I left him to the task and went out the side door.

The door to my bunkhouse was swinging in the wind. I charged through. Saw Denise and Katie's eyes widen at my hulking form. Katie's mouth hung open mid-chew.

"Everything ok?" I said.

"Was a second, ago," Denise said. "Jeez."

"He's pretty noisy for a ghost," Katie mumbled with her mouth full.

Denise laughed. About the millionth time I’d heard that, but even I cracked a smile. They went back to their conversation - bonding over where to find good grub in Gilsner. I sat and pretended to write something in a book.

Katie laughed again, and it sounded like chocolate in my ears. Eased my guilt a bit. Things might be rough, but how could they be so wrong with the promise in that voice? All I wanted was to hear more of it.

Which meant I had to wipe up the mess killing Shiny had caused. Little by little. I shut my eyes to the world around me and began to map out what needed doing.

The heat was the hardest thing to adjust to. That and the smell it produced. Apparently part of being a 1%er was being too tough to give a damn about how much everything stunk. A/Cs were basically life support in Gilsner, but all Ghost had in his room was a massive fan. It did more to drown out noise of the bar than it did temperature.

That's what eventually drove me out of his place. Ghost seemed content to let me linger in his room forever, as if that were the plan all along. Maybe it was fear of me wandering off. But he went off to take care of something, and I was alone in that empty slow bake oven, completely bored. I had my phone, but Ghost had pointed out I couldn't power it up without letting the cops trace me. There was nothing to read. I tried looking for anything interesting moving in the sand – something to substitute the biology lessons I was missing out on at college. But the desert was dead in the daylight and threatened to blind my eyes if I looked too long.

So I headed for The Oasis. The second the wash of cool air hit, I understood the true meaning of its name. It wasn't exactly central a/c, but the shades were mostly drawn and some of the smaller rooms spilled out chilled air from groaning wall units.

No one saw me as I came up through the back rooms. I passed the doorway to the kitchen and saw Denise scolding someone, her back to me. I stopped, then realized I had nothing to say to her, and went on. I took a breath and stepped out into the front of the bar. A dozen guys in boots and denim and leather sat in clumps watching a roaring fight on TV or mumbling to one another. A couple were laughing and talking to a rough looking duet of chicks. I sneaked into a booth before anyone spotted me.

Of course the place was too small for me to stay hidden. One Wraith glanced at me, and whispered to another. The motion passed like a disease, carried on bristled lips, and each set of eyes found me. Some turned back, but others kept right on staring, talking nakedly about me. I looked at my clothes as if that held an answer why. It was just a white shirt and denim, probably on loan from Denise. It took a couple minutes to realize that just the sight of me was event enough.
Ghost's girl
, I thought I read off a few lips.

That sounded pretty nice.

I thought back to that night in the Roaring Pint, barely over a week ago, but ancient history now. It seemed downright tame compared to this place. I had to admit, though, that as rough as everyone looked, nothing funny was going on.

A couple mugs clacked onto wood, and a tap flushed open to refill them. My lips went wet at the thought of something other than tepid desert water. It wouldn't hurt to have something clouding my mind either, and not just to avoid these faces. The tattoo was freaking annoying as hell. I hadn't dared look at it in the mirror while I showered.

A lean cut guy came down the bar towards me. He was not very tall, and under a shoulder length swell of blonde hair, he looked pretty young. He held two foamy mugs of beer. I wondered if he was a prospect, if maybe that was why he didn't keep away, but then I saw the Desert Wraiths patch on his jacket.

He sat down across from me, and nudged one of the glasses over with an uneasy smile.

"Thanks," I said, taking a sip. It was watery crud but it went down light and cool.

"Yeah.” He was still unable to meet my eyes. "Yeah, you're welcome, but I owe you more than a round."

I peered into him deeper. "Do I know you?"

He started to talk then stopped. "I'm Trig."

I nearly choked on my suds. This was the guy who had tried to kill me? I tried to picture wide red aviators blocking off his face like on that day, but I saw none of that grim determination that made him look like the mask of death. He looked about as suspicious as one of my classmates trying to explain a late paper to a professor.

"Nico said you were about to tell the cops everything. He said you were on your way right then."

"Oh."

"I never - I never killed anyone who wasn't shooting at me. I couldn't even hold my gun straight."

Doubts about my murder. I guess this counted as an apology when it came to an assassination attempt. The moment hung before me in surreal clarity, helped along by the beer.

"I wasn't going to do anything," I said.

"Yeah, I figured. I mean Ghost ain't dumb. I'm glad he and Nico patched things up."

"Me too."

"So yeah. Just wanted to say I'm real sorry and I'm real glad you're here. If you're Ghost's chick, then you must be pretty badass yourself. That's the sort of people we need round here."

"Thanks. I'm...uh, glad to be here too." It was true enough, considering the alternatives.

"Good." He looked at peace as he glugged half the mug. I sipped at mine, trying to think of what to talk to this guy about.

"Hey, you're a doctor of some kind right?" he said.

"A vet. Well, not really, a vet tech."

"So you drug up animals and the like?"

"Yeah. Why, you got a pet?"

He barked out a laugh. "Na, ain't got room for another." He slapped something metal on his side and I remembered the gun. I remembered its barrel trying to find me, and despite everything, I still tensed up.

"Just wondering if you got the hook up on any meds is all," he said. "Place is going kinda dry with the Feds in town."

"We have tranqs and stuff, but they monitor that. Plus, I can't really go back when people are looking for me as a witness."

"No, I suppose not." He looked even glummer than having to apologize to me.

"What sort of stuff are you looking for?" I asked. I couldn't get any, but at least it was something I could talk about.

"Oh a little bit here, a bit there. A little bit of crystal for uppers, and a couple pills for a downer."

"All you guys like that?"

"Like what? Druggies?"

The beer had made me too bold. "No, not in a bad way."

"Ha, course it's bad. That's what makes it so fun. Yeah most of us use it now and then. Some lose their control, but Nico kicks their ass back in line when they start dipping into product. Oh, Ghost doesn't though. Not ever."

I wonder if he knew Ghost made his own supply internally. Not that it seemed to help him much. Maybe he had overdone it in his own way. That would explain why his withdrawals were so severe now.

He only seemed to spike when needed to. Like, for example, if it would help me. Even if the result was disastrous.

I thought about it, and got more worried. It might have been better for him to be on meth. At least I knew how to treat that. The meds I'd found to treat his withdrawals were a temporary fix. I should try to look up something better. I was no Army research genius, but maybe I could help him manage.

"What about you?"

I snapped out of my head. "What?"

"You got closets full of the stuff staring at you every day. Shit never tempts you?"

"Drugs? Not really." He seemed to want more, but I didn't have it. "I'm pretty boring."

"No, no. That's good. That's awesome. Shit will mess you up. Probably better if you can party without it."

"I don't really party either," I admitted. "I just... nothing really. I just exist, since my parents died."

I probably should be pushing the tough chick act, but I couldn't keep it up. Reminded me again, why I had to stay here. If I went back to town I'd tell the FBI everything.

"Oh shit, sorry," Trig said. "My mom ate it a while back."

"I'm sorry," I said, and before I could stop myself. "What about your dad?"

"Never seen him.”

"Oh."

We sat in a glum silence. A shadow fell over me, and it took a bit to see that it was real.

"Christ, Trig. The fuck you been telling this chick?"

A massive man slid into Trig's side, bumping him to the wall. This guy looked more like what I'd pictured a biker to be, big and red and coated with blonde bristle. He was like Ghost, if you took out muscle and put in fat.