Club Justice (3 page)

Lee giggled. “You would be lucky to find anything in Reaper’s wallet besides his ID and a couple condoms.”

“Lee!”

“Ginny!”

Both women jumped as their names thundered across the backyard.

“Hark, they bellow,” Ginny quipped, drawing genuine laughter from the bashful girl.

Whoops and howls of delight echoed throughout Trinity as the fiery remnants of the finale fizzled out, glowing embers falling back to earth. The Lords of Mayhem Motorcycle Club’s Memorial Day fireworks were a tradition the entire town had embraced. Smoke hung heavy over the small town, the sulfurous firework residue mingling with the grills and bonfires that dotted backyards for as far as the eye could see.

Sparks flew skyward like a swarm of fireflies, as the boys stoked the Lord’s bonfire until the flames reached for the stars.

“Let ‘er BURNNNNNN!” Sambo growled, drawing a roar of support from his club brothers.    

Tech cranked up the tunes and the party shifted gears. While the respectable sought their beds, the Lords caught their second wind. 

Weaving through the revelry in search of her husband, Ginny spotted him at the corner of the house, half obscured by the shadows. Her step faltered. Craning her neck, she tried to identify his companion. Unable to tell, her eyes darted through the crowd, searching out the usual suspects for elimination. Her mother’s heart sought out Rhys, finding him laughing with Mox near the keg. She rolled her eyes. Both boys looked three sheets to the wind. Bowie was nearby, scavenging the pork remains. Reaper was perched on a truck tailgate, Lee leaning back between his thighs. With the VP and Sergeant-at-Arms accounted for, if it was club business it was not very serious. Yet, the prickle at her nape didn’t dissipate.

Glancing back to Bowie, she caught him watching Zeke. The squint of the big man’s emerald eyes and slight jut of his jaw spoke of mistrust. Nibbling her bottom lip, she moved closer to Zeke, trying for a better vantage point. Bowie’s unease added to her own, but also gave her a pretty good idea who Zeke was talking to. More than a pronounced height difference prevented Bowie and Zeke’s partner from seeing eye-to-eye. Fiercely protective, Bowie had never shied away from reminding Jimmy that he didn’t trust anyone to have Zeke’s back like he did.  

Jimmy shifted under the weight of Zeke’s stare. The flame of the cigar cast the larger man’s hard countenance in a demonic glow. Friends since the academy and partners for the past sixteen years, there were still times he couldn’t tell what was going on behind those cold, blue eyes.

“You and I both know what happened with Porter, but Kramer is digging. He has our jackets, our case files. He’s pulling financials.” Jimmy ran a worried hand over the top of his smooth head. “I came home yesterday and he was sitting in my fucking living room talking to Jen.”

“Your ol’ lady know something I don’t? You have a Cayman account you aren’t fessing up to?” The cigar clamped between his teeth twisted Zeke’s sardonic grin to something even more sinister. “Then stop being such a pussy and tell your ol’ lady to shut her trap,” he said at Jimmy’s troubled headshake. “Kramer has a hard-on for me, and once he gets his rocks off, this will all die down.”

“Jen doesn’t know anything and I know you’re right, but…”

“Don’t ever underestimate what a woman knows, Jimmy,” Zeke cautioned. “Just remind her that family is family, huh?”  

“‘Til the bitter end, bro,” Jimmy confirmed at the slap on the shoulder and the friendly tone, but didn’t miss the fact that Zeke’s eyes never warmed.

An uneasy feeling twisted Zeke’s stomach as he watched his partner head for the street.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Ginny asked, stepping up beside him.

He didn’t answer as he watched Jimmy get in his car. The dome light illuminated a waiting Jen in the passenger seat. Even from a distance, the pinched displeasure on her face was evident. Thoughtful fingers stroked his goatee as the late model Lexus’ taillights disappeared. Rousing himself from his thoughts, he wrapped an arm around the silent woman at his side.

“No worries tonight, baby,” he rumbled, leading her back to the party.

Morning light streamed through the bathroom window. Twisting her hair into a haphazard knot, Ginny gave her reflection one last glance. Fresh from the shower and sans makeup, she looked younger than her years. Leaving Zeke sleeping, she made her way through the silent house on bare feet. She smiled at the sleeping bodies sprawled on every available surface. Between the living room, family room, guestrooms, and a finished basement that was primarily the boy’s domain, they always found room.

Arms akimbo, she surveyed her cluttered kitchen before digging in with a deep breath. Combining pies, desserts, and non-perishables as there was room, she downsized the mess and relegated the leftovers to one counter top. Wiping off the remaining surfaces, she dug through the refrigerator for the bulk sausage. As flames licked the bottom of the heating skillet, she pulled biscuits from the freezer and readied a few trays for the oven.

“You’re so damn organized.”

“Look who’s talking, little miss OCD.” Ginny laughed without turning around. She poured fresh coffee into a pair of ceramic mugs. An added dollop of Irish cream clouded each surface until the swirl of a mint chocolate spoon lightened the brew. Ginny handed one of the mugs to her best friend and leaned over the breakfast bar between them.

“Thanks,” Kat said, wrapping her hands around the proffered mug.

“You’re welcome, and with this many to feed, I better be organized.” 

“Have you looked out there yet?” Kat asked, indicating the back yard with an inclination of her head.

“I’ve seen it before,” Ginny said, her expression long-suffering. “The good thing is I have their keys. Not one bike leaves until my yard is put back to rights.” 

“You’re a sly one, Ginny Brawer.” 

“I’ve learned a trick or three in twenty years,” she said, offering a saucy wink as she turned back to the stove.

“If you hens cackled any louder in here, you would wake the dead for sure,” said a harsh growl from the doorway.

“Getting a gander and a whiff of you, and I’m thinking we already succeeded,” Kat said with a snort of amusement.

“Ya know you’re going to pay for that one,” Crux said, his voice soft and menacing.

Green eyes clashed, one set pale and menacing and the other dancing shamrocks, and then Kat broke for the back yard at a run. Her pleading, giggling shrieks cut the morning air like a siren. Laughing, Ginny watched out the window as her friend curled up on the ground like an armadillo, trying not to give her man a handhold. Undeterred, he picked her up in a ball and headed back to the patio. Her screams intensified to a crescendo as with a heave of one tattoo-covered shoulder Crux sent her flying into the pool. His heavily inked torso glistened in the early morning sun with the fallout of her landing. He threw back his head to laugh as she surfaced with a string of imaginative curses. Ginny couldn’t help but notice how the good humor transformed the cruel lines of his scarred visage, bringing an almost boyish handsomeness to the dangerous biker.

“You going to stand there gawking at other men all morning, or are you going to get your old man a cup of coffee?” Zeke murmured in her ear. 

Ginny leaned back into his embrace, tilting her head as he nuzzled her neck.

“Mmmm…keep doing that and you will never get your coffee,” she whispered, her voice husky at his wandering hands.

“Some sacrifices are worth it.”

“Get a room, or at the very least get out from in front of the damn coffee,” Bowie grumbled.

“We’re holding up traffic.” Ginny said with a giggle, trying to slip from Zeke’s arms. 

“Not the first time you’ve brought traffic to a halt, baby,” Zeke mumbled, with a wink.  He pulled her back for one last kiss before releasing her to serve up breakfast.

Chapter Three

Zeke’s desk chair tilted at a haphazard angle as he leaned back, stretching his weary shoulders. A passing clerk winced in sympathy as his neck gave an audible crack.

“I’d pay someone to commit a horrific fucking crime about now,” he groaned heavenward.

“Then the rat squad would finally have a case,” Jimmy said, tossing another file on the teetering stack.

Zeke cracked a grin that felt more like a grimace. His reinstatement had gone through, but the bastards had made sure he was tied to his desk. Maybe I.A. hadn’t had enough to hang him, but they could withhold the lube while they screwed him. A couple weeks of paperwork and he was ready to eat his gun. Twenty-two years on the streets and here he was, tight roping a fine line between desk duty and the big house. Closing the file in front of him, he stood and slapped it on the pile.

“I have to have some caffeine. You want anything?”

“Diet Coke.”

Zeke waved in dismissal as Jimmy reached for his wallet, and walked out of the squad room.

“Where do you think you are going, Brawer?”

“I’m going to the head, Kramer. Would you like to hold my hand?”

“Your partner said you were going to the Coke machine.”

“Then why the fuck did you ask me?”

“I find it interesting that wasn’t the answer you gave me. Usually you and Lombardi are dead on getting your stories coordinated,” Kramer sneered. 

Zeke’s smile lacked humor.

“Yeah well, we just couldn’t agree which was a better excuse for me to shed my ball and chain. I’m still thinking taking a piss has a better ring to it, but he’s a bit more PC than I am.” 

A vein throbbed in Kramer’s high forehead and his jaw muscle flexed. Zeke offered him a conspiratorial wink and strolled off to the men’s room.

Captain Donovan‘s steps faltered as he spotted Brawer leaning against the hood of his car. He glanced around the parking garage, not eager to be alone with his old friend.

“Whatever it is, can’t it wait for tomorrow? I have…”

“Poker tonight at seven o’clock,” Zeke finished for him. “This won’t take that long.”

Donovan nodded, fidgeting with his briefcase as he waited for the larger man to come to the point.

“I just want to know when the Chief started keeping your balls as a trophy on his desk?”

“Now you hold on right there!” Donovan sputtered.

“It’s a legitimate question,” Zeke interjected. “The man I knew wouldn’t have let anyone tell him how to run his squad. You got a dick on the streets so green he tossed his cookies on a vic today, while forty odd years of experience sits around getting fucking paper cuts. You tell me how that makes for good police work.”

“I.A. has the Chief’s ear and he doesn’t like what he’s hearing, Zeke.”

“They have shit. I was cleared and reinstated and yet here I am tied to a desk with Kramer documenting when I take a piss. You tell me that’s right.”

“I have no choice, Zeke. This is coming from above my head. You know how it works. Shit rolls downhill and you just grin and take it.” Donovan brushed past him and unlocked his car. Brawer’s stare bore into him as he got in and started the engine. Cranking the wheel to swing around his Detective, he stopped. Rolling down the window, he waited for Zeke to lean down.

“File a grievance with the union. They’re the only ones that might be able to help you now,” he whispered, avoiding eye contact.

Zeke stepped back as the Crown Vic’s tires squealed and Donovan was gone. He stood there lost in thought, the Captain’s resigned words playing over in his head. A greeting chirp of a siren pulled him from his reverie and he raised a hand to the uniforms before pulling out a stogie and heading for the Durango. 

Zeke stepped out onto the deck off the master bedroom. Puffing on his cigar, he leaned against the railing and contemplated the night sky. Donovan‘s words played through his mind.
File a grievance with the union. They’re the only ones that might be able to help you now.
Twenty-two years on the job came down to this. He snorted, flicking ashes. The men and women that pinned on the tin star were no different from their counterparts in the armed services. They were there to protect civilians from horrors they couldn’t handle, and didn’t want to know about. The average citizen didn’t give a fuck how they got it done, or at what cost, as long as it didn’t touch them. Kramer and the rat squad didn’t get that.

Ginny’s arms coming around his waist drew him from his thoughts. He stroked her laced fingers at his middle, and she pressed her cheek against his back.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

“You must think I’m cheap.” He felt her lips curve against his skin, but she didn’t answer. He searched for the right words.

“I’m tired, baby. Tired of the politics, the I.A. backbiting and just plain tired of the bullshit. I’m sick of people making a tough job impossible. Fuck, I got up this morning and for the first time in a long time I didn’t even…” He just shook his head and puffed on the stogie.

“Last time I looked at one of your pay stubs you had over two hundred personal days accrued, big man. You do know you get paid for those, right? I think we can afford for you to take a day or two off,” Ginny said, trying to lighten his mood. He shrugged.

Ginny rested her forehead against his broad back, searching for the right words to reassure her husband.

“Take some time off, Zeke. Let the witch hunt die down. We’ve been through this before. Even Kramer can’t keep his hard-on forever. Out of sight, you’re out of mind.”

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest.

“I can’t believe you miss me when I just had a couple weeks off. You have another honey-do list already?”

Ginny grinned and swatted at his back.

“I want to go on that ride you keep promising me, old man. You think your ass can sit a bike that many hours a day anymore?” She gave the anatomy in question a teasing grope.

Zeke turned, wrapping her in his arms to return the favor.

“I think it’s you that might want to worry, woman.” A hard swat followed the squeeze, drawing a yelp of surprise from Ginny and driving her up on her toes against him. “Be careful who you’re calling old. It’s even harder to ride bitch all day with a sore ass.”