I cut to the chase with Nash, more to change the subject than anything. “Scott and I are meeting with Ricky this morning. Not sure what his agenda is, but we figure we’ll need to regroup after the meet so keep yourself free after two this afternoon. If it’s more urgent, and we need to go over it sooner, I’ll let you know.” Without waiting for him to reply, I pushed my chair back and stood. “Can you line J up for this, too?” I added, and at his agreement, I left him and headed back into the kitchen.
After rinsing out my mug, I rested against the kitchen counter and dropped my face into my hands, and attempted to catch my breath.
This didn’t get easier each year; if anything, it was getting harder.
* * *
Ricky had organised to meet us at an old abandoned house in West End. Scott had been in contact with Blade who’d insisted on sending some of his guys along, too. They waited down the end of the street, only to be called upon if shit went down with Ricky.
We found Ricky out in the back. He’d brought his second-in-charge with him, and they faced us, their faces expressionless. “Boys,” Ricky said with a jerk of his chin.
“Ricky,” Scott replied.
He took a step in our direction and came closer. My fingers twitched, wanting to pull out my gun. I trusted this motherfucker less than I trusted my ex-girlfriend, and I didn’t trust her at all.
Ricky’s eyes dropped to my hands and he smirked as he looked back up at me. “Easy, Griff, no need to get excited. I just want to talk.”
I scowled and demanded, “Well, spit it out so we can all get on with our day.”
Ricky raised his brows and looked at Scott. “Your boy here is an impatient asshole.”
“So am I, Ricky. We’ve got shit to do today so let’s not draw this out. What are you after?” Scott said, his eyes flashing his annoyance.
“I heard a rumour you boys would be receiving a shipment of coke this week, and that concerned me. I mean, we do have that agreement in place so I’m left wondering why you’d go back on our deal? Unless of course - ”
Scott cut him off, his nostrils flaring, and the vein in his neck pulsing. “I don’t know who your source is for this, but you need to get yourself a new one. Storm is out of drugs; I don’t know how I can tell you that in another way that you will understand. There will be no shipment this week or any other week.”
Ricky’s lips curled in a sneer, and his shoulders tensed as if he were getting ready for battle. My hand moved closer to my gun. “My source is fucking reliable, Scott, which means I’m now in a quandary.”
“I tell you what, get more information from your source – time and place, for instance – and you be there and intercept the delivery. It won’t be us there. And another thing, I’ve been nothing but honest with you in all our dealings, and I want the peace we have to continue; I’m hardly going to do something reckless to fuck that up. Think about that.”
The two of them continued their face-off in silence for a few more moments until Ricky took a step away from Scott. “I’ll go back to my source, and if necessary, I’ll be at that drop-off. And I’ll tell you what – whoever is at that delivery won’t be as lucky as you two today; they won’t walk away breathing.”
Scott glared at him. “We done?”
Ricky nodded his head once, and Scott turned and indicated for me to leave with him. I gave Ricky one last scowl before following Scott out.
When we were back at our bikes, he said, “I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but I have a bad fucking feeling there’s something to it. What do you think?”
My gut roared its agreement. “I think this is something we need to look into. Now.”
He reached for his helmet. “You start digging. I’m gonna grab Wilder and make some house calls and see if anyone knows anything.”
“I’ve sent him out to make sure Indigo and all the restaurants are secure.”
“Is J free?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’ll take him while you do your thing. Call me if you find out anything, and I’ll do the same,” he said before taking off.
Jesus. This was a bad way to start the week.
* * *
Scott’s and my efforts were futile. We discovered nothing, and after making a plan for tomorrow with J and Nash, I had to leave them and head out to take care of something.
A little over half an hour later, just after five-thirty, I pulled up outside a house I’d been visiting for every one of my thirty-six years; a house I’d continue to visit until I was no longer needed.
“Michael,” my aunt called from the front verandah, “did you remember the milk?”
I jogged the short distance to the verandah and took the stairs a few at a time. Bending, I placed a kiss on her cheek, and smiled. “Yeah, I got it. I’m gonna put it in the fridge and then I’ll be back.”
The lines on her face crinkled into a smile and she nodded as she motioned with her hand for me to move along.
A couple of minutes later, I returned and surveyed the front yard. “I’m gonna mow today; get you ready for Christmas,” I said. I mightn’t celebrate this holiday, but Aunt Josie did. She’d always been better at finding ways to move past her sister’s murder than I’d been.
Her hand found mine as I stood next to her, and she squeezed it. “You’re a good man, Michael, thank you.”
I squeezed her hand back and let it go. “Don’t tell anyone, Josie, they wouldn’t believe you,” I said. This was our standard conversation each week.