Guns: The Spencer Book
Page 41

“Pull over.”
“What?”
He waves his hand at the upcoming street. “Just pull over there. I need to show you something.”
I turn off into a residential side street and pull over to the side of the road. Ford hands me his laptop and I take it automatically. “What’s this?”
“Just read it.”
I scan the page for a second. “What the f**k?” There’s a picture of Drake Cikes. But that’s not what makes my heart skip a beat.
It’s the guy standing next to him. Davis Cooperson Smyth. Otherwise known as the Boulder ass**le I murdered.
“What the f**k is this?”
“Drake. He’s the illegitimate love child of one of Cooperson Smyth’s sex slaves. His only son. Stood to inherit the entire estate. Until…”
It starts to make sense now. “Until we stole it.”
“Exactly. He’s got a motive, but not the skills, Spencer. So he’s not the only one.”
“Where’d you find this?” I ask, looking up at him.
“I used a virus—”
“Fucking Ford! What the f**k? You’re gonna get us busted!”
“Relax, I was careful. I had help from a friend.”
“Who? Because if we’ve got someone else who knows our business, we truly are f**ked.”
Ford squints his eyes and gives me a sly grin. “This guy has always known our business. I just never told you before. You think hacking into high-level databases is a solitary effort, Spencer?” He waits for an answer but I have no idea. “Well, it’s not. Merc has had my back since high school. So he’s cool. And besides, you do not want to know what that guy does for a living.”
“So we’re keeping this from Ronin? Why?”
“Just for now, OK?” He stops to see how much of a fight I’ll put up. But seriously, if Ford’s got some secret plan in motion, I have no choice but to go along. “If he starts pressing you for answers or you f**k up and let on that he’s not as well-informed as he used to be—then feed him this info. Tell him about Drake and Ashleigh’s past. That’s our cover.”
“We should not need to cover from Ronin,” I huff.
“Normally I’d agree. But Rook can’t know any of this if she’s gonna testify. She’s not a good witness, Spencer. Surely you can see that.”
I can see it. Rook is a mess. We were so damn lucky she held it together last fall when she gave her statement. Ford and I grilled her for almost three days before we let her loose. But we held the cards back then. We had the element of surprise.
This time they’re prepared for us.
So I drop it. If he doesn’t want to let me in on the details of what he knows, then he’s got a good reason for it. Ford is not impulsive. In fact, he over-thinks pretty much everything. Telling me this much was probably a huge concession on his part.
But keeping things from Ronin… that part is different. “Ronin’s the bullshit detector. He’s gonna catch on.”
“Well.” Ford huffs out a long breath. “Maybe it’s time we all went our separate ways? If he finds out, maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
I’m not sure how I feel about that, so I let it ride. Ford is stressed. He and I have been friends since we were six and I plan on being friends with him when we’re sixty.
But maybe some distance is a good thing? Once things are set right. Maybe we need to start new lives? Lives that include new teams filled with a wife and kids.
I think we’re all ready for that.
I head into downtown and look over at Sick Boyz as I pass and laugh internally. Ford is upset, so I’m trying to be sensitive. But I can’t help but smile because next to Ronnie’s new Blackbird is Carson’s car. And it’s waiting-room only at the local tat shop today.
“What’d you do?” Ford asks. “Don’t think I didn’t catch that shit-eating grin as we passed Ronnie’s work.”
I’m glad my friend has snapped out of the somber mood he created, even if it’s only to give me trouble about my nonexistent love life. “So Ronnie is holding down the fort at Sick Boyz, right? Everyone but her is down in the Springs at some tattoo thing. And she was bitching about her job last week, putting herself down, acting like what she does takes no talent at all and she’s wasting her potential.”
“Got it,” Ford replies at my pause.
“So I called up a local sorority and told them I was the brother of a sister in their house and I wanted to gift them all a tattoo at Sick Boyz.”
Ford looks over and smiles.
“You know, keep her busy and make her stop moping around. I get that she’s got the blood phobia, but last week, Ford, she admitted that it causes her panic attacks.”
“Really?” he says.
“Yeah, so I’m no expert in panic attacks, but I do know one thing. It’s an irrational reaction to a rational situation. I mean, is that about right?”
Ford’s father was a psychiatrist and he has a lot of experience in the head-shrinking department. He knows about this stuff better than I do.
“Yeah, basically. I mean, there’s lots of underlying reasons for it, but it’s irrational, that’s key.”
“Right. So I figure this is not something she should be allowed to run from, ya know? I mean, you gotta get this shit when it’s small. Nip it in the bud. Because she is one great tattoo artist. She’s like world f**king class. I’ve told all my new famous biker buddies about Sick Boyz, and they plan on taking advantage of her skills once the show starts. They’re going big-time over there. Soon. And if Ronnie really wants to quit, then more power to her. She can do whatever the f**k she wants with her life—as long as I’m in it, of course. But if she’s running from this job because she can’t breathe when she sees blood, well, that’s bullshit. So I told the house girls I’d pay up to a hundred bucks per tattoo and sent Carson over to help Ronnie run the place until her family gets back on Thursday.”