Guns: The Spencer Book
Page 62
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“Your loved ones? You got loved ones? Mommy and Daddy?”
I shake my head at him. “Dude, my family is not gonna be my downfall, take my word on that one.”
“No? Why’s that? Because you innocent?”
I take a deep breath and go back to my own thoughts.
“And that’s not what I meant, anyways. I meant, if you’ve got someone close to you, too close to you, then they sees that, you know?”
Sees that? The grammar lapse conflicts with my previous opinion about his English. “See what?” I ask, frustrated with the talking but unable to stop myself from asking. Being locked up will do that to you. I’ve been here three days already, and this ass**le’s blathering is not my idea of enlightening conversation.
“See you love someone. They sees that, then they use it to take you down.”
“The cops?” I ask, confused by both the bad grammar and what he’s actually saying.
He laughs at me. “Them cops is the least of your problems. The ones you work for. Those ones. They keep records of your family.”
I just stare at him. “What?”
“You’re still learning, pup. But if you want to stay in this business, you better figure that part out right quick.” The dumb Mexican routine drops the longer that sentence streams on and I realize he’s been playing me these past few days.
I sit up and pay attention.
“That’s right, kid. Now you’re learning.”
“What the f**k are you talking about?” I look up at the ceiling, at the cameras. I’m pretty sure they’re keeping a nice peeled eye on me right now.
“The cops ain’t the bad guys, pup. It’s the bosses you gotta worry about.”
I stare at him for a few seconds, looking beyond the ugly tattoos, the weathered brown skin, and the fact that he smells like he’s been homeless for years. And when I finally do that, I see him for the first time.
I see him because I recognize him.
He is some other Team’s Ronin. As sure as shit, I see it. He’s some Team’s liar and he’s here because it’s his job to take the fall.
“Is that all?” I ask him.
He gives me a small smile. “Let me offer you a piece of advice, OK, son?” He stops, but I give him nothing but silence. Silence is the only safe way out of this situation. “Keep the ones ya really love far, far away.”
I’m just about to reply when the door buzzes and both of us jump a little. It slides open and two guards appear. “Shrike?”
“Yeah.” I blow out a long breath as I get to my feet.
“Charges have been dropped. We’re moving you through outtake.”
I walk forward, then look back at the Ronin and give him a nod. He nods back and I walk through the doors.
I never saw the guy again. Not in person anyway. But I did see him on the internet a year later. Drudge Report ran a headline about a mob job gone bad and an unidentified victim with x’s tattooed on his knuckles.
He was the mark in that hit and not two weeks before that his wife and kids died in a freak carbon monoxide accident while they were sleeping.
It freaked me the f**k out. I had just pitched the Shrike Bikes pilot to the Biker Channel. I sucked up to Ford and got him to commit, then called Antoine to feel him out for the photography. I had always planned on using Ronnie for that show. I wanted to make her life special, give her a taste of the better life, as she liked to call it. A life where she could shop and play without worrying about money.
I wanted her to be my model. So bad. Painting Ronnie’s body is the most erotic thing I’ve ever done. Man, she turns me on like nothing in this world.
But that guy. His words were burned in me. So I told the Bomb no. I told her I wanted a new girl. Some professional model. Someone taller, dark hair. Thinner. I told her I wanted the anti-Bomb to be my Shrike Bikes girl.
I hurt her with those words. I’ve never seen a more hurt look on her face. She broke it off with me and I played the bruised boyfriend for a week or so, telling anyone who’d listen that she’s a bitch. But every night I drove by her house. Sometimes I’d sit up on the roof of the little candle shop across College Avenue from Sick Boyz and spy on her. You’d be amazed how far you can travel on the rooftops before you have to hit the streets.
And she dated a few guys. I held my jealousy in check, because it never seemed to go anywhere. I followed her relentlessly for months. And then slowly I let her go. Redirected my attention to Rook, and the two brothers I’d been missing for years, as we all got back together for the STURGIS contract.
But when Veronica Vaughn showed up as Operation Jon was in full swing… when she came out of that building smelling like guns with blood dripping down her side… when Rook told me she’s the only reason Jon didn’t get her that day…
Ronnie wasn’t hurt. I knew she wasn’t hurt. That bullet skimmed her, it was a scrape. But that’s not the point. The point is, my world touched her. My f**king world touched her. And Ronnie pulled out her little pink gun—it was a Walther P99 that day, but every gun I picture her with is a pink .38 Special—fully loaded this time, and went in shooting just like I taught her.
She got knocked on her ass that day. Jon really did a number on her. When we got back from Sturgis she was all black and blue. And that shit really hit home. I lost all my resolve. I wanted her back. I wanted her back so bad. I kept her closer to me that month than I had in more than a year. I took her to Rook’s birthday party and I f**ked her every chance I could.
I shake my head at him. “Dude, my family is not gonna be my downfall, take my word on that one.”
“No? Why’s that? Because you innocent?”
I take a deep breath and go back to my own thoughts.
“And that’s not what I meant, anyways. I meant, if you’ve got someone close to you, too close to you, then they sees that, you know?”
Sees that? The grammar lapse conflicts with my previous opinion about his English. “See what?” I ask, frustrated with the talking but unable to stop myself from asking. Being locked up will do that to you. I’ve been here three days already, and this ass**le’s blathering is not my idea of enlightening conversation.
“See you love someone. They sees that, then they use it to take you down.”
“The cops?” I ask, confused by both the bad grammar and what he’s actually saying.
He laughs at me. “Them cops is the least of your problems. The ones you work for. Those ones. They keep records of your family.”
I just stare at him. “What?”
“You’re still learning, pup. But if you want to stay in this business, you better figure that part out right quick.” The dumb Mexican routine drops the longer that sentence streams on and I realize he’s been playing me these past few days.
I sit up and pay attention.
“That’s right, kid. Now you’re learning.”
“What the f**k are you talking about?” I look up at the ceiling, at the cameras. I’m pretty sure they’re keeping a nice peeled eye on me right now.
“The cops ain’t the bad guys, pup. It’s the bosses you gotta worry about.”
I stare at him for a few seconds, looking beyond the ugly tattoos, the weathered brown skin, and the fact that he smells like he’s been homeless for years. And when I finally do that, I see him for the first time.
I see him because I recognize him.
He is some other Team’s Ronin. As sure as shit, I see it. He’s some Team’s liar and he’s here because it’s his job to take the fall.
“Is that all?” I ask him.
He gives me a small smile. “Let me offer you a piece of advice, OK, son?” He stops, but I give him nothing but silence. Silence is the only safe way out of this situation. “Keep the ones ya really love far, far away.”
I’m just about to reply when the door buzzes and both of us jump a little. It slides open and two guards appear. “Shrike?”
“Yeah.” I blow out a long breath as I get to my feet.
“Charges have been dropped. We’re moving you through outtake.”
I walk forward, then look back at the Ronin and give him a nod. He nods back and I walk through the doors.
I never saw the guy again. Not in person anyway. But I did see him on the internet a year later. Drudge Report ran a headline about a mob job gone bad and an unidentified victim with x’s tattooed on his knuckles.
He was the mark in that hit and not two weeks before that his wife and kids died in a freak carbon monoxide accident while they were sleeping.
It freaked me the f**k out. I had just pitched the Shrike Bikes pilot to the Biker Channel. I sucked up to Ford and got him to commit, then called Antoine to feel him out for the photography. I had always planned on using Ronnie for that show. I wanted to make her life special, give her a taste of the better life, as she liked to call it. A life where she could shop and play without worrying about money.
I wanted her to be my model. So bad. Painting Ronnie’s body is the most erotic thing I’ve ever done. Man, she turns me on like nothing in this world.
But that guy. His words were burned in me. So I told the Bomb no. I told her I wanted a new girl. Some professional model. Someone taller, dark hair. Thinner. I told her I wanted the anti-Bomb to be my Shrike Bikes girl.
I hurt her with those words. I’ve never seen a more hurt look on her face. She broke it off with me and I played the bruised boyfriend for a week or so, telling anyone who’d listen that she’s a bitch. But every night I drove by her house. Sometimes I’d sit up on the roof of the little candle shop across College Avenue from Sick Boyz and spy on her. You’d be amazed how far you can travel on the rooftops before you have to hit the streets.
And she dated a few guys. I held my jealousy in check, because it never seemed to go anywhere. I followed her relentlessly for months. And then slowly I let her go. Redirected my attention to Rook, and the two brothers I’d been missing for years, as we all got back together for the STURGIS contract.
But when Veronica Vaughn showed up as Operation Jon was in full swing… when she came out of that building smelling like guns with blood dripping down her side… when Rook told me she’s the only reason Jon didn’t get her that day…
Ronnie wasn’t hurt. I knew she wasn’t hurt. That bullet skimmed her, it was a scrape. But that’s not the point. The point is, my world touched her. My f**king world touched her. And Ronnie pulled out her little pink gun—it was a Walther P99 that day, but every gun I picture her with is a pink .38 Special—fully loaded this time, and went in shooting just like I taught her.
She got knocked on her ass that day. Jon really did a number on her. When we got back from Sturgis she was all black and blue. And that shit really hit home. I lost all my resolve. I wanted her back. I wanted her back so bad. I kept her closer to me that month than I had in more than a year. I took her to Rook’s birthday party and I f**ked her every chance I could.
