Page 34 of Pocketful of You

"Oh. Synchronized jail sentences. How…delightful." I rolled my eyes, repressing the urge to run for my freaking life. "So, when do you think he'll be back from his little excursion with the creepy biker with thehauntinglybad B.O?" I asked when we pulled into the quarry that was aptly namedthe Ring of Fire.

Lucky had ducked out of town with G four days ago, on so-called business, letting me know that he would have the information I needed when he returned.

As much as I was enjoying this temporary reprieve from Pocketful, bouncing between the Messina's suede couch and the Casarazzi's leather one, I had friends that needed me back home.

Besides, this place gave me the major creeps. It was clear that some seriously shady and unscrupulous dealings occurred right here in the mountains, miles away from human intelligence – aka: thecops.

"Now," Noah replied, dragging me from my thoughts.

"Huh?"

"You asked when Luck would be back," he explained, pointing to the man on a motorcycle tearing down the dirt road ahead of a van with tinted out windows. "And I said now."

Climbing off his bike, Lucky kicked out the foot stand, acknowledged our presence with a quick tilt of his chin, and then moved straight for the van, sparking up a cigarette on his way.

"What the hell is happening?" I whisper-hissed, watching, wide-eyed, as the back door of the van flew open and several men piled out.

"You asked for his help," Noah replied with a sigh, removing his Ray-Bans. "If you play with the big boys, you get big results."

"What does…oh my Pistol Annies and hell on heels, is that –" My words broke off when my eyes landed on… "Mr. Capaldi!"

Chris and Sketch's father was blindfolded and being carted into the warehouse by a couple of shady looking bikers.

"Guess Lucky found what you needed, kid."

Watching on emotionlessly were both Lucky and G, who were smoking and conversing like old freaking friends at a high school reunion.

"Did I make a mistake?" I asked, jaw slack. "Asking him for help?"

Noah shrugged. "Hell if I know, kid. I'm just a humble ex-con."

Oh Christ."Well, is he going to kill Chris's dad?"

Noah tilted his head, considering my question. "Depends if he's offered enough cash to do it."

"Oh dear," I muttered, pushing my glasses up my nose, while I plotted my next move.

"Hold the fuck up!" Springing forward, I pressed my face to the window, eyes glued to the makeshift stretcher being carried out of the van. A wave of familiarity swept through me when my eyes landed on the lifeless frame being carried into the warehouse.

Oh no.

Please god no.

"Sketch!" Shoving the car door open, I fell onto the gravel, legs likes noodles, as my eyes trailed the stretcher containing my friend. "Jesus Christ, Sketch!" I yelled, breaking into a clumsy run. "Sketch! I'm coming, buddy. Hold on, I'm coming –"

"Whoa there, cowboy," Lucky said, blocking my way with his arm. "It's all good."

"What did you do to him?" I snarled, roughly shaking his hand off me. "I promised to keep him safe. Do you get that? I promised Chris I would protect his brother!" Tears filled my eyes and I did the most reckless thing I could in that moment. I slapped the hitman. Across the face. "You asshole!"

"Okay, first off,ouch," Lucky replied, rubbing his cheek. "Second, I didn’t shoot your friend. His girlfriend's daddy shot him. And third, if you ever hit me again, close your damn fist to do it."

"Sketch wasshot?" Sweet Jesus, I felt faint. "ByCal? When?"

"At the motel, the night you heard that bigbang." Smirking, he gestured with gun fingers. "Looks like you were dead on the money, cowboy."

"My friend was shot and you think it'sfunny?" I demanded. "Holy fuck, that was almost three weeks ago."

"Aye, the boy was shot right in the chest," G interjected with a whistle. "I have not seen too many come back from a wound like that."

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