Page 34 of Vicious Souls

I flick the cigarette between my fingers to the ground and let out a deep breath as Marco lights up his own, coming to stand beside me against the wall in the garden.

“Admitting she gets to me implies I care, Marco. So no, I wouldn’t call it that.”

“But she’s pushing your buttons.”

“Did you come out here because you want something, or merely to quantify the hell I’m currently in?” I am beyond fed up with Marco’s constant gloating over my misfortune.

“Come on, Dante. She may be irritating, but at least she’s entertaining. And very, very easy on the eyes. Her sort of beauty should be outlawed.”

A seething anger surges through me, from the inside out, burning me up as I understand the magnitude of his words. Marco and I have been best friends for years. We’ve always joked and prodded and shared views on girls, all in jest, but I find my temper fraying as I realize my best friend, who’d once been disgusted by Moneybags, now looks at her in a different light. Ever since she shed her ridiculously over the top disguise, she’s become something more, even in my best friend’s eyes. He’s apparently looked twice and noticed her, almost praising and adoring her. And this, for some reason, has me locking my jaw in anger as an overwhelming wave of possessiveness overtakes me. I look to my oldest friend, debating how to deal with him without actually killing him.

“Watch your mouth, Marco,” I warn.

My friend lowers his cigarette to his side and looks at me as though seeing me for the first time.

“You stopped smoking years ago,” he remarks, as though something has only just clicked in his head. “You’re smoking again? You’re going caveman and getting territorial over a girl you don’t even know. You’re leaving no stone unturned trying to find out who’s trying to kill her – when you know she’s the daughter of your father’s enemy… don’t tell me you’re…”

I cut him off before he can finish his sentence, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt and backing him hard against the wall. Marco’s eyes fuse with mine, a showdown between two best friends. My jaw continues to rock back and forth in anger as I hold him aggressively, tormented by the temptation to plant my fist firmly in his face. We’ve never ever had occasion to go toe to toe about any matter, let alone a girl. And in this moment, regardless of the darkness, it is clear as day that a battle line has been drawn between us. Marco understands what is happening – what has happened – even before I do. But when I finally understand what he has, I draw a clear red line that is not to be crossed. I don’t want his observations articulated, and I don’t want to cross over to that place from which there’d be no coming back.

* * *

There’ssomething to be said for having men sworn to uphold the law on your payroll. For even though they’ve sworn an oath to maintain law and order, in our industry, cash is king. Their oath is to us, the people who tarnish the law and everything it stands for, then pay our way out of any mess we find ourselves in. Jacob Mills has been on our payroll for years, feeding us much needed information when we need it. Although there are some lines he will not cross, this is not one of them. He throws a stack of photos on the table between us and stands back as I pick them up and rifle through them one by one. Taken from every possible angle leading to the safehouse we’d been in when we’d been attacked. From streetcams in neighboring streets. A convenience store at the end of the road. A petrol station two blocks over. I needed to see them rolling in and rolling out. The footage has been pulled from anywhere we could possibly get it – it had taken Jacob a mere few days where it would have taken our hacking resources much more effort and much more time. Our own footage shows the attackers in action, but they’d done a good job avoiding the cameras enough that their identities remained intact. It’s what happened before they reached the house that was of interest to me. I need to be one hundred percent sure before I take any further action.

Half way through the stack of grainy photos, I find a series of stills taken from the comfort of an abandoned delicatessen, which I know for a fact isn’t so abandoned. Five motorcycles are parked in the lot in front of said abandoned deli, their riders standing at various points, forming a semi-circle, conducting a conversation. In still more shots that follow, they are joined by three more motorcycles, and from the sequence of events, it’s obvious that a short meeting transpires before they hop on their bikes again, don their bandanas around their lower faces, and continue on their journey to the Accardi safehouse. Jacob has the foresight to blow up the pictures so we have good identifying markers. So good, I am able to identify two of the men from the night that Moneybags and I had been chased through the darkened streets of No Man’s Land. So good, I am able to clarify that the original troublemaker who’d accosted Moneybags in the toilet of the service station was amongst the attackers. Although I don’t know the reasons behind his actions, I do now know he is the ringleader and the extent of his participation. I continue to flip through the photos – literally dozens of them, holding on to the clearer copies that give me the best facial recognition of the culprits.

“I don’t pay you enough.”

Jacob’s chest puffs out like a proud peacock. He’s never let us down in the past, but this work is beyond what I expected.

“What can you tell me about the Savages MC?” I ask him, setting the photos down.

“Low key, stay on their own turf. Don’t really get into anyone’s business unless they’re protecting what’s theirs.”

“Then how do you explain their interfering in my business by blowing up my safehouse?”

Jacob shrugs and shakes his head slowly. “I’ve heard chatter, but nothing I can confirm one way or another.”

“What sort of chatter?”

“Some of the patches don’t seem to be too happy with the way the Chapter is run. They’ve been static for years, and some are looking to younger blood for reform.”

“Meaning?”

“There’s been some in-fighting. Some jostling for the Presidency. Out with the old, in with the new sort of stuff.”

“We’ve never had an issue with the Savages. You think this could be them making their move into the big league?”

“It’s too blatant an attack – too much too quick – to indicate that’s what this is. And I don’t think Lucas Gables is looking to start trouble he can’t handle before he retires. He’s too old school.”

“You think you can set up a meet between me and Gables?”

31

DANTE

Lucas Gables is definitely not what I’m expecting. A tall, imposing man with salt and pepper hair, he seems to have one foot already in the grave before I pull up to a warehouse that is situated in neutral territory. This ensures my safety as well as his. The man has a strong handshake and claps me on the back like he is in the presence of greatness, even though our paths have never before had occasion to cross. We remain standing, surrounded by dust and debris from a time many years ago when this warehouse had served a purpose other than to house clandestine meetings.

“Your request to meet with me came as a surprise,” Lucas starts, his curious gaze sliding over me. Yes, he is definitely in awe of me.

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