Page 63 of Whiskey Shivers

“I think they got something on the other club, promised ‘em some kind of sweetheart deal if they helped trap us by causin’ beef,” I said.

“Yeah, well, where’s your proof?” Cornelius asked me.

I gave him a crooked grin and said, “Get us out of here, and we’ll get it.”

“I don’t want to know,” the lawyer said. “I don’tevenwant to know…”

* * *

The lawyer didwhat we paid him to do and got us out – on our own recognizance, no less. Our trial date was set for next month, but Cornelius already had so many holes poked in their shit it wasn’t even funny. He didn’t even need to see their evidence to do it. They didn’t know we had a copy of the bar’s surveillance, and he was betting they weren’t even going to try to admit it into evidence.

“The only thing worse than how corrupt the NOPD is, is how lazy they are, boys. Enjoy your freedom and try to stay out of trouble, yeah?”

He’d been uneasy at Axe’s mad grin. Truth be told, I had been too.

Some of Cy’s family had come to pick us up and take us back to the club, namely his sister. She’d been pissed at him, but that was just her love language – at least that was the running joke within the club. Nah, she was good people.

When she let us out the car, it was to La Croix waiting and scowling something fierce.

“What’s up, P?” Saint asked him.

“Had a hell of a time getting your bikes outta impound,” he said. “Cops had ‘em towed outta the bar’s lot before we could get there. We got ‘em, but Axe, Cy, yours got some damage.”

“What?” Axe looked pissed. Cy just looked discouraged.

“Saint, Hex, yours look alright, but yeah, come on an’ have a look.”

We went in and it wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t pretty either – some serious scuffed chrome on Axe’s bike and a whole ass dent and fucked-up paint along with some fucked-up chrome on Cy’s.

“Son of a bitch,” Cy muttered.

I told him, “Don’t you worry about it. We’ll get it handled. The important thing is that shit still runs.”

Everything seemed to run alright, and I took my ass home. I showered for real with my own soaps and shit and got myself dressed in fresh clothes. Out of paranoia, I swept all my shit – both personal effects and bike – for any tracking devices and fuckery, and shot a text out over the burner lines for the boys to do the same. I started some shit up in the laundry and checked out the window at the sky which was already dusted with rose as things headed on toward sunset.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

I got in my truck and headed for the bayou.

I wouldn’t spend another night away from my Fable.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

Corliss…

I tried calling Hex from the sat phone once or twice on Sunday but there was no answer. Well, not just no answer, but it went straight to voicemail, like the phone wasn’t even turned on. I worried about him, and I could tell Alina was empathetic but that she too was a little concerned even though she’d been able to reach La Croix just fine and he’d sworn everything was all good.

It was a relief when on Monday night, we heard an approaching boat.

We both went out onto the barge and there was a weak spotlight out there, sweeping the swamp and waterway ahead of two figures in a boat.

It was La Croix and Hex, and I was so relieved.

“I was getting so worried,” I cried as they approached.

Hex chuckled and said, “It’s all good, sorry, Fable, weekend didn’t goentirelyas planned.”

“What happened?” Alina asked, taking and tying off the line he tossed her as La Croix brought the shallow aluminum boat up alongside the barge.

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