Page 72 of Nomad

“Now the next part of this is up to you. Don’t have to tell you that we’re committed to be law-abidin’ citizens for the most part. But one of the advantages of bein’ a club is that we know when that just doesn’t fill the bill. Only you can tell us if this is one of those times.”

“You’re sayin’ I’ve got options.” Cann spoke slowly and deliberately. The blood was throbbing in his head so hard it sounded like his voice was outside his body and muted.

“Exactly so,” said Brant. “Already took a vote before you got here. And it was unanimous. Whatever you decide. That’s what we’re gonna do. We’re all in it with you.”

Cann stared at Brant for a long time. The other club members waited patiently, not making a sound. No doubt each was silently wondering what he would do if he was in the shoes of the man making the decision.

With abruptness that was startling, Cann said, “I need to talk to Bud.”

As he started to get out of his chair, Brant said, “Hold on. This is club business. You know there’s a tradition…”

“Don’t give a damn about traditions that everybody knows are…”

“Outdated?” supplied Rally.

Cann’s head jerked toward Rally. “Yes. Exactly. I’m talkin’ to Bud before I decide.”

“Does that even make sense, Cann? I mean wives I can see. Maybe. But Bud… Not sayin’ she’s not gonna grow up to be somethin’ really special. That’s just a ways off.”

“You’re wrong,” said Cann. “And she’s the one I’m gonna talk to.”

“Cann. She comes from a law family.”

“So do you!” Cann practically shouted. He was talking about the Fornight familial ties to the Rangers.

Brant let the insubordination go. It was understandable given the heat of the moment. Finally he asked, “Why?”

That question buried Cann in emotional conflict as sure as if it was weighed down by nine yards from a dump truck. He started to say, “I don’t know,” but stopped himself because he knew that would be dishonest. “Because she cares more about me than anybody.” He looked around the room. “Even you.”

Brant ran a hand through his hair, beautifully graying at his temples, and looked around the room. One by one the members gave wordless assent.

“Do it,” Brant said. “We’ll wait.”

Bud had left the bar and gone to her room for the night. The knock on the door was a surprise. People rarely disturbed her privacy and never at that time of night. She’d taken a quick shower, tied her hair up, and put on a flannel night shirt that came to her knees. She slipped on the jackalope house shoes she’d bought on Congress Avenue and shuffled for the door.

Seeing Cann standing on the other side was fantasy combined with incongruence. She waited for him to speak.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

His face gave away that he’d just experienced some kind of upheaval and she wanted to know what it was. Stepping back, she opened the door wider as an invitation to come in. After closing it behind Cann, she walked to her bed, and sat down on the side of it.

Cann followed and sat beside her.

When he didn’t begin talking, she decided to try to help. “What happened?”

As his face turned toward hers, she briefly saw torture in his eyes. Then it was gone.

“We know who did it. And why. And we have him in, ah, private custody.”

It took a second for her to make the connection. Then she said, “Oh.”

“I have to decide what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“With him. What to do with him.”

She cocked her head, her own mind racing. “What are the options?”

---