Page 102 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

“As specific as all this?” Ian waved a hand to include the chauffeured Range Rover in which they sat, the city, its occupants.

Ghost snorted. “Definitely not…but I wanted big things for the club. I used to talk about it with Mags at the kitchen table, once Ava had gone to bed.” Nostalgia gripped him, one harsh squeeze up under his ribs; that had been a simpler time, and though he’d felt this restless yearning inside himself then, he’d been happy, too, Maggie golden under the kitchen lights, bare toes moving aimlessly up and down the back of his calf while she sipped her wine and listened to his plans. His dreams. No matter how hardened he’d been, no matter how he phrased it, those plans had been no different than the dreams of a kid in school, gazing out the window.

“My uncle,” he started, and paused, because he didn’t talk about Duane if he could help it, but if there was ever a moment to, now was it. The first two words broke the dam at the back of his throat, and the rest spilled out, boiling with feeling in a way he hadn’t expected. “My uncle Duane loved the club. Well, he lovedbeingin the club. He loved the bikes, and the drugs, and the drinking, and the women. It was all one big never-ending party to him, and he would do anything, or kill anyone, who got in the way of that.”

“Sounds rather different from your approach to the organization,” Ian said, mildly.

“Yeah.” His attention was too penetrating, at this point, so Ghost settled back against the seat, and watched the storefronts flash past beyond the window. “The whole point of the club isthat you liveoutsideof whatever the hell ‘normal society’ is. For Duane, I guess that meant being a loud and rowdy shithead. But unless they’re living all alone out in the woods, men needsomekinda society. To me, being an outlaw meant creating a place outside of all the bureaucracy bullshit. Like, the government can tax the shit out of us and do whatever the hell they want with the money, no matter what the people want; a pedo can walk free on a technicality in court; the safety of your family depends on how fast the cops show up. Neighborhoods stay unsafe because nobody cleans them up, and everybody’s always turning around asking Big Daddy Gov to make it all better. Well, fuck that. I’m in charge of my own destiny. If somebody’s a piece of shit, he’s a dead man. If my family isn’t safe, I make them safe. Duane sold drugs for money, and I sell drugs because if I can control the sin, I can control the city, and a city under my control is one where me and mine canthrive.”

He stabbed his finger against his thigh on the last point, realized he was breathing hard, and checked himself.

Ian hummed a contemplative sound. “Outlaw literally means ‘outside of the law.’ But the law of the land and the law of nature isn’t always the same, is it?”

Ghost glanced over, and saw that he understood – he’d already known he did. He nodded. “Yeah. Money is power, and power is security. We were always gonna end up here, Ian. How could we not?”

Ian flicked an uncertain smile. “Yes, of course. You’re right.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve never seen you not be able to talk your way out of a bad situation.”

“Hm. There’s a first for everything, I suppose.”

They lapsed into silence, as the Rover crawled through evening rush hour traffic. The Rover ahead of them – pilotedby Fox – tried to surge forward, and was forced to slam on the brakes.

Ghost wasn’t worried about being late: this wasn’t the sort of meeting where punctuality mattered.

“I’m curious,” Ian said after they’d crept another few dozen yards. “Joining Abacus would be the least risk to me. It would be a lucrative, pragmatic decision. And yet, the moment I called you, you assumed that I was still safely on your side.”

Ghost rolled his head against the back of the seat so he could see him, and found Ian staring at him with still attentiveness, expression blank and inscrutable.

He shrugged. “I’m not your dad or your boss. If you wanna sign on with Abacus, sign on.”

Ian frowned. “That isn’t my point.”

“No, your point is stupid. How many years has it been, Ian? And you think thatI’mgonna think you’d bail to join up with that buncha sickos? Gimme more credit than that.”

Ian smiled, slow and sweet, and before he turned his face away, Ghost saw the quickly-blinked-away glimmer of forming tears. He reached over and lay his hand on Ghost’s thigh, and because it didn’t feel like a come on, but like a desperate reach for a lifeline, Ghost let it stay. Even patted the back of it.

“Get your shit together,” he said, in the kindest voice he could, and Ian chuckled. “We’ll be there soon.”

By the time they arrived, Ian was at his showman’s best. When Bruce opened the door, he glided out of the Rover and offered his coldest gracious smile to the suited thugs who awaited their arrival by the parking deck elevator. “Good evening, gentlemen. I trust you’re well.”

“Arms out, spread your legs,” one of the thugs ordered, and stepped forward to pat them down.

Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he’d endured a pat down, much less the last time he hadn’t been carrying at leasta half-dozen weapons on his person. But he extended his arms, and endured the rough grabbing of hands as big as Mercy’s, and walked into the elevator when he was nudged forward. The last thing he saw before the doors closed was Bruce’s rare look of fear as he watched his master disappear behind sliding steel panels.

Alone for the moment, as the car hummed and began to climb, Ghost said, “He’s been a good one. Bruce.”

“Wonderful,” Ian agreed. “I couldn’t have asked for a more dedicated bodyguard. Even if he does always nick my mint Milanos.” In their reflections in the door, he saw Ian’s face crease with momentary pain, a child’s grief over a parent, and it was quickly smoothed.

“Where’d you find him, anyway?”

“I inherited him when I killed his first master,” Ian said, quietly, voice faraway. “He’s been unfailingly loyal ever since.”

Their elevator went straight from the garage up to the penthouse, no stops in between; no chance to get off.

It rose, and rose, and rose, smoothly, without any hitches, without the usual glowing numbers up in the corner to signal which floor they were passing. Ghost couldn’t see a camera, but knew there was one, that the man they were about to meet was watching them even now.

Ian’s sleeve brushed his, and a sideways glance proved that his hands were linked together in front of him, and that he was trembling, faintly, though his expression was serene. If not for the camera, Ghost would have offered one last word of assurance. A shoulder squeeze. But as it was, he faced forward, and took a few last deep breaths, and, finally, the elevator slowed.

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