Page 92 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

“They probably will, yeah. But I hear through the grapevine that there’s some crazy idiots on their way to tackle Abacus head on, at the very,verytop.”

Her brows jumped. “I wish them luck, but I won’t hold my breath.”

“In the meantime,” he said, “we have a window, here in New Orleans.”

Her look went suspicious. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, tone purposefully grave, and took a wild leap of faith, counting on her hatred of Boyle, and the look on her face the day he’d told her about Remy. She wanted to help, he knew that; had even gone to his mom’s house without question, when he called her for help. He thought he could trust her with this – and if it turned out that trust was misplaced, he was willing to be the fall guy. He would confess up and down that everything she helped with was his idea, and his alone. “That we have time to find Remy, and handle Boyle, without the FBI watching.”

“Handle Boyle,” she repeated, carefully.

“You can be as involved, or uninvolved as you’d like to be,” he said, “but since you’ve helped me, I wanted to do you the courtesy of letting you know: shit’s about to get real. If you want to be able to claim ignorance, now’s the time to leave town.”

He turned for the door after that, feeling like an overdramatic douche for dropping a decree and then leaving, but also like he might have royally stepped in it. If Duet called HQ…if the lawwoman in her proved stronger than the human…or if turning her down back in February…

“Alex.” He paused with his hand on the knob, and looked back.

But she didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she was studying the flowers again. Just to the right of them, the TV was flashing professional headshots of Sawyer and Hames.

“You ever think…” she started, and then bit her lip, shook her head.

“What?”

She sighed – and then turned to face him; her eyes, when they met his, were those of a much older woman, tired, and world-weary, and hard at the edges with the sort of cynicism people tried and tried to deny, until it crashed over them all at once and they realized how little faith they had in the world. “You ever think you’ve spent years trying to do the right thing, and then realize you were helping people who do the wrong thing the whole time?”

“Lately? Every day.”

She nodded, and touched her bandage, an absent movement that made her flinch and put her hand back down. “The only two things I know about Boyle are that he’s a monster, and that he’s got it bad for your brother. I can’t help you find him. But I might be able to draw Fallon out of the shadows.”

He lifted his brows, delight a rare, bright sensation in his chest. “Yeah?”

“I might not know much about monsters, but I know men. All of them have a breaking point.”

~*~

“Are you sure about this?”

It was so unusual a question coming from Michael that Walsh paused and gave it due consideration. He was already seated at the head of the table, but hadn’t gotten comfortable: he didn’t figure it would be his chair for long.

Michael stood at the door, his back to it, one hand on the knob, ready to usher in their brothers.

Who might not consider Walsh their brother in about ten minutes.

Washe sure about this?

Other than Michael, he hadn’t yet told anyone about what he was about to say at church. Michael was a very good listener, but not the best advice-giver. That was probably part of the reason Walsh hadn’t tried to bring anyone else into his confidence. He wasn’t looking for anyone to take a side, here. He’d like to escape with his life, to live out his days with Emmie and Violet, in whatever shape those days would take once he’d lost the club’s support. But otherwise, he wasn’t picky. Michael had said he wouldn’t let anyone kill him; that was enough. It was clear, now, that he could not sit idly by in Knoxville, lying to his brothers, while New York and New Orleans decided the future of the club he’d dedicated himself to. He would play his part, and play it as well as the other Dogs would allow him to.

“I’m sure,” he said, and meant it. Felt calm, steady. “Let them in.”

Aidan was the first through the door, and he sat down beside Walsh, in his new chair, in his new role, his VP patches still shiny-white and clean-threaded on his chest.

It was Aidan who would react the strongest, and Aidan who Walsh felt was owed a pound of flesh for emotional trauma. If Aidan took a swing at him, he was going to sit still and let him take it.

The table filled faster than normal, the faces around it tense, cautious, curious. He didn’t like Roman’s expression, the way it was knowing; but it wouldn’t be Roman, he didn’t think, who flew into a rage when he learned about the deception. Who would besides Aidan, only time would tell.

Michael did a headcount, then closed the door, and took his seat.

Ratchet had his laptop, and folded his hands over its closed lid in a ready pose. “What’s the news, boss?”

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