Page 95 of The Heart We Guard
There are mumbled comments of it being no problem and how they’re happy to help, which makes all this a little easier.
“The list of things is long,” I say. I wanted to get the ambulance much sooner, but it took a while to find something really good. “It needs all the standard service items. Brakes, steering, tires, oil change and filters, plus. The works. I want it scrubbed to within an inch of its life, and every joint lubricated. Bought it from a broker who deals specifically with resale of services equipment, like ambulances and fire trucks. It’s had adecontamination by them, so there isn’t anything in the back that could hurt anybody. But I also want it sterilized before I give it to Greer.”
“I can take the tires and brakes,” Wraith says.
“Shade and I can take the engine,” Jackal says. “I’ve worked on some bigger engines in the past, can’t be that different.”
Smoke throws an arm over Grudge’s shoulder. “I’ll take the back of the ambulance with this guy, to stop him running his mouth off any longer.”
Grudge shoves Smoke away and the two of them end up play fighting. Grudge wins by pulling the hem of Smoke’s Henley up over his head.
“I’ll take the electrics,” I say.
As we get to work, the idea sets in that I’m doing something good.
I think about the people Greer will be able to reach in this mobile clinic. I don’t care if she never makes a profit, if it keeps her happy. And if all she did was treat our brothers in it, it would be a good thing.
The whisper of worry that comes from knowing she’ll be out in this, in particularly dangerous areas, blows through me. But I’ve got to pick my battles. And I know I have to compete with Las Vegas and well-paid hospitals.
Maybe giving Greer her dream will be enough.
I’m just about to gather the tools I need when my phone rings. Big Daddy’s name lights up my screen.
“Butcher,” he says when I answer. “Had some trouble. Rebels tried to break in and steal shit. Gave ‘em a beating, but your prospects got banged up. Thought you should know.”
“Fuck,” I grumble. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll get a couple more to you. Everyone else okay? The store?”
“Nothing a few new panes of glass won’t fix. Couple of their fuckers will be shitting teeth, though. Your men put up a good fight.”
“Good to hear.” I make a mental note to message them and talk to Grudge about considering patching them in. “You need anything else from me, let me know.”
“Will do.” Big Daddy hangs up.
I’ve just grabbed my tools when the phone rings again. This time, it’s one of my own.
“Boss,” Catfish says when I answer. “You need to talk to Dice. The fucker never gets his monthly receipts in. And when he does, they’re a disaster that would leave us in a world of hurt if we were audited. And then, I have to chase him for them, one-by-one.”
The joys of having both legal and illegal enterprises is that you need two sets of books. And the legal set has to be…well, legal. “Hate to state the obvious, but can’t you just talk to him?”
“Hate to state the fucking obvious,” Catfish repeats, “but I already started with being the nice guy and saying please. Moved on through the needing it now. And when the approach of calling him a fucking asshole and saying that I’d break his motherfucking jaw didn’t work, I pulled my gun on him.”
“Fuck me. You didn’t…do something permanent…did you?”
I hear Catfish’s huff down the phone. “No. But only because I couldn’t be bothered with cleaning my new sneakers if I got blood on them.”
I chuckle at that. “For fuck’s sake. Yeah, I’ll talk to him.”
“And do me a favor, tell him you’re gonna fire him from the garage if he can’t run it properly. Then, install Jackal and Shade to take it over so they can live above it, rent-free, instead of sleeping all over the fucking clubhouse.”
The phone goes dead.
How had I not realized the nomads were crashing where they could find a bed?
Just as I hang up, Dice walks into the garage. Might as well take care of the issue before I forget and it festers.
“Just the man I needed to see.”
“Pretty boy came running to you, huh?” Dice says as he approaches me. He fiddles with his neck scarf, and it irritates me.
