Page 29 of Road to Ruin
CHAPTER NINE
TOMMY
Nine o’clock in the morning and my cell phone won’t shut the fuck up. Unknown number. Yeah, right.I won’t be picking that up any time soon. It’s unlikely it’s West, wondering where the fuck I am for training. If the Bastiens had my cell phone number, they would have called a lot sooner than this, I’m sure. They would have used my number to triangulate my location in the country or something. They have that kind of money, and the most senior police officials in their back pockets too.
The phone keeps ringing, and I keep ignoring it.
I go for a run. I run until my lungs are on fire and my legs feel like lead weights attached to my body. When I arrive back at David’s place, West Bastien is sitting on the porch, drinking a sweating glass of sweet tea. He holds up the glass, toasting me by way of greeting. “Hey, man. What’s up?”
I stand at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the porch, just staring. “David gave you fucking sweet tea?”
West takes a healthy gulp of his drink and sighs. “No. He’s still asleep. I helped myself. You guys really ought to get a better security system.”
“David doesn’t have a security system.”
West just raises his eyebrows. Obviously that was his point.
“Right. Well… You’ve had a wasted trip out here, man. I’m not training with you. And David said no one knew he was fucking renting this place either.”
West laughs, getting to his feet, balancing the now empty glass on the edge of the porch railing. “Don’t be fucking stupid, Tommy. You think there’s a crack or a crevice in this city your asshole brother could try hiding in that we wouldn’t already know about?” He shakes his head, exaggerated disappointment all over his face. “And we are going to train. You know my brother. His word is gospel. If I go back to the mansion without blood on my knuckles, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
I grunt, letting myself into the house. The place is fucking spotless. It certainly wasn’t this clean when I left a couple of hours ago. “Did you tidy the house?” I ask.
West sinks down onto the sofa, arranging a recently fluffed cushion behind his head. “I don’t like mess. It makes me irritable.”
I spin around, taking everything in: the shining counter tops; the stack of drying dishes on the draining board; the empty trash can, and the dust free book shelves. “You are one weird fucking dude, West.”
“Apparently. Hey, have you seen this show?” He’s flicking through the TV guide now. David doesn’t even have a TV. “It’s about high school teachers that get sent to jail for fucking their students. This one guy screwed a thirteen-year-old. Fucking perverts. Even I wouldn’t do that. The women are the worst, though. Always on the prowl for some young cock.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?”
West grunts. “Not really. Just talking. You should probably wake your brother up. He was talking in his sleep earlier. Something about your cousin, Junior. Heard he was released from the Parish yesterday, by the way. Alex is pretty pleased. He’s already started lining up fights for him.”
I walk into the hallway, then into David’s room, making sure the door slams against the wall as I throw it open. West’s hot on my heels, still reading the TV guide. “Junior won’t be fighting for Alex again,” I say flatly. David sits bolt upright in his bed, tangled in the sheets, blinking blearily at us.
“What the fuck? Goddamn it,” he hisses. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“You tell me. He’s been playing Molly Maid for the past two hours while you’ve been passed out, you fucking moron. Talk about sleeping on the job.”
“He’s been what?”
West isn’t paying attention to our exchange. He laughs to himself, folding back the cover of the magazine in his hands. “Damn. Did you know Ryan Gosling used to be a Mormon? That is weird as fuck. Aren’t you always blown away by the celebrities that are part of strange religions. Like Scientology, man. They have all the celebrities.”
David and I share a look. He’s as confused about what’s going on as I am, and he hasn’t even seen how spotless the living room is yet. There were empty beer cans and pizza boxes all over the place not that long ago, and now it looks like the reception area of a Hilton hotel. “Please get the fuck out of my bedroom,” David says. “I’m naked under this sheet, and I’d rather not have to see or hear you while my dick is swinging in the breeze.”
Head down, West about turns and leaves the room, eyes still scanning the magazine. David scrubs his hands over his face, groaning. “Fucker could have killed me,” he groans.
“But he didn’t. Get your ass up. We need to get rid of him and figure out how we’re going to deal with the Genevieve situation. Now.”
******
“It’s not that Alex isn’t open to negotiation, y’know. He’s been very patient the last five years. He waited for you to come home for a long fucking time, man. And then, when you didn’t, he realized he was going to have to do something radical to get you back here. He had someone dig up your mother first. He was sure that would have you running home in a heartbeat.”
“He what?” David’s nearly out of his chair, ready to launch himself across the room at West. His face is turning a worrying shade of purple. “You dug up our mother? She was a fucking saint, West. A fucking saint. Alex used to come to her house for Sunday dinner when she was alive.”
“What can I say? My brother’s not a superstitious guy. He certainly doesn’t possess a single sentimental bone for the dead, that’s for sure. Just ’cause he liked Sylvie’s pot roast doesn’t mean he’d have any hesitation over digging up her meat if it serves his purpose.”
Shit. I wish he hadn’t referred to our dead mother’s body as “meat.” David’s hard to rile, but say something about our mother and you’re in the shit. I hold up a hand, silently gesturing for him to keep his ass in his chair. He glares at me furiously. “Did you know about this?” he hisses.
