Page 44 of Domino
“Shit. Are we back on that again?”
“We never off it. We were just interrupted.”
“Why are you so interested in whether or not I call Ashley?”
He shrugs. “Probably because it irritates you so much. Besides, if you’re not going to, I’m gonna take a run at her.”
He draws a laugh out of me. “You do that, and I will cut your nuts off.”
Derek opens his mouth to reply when the chatter of automatic gunfire rings out. Guys out in the yard are yelling and I hear thepop-pop-popof them returning fire.
“What the fuck?” Derek asks.
Snatching the .44 Desert Eagle that’s stored beneath the bar, I’m dashing across the clubhouse when the door to the Leadership room flies open. The guys are boiling out of it like a colony of pissed-off ants as I throw the door open. Beyond the front gates, I see a black SUV with a guy in a black shirt and dark shades hanging out the back window. A split second later, the chatter of gunfire starts again, and I can hear the hard thump and pinging whines as he sprays the front gate.
Puffs of dirt kick up in the yard where some of the bullets are tearing into it. The weapon held out in front of me, I run down the stairs squeezing off shots. The window behind at the back end of the SUV, behind the shooter, explodes as one of my bullets punches through it and the guy swings around toward me. Just as I see the muzzle flash, I’m lifted off my feet and slammed into the hard-packed dirt of the yard.
A trail of bullets tears through the spot where I’d been standing just a moment before, kicking up chunks of dirt and debris. The air is driven from my lungs with a loud “oomph”, and I look up to see Monk hovering over me.
“Jesus, dude,” I croak. “What did you play, linebacker?”
“Free safety, actually. And you’re welcome.”
A hail of shots rings out as our guys return fire, and I hear the definitive smacking sound of bullets hitting sheet metal. I hear a man scream in agony as one of the bullets punches into him, and a moment later, the sound of squealing tires reverberates through the air around us. The roar of the SUV’s engine fades as it races away, and a couple of beats later, everything in the yard is still.
Monk climbs off me and helps me up. We take a beat to dust ourselves off, both of us still watching the gates suspiciously. I half expect to see a cartel hit squad to come rushing in, guns blazing. But so far, it remains empty. I look over at Monk to see him tying his sandy brown hair back into a tail. Apparently, putting a hit on me as hard as he did had knocked it loose. He flashes me a lopsided smile.
“Thanks for havin’ my ass,” I say.
“I think you mean to say, saving your ass. Saving.”
I laugh. “Fine. Saving.”
“Better,” Monk says with a laugh.
“Everybody all right?” Prophet calls out. “Anybody hit?”
Thankfully, nobody on our side took a bullet in the exchange. The only thing I hope is that whoever tagged the shooter got him with a shot that’s fatal. Watching everybody come out from cover and converge in the center of the compound reminds me a lot of my old unit in Afghanistan coming out the other side of a firefight.
There are a lot of relieved smiles, gallows humor, and rueful laughter rippling through the group. Everybody’s casting a wary eye at the gate, however, waiting for the black SUV to come back. A couple of the guys run to the gate, warily sticking their heads out before turning back and giving us the all-clear signal. They roll the gate shut and throw the bar down to lock it from the outside.
That helps cut some of the tension in the yard, but not by much. It’s going to take some time for everybody to relax given that we just got shot up. That and I think that everybody knows what this means and what’s coming next. I glance over at Prophet to find him staring at the gate and the wall beside it. Even from where I’m standing, I can see the bullet holes punched through the metal.
Prophet clears his throat and looks around at all of us, his expression grim and taut with anger. He exchanges glances with Doc and some silent bit of communication passes between them. Back on the clubhouse steps, Bala is standing in the doorway, a deep scowl on his face. What I don’t see in his expression is surprise. That strikes a strange chord in me.
“Everybody sure they’re all right?” Prophet calls out.
The guys all nod. Nobody’s been dinged up. Being veterans, they knew to take cover the moment the shooting started. After confirming that nobody had been hit, Prophet gives us all a nod.
“Okay, then. We’re going to figure out who just hit is—”
“I think we know who hit us,” Monk says.
“The operative word there is think… as in don’t do it, Monk. We’re not going off on anybody halfcocked and without proper intel. I want confirmation before we do something that ignites a bigger war,” Prophet fires back.
Although we all hear the common sense in Prophet’s words, it’s obvious to us who just opened fire on the clubhouse. Zavala. There’s no question about it in my mind, or the minds of anybody else standing here. And we all want to deliver a little payback to that son of a bitch.
But I know he’s right. We shouldn’t go wading into something like this based on our assumptions. For all we know, this is some other MC that know there are problems brewing between the Pharaohs and the cartel looking to stir up some shit. It’s not likely, but the possibility exists. And until we can rule any of that other shit out, we shouldn’t be trading shots with anybody. I think everybody else gets it, too.
