Page 56 of Domino
“Seems like it,” Prophet replies.
That’s about the only spot of good news in this shitstorm raining down on us from all sides right now. I’m glad the fucker is dead. But I keep my thoughts to myself since I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t go over to well right now.
“I got a theory,” Singer says. “Want to hear it?”
“Would it stop you if I said no?” Prophet asks.
A wry smirk flickers across Singer’s lips. “Probably not. So, here goes. My theory is that these unidentified Mexicans are tied up with the cartel and judgin’ by those bullet holes in the walls of your compound, they shot your place up. You boys returned fire—self-defense, of course—hit the man in the neck. They drove off and dumped him at the hospital.”
“That’s quite a theory, Sheriff,” Doc says.
“Uh-huh. All it is since nobody’s talkin’ right now.”
“Sure wish we could help you. But things around here have been pretty quiet lately,” Prophet says.
Singer looks closely at each one of us, his steely eyes looking for a tell, something that lets him know that he’s spot on about what went down out here the other day. But nobody so much as bats an eye in his direction. He finally nods and frowns, then spits another wad of juice in the dirt at his feet.
“Look, fellas, I’ll never be able to express my gratitude to y’all for savin’ Kasey from those assholes. I’ll never be able to repay that debt I owe. But I can’t have a war breaking out in town. We can’t put the innocent people here at risk. So, if somethin’s goin’ down, y’all need to tell me so I can take appropriate action.”
“And what would that appropriate action be, Sheriff?” Doc asks.
He shrugs. “I’d likely have to call in the feds. They’re the ones who deal with the cartels. As you so capably demonstrated, we’re not equipped for that shit, boys. We’re a small town and can’t afford to have them big city problems here.”
Prophet cuts a glance at all of us, and in his eyes, I can see him telling us to keep our cool, that he’s got a plan, and that he’s on it. All we need to do is go along with him. Not that any one of us would actually break ranks. That’s not something he’d even have to worry about. Having the feds snooping around here would be bad for all of us because they would inevitably come knocking on our door and given some of the shit we’re mixed up in, we can’t have that.
“Even if that were the case, and your theory is correct—not that I’m saying it is,” Prophet says, “you can trust that we’d never let anything happen to Blue Rock, Sheriff. This is our home, and we’d die to defend it.”
“I know that, Prophet. I know y’all love this town as much as I do. And I know what you have, and would, sacrifice to protect it. But y’all have to know by now those cartel fuckers don’t play by the normal rules. They’ll shoot up the town just for the fun of it. And that can’t happen.”
Prophet nods. “Understood, Sheriff. And I get it. We all get it. Just trust me when I say you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
He scoffs. “From where I’m sittin’, I’ve got a whole shitload to worry about.”
“Not from us. I give you my word.”
Singer takes a moment to look at each of us in turn, one more time. Giving us one more opportunity to come clean about what’s happening. Right now, he knows he has nothing to go to the feds with. No proof of cartel activity, and no proof that we’re involved with them in any way. I can see he’s worried, though. As are we all. Prophet’s right… this is our home, and we’d die to protect it.
We’ve all got a stake in this. Singer knows and understands this. He knows a lot of the guys have families here. Knows that most of us have somebody we care about living in town, and that they, in turn, have those they care about as well. We’re all intricately connected to this town. Tied and tethered to it in a hundred different ways. And he knows that we aren’t about to let anything happen to any one of those people who bind us to it or to the town itself.
“Just don’t go bitin’ off more than you can chew here, fellas. And don’t go doin’ anything stupid that’s going to hurt this town or the people living here,” Singer says. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
“Never do, Sheriff.”
“Uh-huh.”
Singer gets back into his truck and gives us all another pointed look before he puts it into gear and drives off. Prophet and Doc walk back to the clubhouse without a word to us, but Cosmo looks at me.
“Keep your head on a swivel, kid. Let me know what you decide.”
I nod as he turns and heads for the clubhouse himself. This thing feels like it’s starting to spiral out of control, and I know that if I say yes, I could help. Taking Ortega off the board isn’t going to stop things entirely, but it might help limit the damage the incoming shitstorm is going to cause. And if I don’t, I’ll be inadvertently helping that damage spread wider and the bodies to pile up.
“Yeah, no pressure at all.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ashley
I wait at the gates to the zoo with Cole standing in front of me, my hands on his shoulders. My heart is beating a mile a minute and my stomach is cramping with nerves. Max and I have seen a lot of each other over the past couple of weeks, and I feel like something special is really building between us.
