All the Sky (30 page)

“Not at the goddamn table. No vote. This isn’t club shit. This is personal.”

“No vote. We’re gonna have a drink, the four of us, and talk. But it is club shit now. So fuckin’ sit, Hav. Or I’ll break your leg and make you sit.”

Isaac grabbed him by the kutte and led him to the bar. Wrench wasn’t around, so Show went back and poured everybody a shot. They tossed them back, and then Isaac said, “Your boy’s gonna be alright. Death isn’t due, Hav. You know it.”

“He laid in that fuckin’ ditch for hours. He could’ve died. Evans didn’t care one way or the other.”

Show spoke up. “He doesn’t admit he did it. He says he hit a deer.”

“There’s blood all over his fuckin’ hood.”

“Not like we can test it, Hav. Just blood. Not sayin’ he didn’t do it—we all know he did. But we can’t prove it. Need him to say it.”

“Then I’ll make him say it, and then I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”

“No.” Len leaned on the bar and met Havoc’s eyes. “I’ll make him say it. Then you make him pay. But Hav, the boss is right. Asshole’s gotta be left breathing. Your boy is gonna be okay. Only way our way works for the town is if it’s fair. What’s owed. No more, no less. If this wasn’t your family, you’d be sayin’ it, too.”

He knew Len was right—and Isaac and Show, too. They were right. But he thought of Nolan in that fucking ditch, covered in filth, his skin waxy and blue. He couldn’t believe the man who’d done it, who’d left him there to die, would survive his justice. “Fuck.”

“I know, brother.” Isaac put his hand on Havoc’s shoulder again. “But it’s the right thing. C’mon. Let’s get back there and deal with it.”

They walked back in a line, Isaac leading, Havoc right behind. Mac had been stripped to his khakis and was bound to a metal chair, his arms tied to the armrests and his ankles bound to the legs. He wasn’t a big guy, nor fat, but he was flabby, and his chest seemed concave over his pouch of a loose, white gut. His big beak of a nose was red and bloody. Somebody had gotten a couple of licks in already.

When the four came into the Room, Double A immediately walked back and rolled the toolkit forward. Havoc wanted to be the one to put any and all hurt on Evans, but he also knew that he wasn’t the finesse guy for interrogations. That was Len, who was more patient, and more skilled at controlled pain. Hav was more of a retaliation guy. He knew what kind of hurt would do lasting damage and could aim his blows to do that kind of damage or to avoid it, but he was about blunt force rather than real precision.

Evans clearly knew how much was on the line, because he held out for nearly forty-five minutes. It wasn’t the first time he’d been tied down in the Room; he’d run afoul of the Horde on several occasions, in fact, his greed getting the better of him time and time again. But this was different. This time, he’d hurt somebody close to the Horde, and there was more at stake than simply exacting justice. So he stuck to his deer story, even after Len had him screaming and begging.

Then Isaac looked at Double A and said, “Pull the winch line over. Strip him down.”

“NO! Wait! Wait! Please, Ike. Wait. Okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.” He stopped begging and just wept—big pussy sobs, snot running out of his bloody nose in into his bloody mouth.

Havoc pushed Len away and grabbed Evans, leaning the metal chair backwards, holding him up only by his hands around his throat. “Say it.”

“It was late and dark, and I…I maybe had a drink too many. I wasn’t drunk, though, I wasn’t. Just tired. Coming back from Thanksgiving dinner. I didn’t see him until I was on him, and then he was just gone. I stopped—I promise I stopped—but I didn’t see him anywhere. I thought maybe I’d dozed off and dreamt it. I went home. In the morning I saw my truck. I really did think I’d hit a deer. The night was blurry at first. But then I heard about the kid, and I remembered it all. But if I’d known he was there, I’d have helped him. I would have. I swear I would have.” He rattled all that off through his constricted throat; Havoc had not released him or set the chair back down square.

“You slimy piece of shit. Nearly killed him.”

“But he’s okay, right? He’s gonna be okay—that’s what I heard.”

Havoc knew what was owed. He looked up at Isaac. He knew all of Nolan’s injuries. Had them memorized. “Leg broken in two places. Four broken ribs. Punctured lung. Concussion.” He set the chair on all four legs and took a step back.

“Not the lung. Too risky. Otherwise, yeah. That’s fair. We’ll put him in his truck, leave him in a ditch.” Isaac walked around to face Evans, standing next to Havoc. “You’re gonna have a pretty bad wreck, my man.”

Evans goggled at the men before him. “Please. I have to work.”

Isaac ignored him and looked at Havoc. “Your play from here, brother. I’ll work out the truck, get Nolan’s blood off it and get it ready for its featured role.” He pulled his burner and walked toward the double doors. Show followed. Len and Double A stayed.

Havoc looked at Len. “Let’s winch him.” Then he went back, past the toolkit to the wall where the large tools hung.

When he came back with a twenty-pound sledgehammer, Evans screamed.

~oOo~

It was past dark when Havoc, Isaac, Show, Len, and Badger came back from depositing an unconscious Mac Evans and his truck in a ditch. They’d placed an anonymous 911 call, so he’d be rescued whenever the county got around to getting to him. They knew he wouldn’t rat. He understood the danger of ratting. The story he’d tell was of falling asleep at the wheel. And then he’d toe the line—for awhile, at least, until he forgot, again, that crossing the Horde was dangerous business.

Havoc was feeling pretty good. He’d get to go to Cory tonight and tell her that justice had been done. He’d gotten to get some violence on, and for a good, righteous cause. Nolan was coming home in a couple of days. It was almost Christmas, and he was looking forward to the holiday in a way he maybe never had before. Cory and Nolan would be with him at the Horde Christmas party, and then he was taking them to Isaac and Lilli’s to spend it with real family, people he loved. Show and Shannon would be there, with Show’s daughters, Rose and Iris, and Shannon’s girl, Adrienne, who were all visiting for the holiday.

And they were closing Valhalla Vin for the week between Christmas and New Year’s, so he’d have Cory all week.

On the bar when they came in, there was a large-ish box, a cube about eighteen inches around, wrapped in cheery Christmas paper and topped with a glittery, silvery bow. Isaac saw it first. “What’s this, Wrench? Got a secret Santa?”

“No, boss. Messenger brought it.”

All four men stopped dead. Havoc’s senses went into overdrive, and he knew the others’ had, too. Isaac asked, “What do you mean, messenger?”

Wrench shrugged, not picking up on the tension. “I don’t know. Some guy in a uniform. Like a service or something, I guess.”

They were miles from the interstate, and more than an hour from the closest place that would even support the kind of messenger service that would deliver a wrapped package like that. The Horde did not get packages delivered by messenger.

“Clear the clubhouse. Everybody out.” Isaac’s voice was low but clear. He went to the bar and laid his hand carefully down on the box. Len started pulling the girls and hangarounds up and leading them outside. Then he called Wrench and Double A and sent them out, too. Then he came back and stood where he’d been, next to Havoc and Show, who had not moved. They would not move.

None of the Horde was anything like a munitions expert. Vic had been. But now, they had nobody who understood explosives or even how to tell if something was an explosive. The only thing to do was to open the box and see. If it was a bomb, maybe just that would trip it.

“Get out of here, brothers. I got it.”

“No, boss,” Show stepped to the bar. “We got your back.”

“This thing is hot, we’re all dead.”

Len said, “Yeah.” He stepped up, too.

Not one of them would leave his brothers, no matter who they’d leave behind. Havoc made it four, clustered around the box. “Let’s see what we see, then.”

“Let’s do.” Isaac pulled out his large, sharp pocketknife and slit open the box. It didn’t blow, but Isaac proceeded carefully. There was a medium-sized envelope, like for a greeting card, on the top, over what seemed to be a stuffing of plastic grocery bags. Isaac lifted the envelope out, moving slowly at every turn, and set it aside. Then he eased the plastic aside and looked into the box.

“Oh, holy fuck. Oh, fuck.”

Show looked in and reared back. Havoc was standing next to him but couldn’t see. When he tried to lean forward, around Show, the VP grabbed him and pulled him back. “No, Hav. No. Fuck.”

While Havoc grappled with Show, Len looked in, “Oh, God. Oh, my God.”

Havoc knew it was bad, and that it was worst for him. That was clear. But what the fuck was in that fucking box? He couldn’t process anything but a panic that was roaring up his spine like nothing he’d experienced in his life. Was Cory hurt? Nolan? What? Show wouldn’t let him go, so he finally sent a hard jab into the bigger man’s gut, knocking his wind out of him and getting him to let go. He pushed Len and Isaac away and looked into the box, fighting against their hands as they still tried to pull him away.

It wasn’t Cory. It wasn’t Nolan.

It was Sophie. His baby sister.

Her head. In the box.

With a roar huge but yet insufficient to express his anguish, he pulled his arms free of his brothers’ hold and tenderly lifted her small, blonde head out of the plastic, cradling it to his chest.

~oOo~

At some point, they’d taken her head from him. He didn’t remember. He was sitting on the couch in Isaac’s office. He didn’t remember coming back here. His head was too full of his sister. Sophie. Little Sophie. Since she was born, he’d wanted to keep her safe. She used to get so mad at him for getting in her way. But she was little and pretty and delicate, and he wanted her safe.

He knew who it was. It could only be one person. One person in the world who would do something like that in that particular way. So when Isaac came and sat next to him, he knew what he would say.

Isaac didn’t say anything for a long time, though. Just sat next to him, staring at the floor between his feet. Finally, without looking up, he said his piece. “I’m gonna tell you what we know, and I’m gonna ask you to sit quiet and listen. Then you tell me what you want. Right?”

Havoc nodded.

“It’s Halyard. Don’t know where he’s been for all this time, but he’s back. There was a letter in that envelope. This is him answering for his daughter. Calling it right out, on fancy paper with his initials, full signature, all of it. Picked Sophie because she’s of an age with his girl, he says.” Now he looked up and turned his head to face Havoc. Havoc lifted his eyes and stared at his President. “There was something else in that envelope. A flash drive, for a computer. Had a video on it. I’ve seen it. I don’t want you to see it. Won’t stop you, but you’d be better off to let it go.”

“It shows it happening.” Havoc didn’t have to ask; he knew. If Halyard wanted revenge, he would record it. Of course he would. They’d made him watch what they’d done to his daughter.

“Yeah. That’s what it shows. Trust me, brother. You don’t need that in your head.”

“Don’t want it in my head.”

“Good. What do you want to do?”

This was a new debt. They’d killed Marissa Halyard for her part in getting Show’s girl killed so hard. That was a just kill—brutal, but just. A debt repaid. Retaliating for that, and after years, was an escalation. But he had too much left to lose to escalate with Halyard. He didn’t know if he could risk lifting Cory’s head out of the next box. “Tell my folks. Bury my sister. I don’t know about the rest.”

“Fair enough. I’ve got Dom trying to get a bead on Halyard. We need to see if he resurfaced for more than just this. I don’t get the timing.”

Neither did Havoc, but he didn’t fucking care.

~oOo~

He couldn’t make himself leave the clubhouse. If he left, he’d have to tell his parents that he got Sophie killed. He had no idea how his father would take the news, or whether he’d have to beat the old man dead for not giving a shit. He knew his mother’s heart would break.

He could go to Cory, but he didn’t trust himself near her. There was so much poison in his blood, he was afraid he’d kill the next thing he touched. He’d been drinking, trying to find some kind of calm, but he wasn’t even getting a buzz on. Like the rage was eating the booze before it could move into his blood.

Everybody was giving him his berth, and that was good. Or it was bad. He didn’t know. He felt lonely and furious and impotent and sick. Guilty and lost and sad. So fucking sad. He was supposed to protect her. He’d known that goddamn interview sounded wrong. Dom had traced her cell, and Show, Isaac, and Len had ridden out to check it. They wouldn’t let him go, and he hadn’t fought hard. He knew he was murder waiting to happen. So he stayed back and drank. They’d found her car, with her purse and cell, parked in a lot of the mall in Springfield. When they’d told him, Havoc had known—that interview. A setup, and he’d known it was wrong, but he’d let her talk him out of protecting her. It was his fault in more ways than one.

Finally, needing some kind of release, he went back to his room and called Bart.

He answered right away, and Hav did feel a little bit of calm. For years, Bart had been the one person he’d bothered to really talk to. “Hey, brother. Everything good?”

“No, man. No.” He felt his throat tighten and his eyes burn, but he didn’t cry, hadn’t cried since he was a boy, lying over the saddle rack with his Wranglers and Hanes around his ankles, waiting for the next lash of the buggy whip. He swallowed back the knot and told Bart what had happened.

“It was Halyard. Back from whatever hidey-hole he crawled into. Don’t know why he’s back. Maybe just for this.”

“Fuck, Hav. Oh, God. I’m so fucking sorry. Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I love you, man. I’m sorry.”

Through his obscuring fog of grief and fury, Havoc realized that Bart wasn’t simply offering condolences.