Lennox (9 page)

“How’s it goin’, Serena?” Rory greets one of
the women on the couches. Serena doesn’t exactly look like a
typical gun moll—she’s trim, Hispanic, wearing designer
jeans and a tweedy blazer—but Rory yanks her off the couch and
grabs at her ass like she was a piece of eye candy. “You never
called me last night.”

Serena cringes as he pulls her closer, but forces herself to smile.
“So sorry, Rory. Mama had me working late.”

Rory laughs, his upper lip curling back. “Next time you want to
put in some long hours, baby, you let me know.”

Her giggle is high-pitched, hysterical. Rory releases her and she
sinks gratefully back into the couch. I unwind the fists I didn’t
realize I’d clenched. Not my place. If my new business partners
want to be disgusting pigs, it’s not my place to stop them.

“Mama.” Rory sidles up to the desk, stopping just short
of its raised platform. “Lennox here is ready to talk about
strengthening our bond.”

I offer Mama a deferential bow of the head, but her expression is
unflinching. Hard gray eyes stare through me as she takes another
draw on her cigar. Her red and gray-flecked hair is worked into a
loose braid that trails over one shoulder. She’s a meaty,
stocky woman, built like a bear, or maybe a bulldog. Her hardened
face isn’t so much ugly as it is just intimidating. She doesn’t
want to be found beautiful. She wants to be feared.

It’s working pretty well.

Finally, she jerks her chin down—approving? She snaps her
fingers, and as one, everyone else in the private office stands and
shuffles off. I’m left alone with Mama and Rory.

“Lennox Solt, right?” She swings her boots off the edge
of the desk and leans forward. “You did some fine driving for
us the other night.” A wisp of smoke curls around her face.
“Shame you let that Drazic boy beat your arse.”

I set my jaw. “I had it coming.”

“Hm. Yeah, that’s what I hear.” She watches me a
minute longer. So she knows about the wreck. But if she has an
opinion on it, she doesn’t seem interested in offering it.
That’s a nice change.

“I made a big mistake,” I say, thinking of Elena’s
words to me after the race. “I paid the price. No one else in
the county will even give me the time of day, thanks to Alexander
Cartwright.”

“Ugh. Cartwright.” Mama sneers as she taps off a chunk of
ash. “God in heaven, what a prick. Thinks he owns the whole
damn mountain.”

I let myself smile faintly at that.

“He tried to run for city councilor a while back, you know.”

I nod. “I remember all too well.” I’d spent far too
many weekends helping Amber campaign. That sleazy black-and-white
headshot of Mister Cartwright, grinning at us from every sign and
button, still haunts my nightmares.

“Yeah, I had to put an end to that. He can keep his company.
But this city’s mine.”

I straighten up at that. I knew Mama was powerful, but throwing
elections is a whole new level. I’m a little impressed. And
also more afraid than I already was.

“Anyhow, Cartwright’s doing his best to keep me out of
honest work. Other honest work,” I correct myself. “So I
figure I owe you plenty just for ignoring him.”

Mama’s mouth scrunches to one side. “The way I hear it,
you saved my boy’s life on the inside.”

I flinch. “It wasn’t so dramatic as all that.”

“No?” She raises her eyebrows. “I hear about how
those skinheads can be in there. They all think if a good Irish boy
isn’t with ‘em, then he must be against ‘em.”
She takes another drag from her cigar. “But you set ‘em
straight.”

I remember the fight more than I’d like. It was just after
Amber had dumped me for good. Truthfully, I was all too eager to find
a face, any face, that I could put my fist through. Sean was a good
guy, though. One of the best I’d known inside. He didn’t
deserve the skinheads’ shit just for being friends with the
likes of me, Neshaun, and Paolo. I reach up and scratch my chin,
feeling the hook-shaped scar beneath my stubble. “I just did
what was right.”

“No. No, no.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I
appreciate you thinking that way. But what I’m looking for—what
I’m really looking for—is loyalty. Loyalty means a hell
of a lot more to me than justice.”

I can’t stop the bitter laugh from ripping out of me. “Believe
me, ma’am. I am loyal to a fault.”

The Cartwrights. Grams. And in the darkest corners of my heart, even
after all I’ve tried to shake it out, Elena.

I made her a promise that one day I’d be deserving—that
one day I’d be hers. I don’t think I’ll ever be the
man she deserves, the sort of man who can keep that promise to her.
But damn it if I’m not stupid enough to try.

Mama’s smile is slow, curling like smoke on her lips. “Well,
then, Lennox. Let’s put that to the test.”

Oh, no. Here it is. The path I feared the McManuses would lead me
down. One that only pulls me further away from Elena and the promise
I made.

Mama shuffles through a few loose pieces of paper on her desk,
eyebrows furrowed, then fishes out whatever it is she’s looking
for with a grin. “Here we are. My guy out in Eagleview.”

“Your guy?” I ask, though I already know. Eagleview’s
an infamous trailer park down on the desert’s edge. Every
couple of months, some dumbass meth-head or another blows up their
trailer trying to cook, or starts a fire in their hydroponic weed
garden.

“That’s right.” She meets my gaze like a challenge.
“He’s got some things I want brought down to another
friend of the family in Taos. This gal. Ain’t she a cutie?
Looks like your average yuppie college student, huh?” Mama
shoves a picture at me of a sweet, fresh-faced blonde girl. But I
know what a real addict looks like—the hollows beneath her
eyes, the sweater she’s wearing to hide the marks on her arms.
If this girl is a dealer for Mama, then she has a bad habit of
sampling the product.

“And these ‘things’ . . .” I
look away. “The kind of things I’m better off not knowing
about, right?”

“Attaboy.” She puffs her cigar again. “Worth their
weight in gold down there. Everyone wants their fucking spirit
journey.”

I grimace.

“I need you to drive
smart
, not just fast. Be quick, but
not so much you snag the cops’ interest. I don’t like
testing the loyalties of my boys in blue. Best not to lean on them
when I don’t absolutely have to.”

Translation: I’m not worth the effort for her yet. “Understood,
ma’am.”

“Ma’am.” She snorts. “Yeah. Right. You’re
a real gentleman.”

I can’t tell from her tone if she’s mocking me or not.
“My grams raised me that way.”

“You’re not afraid to show a woman some respect. I like
that.” She jabs the cigar toward me. “I’m of a mind
to respect you back. But I’m afraid I can’t afford it.
Not yet. Not until you prove yourself.”

Prove that I’ll do illegal things for Mama. Prove that I can
keep my mouth shut and drive smart and not ask questions. All while
not tipping my parole officer off as to what I’m up to. Great.

“So until that time . . . Rory’s gonna go
with you, too.”

She flicks her hand toward her son. He’s been
uncharacteristically quiet over there, but when I look toward him,
he’s the same slick, psychotic charmer who kicked my ass at
pool. I shudder to think how this conversation might have gone if I’d
have won.

“Sounds great. We’ll have a nice little road trip,”
I tell him. “Just tell me when and where, ma’am.”

“Don’t worry. When it’s time, I’ll let you
know.”

I swallow. But it’s not like I have a choice—this is the
only life left for me. Not the life I’d dreamed of when I made
that promise to Elena four years ago. That life isn’t an option
for me. Not anymore.

Elena

I slide under the Mitsubishi with a huge grin on my face. I’d
never before appreciated the noise-cancelling qualities of a two-ton
hunk of plastic and steel, but down here, I can barely hear Jagger’s
pitiful attempts to rap along to Kanye. It’s just me and
Jagger’s car now, the rest of the world lost to me. I check the
transmission lines—solid. Alignment’s a little wonky, but
I can bring it into shape in no time. After the circuit last month
and the practice time we’ve been logging, I’d say he’s
been treating it pretty well. Wish I could say the same for his
girlfriends.

I slide back out from under the Mitsubishi and slot my tools back in
my kit. “Looking pretty good,” I tell him, waving him
over. “Should be cleared for the circuit trials next week.”

“You’re a goddess and I worship at your feet.”
Jagger pops his shades on top of his head and surveys his baby. “Now,
if I can just pick up some speed on the straightaways . . .”

“That’s between you and the pedals, man. Nothing I can do
for you there.” I shrug, and stuff an oil-stained rag in the
back pocket of my jeans.

“No clever pointers for me? C’mon, E. You’ve gotta
know a little something about driving these beasts.”

“No way. My place is back here in the shop.”

“Nonsense. We’ve got enough dead cars lying around
here—you should try fixing one up for yourself one of these
days.” Jagger surveys the shop. My latest project, a custom
Stingray for some high-dollar client in Chicago, is up on the
lifters. “How can you stand to tinker with the guts of such
pretty toys, and never get to play with them yourself? I bet you’d
do great.”

“No. It’s—it’s really not my style.”

I look away from him, embarrassed, but the idea is nagging at me. I
loved the way it felt driving Lennox’s Mustang a few weeks
back. That pony was galloping underneath me, listening to my every
command . . . Maybe I could learn to drive, just for
myself. Build a car just for me. No more riding shotgun, letting
someone else steer.

A blush creeps over my face. I hide it with a stray lock of hair as I
turn back to his Mitsubishi. “How’s it turning?” I
ask.

“Pretty good,” he says. “Well . . .
except that, uhh . . . well, someone may have,
uh . . . kicked something out of alignment during
some . . .” Jagger scratches at the back of his
head. “Some particularly amorous activities, and—”

“Ew. Spare me. And please tell me you wiped down the interior
with bleach.” I shudder. “I don’t want your skanky
funk all over me.”

Cyrus sidles up to us and slings a meaty arm over Jagger’s
shoulder, pinning him in place. “Hate to tell you, Elena, but
Jagger here is like a fog cloud of skanky funk. You’re already
tainted. We’re all doomed.”

Jagger grins. “So that means there’s no point resisting
my charms, babe. You can take a ride with me anytime.”

“No thanks.” I laugh, shaking my head at both of them.
“I’m digging the peace and quiet of going solo right
now.”

“Suit yourself.” Jagger breaks free of Cyrus’s
grip. “You’re the one missing out on all of this.”
He rubs his hands over his white undershirt and jeans that barely
stay up, then winks at me before popping his sunglasses back down
onto his nose.

“Jagger, you let the poor lady get some work done,” Uncle
D calls from the office entrance. “C’mere, boys. I want
you to check something out.”

Cyrus and Jagger head over to chat with Uncle D, leaving me to tinker
in peace with the Stingray that’s up on lifters. As I work,
though, my thoughts keep drifting toward the old Camaro out in the
yard. Drazic had bought it a few years back with the intention of
rebuilding it into a sick piece of classic muscle car for some
asshole investment manager, but the guy got himself arrested for
insider trading before he paid the initial deposit. We own it free
and clear, and it’s not like it was in terrible shape to begin
with . . . I mean, as long as I only worked on it in
my spare time, once our paying jobs were handled and the books were
squared up . . .

Eventually, the boys finish sorting out whatever shady project
they’re working on, and Jagger heads back toward my work bay,
fiddling with an old gearstick. “He’s doing better now,
you know.”

I grimace and put some torque into the wrench I’m trying to
tighten.

“Nash, that is.” Jagger sighs. “He misses you. I
can tell.”

“Can you?” I ask. “Coz he sure as shit hasn’t
told me that.”

“Well, have you talked to him?”

“Not since he stormed out of the house the other week.” I
sigh. “I figured he was headed off to beat Lennox into a bloody
pulp. That we wouldn’t see him again until it was on the
nightly news.”

Jagger winces. “Yeah, well. We convinced him to head downstate
with me instead.”

“Ahh, that’s where you disappeared to.”

Cyrus nods. “Dragged his sorry ass to the state park down
there. The one where we used to go camping with Troy every summer. I
thought it might do him some good, you know. Clear his head.”

“And did it?” I ask.

“I think he’s getting there.” Cyrus grabs a chamois
and starts helping me buff the Stingray. “Poor kid never let
Troy’s death heal, when the thing he needs most is closure. But
I actually had an idea, and if you’d be willing to help me with
it, El . . .”

“Sure. Let’s hear it.”

Cyrus smiles shyly. “Well, we’re coming up on the fourth
anniversary of the wreck next week. Troy’s death. So I thought
maybe we could have a proper memorial service. One that Nash could
actually participate in.”

Shit, I’d forgotten about that. He was so angry at Lennox, so
torn up, he missed the fucking funeral. I shake my head. “Yeah,
that sounds like a great idea. I think it might help all of us. Just
tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it.”

Cyrus nudges me with his elbow. “Thanks, Elena. I appreciate
it.” He moves around toward the hood of the car. “Y’know . . .
sometimes, I just really miss our old crew,” he says. “Lennox
and Troy both. Life isn’t the same without either one of them.”