Reprise (32 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

The burner going off not only filled the room with its irritating chirping, but it also vibrated inside Tiny’s kutte pocket.

There was a moment of disorientation. He was warm, comfortable, and hard as a rock in his jeans. Looking up, he caught Mal’s sleepy smile as she rubbed her eyes. “We were tired, I guess,” she murmured, covering up the adorable yawn that followed.

He swallowed hard. “Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t want to spend time sleeping. He needed to fill every minute with laughter and Mal and rides on his bike. Not sleeping away this limited freedom.

The third ring of the phone jostled in out of sullen thought. Tiny sat up, legs splayed out on his rumpled bedding, and answered. “Tiny.”

There was a cough on the other end. “I need help.”

He was on his feet in a split second. “Where are you?”

“Got myself back to Hair of the Dog.” Every word sounded like it came through clenched teeth.

“Shit, Knuckles. What happened?”

“Got...stuck with a knife. Fucker had a blade.”

“You torch the scene?” Stupid question. Knuckles may be a clown at times but who wasn’t aware of DNA in this day and age?

“Yeah. I had to.” There was a pained chuckle. “That will likely piss off Guidinger, too.”

Tiny had to grin. “That’s too bad.”

“Shit man, I wasn’t thinking. They might come after you. Send someone else.”

“Fuck that, man. I’m coming. I think I’m the only one here with a cage.”

“Obey all traffic laws,” Knuckles chided.

It eased Tiny’s chest a bit. At least the kid could joke. “I’ll tell Jayce to get Fox here. I’m on my way.” Then he ended the call and made for the door.

“Is everything okay?”

Damn. He’d almost forgotten Mal. Or, not almost. He
had
. He turned back. “We got trouble. Knuckles needs me. I’ll go get him and I’ll be right back.”

Watching her get off the bed and twist her hair over one shoulder, Tiny decided that the punishment Sachetti was dishing out was probably fair. Mal didn’t deserve the shit he came with, cancer aside.

Yeah, he loved her. But she’d be so much better off on her own, free and clear of the likes of him.

He didn’t know why that made him feel better, but it did. Like leaving her alone wouldn’t be so bad. She’d be just fine without him.

He shook those thoughts aside and put his arms out. Without hesitation Mal stepped into his embrace and wrapped both arms around his middle.

“Be careful,” she said. “Hurry back.”

“You got it, beautiful. And be ready for when I come back.”

“What?”

“We’re fucking when I get back,” he promised earnestly, smiling when she giggled. Just like she did when they were younger.

“Fine,” she agreed, tilting her head back.

He ducked his head down to kiss her quickly. “Gotta go. Knuckles is waiting.”

“Go get ‘em, hot stuff.”

He growled and made to bite her neck. She squealed and wiggled away, which was good because he was having trouble letting her go.

Down the stairs and to the lot he went, just as the sun was starting to dip low. They’d slept longer than he’d thought, but that was no surprise anymore. He was always tired.

The clubhouse was awake but it was too early to be really hopping. The sweetbutts were around, some pool was being played, but he couldn’t see Jayce.

“Spaz!” he bellowed.

The tech officer pulled himself away from a strawberry blonde and lifted his beer. “How’s it going?”

“Where’s Jayce?”

“Took his women home. Why?”

“Knuckles needs a pick up.”

“Is he okay?” The kid was intuitive, Tiny had to admit.

“No. Call Fox. Knuckles got shanked.”

“Shit!”

“I’ll go get him. You get Fox here.”

“You sure? What if you get any hassle?”

“I’m the only one here with a cage,” Tiny confirmed, looking around. Sure enough, every family man that would have had four wheels was gone.

“Shit.” Spaz put his beer down and produced his burner. “But what if they pull you over?”

“I’ll behave,” Tiny promised, heading to the door while shrugging out of his kutte and hanging it by entrance. “He needs me now. Just get the Doc here.”

“You got it!” Spaz shouted.

Tiny obeyed every speed limit and stop sign, but it was fucking hard. Every ass-dragging Sunday driver was determined to piss him off. One more under-fifty and he would actually commit murder.

The Hair of the Dog was a roughneck bar, on the outskirts of Markham. The club had a friend in the owner, Dog. Tiny pulled around the rear of the long, squat building, stopping near the employee entrance behind a row of parked cars. He doubted they left Knuckles bleeding out in the middle of the bar, even if it was still relatively early in the day.

The door opened as he approached, and a hard-faced waitress with impressive tits jerked her head to her shoulder in a motion that meant
follow me
.

Tiny’s boots were loud in the bare hallway, even with the muffled music thudding against the walls. They passed an office, open janitor’s room, and the main doors to the bar, then the public washrooms. Dog’s office was right at the end, and the waitress knocked then barely spared him another look before heading back to work.

The door swung inward and Dog nodded, hand out. “Tiny.”

“Dog. Thanks for this, man.”

“No problem.”

Dog’s office had standard, seventies era office furniture with fake wood and chrome, as well as a huge fake leather sofa. It was on that sofa that Knuckles was waiting, sprawled in the corner of the monstrosity with one leg up and the other foot on the ground. There was a white cloth pressed to his side, his shirt and hoodie pushed up out of the way. Through his fingers Tiny could see the crimson.

“Shit, Knuck.”

“Sorry, Tiny.”

Tiny shook his head. “Knock off that sorry shit.”

“I fucked up.”

“How bad is it?”

He sat and Knuckles lowered his leg, then lifted the makeshift bandage. The cut was small, maybe an inch long, but as he watched the blood trickled in a steady flow. “Looks deep.”

“He probably got it about four inches in.”

“Shit.”

“Who takes an afternoon nap with a knife under their pillow?” Knuckles winced as he pressed the towel back over the wound.

“Dude with enemies that want him dead,” Tiny muttered as he stood. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah. Caught my breath now.” Knuckles waved to Dog. “I had to snag towels from the guy’s crib, though. We gotta get rid of them.”

“I can take care of it,” Dog said, shrugging.

Tiny held out a hand. “Less you’re in this the better. We got it.”

Dog handed over a stuffed plastic grocery bag, reluctantly. With the barkeep’s help Tiny got Knuckles standing. The kid did not look good. He was pale, his skin clammy and cold. His breath didn’t sound wet, though, and the blood he’d seen was dark with no foul smell. Tiny’s TV and movie-watching medical experience suggested that nothing vital was hit, but the blood was a concern. They couldn’t really give him a transfusion at the clubhouse.

Dog held the office door open, and Tiny kept an arm around Knuckles’ side—the one not bleeding.

“It doesn’t hurt as much anymore,” Knuckles mumbled as they staggered down the hall.

“You might be going into shock,” he guessed. “How far did you walk?”

“I walked for about thirty minutes.  I flagged a guy down and he drove me the rest of the way in the bed of his truck.”

“Jesus, Knuckles.”

“I wanted to be clear of the scene. The guy thought I was drunk.”

“Don’t think he’ll talk?”

“Nah. I think he was just passing through himself. He had Nevada plates.”

At the exit he almost lost the kid entirely. Knuckles slumped and Tiny had to stop, use the wall for assistance, and slap a pale cheek.

Dog was there to help with the door. The kid came to as it opened, like the fresh air had brought him around. Maybe it had.

“Here’s another towel for the road,” Dog offered, once Knuckles was in the passenger seat. It was a bartenders’ towel but it was bright white and smelled of bleach.

“Thanks man. We’ll make it up to you,” Tiny promised.

Dog waved them off. “Don’t worry. You guys give me plenty of business. Just take care of him.”

“Absolutely.”

He shut the passenger door, circled his truck and climbed behind the wheel. Once the engine was turned over he cranked the heat. “You with me, buddy?”

Knuckles laughed. “I don’t think you’re ever called me buddy before.”

“Okay then. Still with me, asshole?”

“That’s better. Yeah, I’m starting to feel cold.”

“Keep pressure on that hole, man. You only got so much blood.”

“I torched the scene, though. I know I didn’t leave anything behind. Other than making like a pincushion, it was a perfect hit. Strangled him with a lamp cord.”

Knuckles hadn’t wanted anyone to know details of these operations, but Tiny wanted to keep him talking and awake. “I know you did good, Knuck. You always do.”

“Fucking trailer park shit. Fucking filleting knife under the pillow. I had him stuck, turning purple and everything. Then he gets to his fucking knife while I’m killing him.”

Tiny’s hands tightened on the wheel. He’d killed men before, all in the heat of the moment. And those two women on a quiet highway he’d taken out with his rig.  None of it was like what Knuckles was doing. He didn’t know why he was doing it, even though he was still taking a life on purpose.

“I made sure I let his dog out.” Knuckles gave a weak laugh. “That dog wanted to take my leg off until I left the door open. Then he was so fucking out of there. Good thing. I’d feel worse about the dog, I think.”

“Nah. What you did is harder, Knuck. But we appreciate it. Fuck, you’re saving our asses.”

“It’s worth it. I like how the club is now. Buck and Gertie. Rose and Tank. Sharon and Fritter. You and Mal. I just want happy endings.”

Tiny cleared his throat. “Me too, man.”

There was a long pause where Tiny wondered if the kid had passed out, but then he asked, “You’re staying with Mal, right? You love her. It’s so obvious. And she loves you, too. You gotta stay with her.”

He might have been lightheaded from blood loss, but Knuckles felt like discussing big topics, apparently.

Tiny felt an inexplicable prickle in his eyes. If Sachetti and Guidinger got their way, he was already at the end of his ending. It would only get less happy from here.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“If I die tonight, you bet.”

“You ain’t dying.”

“I can keep a secret.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m the one dying, Knuck.”

The kid laughed. “What?”

“Doc Webber diagnosed me a couple months ago. My lungs are full of tumors. Can’t be removed. She wanted me to take treatment but…I didn’t want to.”

“Why?”

Tiny shrugged, even though his passenger likely missed it. “Chemo is fucking horrible. And cancer’s taking me no matter what. I don’t want my last days to me like my old man’s.”

“Does Mal know?”

Fuck. Fucking waterworks out of nowhere. “No. I wanted to push her away but when they grabbed her in in Cleary I knew I couldn’t. I wanted to be with her. To make my last days happier, I guess.”

“She should know.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “She should.”

“Just tell her.”

“I’m scared she’ll leave. Or, even worse, take pity on me.”

“That’s her call, not yours.”

“I know.”

Knuckles lost consciousness not long after that. Luckily it only took two more minutes to get to the clubhouse. Tiny recognized Doctor Fox’s Lexus SUV. The overhead door for the stall opened, and Tiny pulled the truck right into the building. The door trundled back down and Tiny climbed out to meet Jayce.

“He passed out,” Tiny said as the Prez circled the RAM. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Fox can rig up a transfusion. Spaz is the same blood type.”

“Really?”

“Our only options. I can’t chance him going to the hospital without Webber there. Especially with fucking Turnbull on my ass.” Tiny had to agree with Jayce.

“We got some evidence to take care of,” Tiny shared, catching the door as Jayce threw it open. “Towels from the scene.”

“We’ll burn it,” Jayce muttered, reaching into touch Knuckles’ neck. “He’s pulse is weak.”

“He was in shock by the time I got there. I tried to keep him talking, but the last few minutes he’s been out.”

“Help me get him to that cot.”

In a corner closest to where this drive-in stall met the rest of the building, mainly the kitchen, a camping cot was set up. At its foot a flood light was clamped to an exposed beam.