The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book] (28 page)

"What?” Judd and Rebel asked in unison.

Blackie motioned to the window, and stepped aside as his brothers pushed past him to get a good look. As they gawked through the glass, Blackie reached on top of his gun cabinet and grabbed a loaded .357—just in case the little man got any funny ideas.

"Who the hell is that?"

"Damned if I know, Judd,” Blackie answered. “But I ain't standin’ here like a bunch of gigglin’ little girls. Let's find out."

Once Judd and Rebel had backed up and were out of the way, Blackie opened the door.

He did laugh that time, as the man, who looked to be in his mid-forties, took several steps backward. “Can I help you?"

"Wow,” he said in a thick southern accent, “you're Blackie McCassey, aren't you?"

Why was this man looking for him? He didn't know any pimps. “Who wants to know?"

"Me, uh, I do,” he said. “I have something for you."

Something for
him
? He shook his head. “Sorry man, I don't take candy from strangers. What'd you say your name was?"

Blackie tried not to laugh as he stared down at the little man, who'd extended his hand and stepped forward. At no more than five foot, three inches tall, he looked like he was playing dress-up. The deep purple velvet jacket he wore matched his equally ugly purple leather pants, and completely clashed with his black and white pinstriped top hat.

"Right, sorry again,” the man offered. “The name's Peters,” he said as he shook Blackie's hand, then repeated, “Bert Peters. I'm a friend of Georgia's."

Sparks of violent rage were suddenly coursing through Blackie's body. He knew all signs of humor had left his face when the little man paled and tried to retreat. “Bert, huh?"

"Yeah,” his hands were now raised in the air, as if he was expecting an attack. “We knew each other when—"

Surprising both Bert and his brothers, Blackie reached out and grabbed the front of Bert's shirt. He lifted him into the air and backed up into the house. “I know exactly when you knew each other,
Bert
."

"Blackie—” Rebel issued a quiet warning, but Blackie blew it off.

Suspended in mid-air, Bert looked scared to death ... which was exactly what Blackie wanted. “Tell me,
Bert
, what kind of a stupid mother fucker supplies a nineteen-year-old girl with enough heroin to send her and everyone she knows to prison for the rest of their lives?"

Bert swallowed hard. “I ... I was trying to help her."

"Help her? By givin’ her somethin’ that could kill her? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why didn't you just call one of us to come down and get her?"

"I—"

"Aw, shut up,” Blackie said, knowing the man was going to give him nothing but a line of bull. Letting go of Bert's shirt, he allowed him to fall to the ground. “No one gives a damn about anything you have to say."

"I—"

"I said, shut up!” Blackie roared, effectively silencing the little man. “And while you're at it, don't move a goddamn muscle.” Pulling the .357 from the waistband of his pants, he leaned down, cocked it, and jammed it into Bert's wide-open mouth. “The first one that so much as twitches,” he warned, “is gettin’ pumped full of lead."

Blackie replaced the gun, turned away, then motioned to Judd and Rebel, who followed him a few feet down the hall. “What do you two think he's doin’ here? You think he knows where Georgia is?"

Judd shoved at Blackie. “I don't know. Why don't you ask him?"

"What I'd like to do is kill the little bastard."

"Don't even think about it,” Judd said firmly. “He can't tell us where Georgia is if he's dead."

"Providing he even knows,” Rebel reminded them. “Didn't he say he had something for you, Blackie?"

That's right, he did. “Yeah. Gee, I can hardly wait to find out what it is."

"Then maybe you better go find out before that little weasel decides to sneak out the front door."

"No worries, Judd,” Blackie said loud enough for Bert to hear. “He can run, but he can't hide."

The three brothers walked side-by-side into the hallway, finding Bert exactly where they'd left him—on his ass in the middle of the floor. “Get up,” Blackie ordered.

"Is ... is Georgia here?"

"Shut up, mother fucker! I didn't say you could talk!” Blackie smiled. He was enjoying the terror that had taken up residence on Bert's face.

Without saying a word, Bert moved his arms slowly, holding up the box for Blackie to take. When he refused, Bert cleared his throat. “I'm s-sorry it took so long,” he apologized, nervously. “I promised I'd send it to her, but got sidetracked and forgot. When she told me on the phone yesterday that she'd been watching the mailbox for it the past two weeks, I felt like a complete bastard. I figured the least I could do was bring it to her myself."

Staring at the box, Blackie was trying to let everything Bert had just said sink in. The whole cause of the fight he'd had with Georgia yesterday was because she'd been acting suspicious, watching the mailbox like she was waiting for something. And when he and his brothers had walked in on her phone conversation, hearing that she needed something from Bert that hadn't arrived yet, Blackie had assumed it was heroin.

With the sinking feeling that he'd been dead wrong, Blackie reached out and took the box from Bert's hands. “Get up,” he ordered the man.

When Bert was finally on his feet, he took several steps in the opposite direction of where Blackie was standing.

"Georgia really wanted you to have that,” Bert told him. “She chewed me out good for not keeping my word."

"What the hell is it?"

"You don't know?” Bert sounded surprised.

Blackie only took his eyes off the box long enough to look at Bert and say, “No."

"Open it, bro,” Judd encouraged.

Wary, Blackie lifted the flaps of the box and reached inside. His throat closed immediately and he could barely breathe when he pulled out the small drum he needed for his Thompson sub-machine gun.

Blackie didn't miss Judd's sharp intake of breath, or his quiet, “Oh my God.” Although, for the moment, he chose to ignore it.

"What the fuck are you tryin’ to pull, little man?” he asked Bert.

With his hands out in front of him, obviously trying to tell Blackie he didn't want any trouble, Bert spoke. “Georgia called me two weeks ago,” he explained, “and asked me to get one of those things for you."

"Why?"

"I don't know. She called and asked, and I said I'd get her one. She's a good kid. Like I said, I feel like I owe her."

Baffled, Blackie turned to his brothers. “How did she know I needed a drum for my gun?"

"I told her,” Judd volunteered.

"What would you tell her a thing like that for, Judd? Georgia don't know the first thing about guns."

He shrugged. “She was at the garage the day you were in Rose's office hollering at someone on the phone about finding you a drum. It was a Wednesday, and she'd showed up early from her appointment with Wade that day because she'd started running. Remember?"

He remembered. “That was the day she borrowed Kane's truck."

Judd nodded. “Right. She heard you yelling and asked me what was up. I explained that you were looking for a part for one of your rare guns, and then answered a bunch of her questions about what you needed, and why. I didn't think much of it at the time; just thought she was curious."

"She was very specific about what to get you,” Bert mentioned. “She said it was important to her that you got what you needed."

"Shut up!” Blackie told him again, this time without even turning around. “I ain't ready to talk to you."

As he examined the drum, Blackie started mentally putting all the pieces of the puzzle together. Two weeks ago, Georgia had found out he needed something that meant a lot to him. That was when she'd started acting strange; when she started being reluctant to leave the house, and began watching the mailbox every day.

He'd thought her strange behavior was because she was trying to hide the fact that she was back into drugs.

In reality, she'd only been trying to do something nice for him. Her big brother. One of the three men who'd been refusing each time she offered to help with something because they were trying to protect her. They'd wanted her to be happy; be the kid she never got to be because of what their father had done to her. She'd been saying for months that she wanted to pay all three of them back for everything they'd done for her, but none of them would allow her to do anything.

They'd been wrong. All of them. The situation they were in now was the result of their mistake.

Looking up at his brothers, Blackie knew they were thinking the exact same thing.

It was time to talk to Bert.

"Get in the livin’ room,” he ordered the man, who was now pale and looked scared to death. “Go!"

Bert turned and walked into the room adjoining the hallway. He remained standing until Rebel motioned to the sofa. “Have a seat. You want a cup of coffee or something?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Blackie saw Bert glance at him. “No, thanks,” he said, gingerly sitting down on the edge of the sofa.

"We need to know everything Georgia said to you the day she called,” Blackie told him.

Bert looked at Rebel, who, so far, had been the only one to show the least bit of kindness toward him. “Is ... is Georgia here? Can I see her?"

"She ain't here!” Blackie snapped. “Now start talkin'!"

All three McCassey brothers paid close attention as Bert relayed the conversation he and Georgia had on the phone two weeks earlier. By the time the man was finished, Blackie felt sick to his stomach. “At anytime durin’ that conversation, did she ask you to send her heroin?"

Bert looked shocked as he shook his head. “No way. In fact, she told me how she'd been clean for a hundred days; seemed really proud of it, too. The only thing she was interested in that day on the phone was making sure I got you that part. Which, I'll have you know, wasn't easy to find. That's a rare weapon you got there."

"Yeah, I know."

Silence reigned until Blackie asked Bert if he'd tell them what he could about the four years Georgia was being held in that house by their father.

"You sure you want to know?” he asked. “You're not going to like any of it."

"We want to know,” Judd spoke up.

For nearly two hours, Blackie, Judd, and Rebel listened to Bert talk about Georgia, their father, and what he knew about what had gone on in the room Dolan had rented. “I did what I could to help her every time your old man took off. I snuck her food and water, and ... gave her what she needed so she wouldn't have to suffer through withdrawal. I always backed down the doses a little, just as a precaution. I never wanted to hurt her. I even tried to get her to leave several times; told her I'd bring her up to you boys myself."

"How come you never did?"

"She refused because she was terrified of what your father would've done to her if he'd caught us, and—"

"And what?” Blackie demanded.

"What he'd do to me when he returned and discovered she was gone."

Blackie could understand that. Dolan would've killed the little runt without thinking twice.

"I should've called you boys a long time ago,” Bert said sadly. “I'm sorry I listened to her. She was just a kid, and I shouldn't have let her keep me from doing what was right."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I wanted to call you and tell you about her, Blackie, but she made me promise not to. She said you wouldn't want anything to do with her because of what she was. She didn't want to make you boys look bad and bring shame on your families. Georgia never thought she was good enough to be your sister."

Blackie sighed and ran a hand through his hair. God, he was such a bastard. “None of this is your fault, Bert. We appreciate what you did to help her."

"I just wish I could've done more. Georgia missed her mom a lot when she first arrived. She'd cry for her sometimes, but not often. Dolan used to punish her when she got upset. After the first month or so, she never mentioned her anymore; never even shed another tear. At least, not that I saw.

"But she talked about you three boys all the time, even though she'd never met you and never really expected to. She talked about you like you were real to her, like she'd known you all her life.

"She was lonely, and personally, I think it was her way of keeping herself company. Sometimes—when your father had doped her up good and started beating on her—she'd call for Blackie to help her. It only pissed your father off more, but Georgia was usually so out of it that she didn't notice. Pretending like you were going to come for her someday probably gave her a lot more hope than I ever realized."

Blackie felt like the biggest asshole on the planet. Their sister had loved them all unconditionally before they even knew she existed. But because of personal experiences he never should've let interfere with their relationship, Blackie had destroyed everything. He should've trusted her.

"You did the right thing by throwin’ her out,” Blackie admitted reluctantly. “Even though Dolan was dead, you didn't know it. In a roundabout way, you probably saved her life by puttin’ her on the bus that day."

Bert nodded, but didn't respond. Finally, he asked about Georgia again. “Can I see her for just a minute before I go? It'll probably be the last time, and I'd like to say goodbye."

"She really ain't here,” Blackie told him, making sure his voice was void of anger. He'd been wrong about Bert. The entire time Georgia was being held by their father, all the man had ever tried to do was help her. Blackie felt bad for intimidating him. “We had a fight yesterday. I told her to get out and she took off. Ain't no one seen her since."

Bert looked angry, but was obviously smart enough to keep his comments to himself. “I'd offer to help look for her, but I have a feeling you don't need me."

"We'll find her,” Blackie told him, “and she'll call you herself when we do. You can talk to her then."

"Thanks,” he said, rising from his seat. “I should go."

The brothers all stood then, each of them shaking Bert's hand and thanking him for his help.