Page 101 of Rigid

He coughed a laugh. “I know that’s right. How old’s the daughter?”

“Seventeen.”

He stroked his beard and then shook his head. “When Harley was that age, it drove me nuts. Tough age for girls.”

“Tough age for all of us,” I said.

He gave a nod. “Amen to that.”

While Crip finished rubbing elbows with the other club’s decision makers, we talked about everything under the sun. the conversations had gone from fucking to food, back to fucking, and then landed on street races.

“I need a set of cams,” I said. “Bad.”

“What’s in her now?” Bama asked.

“Andrews A2,” I said.

“Shit, that fucker’s flat on the top end. You need to go with something that’s got a better horsepower reading. The A2’s got torque, but that’s about it.”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

My phone buzzed, and I about jumped out of my skin. I held up my index finger. “Here’s that call,” I said. “Better late than never.”

I pulled my phone from my pocket, looked at the screen, and although the number was local, I didn’t recognize it.

I swiped my thumb across the screen. “Smokey.”

“Grayson Wallace?”

“Who’s this?”

“Is this Grayson Wallace?”

“Depends. Who’s this?”

“Sir, this is Dr. Levinson at Scripps Mercy Hospital. Can you provide a Social Security number and any identifying scars or birthmarks for Eddie Cassandra Wallace?”

My heart sank, and panic shot up my throat.

I turned away from the men, and began walking away.

I swallowed hard. “Is she…is she okay?”

“Sir, I need to know if you can provide--”

“She has. She’s got. No scars. A dime sized birthmark on her left thigh. Social is. It’s uhhm. 514-82-3060.”

He shuffled some paperwork. “And, she’s your daughter?”

“Yes, she is. Is she okay?”

“She’s going in to surgery prep right now. We’ll likely operate within 30 minutes. If everything goes well, we expect her to recover fully. If at all possible, you need to get her as soon as possible. The procedure is rather complicated. Her skull is fractured, and her brain has swollen considerably. We’ve drilled holes to relieve the pressure, but we’re not seeing the results we’d like to.”

My hands began to shake uncontrollably. “What…where…where do I come to?”

“Scripps Mercy in San Diego. Ask for the trauma operating room.”

“I can call this number if need be?”