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Previously on the Southern Rebels…..
Johnny
“It’s his homecoming party,” Jailbait growled, stomping her foot as she poked my chest with her index finger. “You’re going.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to reward him for going renegade,” I argued, crossing my arms over my chest, still pissed about being outmaneuvered by that high heeled prissy bitch. “She might have worked the system, but he still disobeyed a direct order.”
“An order no one heard you make but Clutch. Your pride is safe,” Jailbait retorted, showing no sympathy. “You don’t want him to leave so why are you being difficult?” She yelled, throwing her hands up, her attitude reminding me so much of Moira I had to close my eyes. “Johnny, he looks up to you. Everyone does. If you’re not there, it’s going to ruin the entire party.”
“You’re not going to stop until I agree, are you?”
“No.”
“Fine. If it will shut you up. I’ll attend his Goddamn Homecoming party.”
“Thank you,” Jailbait sang, all sunshine and butterflies now that she’d gotten her way. “Also, can you check with Micah on the whiskey stock? I don’t know if we’ll have enough.”
She disappeared out the back and I sighed, rubbing my forehead as I pushed out of my desk chair. I was getting too damn old for this fucking shit. I’d raised the boys, fulfilled my promise to Cash, and buried a daughter. I was starting to think it was time to leave the headaches to the younger generation. Maybe take an extended ride.
The pen fell from my suddenly nerveless fingers, and I rubbed them, trying to bring life back to them. Another issue to get in the way of my desire to leave my problems behind. I stood up, bones creaking like they hadn’t done when I was younger, and I drained the snifter of whisky sitting there. We might be low, but I knew where the reserved stock was kept and went to my cabinet. I grabbed two bottles of Jack and went up to the front.
“That’s where they went,” Micah declared as I set them in front of her. “What is a homecoming without a whisky toast?”
“Just another day,” I replied. “The boys here yet?”
“Coming in now,” Micah answered, nodding to the door. “You ready to bury the hatchet yet?”
“In someone’s back?” I questioned, shaking my head when she snapped the towel at me. “No respect around here.”
“Johnny,” Creed called out and I wandered over, lighting a cigarette. “Those will kill you,” he reminded me.
“So will red meat and whisky but I don’t see you giving them up,” I said, my stock response. “What’s going on?”
“Why do you think something’s going on?” Crew questioned and I gave a flat stare.
“I raised you, boy. You think I don’t know when your panties are in a knot?”
“Yeah, I guess you always know,” he said sheepishly as we all sat down around one of the little round tables in front.
“You hear to tell me Rob is dead?”
“How? How do you know this?” Cord burst out. “We just found out.”
“You think I don’t have sources?” I shook my head. “I got sources older than all you boys combined.”
“Apparently, he was found in a dumpster, shot twice in the back of the head,” Creed reported. “We think it was the Aces.”
“That would probably be accurate since they found an ace in his pocket,” I murmured, taking a long drag on the cigarette, holding the smoke in before blowing out little circles. “What else you got?”
It was Clutch that spoke this time, that damn shadow appearing in his eyes again. I’d thought his new girl, his old lady, had gotten rid of the damn thing, but it appeared I was wrong. “Do I want to know?” I asked idly and Clutch nodded, his fists clenched on top of the table.
“It wasn’t an accident.” His gaze burned in mine, ripping away any hint of accomplishment I’d felt before I walked out here. “Cash. It wasn’t an accident.” Clutch’s nostrils flared as the other boys maintained stone faced expressions. “Someone killed him.”
I slowly lowered the cigarette, grinding it out on the table. “Then someone has to pay,” I said simply.
The bar door opened, bright light blinding us as Micah called out, “We’re closed for a private party.”
The woman didn’t leave, letting the door close behind her, and my eyes once again adjusted to the dim light. “I’m looking for someone. He might be here,” she replied, her voice reminiscent of one I’d known a long time ago. I stood up, drawing her attention and she took a few steps forward, enough that the light from the window shone on her face.
“Moira,” I muttered, grabbing for the table as my knees threatened to give out. It wasn’t…it couldn’t be, she was much too young but there was no mistaking that face.
“Moira was my mother,” she answered and if it was possible, my heart shattered a little more.
