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“Same,” Bullets offered. “Whatever you need, consider it done. Boy’s as close to a son as I’ve ever had, and I wish every day I could’ve taken that bullet for him. Or find the devil that did that and unload fifteen rounds of my Sig right in his wicked fuckin’ mouth till his insides are spilling out the holes I blow in his ass.”
You could always count on Bullets to get ballistics or bolt-action into a conversation, but hearing his words ground together with that kind of rage put them all in a silent reverence for his exact kind of vengeance.
“I can taste it brothers,” Bishop finally said, eyeing those at the table with him. “Their judgment is coming. And God has given us the executor’s blade.”
“I want them brought to the Weigh Station,” Bullets grit, his mouth still in that rage-slant. “They need to have aproperfuckin’ trial.”
They all murmured in eager agreement. In the swamp, proper trial meant carefully dissecting crimes and criminals. There was nothing sloppy, nothing quick about it. Just holy retribution carried out with an unholy amount of lust and rage.
Hurricane raised his hand and Bishop nodded at him.
“Not to rape a dead horse, but what’s the final word on the swamp lady party? I vote to blame the hurricane. They can bat-tie with mother nature if they don’t like it.”
“Agree,” Bishop said. “After that mess, we’ll let them know we’ll regroup. Keep their panties fresh for you bulldogs.”
“Nottoofresh,” Traps said, his beard spreading with his hidden smile. “Nothing wrong with well-used panties.”
“You naaaasty fucker,” Bacon said, rolling his head at him, getting a burst of guffaws from the lewd brother.
“I have a request.”
“Nitro, that you?” Bishop asked.
“Yeah. The Drysdale. He’s committed crimes worthy of our Weigh Station.”
“Oui. But if we let him be a little bit, he’ll be worthy of a lot more.”
“I intend to put closed eyes on all his land,” 8-Bit assured.
“Good. The more guilt we can get on him, the better for me. But for what he’s committed so far, I’m requesting a Blastectomy.”
Everybody made painful noises. If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. In this case, if your dick causes you to sin, get it blown off with small explosives and sport a colonoscopy bag the rest of your life. “If it’s mine to give you, it’s surely yours,” Bishop said, not sure if that was his jurisdiction or the Grand Oratrice.
“Arms’ deal is still intact?” Bullets wondered.
“It is.” Bishop looked at his phone. “Our Belle Eveque is calling in. We ready for the ladies? Leave any talk about her and her sister off. I’ll handle it with her. Thirty more minutes. Yall good to continue?”
“Let’s get it done,” Patches said. “I have a lot more to prepare for now that we have a hurricane on our ass.”
The rest agreed and Bishop texted his wife, telling them to come. “Seer, 8-Bit was hoping to borrow you to pay Cat Boone’s brother a visit. Maybe you two can go see what you can see, then I’ll call you about that other business, oui?”
“Oui,” he said.
“Make sure all your alarm apps are on.” He spied a text from Bart.Permission for your blood to attend the meeting.
What the hell kind of question was that?Are you a Bishop?
He sent a teethy smiley face and Bishop set his phone down, catching Traps’, “She’ll learn a rope burn is how I French kiss her tender loins.”
He interrupted chuckles and worried headshakes with, “Before we’re done, I need a full account of where each Hatch is in terms of mobilizing for war.”
The door opened and Bishop turned, his blood heating at the sight of his beautiful wife entering, followed by his entire family behind her, all dressed in the traditional Bishop attire. Interesting. He made his way to his wife and that sexy smile she wore, reminding him of her surprise.
He got her seated and made his way to his brothers, spotting the manilla folder Bart held before giving them all a tight hug. He wanted them to know that the blood they shared was as binding as the swamp-born bonds he had with The Twelve.
Back at the table, he took his wife’s hand in his lap, happy to turn things over to Mah-Mah.
“Good evenin’ boys,” she greeted with a smile, earning an out-of-tune welcome chorus from the remaining twelve, their grins and nods reminding Bishop of excited schoolboys with their favorite pretty teacher. “As we can see, we’ve gotallmy boys here tonight.” She narrowed her gaze at her phone, smile vanishing. “Where’s my Samuel and 8-Bit?”
