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“You were fuckin’ her, and you didn’t figure out she was a snitch?” she marveled, then laughed. “God, Jack, you never did have the sense God gave a box of paperclips.”
My blood started boiling. “It was only for 24 hours.”
Sloane smirked. “What, the fuckin’ or the snitchin’?”
It was probably a good thing my .38 was on the bed, or I might have used it right then and there.
“The DEA blackmailed me Friday night, and Saturday night Lou backstabbed Jack.”
“Oh,” Sloane said sarcastically, “that makes it so much better.”
“Lou missed it, too,” Jack said. “Or she wouldn’t be alive.”
Sloane shook her head in wonder at Jack. “You really did it? You turned traitor?”
“I prefer to look at it like Lou backstabbed me, so now I’m going to return the favor. But I made a deal: the club is going to get a pass from the DEA, except for Lou, Eyeball, and anybody else at the top.”
It was a lie – or at least a fanciful daydream.
Sloane didn’t buy it either. “Riiiight. I hate to break it to you, Jack, but I think the DEA is takin’ advantage of your inherent gullibility.”
“I don’t care if half the club gets thrown in jail, as long as the rot gets cleared out.”
“Maybe you don’t know this, darlin’, but even if you pull the turd out of a shit sandwich, what you got left is a bunch of shitty bread. Not to mention you’re gonna have the Santa Muertes knockin’ on your door once you give Lou the boot.”
“The DEA wants them, too,” Jack said.
“The Santa Muertes?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, hell, who doesn’t the DEA want?” Sloane asked in exasperation.
“You, for one.”
“Riiiight.”
“The main focus is Lou, the Santa Muertes, and the Richards PD.”
Sloane’s eyes bugged out. “Ho-lee shit. They’re gonna try to take out Peters and clean house?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Well good luck with that. Talk about pullin’ turds out of a shit sandwich – that’s a twelve-foot-long Subway.” She paused. “Let’s say, just for a minute, that I got a wild hair up my ass and decided to help you with what is clearly the most fucked-up enterprise I ever heard of. What the hell do I get out of it?”
“With the Santa Muertes gone, a lot of territory in Southern California is going to open up.”
“…yeah…?” she said warily.
“And it’d be helpful to have an associate to watch your back north of LA, but who wouldn’t care to be involved in the business end of things.”
She frowned. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you just take it all for yourself? Not that you could, mind you…”
“What I told you three years ago still holds. If I get the Riders back, I’m staying out of the drug business for good.”
“Oh, Jack,” she sighed, and she got that misty-eyed nostalgia you see in people who haven’t completely gotten over their exes. “Still too damn dumb for your own goddamn good.”
“I’m tryin’,” he said with a smile.
