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Once I dropped him off, I came back and called Eyeball, who was still up.
“Lou? What’s up?”
“You got a truck, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Meet me at the gas station on Vermont and Hodge in thirty minutes.”
“Okay,” he said without question.
He knew I wouldn’t be calling at 3AM in the morning asking for a ride without a damn good reason, and one I probably didn’t want to discuss over the phone.
I rode Benjy’s bike back to his shitty apartment complex, left it out in the parking lot in plain sight, then walked the half a mile to the gas station.
Eyeball was waiting for me in his piece of shit pickup.
“Anything I should know?” he asked as I got in.
“Nope,” I said.
“Okay,” he said, then drove me back home without another word.
I poured myself a drink, smoked myself a cigar, then went to bed and slept like a baby.
124
Iwoke up the next morning to the sound of somebody banging on my front door.
I blearily grabbed the gun under my pillow – not the one Benjy used, but a Glock – and stumbled out to the hallway.
“Who the fuck is it?” I shouted.
“Jack,” the voice called out from my front porch.
Shit.
I jacked the slide on the gun and made sure I had a bullet in the chamber.
“Who’m I talking to?” I yelled. “The hothead from last night, or the coolheaded president of the Midnight Riders?”
“The president.”
Yeah, right.
I unlocked the door and pulled it back a few inches. Jack stood there, looking pissed but calm.
“Couldn’t you have just fuckin’ called?” I asked.
“This is a conversation that needs to happen face to face.”
I opened the door a little wider. “Your pet Viking out there?”
“No, Kade’s holding down the shop.”
“In that case, come on in,” I said, and opened the door.
He noticed the gun at my side as he entered. He looked at me and cocked an eyebrow.
