Monk by Ivy Black

Chapter Sixteen

Monk

Pulling my gloves off, I stick them in my helmet, which I then hang on the handlebar. Cosmo is leaning against his bike and glances over at me as I walk up. We’re in an old campground the city shut down some time ago after some idiots let their fire get out of hand and burned a few acres before they got it under control.

Doesn’t stop some people from coming out here now and then, but most of them seem pretty cognizant of the need to keep from burning the world down. Anyway, we haven’t had any major incidents, so live and let live is what I say.

“You’re here early,” I remark.

“I like being out here. It’s peaceful. Quiet.”

He’s not wrong. I love coming out here—or at least, into the woods that surround Blue Rock—when I want to get away from the world. I love the thick, earthy, and woodsy smell of the place, as well as the peaceful vibe. It’s a great place to come to sit and think without all the distractions of the world around you.

“If you wanted quiet, you shouldn’t have had a herd of kids.”

He smiles. “Yeah, there’s that. Still, I wouldn’t trade ’em for the world. They’re fun.”

“I’m gonna to have to take your word for that.”

Cosmo looks at me with a wry look on his face. “Guess you’re gonna have to. Given the way that redhead smacked you at the church, I’m gettin’ the idea you’re not gonna find a woman to date you, let alone have your kids.”

I laugh softly. “Yeah. She was just working some things out.”

“Let me guess, that’s the girl you ghosted? Sheriff Singer’s girl?”

I nod. “One and the same.”

“No wonder she smacked you. Kinda surprised she didn’t add a kick to the nuts on top of it.”

“Glad she didn’t. Probably would’ve deserved it.”

“Boy, I’ll say.”

I’ve told Cosmo the basics of what happened and why I left town all those years ago. Mostly because I never expected to see her again. The memory of her kiss lingers, and I have to bite back the smile that’s creeping across my face. I know it was a one-time thing and it’s never going to happen again. More than likely, I’ll never see her again. But still, running into her like that has brought back a lot of memories.

“Yeah, well, thankfully she’s not gonna get another chance,” I say.

He scoffs. “She just might.”

“Doubt our paths are ever gonna cross again.”

“Oh, they will, kid. Make no mistake, a woman who doesn’t still have feelings for you ain’t gonna smack you like that. If she really felt nothin’ for you, she probably would’ve ignored you altogether.”

I laugh. “Yeah, she cares for me, so she smacks me. That makes sense.”

“It would if you thought about it. Smackin’ somebody like that comes from a place of emotion. Passion.”

“When did you become a poet?”

He shrugs. “Always been one. Ain’t my fault you never noticed.”

We share a laugh as the club van pulls into the campgrounds and parks close to us. Our newest prospect, Max, climbs out from behind the wheel. He’s a tall kid who’s wide through the shoulders and chest. His hair is blacker than pitch and he’s got cornflower blue eyes. His years in the Corps put a solid layer of lean muscle on his body but some definite scars inside as well. He always seems a little unsettled, his eyes in constant motion as he searches for threats. I can relate to him. That’s how I was when I rotated home at first. Especially in large crowds.

He looks on nervously as he approaches us, wringing his hands together, his eyes shifting this way and that. Max runs his hand through his short, neatly trimmed hair. It’s then that I notice for the first time the two small patches of white in his goatee, one just above his chin, and the other just above his upper lip. I don’t know how I didn’t notice them before since they distinctly stand out against his raven black hair. It reminds me of a domino.

“You look ready to jump out of your skin, Prospect,” I say with a laugh.

He shrugs. “It’s my first time on a run.”

His voice is surprisingly deep and smooth. It reminds me of one of those DJs on the jazz station, and I half expect him to start talking about Miles Davis or John Coltraine.

“Relax, Prospect,” Cosmo says. “This is all run-of-the-mill shit. Nothin’ for you to be all jumpy and twitchy about.”

“Seriously, Max. Nothing to worry about. But have your weapon at the ready—just in case it all goes sideways.”

“Seriously?” he asks.

“We’ve dealt with these guys a million times. Always goes smooth,” Cosmo says.

“Until it doesn’t.”

“You tryin’ to give the Prospect a heart attack?” he asks.

I shrug. “Not necessarily.”

Cosmo laughs. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Sometimes.

Cosmo looks at Max directly. “Go dig one of the ARs out of the van. The boys are gonna want to see the goods.”

Max casts me a long look, a pinched expression on his face. He’s a good kid, but I don’t know that he’s ready for life in the MC. Despite having done a tour in Afghanistan, he still seems naïve to me. I don’t know how he managed it, but he came out of it somehow less jaded and cynical than the rest of us. He’s somehow managed to hold onto that humanity and naïveté better than anybody I’ve known.

Still, the scars of war are deep. And although he may still be a little green and raw, the things he’s seen and done, have affected him. He feels as disconnected from the world as the rest of us and sought out the sort of brotherhood that’s led us all to the Pharaohs.

Max goes to the van to unpack one of the weapons as Cosmo looks at me and laughs.

“And you give Poe shit for hazing the prospects,” he says.

“He should be ready for anything.”

“Come on, how many times have we worked with these clowns? We’ve never had an issue.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like them.”

“You don’t like anybody,” Cosmo says.

“I like these guys even less than most. I hate white supremacists.”

“Well, to be fair, there’s not much to like. I’m not crazy about ’em either. But in this game, the only color that matters is green. And they’ve got lots of it.”

Liberty’s Bastards is an end-of-days militia group we’ve dealt with for a while. Though they’re not overt about it, they’ve got some white supremacist tendencies that I’m not crazy about. But hey, if they want to arm themselves to the teeth and have some apocalyptic war with the ATF or FBI, that’s no business of mine. All that matters is that they pay well, and they pay on time.

“Here they come,” Max calls out.

Two black panel vans come down the road and park in the campground. Six large guys climb out, all dressed in fatigues. Five of them I know from past dealings. The sixth I’ve never met, but there’s something about him that tickles something in my memory. Leaving his boys by the vans, the leader of this small band, a vet named Spooner, comes over. He gives us both a nod.

“How’s it goin’, boys?” Spooner asks.

“Can’t complain. How about yourself?” Cosmo replies.

Spooner’s tall. Six-four, maybe six-five, and is ripped with muscle. I’m not a small guy, but I feel like one standing next to him. He’s got broad, sloping shoulders, a square jaw, and biceps as big as my thighs. It’d be easy to dismiss him as a connoisseur of steroids, but I get the feeling the guy puts in the necessary work in the gym to look like a pink, hairless gorilla.

I let them shoot the shit for a minute and take another look at the new guy in their crew. He’s talking to his guys and not even paying attention to me, which gives me a minute to study him closely. The guy is about five-ten, lean, and in good shape. He’s got sandy blond hair, cut short and clean, a neatly trimmed beard, and brown eyes. He’s pretty nondescript, overall. The kind of guy you’ll forget five minutes after meeting him. But there’s something about him that’s… familiar.

“You ready to do some business?” Spooner asks.

Cosmo nods. “Always.”

And then, it hits me. A shot of white-hot adrenaline courses through my body, lighting up every cell as I realize why the new guy looks familiar. I cut a glance over at Cosmo, doing my best to not freak out in front of Spooner. But I know if I don’t put a stop to this deal, this is all going to go to shit in a heartbeat.

“Good to hear. Be right back then,” Spooner says.

He turns and walks toward the vans and I take the opportunity to take a step closer to Cosmo. My throat is suddenly dry and I can’t force the words out because I know the minute I do, it’s going to set in motion, a chain of events that’s going to result in that guy’s death. Probably a painful and horrible one since these militia assholes don’t like snitches. They like government-planted snitches even less.

But if I don’t say something, and we let this deal go through, the repercussions will be catastrophic for the club. If I don’t say anything, it’s likely that all of us are going to end up dead or in prison when the FBI, ATF, and whatever other alphabet soup agencies come knocking on our doors.

It’s a damned if I do, damned if I don’t situation. It’s his life or the lives of all my brothers. And when I put it like that to myself, I realize the decision isn’t very hard to make at all. No matter the cost to yourself or anybody else, you always have the back of your brothers. Always. It’s a code I lived by in the service, and it’s the code I live by as one of the Pharaohs.

I lean closer to Cosmo’s ear and pitch my voice low enough so only he can hear. “Don’t say anything right now and don’t even look over at their group. You see the new guy? The one who doesn’t look like much?”

“Yeah. I see him.”

“He’s a Fed.”

Cosmo looks at me, and though he controls his features, careful to avoid giving anything away, I see the alarm in his eyes.

“You sure about that?” he asks.

“One hundred percent. I recognize him from Afghanistan, if you can believe it.”

“Afghanistan?”

I nod. “He was part of a joint FBI-CIA interrogation team,” I tell him. “He was stationed at my FOB just outside of Jalalabad. It’s been a few years, but I know it’s him. I’d bet my life on it.”

“Son of a bitch,” he murmurs.

His eyes dart left and right, looking for movement among the trees. I shake my head.

“Nah, I don’t think they’ve got a team moving in on us. My guess is he’s embedded with the Bastards. Long-term undercover,” I say. “Yeah, they’ll eventually sweep us up as part of his investigation, too. But if I have to guess, he’s on his own. Checks in regularly with his handlers and reports anything interesting.”

Cosmo pauses, and I can see his mind working. This can be really bad for us. Actually, it already is. If we say nothing to Spooner, when they get rolled up, the FBI will come hit us next. If we do tell Spooner he’s got a rat in his crew, we’re associating ourselves with the murder of a federal agent. Fucked if we do, fucked if we don’t.

His eyes land on me again. “You’re one hundred percent sure.”

“Damn straight.”

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

“Assuming the rat goes missing, you think Spooner would serve us up if the feds put the squeeze on him?” I ask

He shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’d like to say no. I’d like to say he’d no sooner cooperate with the feds than we would. But when somebody’s ass is on the line, you never know.”

“If we say nothing, it’s a certainty the feds will be knocking on our door in the not-too-distant future,” I say.

“And if we do say something, there’s only a chance they will. And just as good a chance they don’t.”

“The odds suck either way.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But I don’t see any option other than to roll the dice. One’s a guarantee, the other’s only a maybe.”

I blow out a loud breath and rub my jaw, the stubble making a dry, scratchy sound. Spooner walks back over to us with a duffel bag in hand. He moves to hand it over, but Cosmo takes a step back.

“What are you doin’?” Spooner asks.

“Before we do anything, we need to have a talk,” Cosmo says.

I move to the side, standing close enough to the pair to hear and provide input as necessary, but far away enough to keep an eye on the rat and give myself a clear line of sight if ever I need to put him down. Cutting a glance over at Max, I can see he’s getting antsy, so I give him a gesture meant to say, “calm the fuck down”. He does—more or less.

“You need to do a little housecleaning,” Cosmo says.

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“Your new guy. Who is he?” Cosmo asks.

“Adam. Good guy. All in on the cause with us,” Spooner says.

“What do you know about him?”

“Well, I didn’t do a credit check on the guy,” Spooner laughs. “But one of my guys vouched for him.”

Cosmo cuts me a look and I shrug. “Probably got pinched and this was the deal he cut to stay out of prison.”

Spooner rounds on me and draws himself up to his full height. His expression darkens. “The fuck did you just say?”

“Mellow out, Spooner. Hear him out and whatever you do, keep your shit together,” Cosmo says. “Seriously, do not lose your shit.”

The big man pulls a face at me, clearly not appreciating the implication of what I’ve just said. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what’s going to happen when I tell him he’s got a rat in his crew. I try to think of some way to soften the blow, but there’s really nothing for it other than to be honest and direct. Or maybe I just don’t know any other way to be.

“Your new guy… he’s a fed,” I say bluntly.

Spooner’s eyes widen. “Bullshit.”

I shake my head. “Nah. His team was stationed at my base in Afghanistan for a little while. Interrogated some high-value targets we captured.”

Spooner rocks back on his heels like I punched him in the gut and lets out a long breath. He looks off into the distance for a long moment, and I can see him doing the same mental calculus both Cosmo and I have both already gone through before arriving at the same conclusion.

“Shit,” he finally utters.

“I think the best thing we can do is carry on like nothing’s wrong. You don’t want to tip him off that you know,” Cosmo says.

Spooner nods. “Yeah, probably so. We’ll handle it.”

Cosmo leans close to him. “I don’t want to know. And I don’t want any of our names comin’ up. You understand?”

Spooner gives him an incredulous look. “I fuckin’ hate rats, man. You actually think I’d turn rat?”

“Nah. Just want to make sure to put it out there,” Cosmo says.

“Fair enough,” Spooner says.

“Okay, so let’s get this deal done then,” I say.

I signal to Max, and a moment later, he brings one of the ARs we’re selling over. Spooner takes it, giving it a quick inspection. He steps away and fires a couple of rounds. He nods and hands it back to Max.

“Looks good,” he says.

“Like we agreed, two grand a pop. I’ve got sixty in the van,” Cosmo says.

Spooner nods and hands the duffel bag over to Cosmo, who then hands it to me, and I, in turn, hand it to Max.

“Put it in the strongbox in the van. Lock it up tight, Prospect,” I tell him.

We watch in silence as Spooner’s men unload the crates from our van and load them into theirs. All the while, we’re watching Adam… or whatever his real name is. The anger is radiating off the big man and I know whatever he has in store for the rat isn’t going to be pleasant.

“Looks like we’re all done here,” Spooner says as his men close up their vans.

Cosmo shakes his hand. “Until next time.”

The big man nods. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Cosmo gestures to me. “Thank the kid. He’s the one who remembered the guy.”

“Appreciate it, Monk,” he says.

I nod, but don’t offer my hand. Like I said, I don’t like white supremacists. If he takes offense at it, he gives no sign. Instead, he inclines his head, giving me a nod of respect before he turns and heads back to his vans. Cosmo and I stand there watching until their taillights disappear.

“Think they’ll ever find his body?” I ask.

Cosmo shakes his head. “Doubt it.”

A worm of disgust, thick and oily, squirms in my gut, and I find myself wondering if the man has a wife and kids, and whether or not she’s waiting on pins and needles for her husband to come home. I push that all out of my head, ruthlessly cutting off all thoughts and feelings about it.

“It was him or us. Wasn’t even a decision,” I say.