Domino by Ivy Black
Chapter Sixteen
Domino
“So, why haven’t you called her yet, then, Romeo?”
“Gotta let some anticipation build,” I reply.
Derek shakes his head. “Never figured you for a pussy, man.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
But I snicker, although it’s without much humor behind it, then take a long swallow of my beer, pondering Derek’s question. There’s no real good reason I didn’t call her last night. Other than the fact that I spent a good portion of the day trying to get a bead on the guys in the black SUV. After I saw them rolling slow down Harrison, I followed them, doing my best to be discreet about it. But there’s nothing really subtle about my bike, so I had to hang back farther than I would have liked.
I look at the closed doors to the Leadership room, wondering what’s going on in there. Derek doesn’t know much, and the bits of information he does have, are scattered and not overly informative, anyway. All he could say for sure was the tension in the air is high.
Which brings me back to the guys in the SUV. I made them for cartel guys. I know I can’t be absolutely certain, but I got that twitchy vibe I always got when something was about to go down over in the shit. Being in Afghanistan taught me how to be observant. When we were in areas choked with people, be it a marketplace or a village, I always assessed the area and the people around us quickly. Failure to do so meant you could end up getting your ass blown up, so I learned to be fast and accurate thoroughly.
Several times over there, I picked out the threat—usually some dude strapped with a suicide vest—and kept my unit from getting blown to shit. Several times, we weren’t so lucky and somebody got by one of our guys, and our unit took a hit. But the point is, when I was assessing a scene, I always got a particular vibe. It’s like a sixth sense or something that helped me pick out the bad guy with bad intentions from the crowed.
And when I saw those guys in the SUV yesterday, I got that feeling all over again. Something wasn’t right about them and that they were there with bad intentions. It was just a feeling, and with everything that had happened with the cartel, I wondered if I was just being paranoid. I puzzled over it all night, wondering if I should bring it up to Leadership, or just let it go. I mean, it’s not like anything happened. They didn’t do anything, and no shit went down anywhere. So, I decided to sleep on it.
I woke up this morning, though, and it was still bothering me, so I figured I’d talk to Cosmo. Tell him what happened, what I saw, and let him make a call about whether to bring it up to Prophet or not. No sense in getting everybody worked up about it, if somebody as even keeled as Cosmo said there was nothing there and it was probably just my imagination working overtime.
But when I got here, the atmosphere in the clubhouse was heavy, and the closed-door meeting that was becoming a regular thing here persisted. It got me thinking that maybe the two things are connected. That maybe there’s some behind-the-scenes shit going on with the cartel I’m not aware of. Something that drew them to Blue Rock. I know Prophet’s got a special kind of hard-on for those guys, but would he go rogue and do something to pull us into a war with them?
“So, what’s she like?” Derek asks.
I shrug. “She’s a knockout. Got a tight little body with curves in all the right places,” I tell him. “She’s smart as hell, too. Witty. She can definitely hold her own when it comes to giving somebody shit.”
“Sounds like she’s already got you wrapped around her finger. And here I thought you were just lookin’ to get laid.”
“I don’t know what I’m lookin’ for. Could be I just want to get laid. And trust me, I wouldn’t mind bangin’ her in the least.”
Derek takes a drink of his beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I ain’t buyin’ that. You’re already talkin’ like a man who’s seeing minivans, white picket fences, and two-point-five children.”
“You’re such an asshole,” I laugh. “I’m definitely not the nuclear family kind of guy. Never have been. I don’t do kids.”
“Never say never, man.”
My heart suddenly spasms with pain as I stare at the bottle in front of me. I’ve never been much for kids to begin with. But as the thoughts scroll through my mind, the faces of an Afghani boy and a girl, neither of them more than ten years old float through. I’ll never be able to forget them. They were seared into my brain where they’ll always remain. And rightly so. What I did is something I’ll never be able to forget, nor should I be able to. It’s a memory that will haunt me to the end of my days. It’s something I’ll never be able to forgive myself for. Nor should I be forgiven.
Clearing my throat, I drain the last of my bottle and try to shake it off, trying to shove the memory back into the little box inside of me where I store all of the remembrances of the terrible shit I’ve seen and done in my life. Trying to keep it all locked up is the only way I manage to stay sane. Extreme compartmentalization. It’s another handy trick I learned in the Corps and one that serves me every bit as well as threat assessment.
“So, when are you going to call her?” Derek presses.
“What the fuck are you, my life coach?”
“Sounds like you need one, man.”
“You can eat shit,” I say and laugh.
I hear some bikes rumble into the yard outside, and a couple of minutes later, Cosmo walks through the front door with Bala trailing behind him, but I barely recognize him. He’s in blue jeans, but a flannel shirt with long sleeves, obscuring the tats on his arms, and a black t-shirt underneath that. He’s not wearing his kutte, and he’s got a ball cap on, covering up the tattoos on his head. To me, he looks like he’s intentionally trying to disguise himself.
Bala gives me a nod as I look between the two of them. His face is pinched, tension written all over it, and I find myself wondering why Tarantula’s second is in our clubhouse and why both he and Cosmo look ready to shit a brick. I nod back to him, my mind spinning with curiosity at this development.
Cosmo walks Bala over to the Leadership room and lets him in, sliding the door closed behind him. Then, he turns to me and walks over. Perhaps sensing the thickening tension in the air as if by some silent understanding, Derek gets up and walks away as Cosmo sits down across from me.
“Prospect, beer me,” Cosmo says.
Derek is there in a flash with an open beer for him and I watch as Cosmo down half of it in one go. He’s tight. I can see it in his face and the set of his body. He sets the bottle down and looks at me.
“What’s Bala doing here?” I ask.
Cosmo fixes me with a firm stare. “He’s not. And if you’re ever asked, you never saw him here. You got me?”
I drain the last of my beer and set the bottle back down as I nod. “Yeah, I got you,” I tell him. “But what in the hell’s going on?”
Cosmo frowns. “I can’t read you into this yet, kid. Just know there are some pieces being moved around the board and shit might get hairy for a bit.”
“Does this have anything to do Zavala and the cartel?”
“Why would you ask me that?”
I blow out a long breath. and then fill him in on what I saw and did yesterday. He listens to me and, I watch as his face turns red and his jaw clenches tight. I can tell he’s irritated.
“And why didn’t you tell any of us this yesterday?” he asks when I finish.
“Because I can’t say for sure they were Zavala’s guys. I thought it was possible I was just being paranoid,” I say, then add pointedly, “It’s not like I’m being read in on the shit going down, so I can’t know what I’m looking for or not looking for.”
He grimaces. “Touché,” he says, then adds with a grin, “Asshole.”
He sits back in his seat, his face clouding over as he takes a drink of his beer. I don’t have to be a mind reader to know that something bad is coming. Cosmo is processing what I told him, and I can tell he doesn’t like it. He swallows down the last of his beer and sets the bottle down on the table, then gets to his feet.
“This changes things,” he mutters.
“How so?”
The frown on his face deepens, and it seems like he wants to tell me what’s going on, but I know that he can’t. Not until Prophet gives the okay. And if there’s one word to describe Cosmo, it’s loyal. He’s not going to break his oath to Prophet. It’s frustrating as shit, but I can’t fault him for it. He’s a good soldier and a good man like that. Cosmo leans across the table and claps me on the shoulder, staring into my eyes with an expression of earnestness on his face.
“I’ll tell you everything as soon as I’m able to. Until then, just keep your shit tight and your mouth shut. Especially about Bala. He’s risking his own balls to be here right now,” he says.
“You know you can trust me.”
He stands up. “I do. And I appreciate it.”
Cosmo disappears into the Leadership room, sliding the door closed behind him. I grab his bottle and take it behind the bar, dropping it into the recycle bin, then grab a fresh one out of the refrigerator. I pop the top on it and take a swallow, my mind racing as I try to figure out what in the hell is going on.
It’s obviously got something to do with the cartel, but Bala being here adds a wrinkle to this whole thing, and I can’t figure out what that is. The fight with Zavala is ours. What would the Warriors have to gain by throwing in with us? Last I heard, their prez was on good terms with Zavala and they did business together now and then. Neither Bala nor Tarantula seemed especially thrilled with it, but it’s their prez’s call, not theirs. So, why is he here?
“So, are you gonna call her or what?” Derek asks.
“Shit. Are we back on that again?”
“We never off it. We were just interrupted.”
“Why are you so interested in whether or not I call Ashley?”
He shrugs. “Probably because it irritates you so much. Besides, if you’re not going to, I’m gonna take a run at her.”
He draws a laugh out of me. “You do that, and I will cut your nuts off.”
Derek opens his mouth to reply when the chatter of automatic gunfire rings out. Guys out in the yard are yelling and I hear the pop-pop-pop of them returning fire.
“What the fuck?” Derek asks.
Snatching the .44 Desert Eagle that’s stored beneath the bar, I’m dashing across the clubhouse when the door to the Leadership room flies open. The guys are boiling out of it like a colony of pissed-off ants as I throw the door open. Beyond the front gates, I see a black SUV with a guy in a black shirt and dark shades hanging out the back window. A split second later, the chatter of gunfire starts again, and I can hear the hard thump and pinging whines as he sprays the front gate.
Puffs of dirt kick up in the yard where some of the bullets are tearing into it. The weapon held out in front of me, I run down the stairs squeezing off shots. The window behind at the back end of the SUV, behind the shooter, explodes as one of my bullets punches through it and the guy swings around toward me. Just as I see the muzzle flash, I’m lifted off my feet and slammed into the hard-packed dirt of the yard.
A trail of bullets tears through the spot where I’d been standing just a moment before, kicking up chunks of dirt and debris. The air is driven from my lungs with a loud “oomph”, and I look up to see Monk hovering over me.
“Jesus, dude,” I croak. “What did you play, linebacker?”
“Free safety, actually. And you’re welcome.”
A hail of shots rings out as our guys return fire, and I hear the definitive smacking sound of bullets hitting sheet metal. I hear a man scream in agony as one of the bullets punches into him, and a moment later, the sound of squealing tires reverberates through the air around us. The roar of the SUV’s engine fades as it races away, and a couple of beats later, everything in the yard is still.
Monk climbs off me and helps me up. We take a beat to dust ourselves off, both of us still watching the gates suspiciously. I half expect to see a cartel hit squad to come rushing in, guns blazing. But so far, it remains empty. I look over at Monk to see him tying his sandy brown hair back into a tail. Apparently, putting a hit on me as hard as he did had knocked it loose. He flashes me a lopsided smile.
“Thanks for havin’ my ass,” I say.
“I think you mean to say, saving your ass. Saving.”
I laugh. “Fine. Saving.”
“Better,” Monk says with a laugh.
“Everybody all right?” Prophet calls out. “Anybody hit?”
Thankfully, nobody on our side took a bullet in the exchange. The only thing I hope is that whoever tagged the shooter got him with a shot that’s fatal. Watching everybody come out from cover and converge in the center of the compound reminds me a lot of my old unit in Afghanistan coming out the other side of a firefight.
There are a lot of relieved smiles, gallows humor, and rueful laughter rippling through the group. Everybody’s casting a wary eye at the gate, however, waiting for the black SUV to come back. A couple of the guys run to the gate, warily sticking their heads out before turning back and giving us the all-clear signal. They roll the gate shut and throw the bar down to lock it from the outside.
That helps cut some of the tension in the yard, but not by much. It’s going to take some time for everybody to relax given that we just got shot up. That and I think that everybody knows what this means and what’s coming next. I glance over at Prophet to find him staring at the gate and the wall beside it. Even from where I’m standing, I can see the bullet holes punched through the metal.
Prophet clears his throat and looks around at all of us, his expression grim and taut with anger. He exchanges glances with Doc and some silent bit of communication passes between them. Back on the clubhouse steps, Bala is standing in the doorway, a deep scowl on his face. What I don’t see in his expression is surprise. That strikes a strange chord in me.
“Everybody sure they’re all right?” Prophet calls out.
The guys all nod. Nobody’s been dinged up. Being veterans, they knew to take cover the moment the shooting started. After confirming that nobody had been hit, Prophet gives us all a nod.
“Okay, then. We’re going to figure out who just hit is—”
“I think we know who hit us,” Monk says.
“The operative word there is think… as in don’t do it, Monk. We’re not going off on anybody halfcocked and without proper intel. I want confirmation before we do something that ignites a bigger war,” Prophet fires back.
Although we all hear the common sense in Prophet’s words, it’s obvious to us who just opened fire on the clubhouse. Zavala. There’s no question about it in my mind, or the minds of anybody else standing here. And we all want to deliver a little payback to that son of a bitch.
But I know he’s right. We shouldn’t go wading into something like this based on our assumptions. For all we know, this is some other MC that know there are problems brewing between the Pharaohs and the cartel looking to stir up some shit. It’s not likely, but the possibility exists. And until we can rule any of that other shit out, we shouldn’t be trading shots with anybody. I think everybody else gets it, too.
But it’s hard to keep the guys calm when our blood is up the way it is. Nobody comes in here and takes shots at us and gets away with it. Something needs to be done about it. Somebody needs to pay.
Prophet nods. “All right. Go back to doing your thing. Just watch your sixes. Watch everybody else’s six, too, while you’re at it. We don’t know if these assclowns are coming back.”
“And be sure that gate stays closed at all times for now,” Doc adds.
They both turn and walk over to exchange some words with Bala. I watch them for a moment, wanting nothing more than to be a fly on the wall. A moment later, they’re exchanging handshakes and a manly hug with the requisite hard thump on the back.
As Prophet and Doc disappear back into the clubhouse, Bala is heading down the steps and toward a car, further emphasizing the fact that he’s gone extremely low profile to be here. It only raises my level of curiosity, but it also presents me with the only chance of getting any intel on what the fuck is going on around here. Moving quickly, I intercept him before he gets the car. Looking pointedly at the car, then at him, I give him an arrogant smirk.
“A Prius? Seriously? Did your vagina come stock with that, or was that a special edition?” I ask.
He laughs grimly. “Go fuck yourself, puto. Ain’t nobody gonna be lookin’ for me in one of these things. Besides, you seen gas prices lately? If you were smart, you’d get one of these suckers, too. They’re ugly as shit, but they can driver forever.”
“Yeah, well, the bike’s always been good for me. But if I ever need to go somewhere, I know nobody’s going to recognize me, I’ll give it some thought.”
I lean against the car and fold my arms over my chest, signaling that he won’t be leaving until I’m ready to let him go. And at the moment, I’m not willing to get out of his way until I get some answers.
“You know, coming in here dressed like… that,” I begin and gesture at his outfit, “and ridin’ a goddamn Prius no less, it almost seems like you’re going all incognito or somethin’ like that.”
“Yeah, it’s somethin’ like that,” he replies.
“What’s going on?”
“Man, you know I can’t tell you shit. Prophet would have my nuts.”
“C’mon man. We just got shot up. I’m positive I saw some cartel guys in town yesterday. I’m sure the two things are connected, yeah?”
He looks around, as though making sure there was nobody within earshot of us. There’s not, but he steps a bit closer to me and pitches his voice low, anyway.
“Look, all I can tell you is there’s some heavy shit goin’ down. I thought there was more time, but there’s not. Zavala’s comin’ for you guys,” he says.
“We knew that already. So, what’s it got to do with you? Why all the cloak and dagger shit, man?”
He sucks in a breath, looking torn. Bala glances at the clubhouse, clearly uncomfortable being here out in the open like this. He’d obviously told Prophet he’d keep a lid on it, but he seems to want to tell me regardless of what he’d promised. The fact that he’d break his word tells me that what’s coming is going to be even more hairy than I even thought. It’s not very comforting.
“Look, all I can tell you is that Tarantula and I aren’t down with the bullshit the cartel’s doin’. We ain’t into the fact that they’re traffickin’ fuckin’ kids, ese. That’s some shit that don’t fly with us, and some of the other guys in our club. There’s goin’ to be some changes in our MC’s leadership real soon,” he says.
“That’s good to know, and I think that’s a good thing, man. But what does that have to do with us?”
“Because the more you guys weaken Zavala, the more likely it is that the changes we’re tryin’ to make stick. Helps make sure things don’t get all sideways on us and we all end up eating shit. And that’s seriously all I can tell you right now, ese. I don’t want to step in shit with your prez either,” he says.
“Fair enough. Appreciate you tellin’ me what you can.”
He embraces me and thumps me hard on the back. “You just watch your nalgas, holmes. You’re a pinche guero, but I like you, anyway.”
“Appreciate it, brother. And watch your ass, too, man. Sounds like we’re both goin’ to be gettin’ into some shit sooner.”
He nods and I step out of the way, letting him get into his car. Looking down at him in the driver’s seat, I laugh and shake my head.
“Seriously, get yourself a real car and grow your balls back. I’m embarrassed for you, cabron,” I tell him.
He shoots me the finger but smiles. “Chinga tu madre, puto.”
Bala shuts the door, then starts his car. I watch as he pulls to the gate and one of the guys opens for him, then slams it shut and locks it after he’s gone. As I watch the guys, some of them fortifying the walls, others cleaning their weapons, I feel like I’m in a compound in Afghanistan all over again. The air is dripping with tension, and I swear to God, it feels like we’re sitting on a razor’s edge, waiting for the Taliban to hit us.
“Well, shit,” Derek says as he steps up beside me. “The way things are going, you probably want to call Ashley sooner rather than later. Might be your last chance to get laid.”
For once, I agree with him.
