Deloy was right. I’d felt it before. I’d felt the futility of trying to do right. In fact, sometimes it seemed it was only when I was trying to “do the right thing” that everything fell to shit. I wasn’t going to take it anymore.
“Listen,” I roared at the men. Sledgehammer, Maximus, and Yosemite Sam had drifted out from chapel, probably wondering where their quorum for the meeting was. It appeared we’d taken the meeting out into the bar. “This is bullshit. How much longer are we going to lie here like sitting ducks just taking it up the ass from these motherfuckers? They poisoned my dog, they’ve published innuendoes about me and Deloy, they’ve threatened our businesses, and now it fucking looks like they’ve murdered at least one of us?”
“I stand with Levon,” shouted Sledgehammer. “I don’t like it when anyone makes a fucking fool out of me.”
“I second that,” bellowed Yosemite Sam, always up for anything belligerent.
Gideon held both hands in the air. “Whoa, whoa. First of fucking all, we don’t know this it’s Deloy’s friend in the mine. Let’s wait for DNA results before running around like fucking chickens with our heads cut off. I agree this fucktard mayor is one partridge short of a family. I agree we need to use whatever’s at our disposal to get rid of him. But second of all, we’re businessmen. We can’t just go busting into City Hall with guns blazing. It’d be the ruin of us and our businesses. We have to think tactical.”
For some reason, Dingo was giggling. “Like Mayor Pratt’s Segway. That’s very tactical.”
I didn’t know what that meant, so I yelled, “How far has ‘thinking tactical’ gotten us, Gideon?” I was going up against the MC Prez and I knew it, but I guess I wasn’t “thinking tactical” at the moment. My brain was in my heart, and all I knew was Deloy had been injured to the core, and I was lashing out like a mother hen. That was in my DNA, to protect my men. “He’s threatening Deloy, he’s threatening me, I mean how far does he have to take it before we just bury him?”
“I’m all for burying him,” Sledgehammer called out calmly.
Gideon came out from behind the bar, taking control of the room. “I hear what you’re saying, Levon. I really do. The fucked thing is we’re playing a political game here, a strategy of chess. Maximus just announced his run for mayor. Judging from the feel of things, we’ve got a lot of support in this town. We were thinking of doing a campaign tour, getting the lay of the land outside of Avalanche. We’re betting there are lots of people against the fundies in outlying towns. They can’t vote of course, but we can get the word out that we’re going up against that juggernaut.”
Everything Gideon said made sense. I felt powerless, and I wanted to take the power back. Oaklyn had saved the day with Lazarus by figuring out the xylitol had poisoned him. Sure, I’d sent Shumway to the hospital, but it had been a devious Deloy who had given the mayor Montezuma’s Revenge so bad he went to the hospital too.
I felt I hadn’t done enough. At Liberty Temple, I’d always been in control. If a client showed up with drugs or a weapon, I’d come in with my goon and eject the guy. Take his money, of course. What was he going to do—complain to his wife?
But here in the real world I was learning there were times when your hands were tied. I was only a lowly Prospect, and I had to bow to the wisdom of my Prez.
“Yeah, I’m with you,” I said, not entirely convincingly. “It’s only a matter of time before Pratt blows it anyway. If he pushes me over the edge, I want your word that you’ll back me up on it.”
Gideon nodded tersely. “You got it. I trust your judgment as to what constitutes ‘getting pushed over the edge.’ What’s he threatening you and Deloy with, anyway?”
Deloy looked at me, blinking with his big round eyes. I hadn’t told anyone about the video threat. We were newcomers to this town and this club. Why hassle them with something that might not even happen? Our past was our cross to bear. I responded, “Oh, the same sort of slander shit that’s in the newspaper. Dredging up our pasts in order to ruin our future.”
Just then the Doppler effect of a siren came toward us and then passed on Crosstown Street. It sounded like it hung a left onto Watchtower where most of the shops were. Deloy dashed to the front swinging doors, followed by a pileup of men so heavy it threatened to bury the poor kid.
“Is it a fire truck?”
“Is my store on fire?”
“Who’s dying?”
I alone went out the side door, jogging across the street. The ambulance looked like it had indeed stopped in front of Maximus’ barbershop pole. The EMTs were attending to someone prone on the sidewalk. Maximus must have panicked that someone had keeled over in his shop, because in a flash he was doing the James Brown next to me, his knees practically meeting his chin as he ran.