Again, Fox looked into the distance. He looked stoic and noble this way, and I couldn’t resist brushing my lips against the pit of his throat. I inhaled deeply of his unique pheromones that always set off a chain reaction of lust and arousal in me. “It’s true. They’ve asked me, but I haven’t given them an answer.”
I looked up. Fox still had that faraway look in his eyes, and next to him, Wolf was imitating him. But Wolf couldn’t quite carry off the look. He looked like he was wondering when Hawaii Five-O was on. “But you’re seriously considering it.”
He finally looked down at me. “Yes. I think it would be helpful for us. A built-in band of brothers, so to speak.” He clapped Wolf on the shoulder. “Except this guy, I’m not so sure of.”
“Oh, admit it,” said Wolf, “you love me. Hey. They need someone to go to the Citadel and bring back the fuel truck. We should both go on your scoot, so I can drive the truck back and you can ride your scoot back.”
“True,” said Fox, “’cause I sure as hell ain’t riding two up on your bike.” He handed Wolf his lid and kissed me. Although he wrapped an arm around my waist and gripped me to him, his kiss was gentle and soft, full of love. “Be back in an hour,” he murmured.
Then he jumped on his ride, and they were out of there.
I was completely unconcerned. What was there to worry about with a simple fuel truck run? I went and stowed my apron and grabbed a piece of the boob cake. I sat behind my desk inhaling the smell of paint fumes, loving every moment of it. Tracy, June, Emma and Maddie sat on the front desk counter eating the boob cake too, and pretty soon Knoxie, Ford, Faux Pas, and Speed all came in to polish off the dessert. The hungry men decimated the quesadilla and a big sloppy torta that someone had put in the kitchen. Speed was the only one who dared try the ceviche.
“So this is gonna be your office,” said Speed, his mouth full of rubbery octopus arms.
“This is me,” I agreed.
As I looked around at the men in various poses of the motel lobby, I understood what Fox had just said. We all were a band of brothers in a weird way. Not related by blood, the club ties kept us together. We’d even begun thinking alike. My first reaction to a predicament nowadays was always “What would an old lady do?”
I didn’t think much when Ford looked at his phone and told everyone that Fox had texted. “He saw a few Ochoas heading up this way when he was heading down.”
No one else seemed to think much of it, either. Wolf Glaser would have made it into a big deal, but he wasn’t there.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FOX/PIPPA
I pulled over onto the dirt shoulder halfway up the mountain to the motel. It was the same spot where I’d talked that cop out of giving Pippa a ticket, ages ago. That had been the best thing I’d ever done in my life. I had a creeping feeling I was about to do the second best thing.
Wolf Glaser pulled the fuel truck over behind my scoot. As he did so, another couple of beaners passed us in their Camaros. That made, all told, about ten potential Ochoas who had passed us since we started from P and E.
We talked on the shoulder. For once, the ever-present wide grin was missing from Wolf’s face. He set his hands on his hips and said thinly, “I know what’s on your mind, jefe.” Which was funny, because if I was going to prospect for the Bare Bones, Wolf would be my jefe. “They might be finally getting around to retribution for burying their fearless leader.”
“Exactly. Unless you think those were all workers of Lytton’s on their way to Leaves of Grass.”
Wolf replied, “Negatory. Workers of Lytton’s don’t drive Camaros or bikes, for one thing. These guys passing us were all gang members, all baby gangsters and crew bosses with Tweety Bird stickers in their windows. Hyenas who will just as soon turn you into Swiss cheese, and then light a crack pipe. I’m pretty sure the guy driving the purple Challenger was Abel Ochoa, Ruben’s son.”
“You think they’re on their way to Leaves of Grass?”
“That’d make sense if revenge is their game. Maybe they’re going to torch the fields, lay ruin to the grow houses. That’d definitely put us out of the running for Gunhammer’s backing. Not to mention, lose us a shit ton of money.”
“That’s it.” I thumbed Lytton’s number on my phone. “Lytton. Are you at Leaves of Grass? Wolf and I were just passed by at least ten Ochoas on their way up Lake Mary Road. We figure they’re heading for your plantation.”
I waited while Lytton radioed his armed guards to get down to the front gate. Then I said, “You could always call Ford at Smoky Mountain High. He’s got several men working with him there. They could take that Kinnikinick Campground bypass and take the Ochoas by surprise.”
“Or,” said Lytton, practical and suspicious as always, “could it be that Smoky Mountain is their target?”