Walsh said, “What’s your real name?”
“Pete – Peter Weston.”
Walsh wrote it down, and lifted his brows. “Where are you from, originally?”
“Here. I – I grew up” – he swallowed with an audible gulp – “here.”
“Doing what?”
“I work – I work for the mayor. I’m his – personal assistant.” His eyes fluttered closed a moment, and Mercy and Walsh shared a look.
Walsh said, “What’s the mayor’s personal assistant doing selling drugs to minors?”
“He told me – Mayor Cunningham, he said it had to be me. He couldn’t do it.”
“Why would he want to do it anyway?” Walsh had an alarming amount of patience in these situations, but Carter detected a hint of strain. The patience was wearing thin.
More blood welled and dribbled. Carter saw Mercy’s hand tighten in the man’s hair. “Had to – had to – take the Dogs out.”
“A mayor who wants to get rid of the Dogs. There’s an original thought.”
Mercy chuckled.
Walsh said, “Any particular reason – Merc, he’s passing out.” A quick slap roused him. “Why does he want to take the Dogs out?” Walsh repeated, slower and louder.
“It…isssa for the plan. The big plan.”
Walsh sighed. “What plan?”
Peter’s eyes fluttered closed again.
“Shit, he won’t last much longer.” Walsh stood, and went to stand in front of him, snapping his fingers to get his attention. “Hey, hey, look at me. Where’s Ricky?”
He stared up at Walsh with unfocused, tear-bright eyes. “He’s gone,” he said, and then the pain finally pulled him under.
“Shit,” Walsh said, turning and stalking away. He wiped his hand over his mouth, jaw tight afterward, and, in that moment, beneath the soft glow of the overhead light, he seemed more like a man – uncertain, frustrated, worried – than the stone-cold Money Man of the club.
Carter was surprised by the way it unsettled him.
“Secure him,” Walsh said, gathering himself. “Keep him quiet. When he wakes up, we’ll try again.”
Carter drained off his drink, went to ask Ghost if he would be needed for a little while, and then he was on his bike.
Thirty-Four
“You don’t need to stay with me,” Leah said. She felt like a broken record.
“Do I look like I mind?” Ava asked. They were sitting at the kitchen table playing doubles solitaire, the slap and slide of the cards a much-missed Southern comfort for Leah.
Night had fallen, and Evan was watching some kind of awful reality show over on the couch, and Leah was starting to wonder what exactly they were waiting on. She didn’t think Ava planned to spend the night, not with her kids back at the clubhouse, and she couldn’t imagine Evan would be ordered to stay here while Ava drove back on her own, in the dark. The lateness of the hour only made everything worse, she figured.
“No, but…” She lowered her voice. “How long do you think it’ll be like this? Will I be able to go to work tomorrow?” Despite Ian knowing the current situation, she loathed the idea of calling in sick so soon into her tenure with the company.
“Yeah, I think–” She was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Speak of the devil.”
Evan turned off the TV and went to answer it.
“Check first,” Ava reminded.
