The 'Burg: Hold On Part 67

I disconnected.

Then I jabbed at my screen again.

After I did that, I put my phone to my ear.

It rang a long time, then I got Ryker's voicemail.

"Your surveillance guy just quit. And you're off my Christmas card list. And if you come into J&J's and I'm the only bartender on, you aren't gonna get a drink. And if I didn't totally dig your missus, I'd never f.u.c.king speak to you again."

After I said all that, I hung up and drove to J&J's.

I stormed in, and being me, I didn't bother hiding how p.i.s.sed I was.

This made Feb, who was standing at Colt's side of the bar seeing as her husband had his a.s.s planted on a stool there, widen her eyes at me.

Colt saw his wife's face and twisted on his stool.

He got one look at me and let out an audible sigh before begging, "Please, f.u.c.k, tell me Merry isn't the a.s.shole who's makin' you look like that."

"No, Merry isn't the a.s.shole who's making me look like this," I returned, stomping toward the office.

"Who's the a.s.shole makin' you look like that?" Feb called as I opened the door to the office.

I turned to them. "Ryker," I spat.

Neither of them looked surprised.

This was likely because Ryker didn't have a habit of making people look p.i.s.sed off.

He'd made it an art.

I went into the office and stowed my purse, slamming drawers as I did it, this not making me feel any better.

Me slamming the office door when I left also didn't help.

Further not cooling me down, I felt something coming off Colt as I tramped his way.

I looked at him and stopped when I caught the expression on his face.

"You wanna tell me why Ryan just slunk in here, lookin' like a whipped dog, and made his way right to the back where I can't see him or whatever the f.u.c.k that moron's got goin' down?" he asked.

Colt knew Ryan. Back during the manhunt for Denny Lowe, Ryan had led them to me, and both Ryan and I had given them lots of information to figure out just how many screws Lowe had loose (in other words, all of them). That information might have even helped them (a little bit) to track him down.

Unfortunately, Denny had managed to wound three men, one woman, and murder three more victims before they stopped him.

But we'd helped (maybe...and not altogether willingly, but the last part only because Ryan was tweaked and I was p.i.s.sed off I was f.u.c.king an ax murderer).

I knew Ryan because he was a regular at the strip club.

He was a nice kid, geeky, not real good at being social, and unbelievably smart. But smart in that bad way that made him geeky and not real good at being social.

He'd had a crush on me. He'd made it clear. It was sad and cute at the same time.

He also gave me money. It wasn't a lot, but back then, when Ethan was much younger and every time I turned around he needed something-new clothes because he was growing, medicine because he got an ear infection, food because he was human and had to eat-I needed all the money I could get.

It didn't feel good taking Ryan's money, but I consoled myself (poorly) by being his friend.

One of the only ones he had.

Sadly, this led to Denny meeting him, learning Ryan might work at Radio Shack but had many other skills, and Denny put him to work, spying on Colt and Feb. This meant he'd gotten Ryan to plant cameras everywhere-in Feb's house, on Colt's street-and Ryan had taught Denny how to do it, so Denny planted cameras in J&J's.

Ryan then kept an eye on the feeds because Denny was paying him.

And because of me.

This meant it was me who got Ryan caught up with a serial killer, hauled in, questioned, and scared out of his mind.

I held guilt about this, obviously. In the end, I'd wanted to give Ryan a bunch of the money Lowe had left me to pay him back for all his kindness and then never see him again.

But Ryan had told me that would hurt worse than any of the other s.h.i.t that befell him because he'd been unlucky enough to cross paths with me.

So I paid him back the way he wanted me to.

By continuing to be his friend.

This was not a hardship. He wasn't real good at being social, but he was a good guy, he could be funny, and he'd always been a good friend.

Eventually, I got over what I did to him and the reminder he always was of what Denny did to both of us.

I did this because I cared about him a lot.

However, even with all that had happened, Ryan had not learned not to be stupid regardless of how smart he was.

Which meant Colt had had occasion to brush up with him, and not just when Ryan came to Ethan's birthday parties or when I had everyone over to watch a game.

To Colt's question about Ryan being there, I jerked an agitated finger to my face and asked, "p.i.s.sed off look?" Then I answered myself, "Ryker and also Ryan."

Colt sighed audibly again.

"I'm handlin' it," I declared.

Colt's attention on me deepened even as his mouth warned, "This better be s.h.i.t you can handle without Merry gettin' a p.i.s.sed off look, Cher. 'Cause you p.i.s.sed off gives me a quiver. Merry p.i.s.sed off might mean I'm in the dark with a shovel and a flashlight, coverin' a brother's a.s.s by buryin' bodies."

That gave me a quiver.

I ignored the quiver, nodded to Colt, and called to Feb, "Got somethin' to sort. Be right back."

"We're slow. Take your time," Feb returned.

I didn't take my time.

I marched quickly to the pool table area where, as Colt said, Ryan was around the wall, sitting at a back corner table that was not even close to being visible from the bar.

I went right to him, stopped, and planted my hands on my hips, glaring down at his pale face, which had luckily lost the pimples he used to have when I'd met him, though some of them had left marks.

"Have you lost your mind?" I hissed.

He leaned toward me but kept his seat, "Cher, it's a big job and the guy who hired me trusts me to do it right."

I.

Was.

Gonna.

Kill.

Ryker!

"Is the guy who hired you gonna console your momma when you get dead doin' this big job for him?" I asked.

His face got even paler, but he didn't answer.

I read this to mean he knew the danger.

I didn't know the danger.

But I knew it was significant.

And I knew that if Lissa and Alexis wouldn't be upset that daddy didn't come home, I'd go to the nearest gun store, buy a baton, find Ryker, and beat him unconscious.

I threw out my hands, leaned toward him, and repeated, "Ryan, have you lost your mind?"

Suddenly, his head twitched and his brows shot together. "Do you know what the job is?"

"I know I don't want you doin' it," I returned.

He seemed to relax before he replied, "I'm a big boy, Cher."

"You're my friend, Ryan. You've had my back a lot over a lotta years. It's not about you bein' a big boy. It's about me givin' a s.h.i.t about you. And part of that givin' a s.h.i.t about you is wantin' you to be safely sellin' extension cords at Radio Shack and not sittin' in your car outside a house two doors down from mine where I know a d.i.c.khead lives and is likely into d.i.c.khead s.h.i.t that makes you unsafe. And part of this unsafe is that you're surveilling a house two doors down from mine, doin' it stupid by," I leaned deeper, "sitting in your car outside that house."

Ryan sat back hard in his chair when I leaned into him. "It's my job to keep an eye out."

"I got that," I returned. "And even though that job is over, heads up, you don't do that sitting right outside a house you're staking out."

"I got ears in that house, and when I put them in, I didn't have time to use the good stuff. The feeds don't range too far. I gotta be close."

At the news Ryan had actually broke into my d.i.c.khead neighbor's house and planted bugs, I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, wondering if it was possible to feel your blood pressure spike since I was pretty sure I was experiencing that.

I rolled my eyes back just in time to see Ryan's gaze shoot over my shoulder. He jolted in his chair before he froze, his eyes wild, his body strung tight.

This would lead me to believe Colt had joined our huddle.

However, I knew the feel of the man who had entered our s.p.a.ce while I was too busy reading the riot act to Ryan to notice.

And that feel was not Colt.

s.h.i.t.

"Ryan's surveilling a house two doors down from yours?"

Merry asked that question and he did it in a voice that was low and tense, an indication that he was about to go apes.h.i.t crazy.

Slowly, I straightened, and even more slowly, I turned to my man.

I looked into the blue shards of his glittering, p.i.s.sed off eyes.

Yep.

This close to apes.h.i.t crazy.

Needless to say, Ryan doing stupid s.h.i.t (repeatedly), not to mention being a friend of mine, he was well-known by the entirety of the BPD.

"Merry-" I started.

I didn't finish because he moved and he did it fast.

Lunging toward Ryan's table, he slammed a fist down on it so hard the table jumped. Ryan also jumped. But Ryan didn't otherwise move because Merry was still moving, this time so he had Ryan's sweater in his fist and his face in Ryan's.

"You got a job two doors down from Cher?" he growled.

"D-d-dude-" Ryan stuttered.

"Answer me!" Merry barked.

"Y-yeah," Ryan whispered.

"Who put you on that job?" Merry asked.

"Merry-" I tried again.

"Shut it, Cher," he clipped, his eyes not leaving Ryan. "Who put you on that job, Ryan?"

"I...I...n-n-no disrespect, Merrick," Ryan stuttered, "but the dude who has me on the job would lose his mind, I shared that with anyone."

Merry stared into his eyes, then pushed him off and Ryan's chair tipped up on two legs. Ryan threw his arms out, wheeling them as his feet kicked so he wouldn't slam to his back. He seemed suspended until his chair tipped forward and he was safe.

But I was not.