Finding the nightclub months back had been like a blessing; it was small, hidden from the main road but large enough to stay on her lonesome, most tourists didn't know it existed, and the clientele was primarily gay. The men didn't really care about her one way or the other and the women avoided her and the pavement slab sized chip on her shoulder. It was hard to be comfortable, except when she knew for a fact she was alone in a crowd. Sometimes it was nice to be able to relax.
"Hey, Nick. Long time no see." The bartender said, finally making his way over to her. She chinned up and drained the last of her Bahama mama before leaning over and beckoning him closer.
"I need to visit Clem. Can you set it up?" She asked over the music. She could've tracked him down, but surprising an arms dealer was usually a bad idea. The bartender hemmed and hawed long enough that she gave him a ten to get the phones working before turning and looking at the girl next to her flatly. She stopped checking her out and smiled, realized how fucked up her face was, and moved on while Blake frowned and drank more.
Eventually she got the go ahead and left, leaving a tip behind her. The drive out of town didn't take long, she knew where she was going. Since washing up on shore a few years ago during a storm, her memory started from walking up the beach. Everything else was just a blank. The island was big, but it wasn't that big, and it hadn't taken long to walk across most of it in the bad time. She turned off her music and drove in silence, briefly clenching the steering wheel.
The old house on route nine had a lawn like a jungle and looked like a yellow tooth with a cavity, but she still parked in the back, armed herself with a gun and knife and took a deep breath before getting out. The chain was her favorite weapon other than m-16s, but there was a time and a place for everything. The man waiting for her on the back porch smelled like puke and was obviously drunk, but he still smiled warmly at her irritated expression. Wiping his hands on his overalls, he got up and offered one.
"Evenin', Sam. Glad to see you, come on in." He said, leading the way. The inside of the garage was surprisingly clean, well-lit, thick walled, and covered with guns and other gear. Some of them were on racks four deep. She closed the door and bolted it before turning to him, walking over and putting her hands on a table.
"You hear the news?" She growled. He nodded. "Yeah, aren't you supposed to be dead?"
"I got better. Here's the thing- it wasn't chance. Someone crossed me out. Those pirates-"
"I knew it! Didn't I tell you not to trust 'em?" Clem said, laughing.
"Yeah, you did, but save it. Someone crossed me, you hear me? Those pirates would've rather made money and been alive than made money and died for it, unless it was a lot of money. People are shit, but that whole crew was in on it. None of them wanted to save their skins, just kill me." She snarled.
Clem blinked. "You think someone paid 'em off?"
"Yeah. I can count on one hand how many people know what I'm trying to do, and they're the only ones with the money to throw. You're one of them, Clem." She said coldly. He put down his beer and got up, but she shook her head. "But you don't fit. You make too much off me and you've got your own people. So here's the deal; I need guns, explosives, and some other things to get going on the investigation. Do you have my back?"
He spread his arms wide and grinned through his beard. "What'd you need, honey?"
She grinned back, baring her teeth. There was a bleak, angry sort of joy in it. "You got a shopping cart?"
No comments:
Post a Comment