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John had never known the meaning of ‘stressed’ until now.

It had been a productive year, one of their best if he wasn’t mistaken (and he wasn’t) in a long while, but Cary was still on a rampage. In fairness, spending too much time in Windsor would put anyone in a bad mood, but he’d cleaned up the whole Detroit debacle only to come home to a new one.

It had been over a week, and they still hadn’t been able to figure out who ripped off the batch.

John believed that it wasn’t Nick. And he knew Cary well enough to know that he believed Nick, too. But with nowhere else to look and Nick responsible for quality control they were at a loss, and Cary’s temper had to land somewhere. Nick was taking the brunt.

Nick’s bruise was starting to fade, turning a yellowish brown that reminded him of baby shit. Cary said he’d ‘let himself into Nick’s place’ to wait for him, when Nick had turned up in a cab – still on E – with his face bashed in.

John had pressed for more details about where he’d been, but Nick remained vague. Said he’d been at a rave with some friends and gotten sucker-punched. Cary seemed uninterested in the story, much more focused on discussing production and more particularly who had access to the last batch while it was being prepped. But it didn’t slip past John’s notice that Jerry’s boy, Shane, the one with the torch for Laney, had a busted-up hand and face when he’d swung by Jerry’s for some parts two days ago.

John told Nick to lay off the blow for a few days, at least while he was concussed. He wanted to tell him to lay off Cary’s sister, too… That between Cary and Shane it wasn’t worth ending up as a eunuch. But Cary hadn’t seemed to piece anything together yet and it was best for everybody if he didn’t.

Jerry was running some seriously magical interference on behalf of that kid of his.

John had been working with Cary for a long time. Sometimes, Cary felt more like a son to him than his own kids. He helped Cary build his business, grow his customer base, make connections… He was proud of the little empire they’d amassed; big enough to keep them all elbow-deep in cash and drugs, but not big enough to attract attention.

None of them needed real jobs. The diesel mechanic shop was a front, although they did help out friends here and there and had some good cross-border trucking clients who’d carry for them in exchange for free work. But John’s biggest contribution to their little operation was his ties to the community, a non-suspicious face hanging around at the shop. He worked at an appliance store two days a week, to further keep up pretenses.

He lived in another neighbourhood, about forty-five minutes from Cary’s. The kind with lawn sprinklers, and Block Parent signs in the windows.

He mowed his lawn on Saturdays. His wife, Suzie, hosted a potluck for the neighbours on the third Sunday of every month. He installed a wooden ballet bar and a wall of mirrors in his basement for his daughter. He and Suzie attended church on holidays.

Suzie liked blow as much as he did.

They’d been together since high school, gotten pregnant after spending a night at a beach party snorting more sand than snow, and in raising a son together found that they rather enjoyed each other’s company. They got married in their early twenties, had a second kid at twenty-six, and apart from the extensive drug use that they kept very well hidden and the fact that John sometimes maimed people for a living, they were the very picture of the high school pregnancy success story.

John loved his wife, he loved his two beautiful children, and he loved his business partner like family.

But fuck a duck he didn’t need ‘Crazy Cary’ stress in his life, right now.

The man was carnage incarnate when he wanted to be. All the boys were nervous, and everybody was looking to John to fix things. The only thing that had been taking the edge off was Linette. But he didn’t like to think about that, too much.

“I don’t know what to do, Nick," John lamented. "Unless a stranger broke in here and did this, I’m at a loss.”

“Maybe they did?”

“Why would a stranger bother covering their tracks by cutting the batch unless they planned to do it again? It has to be somebody on payroll. But I can’t for the life of me figure out who.”

“What about the women?”

John blinked. “Like… the girls? The shop girls?”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “The ones who hang around. They’re in and out enough, they’d know what’s what. Has anyone talked to Sarita? Or Cary’s… harem?”

John bit his lip. It was well known that the girls hung around hoping for a piece of Cary and a free taste, but most of them would settle for any of the guys that were willing. Some came and went, but there were a few regulars that had been floating around on laps long enough that it might not be a stretch to imagine them being invited into the back rooms. Still, the only one with a true all-access pass was Sarita, and it would be hard not to notice the mega supermodel sneaking around.

“I haven’t talked to any of the girls, no…” John said.

“Well, there you go,” Nick said dismissively.

John was annoyed. Nick had always been a bit of curmudgeon, but since Cary got back he’d been straight up surly, and John was in no mood.

“I’m not stupid enough to question Cary’s girlfriend,” John said slowly. “If there’s one thing that will guarantee you a coffin with a view, it’s fucking with Sarita. Or worse, his sister.”

“Doesn’t seem he gives much of a shit about either of them, you ask me,” Nick said.

“I didn’t ask. And if I were you, I wouldn’t keep testing that theory .”

Nick paused, his eyes flashing, like he was considering either ignoring John or denying it, but instead he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anymore, anyway,” he said. “Laney won’t take my calls.”

The guy was putting on a brave face. His voice was carefully nonchalant, his features smooth and bland. But John could feel it, in him. The anger.

Nick hadn’t just been beaten up. Nick had been dumped. And apart from the obvious damage to the ego that a dumping always does, he seemed to actually be taking it… hard.

It was the last thing John needed, to be worrying about Nick running off half-cocked into the night, throwing pebbles at Laney’s window and getting a face full of Cary – or Shane, for that matter – instead. Nick was their best packer, and Cary was looking to John to make sense of all of this, keep things going…

“I’ll talk to the girls,” John said reluctantly. “But I’m not talking to Sarita. Cary can do that, if he wants.”

“Cary always seems to do what he wants,” Nick said.

“Trust me, it’s best you just stay out of the way and let him. There’s nothing – and I mean this, Nick – nothing that is worth Cary’s wrath.”

Nick looked like he wanted to argue but seemed to think better of it.