Page 33

DIESEL

I f I have to spend another hour in this Godforsaken permit office, I’m going to torch the place.

Merrick and I sit on the same hard bench we’ve been relegated to since this morning, elbows on knees, pissed as hell.

We haven’t eaten since breakfast. Haven’t left. We won’t go anywhere without answers.

Merrick texted Vicki and Mike from the bathroom a couple of hours ago, trying to line up coverage for this afternoon since we’re stuck.

The office doubles as the sheriff’s station and the county jail, and there’s a strict no-cell-phone policy. You can’t even have it visible, or the officer behind the glass threatens to kick you out.

Two women sit in the room, both of them waiting for someone to be released from the cells. They’ve struck up a conversation, a pissing match about whose low-life husband is the worst. It’s been a trial listening to it.

Merrick kicks out his legs. “Is this going to do a lick of good?”

“Not sure.”

“They’re making us wait for no reason.”

“I know it.”

“What the fuck do we do?”

I have no answer for him.

The window slides open, and a voice booms through the opening. “No cursing in the waiting area.” The bald man in a blue uniform points to a sign on the wall.

No food or drink.

No cell phones.

No cursing.

Right.

Merrick stares up at the ceiling. “Do we even have a plan? We put on these monkey suits and came up here without an appointment.”

“I doubt Sherman had an appointment.”

“He probably had his goons call.”

“I tried that yesterday. They didn’t call back.”

“Goddamn it.”

The window slides open. “Sir!”

Merrick waves. “Sorry. I got it. I’ll be good.”

This isn’t helping our cause. But damn it, if what Sherman said is true, we’re in a real situation. Our liquor license renewal is less than a month away. We can’t operate without it. They’ll shut us down so fast we won’t know what hit us.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, but I don’t dare take it out to look. We’re already skating on thin ice. I’m grateful Vicki thought to tell Jose to come by and get the keys. When we arrived at eight this morning, I never thought we’d be sitting here past opening time for the bar.

The side door creaks. Everyone looks up to see who is coming through.

A sorry sight of a man shuffles out. He looks like he’s thrown up all over himself.

“Well, there’s my knight in shining armor,” one woman says. “Good luck.” She doesn’t even greet the man as she heads out the door. He follows.

“See ya next weekend, Charles,” says the officer in the window before narrowing his eyes at us and closing it.

The door has barely clicked shut when it opens again. This time, it’s a big-bellied man in a white shirt and trousers that probably came from the 1970s and not in the fashionable, hip, vintage way.

“Merrick Packwood and Dean Packwood?” he calls.

We stand. Finally.

As we walk his way, he holds up his hand. “Sorry, but the permit officer isn’t here today.”

The word explodes out of my mouth before I can catch it. “What? We’ve been here for hours.”

He shrugs. “The clerk wanted to check with me before telling you to leave.”

“For six hours?” I’m ready to cold-cock this man in his smug face.

“Try again tomorrow.” He turns for the door.

I’m ready to grab his arm, but I catch the uniformed officer watching me from behind the glass. Yeah, they want a reason to arrest me. “Will the permit officer be here tomorrow?”

The man shrugs. “You should call.”

“We did call.”

The door closes behind him.

Oh, my fucking God. What the actual fuck?

I press the heel of my hand into my eye.

“I guess we’re out of here,” Merrick says.

I storm my way across the room and shove on the door. “I think we’re done with the whole damn thing.”

Dust churns from under my boots as I cross the gravel lot.

Merrick rushes to catch up with me. “What do you mean?”

The sun is blinding, and the heat fuels my rage. “I mean, this was a fucking stupid idea. Just put the goddamn bar up for sale.”

“What the hell, man?” He jerks on my arm.

“It’s pointless. Just fucking let the Pickles have it. I’ll fucking re-enlist. Anything is better than this.” I try to shake him off.

“So, that’s it? Like a fucking coward?” Merrick’s face is livid.

I turn to face him. “The deck is stacked. It always was. People like our fucking uncle rule the goddamn world. Nobody else is getting anywhere.” I turn to the truck.

Merrick’s next words strike me cold. “Then let him fucking fix it.”

I whirl around. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I take a swing at him.

He ducks and spins to my left. “Why the fuck not? Use his money instead of us pissing it away.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I run toward him, the flaps of my suit jacket flying behind me.

He stands his ground. “You’re being fucking stupid.”

My shoulder sinks into his gut, knocking him to the ground. Gravel crunches into my knee as I fall with him.

We don’t talk anymore, fists flying, legs tangled. It’s our best way of communication, a conversation in grunts and tackles. He’s annoyed and not fighting hard. I’m angry as hell and going for broke.

Sometimes in our lives, it’s been the other way around. But this is my pissing match.

Merrick gets a solid grip on my shoulders and flips me onto my back.

Blood trickles out of my nose. I swipe at it, making a paste of gravel dust. “Motherfucker.” I roll over onto him, ready to bloody up his.

But I’m lifted away from him. I’m about to turn and fight my way out of this one when I see the glint of a badge.

Fuck. It’s a deputy.

Wrong goddamn place to get in a fight.

Merrick jumps up. “Nothing wrong here, officer. This is my brother. We fight more than two rats in a cage.”

The man snaps cuffs on me. “You coming easy?” he asks Merrick. “Or do I need to cuff you, too?”

Merrick holds his hands up. “I’m coming easy.”

We exchange a glance as we’re hauled back into the building.

We’ve fucked up this time.