Perversion (Page 24)

She’s scooping ladles full of something delicious-smelling onto the waiting plates of Lacking’s homeless and hungry. And since the cereal plant, which employed a large amount of the residents who aren’t in the life, closed a few years ago, there’s a lot of people waiting. Dozens of men and women and even some families pass through the line while Margaret, along with several other volunteers wearing IMMORTALS t-shirts, serve up her famous, and free, Sunday supper.

Her smile never falters as she feeds one tattered-looking soul after another. The smile doesn’t even drop when she spots me leaning against a bent bike rack at the edge of the field although the sparkle in her eyes dims.

Margaret doesn’t like it when business interrupts her charity.

She leans to the side and whispers to the woman standing next to her. She removes her apron from around her neck and passes it to someone nearby who takes over for her. Margaret emerges from behind the table in all her six-foot glory. She’s thin and covered in lean muscle. Her smooth dark skin shines without any help from the sun’s rays. Her black hair is shorn close to her head with a unique slight wave to it like a flapper from the 20’s. Her bright brown eyes burn with questions as she approaches.

“You know,” I say, looking her up and down. “Anyone looking at you would never guess that you’re old enough to be a mother, never mind a grandmother.” I’m not sucking up. I’m not trying to flirt with her. It’s just the truth.

“Save it, Grim. I got shit to do today and don’t really have the time for the whole ‘No I’m not, you flatter me’ bullshit.

“Cutting right to the chase as always.”

“I’m serious. A shipment of H along with two of my best soldiers went missing two days ago. You know anything about that?”

I shake my head. “One of our gun shipments mysteriously disappeared last week.”

“You got any idea on who?”

“Well, it’s either someone outside of Lacking, making a move, or Los Muertos is breaking the fucking truce. I haven’t ruled either out just yet.”

She sighs and rubs her temples. “These boys need to be put the fuck down. I said that before the fucking cease fire, and I’m saying it now.” She folds her arms over her chest. “Seriously, Grim, what the fuck are you doing on my side of town? Especially today. I’m busy if you haven’t noticed,” she says through her teeth, never dropping the smile.

I raise my eyebrows. “I’m not on your side of town. I’m in the park. Neutral territory. Remember?”

“I assume you’re not here to help with the lunch today,” she says, in her strong yet smooth-sounding British accent.

“To listen to you talk in that accent of yours, of course,” I say, lighting a joint.

“Cut the shit, Grim, or I’ll make you deal with Damon.”

Damon is Margaret’s son. If you ask anyone in town who leads the Immortals, they’ll say Damon. It’s a front. Margaret is the one calling the shots. She just lets everyone believe Damon is the one in charge.

Including Damon.

It’s a great cover. Even if she is using her own son as a shield in a way.

“Not today,” I tell her. I pull the envelope from my back pocket and hand it to her. She looks around to see if anyone is looking before tucking it into the large front pocket of her long flowing skirt. She looks up at me, waiting for an explanation. “That’s your cut. We’re going into a new business venture, and I’d appreciate the support.”

“The whorehouse?”

“Strip club and gentleman’s retreat,” I correct her. “And how the fuck did you know?”

She smacks me with the envelope. “Boy, I’ve been riding Chief David’s dick since before he decided he was suddenly a tribesman. You should know by now. I know everything.”

I cough on my smoke. “You and Chief David?”

She nods, throwing my words back at me. “You know, neutral territory and all.”

“Touché. I’m all about keeping the peace.”

She narrows her eyes at me.

“To a certain extent.”

Margaret sighs. “I’m afraid that extent might be ending and soon. I got the feeling that the second the wind shifts and Marco gets an ingrown hair in his ass, he’ll make moves to take the Immortals and Bedlam out. Don’t think he’ll wait out the month. And if he does, there’s no doubt in my mind he’ll burn down the entire fucking town in the process. He’s getting careless. Reckless. A leader like that is more dangerous to his own people than we are.” She looks up at me with her lips pressed together. Her shoulders sink. “I’ve lost a lot of my boys over the past few years. I don’t want to lose anymore. Not if I can help it.”

“Belly recently said the same thing,” I say, truthfully. “And hopefully, we won’t have to.”

“You think Marco’s gonna cause trouble when he catches wind of your new venture?”

“I’m not sure yet. That’s half the reason I’m here. To schedule a sit-down and talk to you before it happens. The question I want to know right now is, will you be causing trouble?”

She shakes her head. “I got enough shit to deal with in my territory, Grim. You posting up on the res to service gentleman callers from the casino isn’t high on my list of priorities.” She pats the envelope. “But I appreciate the consideration.” She holds it out.

“That’s yours.”

“I don’t want your money, Grim. I want to know that when the town catches fire, you understand that it won’t just be Bedlam caught in the blaze.”

I nod. “Keep it. I understand. I got your back as long as you’ve got mine, Margaret. Besides, I like talking to you, and I honestly can’t say that about a lot of people.”

“Boy, save that charm for some unlucky lady who will actually fall for it.”

I laugh as one particular lady comes to mind. My smile fades.

Margaret peers reflectively up to the sky. “How’s your old man holding up? I heard Belly’s had some problems.”

I take a drag. “He says he’s doing alright. The docs over at Lacking Memorial fixed him up, put him on some meds. Hopefully, the old man will be around to groan and grumble for many years to come.”

Yet, he just about gave me a reading of his will last night and may know something I don’t.

Margaret’s smile returns. This time, it’s genuine. “Good to hear. I’ve always liked Belly, even when we were trying to kill each other, I’ve always had respect for a man who knew the meaning of loyalty and family. We’re a lot alike in that way.”

“Except in the looks department,” I point out. “You got him there. Speaking of family, how’s your man-child doing these days?”

She blows out a breath and shakes her head. “Damon is… a good kid,” she says like she’s trying to convince herself more than me.

Damon is twenty-four, hardly a kid, but I get that she’ll always see him that way. He’s her son.

He’s also a fuck-up of epic proportions.

She shakes her head and closes her eyes. She presses her lips together. “But I swear to Christ if he brings one more pregnant skank over to the house, I’m sterilizing him in his sleep. Don’t get me wrong, I love my grand-babies, but I have a hard time keeping track of which mother is in jail, which one is out on parole, which one’s skipped town, and which one is coming after him with a razor blade.”