Another moment of silence and then Colt replied, “You get to the rose, man, it’s unbelievably soft and smells incredibly f**kin’ sweet.”
It hit Layne then that Colt and Feb had lived their own bittersweet love story in that ‘burg. Colt was a few years older than Layne but he’d been at high school with Feb. With Colt best friends with February’s brother since he was in kindergarten, Colt had known Feb forever. They’d been solid, unshakable, the couple who hooked up in high school that everyone knew would stick true. They didn’t. Layne had no idea what went down except it wasn’t good. Colt had stayed in the ‘burg and, working with him, Layne knew the loss of Feb, even years after, was a loss that stayed fresh. Like Layne, Feb had taken off and she’d been gone even longer than Layne. She came back a few years ago and they’d hooked up again when a local guy lost control of what was left of his mind and went on a killing spree in Feb’s name. Colt had stepped in to keep her safe and they’d come out of that back together, solid, unshakable, now married with a kid. Whatever tore them apart, they found a way to put it behind them and they made it through.
Reminded of this, Layne could say at that juncture that reminder was really freaking welcome.
“So I take it Feb’s good,” Layne noted.
“Yeah, man, Feb is good.” Colt’s words were weighty and Layne didn’t try to stop his smile.
Layne drove out of the ‘burg, they hit the vast fields that surrounded it and he changed the subject. “Run this down for me.”
Colt didn’t hesitate. “Guy’s name is Ryker. It’s happening, he knows about it.”
“Informant?”
“He isn’t adverse to sharing information when he might get somethin’ outta it.”
Layne glanced at Colt then back at the road. “He the kind of guy I wanna owe a favor?”
“That’s the beauty of this, Tanner. Ryker is not a friend of Carlito’s and no one is a friend of Stew’s. I reckon he won’t consider it a favor to share what he knows about Stew.”
Layne found himself smiling again.
Layne had learned one thing from his father, a man he’d never met, or he hadn’t met him at a time where Layne was old enough to form a coherent thought, and that was you not only didn’t shit where you lived, you didn’t shit anywhere. Layne had grown up watching his mother struggle to keep a roof over their heads, working as a secretary, going to night school, studying to be an accountant, having no time to do it and even less money so it took her freaking forever. But she did it and began to make more money but she always had to work. Layne was a latchkey kid, she had no choice but to lean on him to help her out by learning how to take care of himself early on and the minute he could earn, he did what he could to kick in. His aunt and grandparents did as much as they could but they had their own lives to lead. She was his Mom but Layne knew his mother was a looker. He also knew she was a good woman, she was funny, she was sweet, her family adored her and she had dozens of friends, all of whom she could call close. A man losing out on that, shitting where he lived, turning his back on a good woman and family and never looking back, let the whole world slip through his own fingers.
Layne had f**ked up twice and both of them were royally. The first time was out of his control when the condom broke when he was with Gabby and it was now not debatable that he’d f**ked up nailing Gabby in the first place, drunk or not. The second time was when he left his sons and the last year he’d given a lot of headspace to trying to remember why the f**k he did that at all.
Gabby was a bitch and divorcing her made her worse and Rocky was in that town. Layne had felt tied down, not by his sons, but by the history with Rocky and Gabby that fenced him in. This brought up the urge to get out of that ‘burg and roam. There were things he wanted to do, wanted to see and wanted to learn, things he couldn’t learn, see and do in a small town. He’d told Rocky all about this shit when they were together and she was with him all the way because she shared his need to roam, to learn, to see, to do. They had plans and, once she graduated from Butler, they were going to go. They didn’t know where but it would be somewhere.
He found what he was searching for in St. Louis, San Antonio, Reno, Phoenix and LA but he lost more by leaving what really mattered at home and he’d paid a mighty price for that f**k up. Nevertheless, he made more friends than enemies along the way, case in point, Devin Glover dropping everything and hitting town after getting a phone call.
Jarrod Astley and Stew Baranski hadn’t learned not to shit where they lived, where they worked, wherever they wanted. They didn’t care who they screwed over. You couldn’t live your life like that and not face retribution eventually.
And it was closing in on Astley and Stew’s judgment days.
Layne and Colt hit the even smaller town next to the ‘burg, a town right on the outskirts of Indy. It held a Raceway and was a decent place, generally, but could get pretty rough when the races were on. The ‘burg had J&J’s as its hotspot, no other drinking establishments in town because every one that sprung up failed due to people’s loyalty to J&J’s. J&J’s wasn’t the only place to drink, there were restaurants that had bars, but it was the only place people went to meet friends, listen to the jukebox, play a game of pool and tie one on.
This town wasn’t the same. They had tons of bars, most of them rough due to their clientele being race groupies or race hangers on. Layne swung into the one Colt informed him they were going to and parked.
He switched off the ignition and turned to Colt. “There a way we need to play this?”
Colt shook his head. “You don’t play Ryker. He either likes you or he doesn’t. He likes you, he shares. He doesn’t, we’ll know in about two seconds and then we’ll go have lunch.”
Layne nodded and they both turned to their doors.
The day was overcast with intermittent rain. Even if there was sun, the light in the bar would be dim stating openly to its customers that anything goes. You could f**k a race groupie in the corner and not be noticed. You could also make a drug sale or slide a blade into an enemy.
Colt led Layne to a corner table where a man sat alone with his back to the wall and a bottle of beer in front of him on the table. It was cold outside but the guy was wearing a black tank top stretched across his bulky, ripped torso, jeans and motorcycle boots and he wasn’t resting with his coat slung on his chair. But he was lounging back in that chair, one of his long, beefy legs straight in front of him, foot resting on its heel, the other leg cocked with foot flat to the ground. He looked relaxed but Layne knew he was alert to anything. He had two sleeves of tattoos running up his arms, full on wrist to shoulder ink, both sleeves slithering up his thick neck. He was bald, he was ugly and it was easy to read he was not a guy you messed with.