Page 49 of The B!tch is Bad

Slushy added, “It’s called murder in the first, pal. Preplanned murder in the execution of a crime.”

Klozovs mouth moved like he was blowing bubbles. It was evident his brain was working overtime. He blubbered, “I—I know where Massengill stashed the stolen wine. It’s in a special locker in Pure and Easy. Let me go there and get it.”

Ford said, “Some of us can accompany him.”

I said, “I’m staying here. I’m protecting my property.” And Patience. She was in the process of moving in with me, at least temporarily, so we could keep a better eye on each other. “But listen, Klozov. We’re having a wine auction here in two days. I could meet you in my office sometime between noon and four, if you guys can put eyes on him.”

All the guys behind me took steps forward to volunteer as eyes. Funkhauser, Slayer, Duji and Tuzigoot all offered.

“Except wait.” Duji had second thoughts. “I’m playing pickleball with Galileo and Tim Woodstock that day.”

Klozov cringed back from the eager assault. “I don’t need no thugs following my every move! What do you think I’m going to do?”

Slayer shrugged. “Kill someone while they’re knitting a sweater?”

Ford growled, “You’re just like every other outsider. They all think we’re organized crime. But if you exited every Bare Boner on the planet, it wouldn’t ease the crime rate a tenth of one percent. We’re a fucking drop in the bucket. There are more cops than Boners committing crimes.”

“Hear, hear,” chanted bikers.

“I hate cops,” agreed Tuzigoot.

“I hate every rotten cop in this state,” snarled Funkhauser.

Even Klozov had to raise his voice in his own defense. “Why do I feel like I’m being threatened? You guys are scarier than any fucking cop I’ve ever dealt with. Why do I feel that you are the ones who’d murder at a moment’s notice?”

Slayer took another step toward the real murderer. If we kept doing this we’d be chest to chest like West Side Story. “You are correct, sir. We simply terminate. With extreme prejudice.”

“Oo. I like that,” Wolf goofed, practically elbowing Slayer.

Ford continued. “Sure, we brawl and brag and menace. Sure, we’re often lawless. But we’re a brotherhood bound by ink, skulls, booze, and rides into the fucking sunset on Harleys. Nobody can break us apart. Nobody. Not even a murdering fucktard like you, Klozov.”

Klozov whispered, “You’re way scarier than Thomas Massengill.”

I just had to add, “At least people know when we’re coming to get them. We don’t steal or rip off outsiders like you do.”

Klozov barely breathed. “I’ll see you Thursday in your office.” He looked around at everyone as though he were in a haunted house. Which, in a way, he was. “May I go now?”

Ford and I nodded, and somehow this sent Funkhauser and Tuzigoot rambling after the former vineyard manager. I felt secure with their awareness of Klozov’s whereabouts, even if they did sit there doing crossword puzzles on their phones. They’d shoot Klozov in the balls if he tried to escape—before going back to finish number thirty-one down.

I shook Ford and Lytton’s hands. “I can’t thank you enough for your help. Wish I didn’t need it.”

Lytton said, “You didn’t expect this bizarre shit in the middle of nowhere when you bought Pictures of Lily. Not your fault.”

Ford grinned crookedly. “Although we are card-carrying felons.”

I found myself smiling at that. Who would’ve thought I’d morph from Silicon Valley puzzle designer music producer into a flat-out Arizona thug? And enjoy it so much?

“I waited to tell you,” said Slushy, “but the court has shut Klozov down. Legally he’s not allowed to go within two hundred yards of any of your equipment now that you’ve got control of all the collateral.”

Slayer pinched another diamond to make a point. “He is as pesky as a rat in liverwurst. You just give me the go-ahead to toss him over Grand Falls.”

“Let’s get our wine back,” I said. “Then send him over the falls.”