Chapter Six

Once settled in Rodney’s trailer again, Rodney pulled out a bottle of Jim Beam and poured them both a double-fingered shot. He figured after the day they’d been having, they could use it.

He held his shot glass up. “Skol.”

Gideon carefully tapped the rim of his glass to Rodney’s, trying not to spill any of the amber liquid. “To life.” He paused for a second. “And thank you.”

“Aw, I didn’t do nothing,” Rodney said. He tossed back his shot, waited for Gideon to do the same, and then poured them both another double.

“Yeah, you did. If you didn’t step up to help me, I’d still be wandering around the rodeo, lost and afraid.”

“I got a confession to make. You may not remember, but I didn’t try to help you at first. I was suspicious of you. Thought the Red Wattle Clan sent you here after me.”

“Why would they be after you? You never did tell me why you left the Clan.”

Rodney drank a third double, needing the fortification to delve into memories he’d rather keep forgotten. But Gideon, he supposed, deserved an explanation. Besides, it was time to talk about it. He’d kept it buried too deep for long enough already. It would feel like a relief to tell his story.

“I’d been with the Red Wattles for five years and worked my way up in the ranks. I was Daniel’s right-hand bird—his consigliere. When he had a thorny problem, he came to me for a solution.”

“Wow. You were the conshit…consit…what you said? That’s a big deal,” Gideon slurred. He tossed back another double that Rodney poured. “Hairy… I mean, Hairy —no, that’s still not right. It was Harry. That’s it. Harry was consligaslaw… aw, you know what I mean. He was it when I left. I remember now.”

Rodney just nodded. He didn’t know any of the men Gideon was talking about, but then again, he’d been gone from the Red Wattles for decades. “I just came back from a mission. Had information I knew was for Daniel’s ears only, if you know what I mean. Sensitive stuff. We went into the back office, closed and locked the door. Daniel looked so good that day. So stately, and vibrant and alive, you know? He was almost fucking glowing. I couldn’t help myself.” He poured himself and Gideon another drink, and they both downed it. “I grabbed his face with my hands and I kished him.”

“You did what now?”

“I kished him. Kish… kiss. Kissed him.” Rodney smiled a soft, sad little smile. “It was good, too. Soft and sweet. He tasted like peppermint schnapps. It was wonderful. I thought so anyway.” He shrugged and poured another shot. “Daniel? Yeah, he didn’t think much of it.”

Gideon’s eyes were wide, his lips parted. “What did Daniel say?”

“He didn’t say anything. He punched me square in the eye. Knocked my ass out. When I woke up, I was duct-taped to a chair with a piece of tape over my mouth. I could taste something in my mouth. Later, I found out it was my Red Wattles patch.”

“Oh, my gods… wha’ did they do to you?”

“Daniel made a fine speech. All about how he was an upstanding, god-fearing bird, and how no little faggot-bird was going to tarnish his feathers. How his papa always taught him if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out. Well, evidently my eye offended him .”

Gideon clasped his hand over his mouth. “No! No, he didn’t!”

Rodney paused, unable to speak for a moment because of the rush of emotions that swept over him at the memory. Then he flipped up his eye patch for a second, showing Gideon the gnarly, puckered scar where his right eye used to be. “Yeah, he did. Said I’d never look at another man the way I looked at him. Used his pocketknife, but he might as well have used a fucking melon baller. I passed out again, and when I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. They’d dumped me at the Mercy Hospital ER and left me for dead. There was no saving my eye, of course. The docs there showed me the patch that they’d found stuck in my mouth. I guess Daniel hoped I’d choke on it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Rodney shrugged. The alcohol was numbing, and he didn’t realize the left side of his face was streaked with tears. “Don’t be. You didn’t do it. It was way before your time with them. The cops came, you know, kept trying to get me to tell them who did it, but I knew better than to squeal. Daniel said he’d kill me and anyone who gave me shelter if he found me. If I told them anything, I’d lose my life, not just an eye, and other people might be hurt, too. After that, though, I was done with people. With shifters. With everybody. I found the Darque and Knight Rodeo, and I’ve been here ever since, always in my rooster-form. You’re the first person to see me in man-form since I got out of the hospital. I mean, Darque and Knight knew, of course, and Doc McCready, but they kept my secret. I’ll always be grateful to them for that.”

“Why stay in rooster-form all the time? That must’ve been exhausting, always scrounging for food, sneaking around…”

“I was consigliere, Gideon. You know what that means. Only Daniel was above me in the chain of fucking command. I knew the Red Wattle Clan would not stop looking for me—I knew too much, too many secrets, too many names. As long as Daniel Riggs was the don of the clan, I wasn’t safe. That’s why I came after you when I saw you. I thought he’d finally found me and sent you to kill me.”

“My stars and feathers! I’m lucky you didn’t kill me dead on sight!” Gideon gasped.

“Yeah, well, I admit that was my first thought, but it was pretty clear right away that you was having problems. No way Daniel would send in a killer who didn’t even know his own name.” Rodney laughed.

Gideon went strangely still. His face paled until Rodney could see the veins throbbing beneath the skin, and his hand shook so badly the few drops of Jim Beam still in his glass splattered on the table. “Rodney… I think. Oh, gods. I think my memory is coming back. And you’re not gonna like it.”

Rodney blinked, then put his glass down. He had a feeling he knew what Gideon was going to say but didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want it to be true. He was beginning to really like Gideon, to trust him… He steeled his spine as best as the alcohol would allow. “Tell me.”

“M-my name is Gideon Wayfair. I was born in Shorthair Holler, Kentucky. I remember now. I’m a member of the Red Wattle Clan. And I’m the capodecina, the capo, of the clan. Oh, gods, I was sent here to kill you.” He lifted the shot glass to his lips but found it empty. “Daniel found out about a one-eyed rooster at the Darque and Knight Rodeo. He thought it might be you. He told me to come take care of you quietly.”

Rodney froze, his fist tightening around the shot glass until it imploded, sharp shards of glass digging into his palm, blood dripping on to the table. “You think you’re gonna take me out quietly, huh? Think you can take me? I’ll kill you before you can stand up.”

“No, no! I don’t want to kill anyone! I never did. I never even gave the order for one of the button men to kill anybody. Daniel took care of all that. I swear I was capo in name only. Daniel Riggs is my uncle. He hired me on as a favor to my mother. I hated every minute I was in the clan!” He reached for the bottle, and when Rodney made no move to stop him, picked it up and took a deep swallow. “Goze and Rambo were right about one thing—I crashed my bike on purpose. I was trying to kill myself. I couldn’t take being a part of the clan anymore, but you know the only way out is through the cemetery. I thought I could go out on my terms, not theirs. Stupid, huh? All I managed to do was knock out my memory.”

Rodney heaved a liquor-fumed sigh. “I shouldn’t believe a goddamn word you say, but I do. It has the ring of truth to it, and I’ve learned to trust my gut. Riggs won’t let it go, you know. He might believe you tried to kill yourself, but he won’t believe you let yourself get caught and slaughtered for turkey legs. If he thinks I’m here, he’ll know I either killed you or converted you. Either way, he’ll send somebody else in to kill me, and you, if you’re still alive.” He took the bottle from Gideon and drank.

“S-so what are we going to do?”

“Nothing tonight. We’re too drunk to do much of anything without fucking it up. Tomorrow, we’ll come up with a plan.”

“I’ll never be able to sleep. There isn’t enough booze in the world.”

Rodney offered him a small, weak smile. “I can think of one thing we can do that we can’t fuck up. Or we can, but in a good way. It’d take our minds off things, and probably let us get forty winks after.” He chuckled.

“What is it?”

“How do you feel about men?”

“What do you mean?” Gideon’s cheeks blushed red, and he bit his lip.

“Are you like your uncle? Or do you think men are hot?”

“I think you’re hot. I did from the first time I ever saw you. I mean, I’ve never been with a guy because you know how the Red Wattles are about that sort of thing, but I’ve thought about it from time to time.”

Rodney reached across the table and cupped Gideon’s cheek. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I made a pass at you?”

“I would really like to kiss you, if that’s what you mean. It’d beat the hell out of you trying to kill me. But do you really want to kiss me knowing I was sent here to kill you?”

“If there’s one thing being consigliere of the clan taught me, it was how to read a person’s character. I believe you. You had no intention of following orders. You tried to kill yourself instead. I can’t tell you how glad I am that didn’t work out for you.”

Gideon turned his head and kissed Rodney’s palm. “I’m glad, too. So, show me. Teach me. I think I’ve got a lot to learn, and I really, really need it right now.”