Burn Down the Night by M. O'Keefe Read Free Book Online Page A

trouble. Does it have anything to do with the body in the backseat?”
    I nodded, afraid if I opened my mouth I would sob.
    “He dead?” she asked without panic. Yes. This…this was why I came here. She was not going to freak out. She could handle shit like this. Army nurse. Hardcore.
    “Not yet.”
    “Well, let’s see about getting him inside.”
    Thank God. After all these years.
    I could finally see a blessing when I landed on its doorstep.

Chapter 7
    I parked the Buick in the far corner of the parking garage. Fern gave me a parking permit and a handicapped tag.
    It was like camouflage, those permits and tags. My shitty Buick that had felt so conspicuous before was now rendered invisible, surrounded by other giant sedans. Older model Buicks and Cadillacs. All with handicapped tags hanging from the mirrors. Every one of them looked about the same.
    “All right, soldier,” Joan said as we opened the back doors. “On your feet.”
    Max blinked open his fever-bright eyes.
    “Aunt Fern? The nurse?” he asked in a dry whisper. His face was pale beneath the bruises. His lips dry.
    He needed more fluids. My few stops to pour water down his throat hadn’t been enough.
    “That’s right,” Fern said. “I’m going to take care of you.”
    “No hospitals.”
    Fern gave me some serious side-eye. Fern wasn’t an idiot. Only a person in serious criminal trouble would want to avoid a hospital in the condition he was in.
    I glanced away, no match for this moment.
    “This isn’t a hospital. But I need you to walk,” Fern said, taking charge of things. Good, I thought. Please, take charge of things.
    Max nodded like his head weighed seven thousand pounds. He sat up and the blanket over his chest slipped and Fern got a good hard look at his leather cut. The white patches splattered with blood that declared him the president of the Skulls.
    She stood up and took a step back away from the car. I had no choice but to stand up straight beside her.
    “You’re running with the Skulls now?” she asked. Her words sharp, her tone clear:
I knew you were reckless, but this is crazy.
    “I’m not running with anything,” I insisted, trying to keep my own tone clear of all the disdain and petulance I had in my gut. But these were old roads, worn smooth between us. Habits, dark and awful that had no place here right now. “He…he’s a friend, and his club, the brothers, they tried to kill him.”
    She blinked. “So you brought him here?”
    “It’s the only place I could think of. He needs medical help and I can’t take him to a hospital.”
    “Are those brothers of his following you?”
    “No,” I shook my head. Emphatic. “No one is following us.”
    “Cops?”
    “He’s not in trouble like that. It was…it was a club thing.” I didn’t say anything about the cops possibly being after me. I figured the less Aunt Fern knew, the better.
    Fern muttered under her breath, but she bent back down into the car. “You ready to get up?” she asked Max.
    “Ready…as I’ll ever be,” Max said.
    There was a lot of swearing on just about everyone’s parts as we got him out of the car.
    “It’s his ribs,” I said, as if to explain the curses he lobbed our way as we slung his arms over our shoulders.
    “Funny, I thought it was his charm,” Fern groaned under his weight.
    We got him through the garage and into the freight elevator.
    “Where are we?” he asked.
    “Florida,” Fern said.
    Max shifted and pulled away, dragging us all off balance, and I landed hard against the wall of the elevator.
    “You’re okay.”
    “Florida…bad idea. Club is everywhere.”
    “Not here they’re not,” I assured him. We were dead center in retiree-land with its early-bird specials and old couples looking for shells on the beach at low tide. The only clubs here were bocce ball and bridge.
    But Max wasn’t hearing it. “Can’t be here,” he insisted, and I was losing my grip on him. Losing my strength. I was so fucking