Seasons of Change by Olivia Stephens Read Free Book Online Page B

town needs a little swig sooner or later to calm their nerves. It’s just the way of things. As I walk back to the front of the diner with the whisky bottle in hand I can already overhear that the Angels aren’t happy with whatever Big George is telling them.
     
    “What do you mean this is it? Where’s the rest?” Baldy asks, leaning threateningly over the counter with the half-empty envelope in his hands.
     
    “There is no rest,” Big George says slowly and calmly, and I’m impressed by him yet again—he’s one of the few men that can stand up to the Angels without flinching, and that is saying a lot. “Dick dropped the cash off earlier, and that’s all there is,” he repeats, nodding towards the envelope that Blondie has now snatched out of his friend’s hand.
     
    Blondie starts leafing through the cash, counting as he goes. “It’s not even half! What the fuck are we supposed to do with this?” What the fuck are we supposed to tell the Chief?” he asks explosively, looking at Big George like his eyes are about to pop out of his head.
     
    “Drinks are up,” I say loudly, nudging the glasses that I’ve just filled almost to the brim with whisky in their general direction, trying to break the tension that’s crackling in the air.
     
    My eyes flick over to the table at the back where two cops are sipping on their coffees as if this drama isn’t playing out in front of them. It’s not surprising; there’s no way the cops are going to get involved in a dispute over money between us and the Angels. It’s much easier for them just to pretend they’re completely unaware of what’s going on.
     
    I want to scream at them, to ask them why they even bothered to become police officers in the first place, to remind them that they’re supposed to serve and protect and that they haven’t been protecting this town for a good long while. But I don’t do any of those things; I know there’s no point. Instead I concentrate my attention on the Angels in front of me that look like they’re hanging by a very thin thread.
     
    The two bikers barely spare me a sidelong glance as they continue to stare at Big George. As if staring will suddenly magic the money that they’re missing out of thin air. “Well if good ol’ Dick can’t be fucked to cough up the cash, then maybe we need to send him a message,” the bald biker says quietly, the ring in his lip making his grim grin even more unpleasant.
     
    “This doesn’t have anything to do with George. Why don’t you just crawl back under the rock that you came from?” I shout at them, unable to contain my anger and frustration any more.
     
    What happens next all plays out so quickly that I don’t even realize what’s happened until it’s too late. The bald guy pulls a knife out of his pocket, and at the same time Blondie pushes me so I slam into the cupboards behind me.
     
    There’s a grunt from Big George that sounds like an animal in pain and I can feel my eyes widen as I look from his face down to his left hand that is resting on the counter. But it’s not resting there anymore—it’s been pinned. The knife that Baldy had pulled out of his belt has been shoved through the palm of George’s hand and a puddle of blood is starting to pool around it.
     
    “What the hell is the matter with you?” I explode without thinking. “You think stabbing George is going to get you your money? If you do then you’re even more stupid than you look,” I shout as I rush over to George, pulling the knife out of his hand. The wound isn’t big, but it’s deep. The knife has gone all the way through and, although I’m no doctor, it’s clear he’s going to need stitches.
     
    “You better watch that smart mouth of yours, beautiful, unless you want to give us a reason to cut you too,” Blondie tells me menacingly before his friend picks up the bloody knife, slowly and deliberately, and then licks the tip, tasting George’s blood before he secrets it away