Cause and Effect

Chapter 17

abience [a-bi-ence]

(n). the strong urge to avoid something or someone

//--//--//

Charles sat nervously, staring into the fire. He had sent Javier and Micah onto Dutch and Hosea, to tell them about the guns, to get a good fence for them, and to get them out of their life. 

Bill sighed heavily across from him, and he glanced up. "Something wrong?"

"Naw, jus' bored to hell." 

Charles rolled his eyes. Of all the men he had to be stuck with, Bill Williamson was almost the least on the list. "Go stand watch then," he pointed out past the sloppily made tent. "Make yourself useful."

Bill glared at him, but pulled himself up, grabbing his discarded hat from the ground and slamming it on his head. 

This job didn't feel right. 

It had been too perfect, every piece slotting into place neatly. And that's what was bothering Charles now. He scuffed the dirt under his boot, staring into the small fire. He wanted to go back, this inability to check on Arthur and John was driving him crazy. But he had no service, and besides, Dutch was always weird about calling up other gang members if they didn't really need to. He pulled his phone out, an old flip phone cradled in his hand. After a few years of constantly needing to buy new ones, he had settled on a phone he remembered his father using years back when he was a kid. It never broke, no matter how many times his father had thrown it, so he figured it would stay together through his rougher rides. 

"Hey," Bill yelled back, too lazy to get up and come over to him. "Someone's comin'."

Charles stood up quickly, tucking the brick of a phone back into his pant pocket, and pulling his handgun out of his hip holster. 

"Where?" He scanned the horizon, quickly finding the glint of the sun on metal before Bill could even respond. Grabbing the binoculars from Bill's limp hand, he lifted them to his eyes. 

Bikes, four of them. He breathed out a sigh of relief and passed the glasses back to Bill. "It's our guys."

The trademark flaming red VDL emblazoned on their bikes more than enough to give them away as they roared in. 

Dutch. For some goddamn reason, was staring at them, sitting astride the beast of a bike he had dubbed the count. Micah was with him too, Sean and Lenny bringing up the rear. So, the camp back wasn't all left up for dead, then.

"Dutch?" Charles said softly. The man never came out of hiding, unless it was to head up a big job. He was too careful nowadays, the freedom of fucking about a nostalgic memory for him. 

"Came up here after both Micah and Javier told me about the job. I am very proud of you all." Dutch kicked his bike's stand down, pulling himself off his bike. He jammed his thumbs in his gun belt and examined the camp. "I wanted to go up to see 'em, and then, I wanted to make sure the transaction with the fence stays clean." 

Charles shook his head. "It will, you don't have to worry about that." 

"I'm not." Dutch brushed some dirt off his jacket. The man always had a fastidious sense of fashion, wearing hints of blood-red somewhere in his get-up. Today it was a goddamn scarf. Charles knew he had to be hot with that thing around his neck. "I jus' wanted to make sure it goes clean."

"I'll take you up there, Dutch." Micah chimed in, and Charles rolled his eyes. The man kissed up to Dutch more than what was good for Dutch's ego. 

"Thank you, Micah." Dutch adjusted the leather gloves he sported, twisting them around on his hands. "Where's Arthur?"