Page 7 of Deadly North
Magnus gives me a sharp nod, and just like that, the convo’s over. I’ve got my marching orders.
Fury walks me back out to my bike. He tells me where Gigi’s working today and gives me the address. “Look, Mack. I know you and G don’t exactly get along. We both know she’s gonna fight like a wet cat on this. But I know you can handle it. Anything suspicious happens — anything at all — you let me know. This is my baby sister we’re talking about.”
“I got you, brother.” I clap him on the back and do my best not to let my true feelings show.
As I drive over to the location where Gigi’s Body Bus is today, my gut’s churning with a mix of dread and anticipation. Dread, because I know Gigi, and she’s gonna fight like hell not to have a Royal Bastard playing bodyguard for her. Especially me. She’s independent to a fault, and the easiest way to rile her up is to imply that she can’t take care of herself.
And anticipation, because it’s Gigi.
The woman I’ve carried a torch for, for fucking years.
The woman who can match my banter, shot for shot, and look damn good while doing it.
If only she didn’t hate me.
If only she wasn’t my best friend’s goddamn sister.
According to Fury,Gigi’s working a local classic car show at the state fairgrounds over in St. Paul. I hop on my bike and make a quick pit-stop at my house, then blast down I-94 eastward from the clubhouse, then up Highway 280 to Raymond, which turns into Como. Takes me about fifteen minutes to get to the entrance to the Minnesota fairgrounds. I drive into the neighborhood across Snelling to park the bike, then walk back to the front gate. I pay the entrance fee, then move ahead to walk through the metal detector. The guys staffing the detector watch me closely, which is no surprise considering how I’m dressed. They don’t ask to pat me down, though. They don’t look brave enough.
The chick working the ticket booth didn’t have a map of the vendors, so I spend some time strolling around the grounds, looking at the classic cars and getting in a couple conversations with their owners. I used to come to these shows with my dad, Choppa, when I was a kid. The fairgrounds gives me all the feels, if I’m bein’ honest. Nostalgia, all that shit.
And speaking of all the feels. I round a corner on Dan Patch Avenue, and there, right in front of me, is Gigi Mattson.
Gigi is wearing what I think of as her classic summer uniform. She’s got on tight denim shorts, short brown leather Frye harness boots, and a white tank top that shows off the colorful artwork running up and down her arms (not to mention her spectacular tits). Gigi has a shock of fire-engine red hair that calls the eye toward her like a beacon. She’s sauntering down the avenue like she owns the place, holding a ginormous to-go mug that I know has to be full of coffee. (“Black, like my soul,” she’s fond of saying.) Gigi is full of fire and attitude, with a personality that makes her seem a lot bigger than her 5’2” frame. She’s a force of nature.
And as soon as her eyes meet mine, that force turns on me like a fucking tornado.
“What. In the fuck,” she snarls, “areyoudoing here?”
“Always a pleasure, Cupcake,” I reply smoothly, trying on one of my many nicknames for her. Cupcake’s ironic, because though she can be sweet, she never is with me. She hates that one almost as much as my other nickname for her, Gizmo. After the cute gremlin from the movie.
You can’t win with this woman, honestly.
“The pleasure is all yours,” she grimaces. Gigi flicks her eyes away from me like I’m a stranger. She brushes right past me and keeps going, turning down Cooper. I pivot around and follow her. She must be able to sense me behind her, because she doesn’t turn around when calls back to me, “Please find somewhere else to exist.”
“Yeah, sorry, that ain’t gonna be possible.” I come up alongside her, slowing my longer steps to match hers. The Body Bus appears in front of us to the left. I follow her to it. “I’m not here because of my love of classic cars, Cupcake.”
That catches her attention. She turns to me. “Then why are you here?”
“You got a couple minutes to talk?”
“To you? No.” Gigi thrusts her to-go mug at me to hold, then unlocks the door to her bus with a key.
“Not sure you have any choice in the matter.” I take a sip of her coffee.
“Stop that,” she barks, ripping the mug from my hands. “You’re not invited in.”
“That’s fine. I can stay outside. It’s what I’m supposed to be doing anyway.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that I came here to hang around. So I’m gonna hang around.”
Gigi shoots daggers at me with her eyes. “Ugh, you just tell me why you’re here in the first place, and then go away!”
“I can tell you why I’m here. But I can’t go away.”
“Why the hell not?”