A heavy cloud of smoke swirled up by the chapel ceiling, moving slowly on air currents invisible to Tig's eye. The club—including the Prospects—had been in church for over an hour, rehashing the repercussions of the previous week's attack on Unser's truck. Tig reckoned they had everything under control: Piney had taken over from Jerry and driven the truck on to its destination, where its cargo had been unloaded without anyone the wiser; Kozik and Boots had buried the three corpses six feet under in a sandy spot not far from the road; Dog and G, the regular mechanics Clay trusted most to keep their mouths shut if they happened to see something they shouldn't, had towed the wrecks to the scrap yard. Unser, of course, wasn't gonna be filing any reports with anyone, neither as the owner of Unser Trucking nor as Charming's chief of police. And according to Trammel, the county sheriff wasn't even aware anything had happened at all.

With all the most pressing issues handled, it was time to start talking about retaliation. Clay sucked on his stogie and blew out a stream of smoke, adding to the already thick fog. "Opinions?"

"Hmph." Piney wheezed out a breath before he answered. "So, Unser's got a beef with a competitor. Why should we care?"

"Come on, Piney!" Tig spat out. The old man was getting too much of a wimp for his seat. "This happened on our watch. That makes it our business."

"And some of us got injured," Mouse piped up from his place further down the table. Tig didn't miss Kozik's surreptitious eyeroll as he sat in the peanut gallery behind Bobby and Piney. Kozik had told them, when Tig and Clay had carried out a deeper debrief of the guys directly involved in the shoot-out, how Mouse had reacted to the bullet graze, and it hadn't sounded pretty. Still, Mouse had a point: he was full-patch, and he had gotten shot during club business. That counted for something at this table.

"Aye." Chibs evidently agreed with Tig's silent assessment. "How's the arm, Mousey?" He smacked Mouse on his injured arm. Mouse winced.

"And," Otto emphasized the word, even as he shook his head at Chibs' antics, "this happened in Charming. Do we really want word to get out we were hit on our home turf and didn't retaliate?" He snorted out a breath. "You know damn well the Mayans will come knockin' next."

"Damn straight." Happy offered Otto a dip of his head in support.

Bobby shifted in his seat, stroking a hand through his beard. It still had crumbs stuck in it from the donut he'd eaten earlier. "But we can't just lash out at random," he cautioned. "What do we even know about who's behind the hit?"

"Plenty," Mouse snapped. "Markoski Trucking Lines from Modesto. Established 1992. Owner Kostya Markoski. Romanian, or some such. Company expanded quickly. Does a lot of regular supermarket supply runs from San Jose to Modesto and Fresno."

Every man around the table swiveled toward Mouse, and he hunched his shoulders under the attention. "What? Unser gave us the name. And the rest's all public info."

Bobby guffawed. "Kid's gotta point." His brief moment of humor quickly faded. "Alright, so we know the guy. What do we do? Snatch one of his runs in turn? And then what? Markoski gets his insurance money and we have enough toilet paper for the next decade?"

Chibs snorted back a laugh; Mouse tittered, and even Boots, sitting near the wall next to Kozik, twitched with a hint of a smile. It was the first reaction Tig had seen out of the kid during the whole meeting. He looked pale and withdrawn, as if he hadn't slept for a week and would rather be anywhere else. According to Hap and Kozik, Boots had been less than useless during the attack, and Tig was beginning to doubt the kid had what it took to be Samcro. However, he had to give him his due: he hadn't quit yet.

"Maybe not." Otto folded his hands on the table in front of him. "Talked to my sister."

Sister? It took Tig a moment to remember Clay had asked Otto to reach out to her, since she worked with the assistant district attorney's office in Lodi.

Otto was still talking. "She says ATF and Stanislaus County have been looking into this Markoski guy for a while. Smuggling, mostly. Cigarettes, booze, maybe guns. Nothing they can make stick, but there's enough there to make me think they've got good reason for tryin'."

Tig harrumphed. "What're you sayin'?"

Otto scratched his chin. "If we can intercept that kind of load, we kill two birds with one stone: we send Markoski a message that we don't like being messed with—."

"—and we got valuable off-the-books goods to sell to the highest bidder." Bobby's beard split into a grin and Tig could've sworn he saw the gears moving in the secretary's brain as Bobby was calculating their profit.

"And he sure as shit ain't gonna complain to the authorities," Mouse added. "Or get insurance to pay out."

"Grand!" Chibs smacked a fist against the redwood. "I like this plan!"

"Yeah." Happy was grinning from ear to ear, a rare display of emotion which told Tig he'd been more pissed about being caught with his pants down than he'd wanted to admit. Though Tig wasn't sure he'd have done much better himself in Hap's shoes. Happy had lost neither the truck and its load, nor any of their guys; it could've gone a lot worse.

"Ain't much of a plan yet," Piney groused. His gleaming eyes betrayed he was mostly making a token objection.

"Mouse." Clay fixed his gaze on their youngest member. "Think you can figure out which run we'll wanna take down?"

"How should I—?" Mouse deflated under Clay's stare. "Um, yeah, of course. I'll... I'll go talk to a... a secretary or something."

Christ. Sometimes Tig wondered if the guy thought bein' patched meant he didn't have to do nothing himself no more. Did he think they'd patched him in just 'cause he was pretty? Tig snickered inwardly. Wouldn't put it past the kid, actually. "You do that." He didn't bother to hide his sarcasm.

"Okay." Clay raised the gavel. "Assuming Mouse can get us the intel we need, who's in favor of retaliation against this Markoski guy?"

They all voted yes.

As they filed out of the chapel, Tig caught up with Kozik. He hadn't had much of a chance to talk to him alone since sending that sweetbutt his way to help him blow off steam. Both of them knew life in Samcro meant facing the occasional bullet aimed in your direction, but Tig hadn't expected it to happen to Kozik so soon. Most people'd run rather than confront any of the Sons. "You okay with this?"

Kozik glanced at him. "Yeah, sure." He indicated Boots trudging ahead of them. "Why don't you ask him?"

Boots had his shoulders pulled up to his ears and was heading straight for the exit and outside. Tig shrugged. As long as the guy didn't do anything that put the club at risk, he wasn't Tig's concern. Would be up to Bobby to deal with whatever was going on there. "Cause I'm asking you."

"Why'd you think I wouldn't be okay with this?" Kozik shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, his dislike of the conversation visible in every line of his body.

Tig decided to back off a bit. "No reason."

Grabbing a couple of the beers the croweater tending the bar had set up, he held one out to Kozik as a peace offering. Maybe coming under fire again had been good for Kozik. Sorta like climbing right back on your bike after your first spill, and all that shit.

Kozik snatched the bottle out of Tig's hand and swung away on his heel, marching straight from the clubhouse.

Tig sighed. Or maybe the firefight had hit Kozik harder than he wanted to admit. Best deal with that shit right away. He flipped the cap off his bottle and slowly followed Kozik outside. He paused under the awning, considering his next move. Kozik had his ass planted on one of the picnic tables, boots on the bench, and he was holding the bottle dangling between his hands. Tig didn't know how Kozik had earned his Bronze Star, or what had driven him to the H, but he wasn't stupid: there was some of that PTSD crap going on, for sure.

"Yer lad okay?" Chibs appeared at Tig's shoulder.

"Yeah." Tig grimaced. "Think I pissed him off."

"Pissed's good." Chibs' mouth twitched upward, tugging at the scars. "He's been talking to me about gettin' in the ring. Whaddayathink?"

Tig gestured with his beer. "He's got a mean right, is what I remember."

"I'll take him to Lumpy's, see what he's got." With a pat on Tig's shoulder, Chibs headed back into the clubhouse, hailing one of the sweetbutts as the door swung closed behind him.

Squaring his shoulders, Tig crossed the few yards to the picnic table and hoisted himself up next to Kozik. Kozik took a deep pull from his bottle, sneaking Tig a quick glance as he drank.

Tig gazed out across the lot. It was quiet; the garage doors drawn down and very little traffic coming and going. It was getting late, too, and the day was cooling. He took a gulp from his own bottle, rolling the beer around his mouth before swallowing. Shit, he sucked at this."That sweetbutt I got ya last week? She any good?" He turned slightly so he could look at Kozik.

"I guess." Kozik's response was curt. Tig kept looking at him, until Kozik snapped, "Christ, Tigger, what you want?" Tig waited him out, still not responding—and a heartbeat later, Kozik's shoulders drooped and he sighed, "Thanks for that, but I told ya, I'm fine, okay?"

"A'ight." Tig smirked and bumped Kozik's shoulder with his own. "Thought the bitch might help. Booze and a good fuck'll take the edge off anything."

"Yeah." Kozik snorted back a laugh and Tig felt the tension bleed out of him. "Still not givin' you a blow-by-blow—," he stressed the words slightly, lips curving upward, "report."

"Don't need one." Tig had spotted the blonde across the lot. He tilted his chin in her direction to bring her to Kozik's attention. "Think I'll go find out for myself."

The croweater must've sensed their eyes on her and she looked up. Tig called her over with another head-jerk. Until Mouse got hold of the intel they needed, there wasn't much they could do about the retaliation, and he planned to make the most of the downtime.

"Hey, sugar." She sashayed over.

Tig wasn't sure she was addressing him or Kozik, the way her gaze kept flicking from one to the other. Probably wasn't sure what Tig wanted from her. He guessed he couldn't quite blame her for that. Didn't stop him from making his intentions known beyond a doubt by slipping his hand around her waist and reeling her in until the bench prevented her from taking another step. "Koz here give you a good time, doll?" The girl's teeth flashed as she bit her lower lip and nodded. Tig grinned. "Good girl."

Kozik huffed and Tig angled forward to nuzzle the sweetbutt's ample cleavage. Next to him, Kozik thumped the beer bottle down on the table and jumped off. "See ya later."

Tig straightened, abandoning his exploration. "Where you goin'?"

"Thought I'd swing by the house. Gotta take Missy for a walk."

"Seriously?" Sometimes, Tig wondered who was holding the leash between Kozik and Missy. "Party's about to start." Further down the lot, another pair of high-heeled beauties were pouring out of a car, fluffing their hair and tugging their tops for maximum exposure.

"She's a young dog. She needs to get out. Burn off some energy. And the neighbors've been complaining."

"That asshole across the street?" Tig furrowed his brows, pulling his hand away from massaging the club girl's ass. "I'll set him straight."

"Next door, too." Kozik combed his fingers through his hair, making the spikes stand up. "Dog's been howling like a banshee, to hear them tell it. I 'xpect she's lonely 'cause we're never around no more. Auto shop all day, club all night, and now the weekends too."

"Jesus." Tig pushed the croweater away from him and hopped off the bench. He gave the girl a light shove in the direction of the club house, absently throwing her a, "Later, darling." As she pouted and scuttled off, Tig closed the distance to Kozik until they stood chest to chest. "Club too much for you? Wanna turn in your patch?"

"Fuck, no, man." Kozik flung up his hands. "That's not what I'm saying. But that dog's... unhappy. And that ain't right."

Tig sniffed but took a step back from Kozik. She's a dog, he wanted to say, not some stuck-up old lady. And even old ladies learned to accept the club came first, always. But then he recalled how overexcited Missy had been when he'd come home at daybreak last week, jumping up against him and licking his face with her rough tongue. Remembered how she'd shredded his favorite pair of boots the other day, and scratched the paint off the kitchen door. Dammit, he'd thought he'd saved her life when he'd found her abandoned, just a puppy, and taken her in. Had he only sentenced her to another kind of misery? "Shit." He thought for a minute. "So, we bring her here."

"Here?" Kozik's brows rose to his hairline. "To the club?"

"Yeah. Think about it." Tig swept his arm around. "Lots of people to pet her, plenty of bikes to chase..." Bitch loved to run after them, if they weren't careful about locking her up first before they went out, and she always came barreling over when either of them rode up the street and she was outside.

"Clay'll never go for that."

Tig jabbed Kozik in the chest. "I'll handle Clay. You go take care of our girl."

Kozik gave him another dubious look, which made Tig frown again. What, did Kozik think he couldn't handle their president? He shooed him away with a flap of his hand.

At last, shaking his head at himself, Kozik strode off to where his bike was parked at the end of the line. Tig watched him grab the helmet, looking up when Jax rolled in, with his girlfriend—what was her name again? Tia? Tara? something like that—perched on the bitch seat. Jax said something Tig couldn't hear as Kozik swung his leg across his bike. Kozik nodded and grinned in reply, and let Jax throw him a high-five.

Tig finished his beer, nodding in greeting at Jax and the girl as they walked by. Damn, now he'd have to convince Clay to let Missy roam around T-M. Gemma too, probably.

The blonde sweetbutt was watching him from next to the doorway. He remembered he'd been planning on finding out tonight if those tits tasted as good as they had felt. He leered at her, letting her know wordlessly he had time for her now. Clay could wait.

o0o

"What's the hell is this?" Clay's disbelieving voice drifted into the club house kitchen a few days later. Kozik froze in the middle of making coffee, the milk carton poised over his mug. He exchanged a look with Tig, who was rooting through the fridge for something to eat.

"A dog," they heard Bobby answer. Bobby had been clinging to a bar stool, nursing a coffee of his own, as well as a muffin, when Kozik and Tig had walked in a few minutes earlier. He'd given them a sleepy "Mornin' boys," and left them to search for their own caffeine to fuel up for another busy day at the garage.

"Thanks, genius." That was Clay again. "I meant, what's it doing in my club house?"

"Thought you said you'd handle Clay?" Kozik whispered. Clay didn't sound handled. And it wasn't like Tig hadn't had a chance to explain, either: several days had gone by since Kozik had brought up how them spending so much time at the club house was making Missy lonely and miserable. Damn dog loved company.

"Dunno. Ask Frick 'n Frack; it's their mongrel."

Frick 'n Frack? Tig mouthed. Mongrel? He widened his eyes and Kozik couldn't tell what was bothering Tig more: Bobby's nickname, or that he'd called Missy a mongrel.

Tig's brows climbed even higher at Clay's reply. "Tig and Kozik are sharing a goddamn dog?"

"Uh-huh," Bobby muttered, around what could only be a mouthful of muffin. "And a house. Wouldn't surprise me if they share—."

"Okay, stop," Clay interrupted. "I don't wanna know."

"Better get out there," Kozik hissed in Tig's direction, "and deal with this." Christ knows what other ideas Bobby had gotten into his mind and wanted to share with the club president. Plus there was the small matter of explaining to Clay what Missy was doing in the club house in the first place.

Tig slammed the fridge shut and strutted back into the main room. "Oh, hey, Clay," he said cheerfully, pretending he hadn't overheard the entire conversation.

"What's with the dog?"

Finishing fixing his coffee, Kozik followed Tig into the main room. Clay was scowling down at Missy, who was blithely sniffing his crotch. Kozik bit the inside of his cheek—laughing was not gonna do him any favors.

"Ah, her." Tig offered a goofy grin.

Acknowledging Clay with a wordless nod, Kozik took a swallow from his coffee and grimaced; he'd put too much milk in it. Setting the mug on the bar, he turned his back to it and propped himself next to Bobby. The club secretary was swiveling his head between Tig and Clay as if he were watching a tennis match.

"See, poor girl was bein' left alone so much. Didn't like it at all. Did ya, girl?" Missy made a noise that wasn't quite a bark. "See?" Tig pointed out. "So Kozik suggested—."

Kozik jolted straight upright, nearly sending the coffee mug flying. Bobby took a large bite of his muffin, attempting—and failing—to hide a grin. Kozik fired a dark scowl in Tig's direction. Goddamn Tig was gonna lay the blame on him?

"Bitch make a good watch dog?" Clay asked.

"Damned sure, boss." Tig patted Missy on the head and her tail started wagging even faster. "Eats burglars for breakfast." Kozik resisted rolling his eyes at the blatant lie. Missy was far too friendly to strangers to be a threat to anyone.

"Hm." Clay pushed the dog away from him and headed toward the chapel. He huffed out an annoyed breath and muttered, "Cockatoos at home; dogs at the club house. What's next? Mermaids in the office?"

Bobby choked on coffee, his face turning red as he coughed to clear his throat, tears streaming into his beard. Kozik helpfully thumped his back until Bobby shrugged him off.

"You know, Clay, that is a great idea." Tig ambled after Clay and leaned against the frame of the chapel door. "Ya know, one with those tiny round titties that fit right in your palm, and gold stars on her nipples and—."

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" Clay snapped. "Like we ain't got enough problems. Get the hell out and lemme have a damn smoke in peace."

Sniggering to himself, Tig beat a hasty retreat. While he was pulling the door shut, Clay's voice came again. "Make sure the bitch doesn't get underfoot. Compound can be a dangerous place for a dog."

"Of course, boss." Tig pumped a fist triumphantly in Kozik's direction. "I'm all about safety first." Clay's answering snort was muffled by the click of the door latch.

Still chuckling, Tig muscled between Kozik and Bobby, planted an elbow on the bar and grabbed Kozik's abandoned coffee. "Told ya he wouldn't mind."

"Jerk," Kozik grumbled under his breath, still mad about how Tig had tried to pin the blame on him. "Clay's gotta point, though, about her runnin' loose."

"Get her a crate," Bobby wheezed. He'd finally managed to get his breath back enough to speak. They both turned to stare at him, and he added with a shrug, "Precious had poodles. Used to put them in there at night so they wouldn't chew up the sofa cushions."

"Case you hadn't noticed, Missy's a real dog." Tig sniffed. "Not some pansy fur ball that yips when you pull its tail."

Bobby rolled his eyes ceilingward. "Things come in different sizes, dumbass."

Tig pushed up, fixing Bobby with an offended scowl, though Kozik could easily tell it was all for show. "Who you callin' a dumbass... fat boy." Tig pulled back his lips to show his teeth, evidently satisfied with his insult.

"I ain't fat," Bobby replied mildly. Clearly, he could read Tig's posturing as well as Kozik did. "I am corpulent." He affectionately patted the belly straining his shirt.

Shaking his head at the pair's antics and laughing quietly to himself, Kozik grabbed the mugs to take them back to the kitchen and dump them in the sink. The silly banter was a welcome change to the tense atmosphere that had pressed down on the club house since the hijack attempt. "You kids want anything?"

The door to the club house flew open, banging hard against the wall, preventing the others from giving Kozik grief for disrespecting his patched brothers. Startled at the sudden noise, Missy began to bark. Tig grabbed her collar to hold her back from bowling over Mouse, who'd barreled through the door and skittered to a halt in front of them. "I got it!" he squeaked, hopping from one foot to the other and flapping his hands. "I got it!" Wednesday, two weeks."

Missy bared her teeth, growling. Mouse froze as he finally noticed her, gaping an expression that suggested he'd never seen a dog before and was expecting to be eaten any second. Kozik again had to chew on the inside of his cheek to hold in his laughter. Missy might not be a good watch dog, but she'd quick enough figured Mouse for the prick he was.

"Calm the fuck down, you moron!" Tig snapped. "You're upsetting the dog." He snagged a leftover piece of muffin from Bobby's plate and shoved it at Missy. "Here, baby." Bobby gave Tig a wry look, but it did the trick to distract Missy from Mouse. She sniffed the muffin suspiciously and then, reassured, slobbered it up.

Bobby shifted in his seat. "Wednesday, two weeks until what?"

Mouse lifted his gaze from Missy. "Got the intel we wanted." His shoulders twitched from the effort to remain still. "That bastard, Markoski. I know which of his transports we should take down." He flashed a shit-eating grin around at them.

"You sure?" With the dog calmed, Tig was all business.

Mouse nodded fiercely. "Got a look at all the manifests for the routes he's got scheduled for the next couple weeks. Most are regular runs: same route every two or three days. One of the sheets looked a little different, and had something scribbled on it with a different pen. Couldn't quite read it—some foreign shit—but I checked the route and time, and everything's breaking the pattern. So that's gotta be the one, right?"

"Hm." Bobby pushed the plate of muffin crumbs away. "Ain't exactly hard evidence."

"Sounds like it could be something, though." Kozik clenched his hands at his sides. The attempted hijack had shaken him pretty badly and given him more than few nightmares until he'd gotten his dreams back under control. He'd love nothing more than to get even with those scumbags.

"Someone ask your opinion, Prospect?" Mouse was less than appreciative of Kozik's support. Kozik clamped his mouth shut, struggling not to fire back with an answer Mouse would make him regret later.

Tig offered him a faint grimace of sympathy, before he jerked his head toward the chapel. "Let's talk to Clay. We need to make plans."

o0o