“Was he bringing them in via San Diego?” Scribe asks.
I gesture with my hands—No fucking clue.
“Maybe it’s coincidence,” Pennywise suggests. “If he’s trying to establish new routes, it could be via Tijuana. Perhaps someone just knows he’s too close for comfort and the woman and man need to keep their heads down.”
“Who knows they’re here?” Dart asks but answers his own question. “The feds, Demon and us. But the feds don’t know we know. Demon would just come out and tell us if there was a problem that needed to be faced. Who else knows? And why contact us? The only person searching for a man who he believes dead is Alder. It’s crazy as to why he would be searching for a walking corpse in the first place, and, if it were him, what led him to look in San Diego?”
And that, there, is the million-dollar question.
“Let’s break this down,” I start, getting my brain cells working. “First, if there’s a need to increase security, that can only mean Alder’s on their trail.”
“Could this Dan have made any other enemies? Or his mother for that matter?”
“I can ask Demon.” I nod at Grumbler for raising the point. “We might need to do some digging. If Demon knew, I’d have expected him to tell me straight off.”
“Apart from the person who warned us, in order for a warning to be required, someone who shouldn’t know they are in San Diego does indeed know, and so that begs the question how?”
Thinking, I narrow my eyes at Niran and purse my lips. It’s impossible to answer.
“Maybe someone saw them.”
I just stare at Snips. The population of San Diego is over one point three million and growing all the time. Needle and fucking haystack come into my mind. I suppose it’s possible, but highly unlikely. They’re not exactly high profile.
“More likely one of them fucked up, contacted someone they shouldn’t have.”
At least Salem is thinking logically. That’s my gut feeling as well.
My VP is staring down at his hands. After a moment he looks at me. “Wouldn’t hurt to check it out, Prez.”
“How?” Grumbler asks, reaching down to rub his leg.
“Ask them.”
I grimace. “That means we have to come out of the woodwork and let them know we know they’re in town.” I wonder if they might think it could have been us who have had loose mouths, but I trust every man seated around this table. You always have, a little voice in my head reminds me. You didn’t see Snake was, well, a snake in the grass.
“Nobody here has said anything?” I decide to ask, watching carefully for anything resembling guilt on their faces. “Let something slip unintentionally?”
I’m gratified when there’s not a sudden chorus of denials. Looking down the table, I can see frowns as everyone seems to be considering carefully whether they might have inadvertently betrayed the knowledge.
Kink clears his throat. “Apart from the drive-bys, which I suppose it’s possible someone noticed, I don’t think any of us have given much thought to the pair. You asked us to look out for them, but not why or who could be on their trail. Haven’t got much to let slip in any event. Couldn’t even describe them.”
There are murmurs of agreement.
“We don’t mix much with citizens, and those who come to our parties are here for our cocks, not our information. The club girls and prospects know fuck all about them. I’d say we’re watertight, Prez.” I nod at Keeper.
“Anyone get the feeling someone’s watching us?” Niran looks around. Like him, several men here are ex-services who tend to get twitchy when there’s trouble around. If they’d picked up a tail when riding around San Diego, they’d probably have noticed.
“Nah,” Salem says. “The hairs on the back of my neck haven’t been standing up.” Again, there are murmurs of agreement.
“What if someone’s fishing?” Grumbler suggests. “What if this contact of Token’s guesses they’re close to a chapter of the Satan’s Devils because of the connection with Pueblo and want to see if they can smoke them out? I don’t much like getting anonymous messages.”
I scribble a note down, tending nowadays to use pen and paper, eschewing my dependence of technology in the past. “Grumbler’s got a good point. I’ll contact Drummer, Snatcher and Red and see whether they’ve been approached as well. I suppose I ought to have words with Demon.” I run my hand through my hair. “If we do nothing and something happens to them, Colorado would be after our scalps. But if whoever it is went to the trouble to send an anonymous tip only to us, they know something they shouldn’t be knowing. You’re right, sergeant-at-arms, it could be a trick.”
“It was all done verbally,” Dart picks up. “No emails. You arranged everything with Demon using your secure phones.”
“Give me yours after church,” Token demands. “I want to check your security and antivirus.”
“You set it up, Token,” I growl.
“Yeah, and advances in technology are being made all the time. I’ll install the latest version of antivirus—there’s been another update recently—but it is possible you were hacked, which means your calls could have been recorded and listened to.”
“Or Demon’s,” Dart suggests. “That would make more sense. The woman we’re supposed to be looking out for is the mother of his member’s old lady, and the man, her brother. If someone knew they’d gone, they might have monitored his phone to get information.”
“That’s another point we can’t overlook. The someone who contacted Token must know the son is alive.” It’s another worrying part of the puzzle which seems to be fragmenting into more and more pieces as we debate.
“But why make a move now? They’ve been here three months. Why not do something when they first arrived?”
“Might be barking up the wrong tree looking at history,” Dart intelligently observes. “The son used to be into some shady business, who’s to say he hasn’t picked that back up? Might be a recent issue.”
“Could he be dealing? Using the info that he had from Alder?” The VP’s caught the sergeant-at-arm’s interest.
I couldn’t rule it out, but, “He’d be pretty stupid to use routes he’s already given up to the feds. Unless, of course, he held something back.”
Kink looks up. “Apart from the feds who I think we can discount, and Demon, the only people who know the pair are in San Diego and have their address are those sitting around this table. If none of us have let anything slip, and as I’d trust everyone here with my life, I doubt anyone’s been loose-mouthed, the only ways someone could have learned are from your phone as Token suggested, or from us driving past the house. Both I’d say are unlikely. I still think it’s the bitch herself, or her son. They’ve stepped out of line.” He toys with his long hair for a moment. “In which case, do we let them reap what they’ve sown?”
I let that question ride for now. If they have brought it on themselves, I’ll have to have a discussion with Demon as to whether or not we help them out. My gut feel is that we leave them to deal with any fallout.
“Not going to protect their asses if they’ve brought trouble on themselves.” Dart looks angry, as he voices what’s on my mind. “I’ve got a fuckin’ family and don’t want men like Alder sniffing around. Nearly lost Alex once, I’m not going to risk losing her again.”
“I hear you, Brother.” I give him a sharp nod.
Blaze looks around, his eyes narrowed. “I hear you, brothers. But aren’t you forgetting one thing? We might not be close neighbours of the Colorado chapter, but they’re brothers all the same. I respect their wishes as much as I fuckin’ would any of ours.” I tilt my head, wondering where he’s going with this. “It’s fuckin’ hard going into WitSec. Sure, they should have been more careful if they gave themselves away, but I can’t see how we could step back and not help.”
Dart wipes a hand over his face, then he seems to deflate. He turns to me. “Prez, this chapter rode by my side when I needed to save Alex, and my patch
was still Tucson’s then. Blaze has a good point. They’re under the protection of the Satan’s Devils, and whatever the reason they’re in danger, Satan’s Devils should help them out.” Dart’s the only one of us with an old lady, let alone kids to keep safe. His worry is understandable. What he’s said though, strikes a chord.
Smoker coughs, then says quietly, “Hear, hear.”
Bones wipes his nose. “The road captain and VP make good points. Don’t see how we can keep out of this.”
Token raises his chin. “Someone’s found out our chapter’s involvement, and that’s what I don’t like. But the immediate question has to be the content of the message. It didn’t suggest a threat to us as a club, but instead offered a suggestion. Are we going to act on it?”
Again my hand raps on the table, then I come to a decision. “Okay. First, I’m going to call Demon. Token, got faith in you, Brother, but maybe talk to your counterpart Cadaver in Colorado? Join forces to see if we can smoke this contact out? Demon’s got an iron in this fire, so he won’t want to be in the dark. Not when it’s the family of one of his member’s old lady’s that’s at risk.”
“I’m cool with talking to Cad.” Token grins. I don’t doubt he is, likewise with Mouse in Tucson, and Keys in Vegas. All the tech guys like talking to people who speak the same language.
We need information. At the moment we’re working blind and digging through records will only get us so far. I need to go to the source and see what I can find out. “I’ll go visit the Forsters and see if the leak came from them. Yeah, Salem, I know what you’re going to say. Maybe someone’s dangling a threat in front of us because they suspect our connection. I’ll take every precaution to ensure I’m not followed, but it’s a risk I need to take. I’m not leaving this club exposed without knowing what we’re up against.” I grin. “Not that I’m exactly up with all the cloak and dagger stuff, but I’ll take a car, leave my cut behind, and go visit them under the cover of darkness. See whether either of them has fucked up.”
“I can get you a wig as a disguise, Prez.”
Now Kink’s comment, of course, raises a laugh. As the discussion starts about whether I should be a blond or brunette and whether I should don a dress, I kick back my chair. I’m still shaking my head as I walk out, leaving the rest of them to it.
Chapter Four
Patsy
Dan’s working a late shift again. I put out of my mind what I did that night last week when he was working late, knowing I’ll never dare do that again. It hadn’t helped much in any event.
It’s when he’s out in the evenings I feel most alone. Not so much during the daytime as I’d gotten used to Beth being at work. But when she wasn’t out with her friends or doing her own thing, we’d curl up next to each other on the couch, open a bottle of wine and watch a movie or some reality show where we poked fun at the contestants. Sometimes we’d just read, or I’d sit sewing while she told me about her day. Doing the same thing on my own is so different. If I’m truthful, even when Dan is home, it’s not the same. My son doesn’t want to talk about the same things or want to watch the same kind of movies. More often than not, he holes up in his room playing computer games.
I’m not rethinking coming with my son, but what had seemed so easy back then has been infinitely harder than I expected. I feel like I’ve been put in solitary.
Maybe I should join a club or something, get to know people here? But what club would I join? My one hobby, sewing, has become my full-time job, and having a break is my form of relaxation. A book club? Perhaps, but would I find one who likes the same books as I read? I’ve no idea what to look for. Fitness classes? I huff a laugh. That’s not for me.
Tonight I’m sitting, stuffing chocolates into my mouth while simultaneously feeling guilty for indulging. I’m staring at a program on the television which isn’t holding my interest. It’s the kind I used to watch with Beth, but without her sassy comments, I find it flat and boring. Instead of concentrating on what’s going on onscreen, I’m wondering what I should do with my life now that my best friend, my daughter, isn’t in it. I never expected it would be this hard to make a new life. My problem is, my old one was so comfortable. Trying to move on is like breaking in a new pair of shoes which you know will never replace your favourites.
Just as I’m reaching for the television remote to change the channel, I’m startled by an unfamiliar sound, well, at this time of the evening anyway. It’s the doorbell chiming.
I’m not expecting anyone.
Maybe it’s a solicitor or someone coming to the wrong house? While I don’t feel any particular need to worry, it’s been ingrained in me to be cautious, so I glance through the peephole before opening the door.
It’s a man who I don’t recognise, certainly not one of the neighbours who could feasibly have knocked. He’s the type that if I’d ever come across him before, he’d have been etched in my mind. Not young, approaching my age, perhaps, but while his hair is greying, his eyes are sharp, and his features handsomely arranged. He looks well built, a tidy beard on his jaw, and his clothes, though casual, are clean. Who is he? And more to the point? Why is he here? There’s something inherently dangerous about him that makes me feel uneasy.
Could he be a friend of Dan’s? But he didn’t mention anyone would be coming around. He certainly isn’t in or even close to my son’s age group, and like me, Dan is wary about giving anything about us away, and wouldn’t have told anyone our address.
Deciding discretion is the better part of valour, I tiptoe away from the door. I’ll pretend no one’s in.
Returning to the living room, which is at the rear of the house, I switch off the television, then take a seat out of view of the windows.
He’ll go away when the door remains closed.
What’s that? I strain my ears. I thought I’d heard a sound. I must be imagining things. Then I leap to my feet as I hear something else, the clump of boots on the wooden floor right here in my hall.
I freeze to the spot as I hear a voice grumble, “Your lock is shit. I picked it in like five seconds flat.”
He’s in my house. A stranger is in my house. I know it, but don’t know what the hell to do about it.
“Should have dead bolted it,” he admonishes, his words now sounding louder as he rounds the corner and comes into sight.
“I, er… My son wouldn’t be able to get back in,” I defend while backing away from the stranger who’s invaded my home. “And he’ll be home any moment now.” I fumble with my hands behind me, cataloguing what I’ve left there. A handy baseball bat would be nice about now, or a dagger or knife, but there’s not even a heavy ornament I can hold and get ready to brain him with.
“Soon as you saw a strange man at the door, you should have thrown those fuckin’ bolts,” he scolds me again.
Hang on. He’s just broken into my house, and he’s the one telling me off?
“Well, I won’t be able to keep anyone out if you’ve broken the lock.”
“Didn’t need to break in.” He pauses then huffs a short laugh. “Well, not by causing any damage.” After holding up a credit card he’s still got in his hand, he slides it back into his wallet.
I come to my senses. “Get out of my house.” My body is shaking, but I manage to keep my voice firm.
While on first sight his appearance and manner doesn’t seem threatening, it’s not the first time I’ve had strange men breaking into my house. The last time was when my daughter was kidnapped. I feel my face going white as the blood drains from it and get a dropping sensation in my stomach as I realise this will probably end badly for me. He was right, why hadn’t I thrown that bolt?
“Who are you? What do you want?” I shoot a look past him, realising my phone is in my purse, and my purse is by the front door. I’d have to pass him to get it. I’m trapped.
He’s a big man, six foot I estimate, seeing the comparison between him and the height of the doorway he’s standing in. He’s muscular and has some tattoos. To m
y chagrin, my brain goes off on a tangent as I realise I’ll have a handsome kidnapper at least—someone attractive to look at while I’m stolen away and sent to my untimely and probably unpleasant death.
“Oh, babe.” His eyes land on me. “I’m not here to cause you harm. I’m Lost.” His voice is as attractive as he, deep, gravelly. The kind of voice a man should use when he’s making love to you in the bedroom.
What? I want to slap myself around the head. This man’s just broken into my house using a piece of plastic to open the door. Only criminals do stuff like that, so, de facto, this is a man intent on doing bad things. Coupled with that, it’s been nearly twenty years since I had a man in my bed. Getting aroused nowadays takes one of those MC books I’ve been reading and a session with my BOB. I wouldn’t know what to do with a real dick anymore.
“Lost,” he repeats with a slight quirk to his mouth, making me blush, wondering whether he can read my thoughts.
Then the word filters through my head. He broke in to ask for directions?
Swallowing rapidly, I decide my best course of action is to play along. “Er, wh-where do you want to go?”
He chuckles. “I’m right where I wanna be, babe.”
Babe? I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that. Even my ex wasn’t imaginative enough to use anything other than my name. Suddenly, I realise he’s used it as he doesn’t know where he is, or who I am. I’m starting to think a lunatic’s broken into my house, and I must be as crazy as he as I find myself offering my name to replace the term of endearment falling inappropriately from his lips.
“I’m Patsy.” There, now he can stop with the babe thing.
He does that raising of the chin thing men tend to do. “Right, introductions done. Can we sit and talk?”
Being Lost: Satan's Devils MC San Diego #1 Page 4