“I know.”
“That’s what he did with us,” Jesse spoke up for the first time. His lip trembled, and he looked nauseated. “We were on a table, and he came out with that Holy Father shit. And then–” His throat clicked when he swallowed.
“Did someone come into the store and ask you two if you were interested in dealing?” Candy asked.
“Yeah, but with hash,” Eric said. “Gave us the sample, we said we dealt for Hakes” – one of the club dealers – “and that we weren’t interested.”
“What’d he look like?” Candy asked.
“Young,” Eric said, “not much older than us. Late twenties, maybe.”
“Nice clothes,” Jesse said. “Not flashy, but you could tell they were expensive. Looked Latino. Little bit of an accent.”
“Had a mole right here.” Benny touched the skin just below the outer corner of his eye. “Good-looking guy. The kind the girls in all the clubs throw themselves at.”
Jesse and Eric nodded.
“You’d all remember him if you saw him again?”
“Yes,” they all said.
Candy turned back to Benny. “What happened next?”
He tapped his glass with a hopeful expression, and Colin gave him another refill. “The Father guy, he had this whole speech. I don’t remember it all, ‘cause I was still kinda loopy from whatever they gave me. But he was saying that the world was full of sinners, and that God forgave us for our sins – just like he’d forgive me of mine. I told him I had a lot of sin, but he said he only cared about one: conso…conset…?”
“Consorting,” Fox said.
“Yeah, that was it.”
“Consorting with the Lean Dogs,” Fox said. “Right?”
“Yeah. That was it. And I told him I wasn’t no friend of the Dogs. But he said…he said he had to make sure.”
He was silent a moment, breathing in and out through his mouth. Took another swallow; the whiskey didn’t seem to be easing his shaking at all. “He reached into one of his giant priest sleeves and pulled out a syringe, and I think, great, he’s gonna sedate me again, or give me heroin, or who fucking knows.”
“It wasn’t heroin,” Jesse said.
“Nah,” Benny agreed. “It was kinda warm at first, and I was all relaxed, and it wasn’t so bad, but then…then I couldn’t move.”
“It was a paralytic?” Fox asked.
“A what? I dunno. But I couldn’t move, man. I couldn’t even blink. I couldn’t talk. I pissed myself,” he said, too rattled to be ashamed of himself. “I could feel it running down my leg, but I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to.
“Someone grabbed my head, and turned it, and there was another table, next to mine, and there was a guy on it.” He shivered – and then kept shivering, big shudders that forced him to set his drink down. “He was tied up, like me, and his eyes were open, but he musta been on the same shit as me, ‘cause he didn’t move even a little bit. He didn’t even beg when the priest guy cut his throat.”
Jesse pressed the heels of his hands to his eye sockets. “They killed somebody in front of us.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know.”
“The guy said it was a sinner,” Benny said. “That he’d sinned against the Chupacabra cartel – our new Lord and Savior.”
~*~
Nickel the prospect was tasked with finding their three guests something to eat and getting in touch with Cantrell. The rest of them crowded into the chapel.
“I don’t know about the other two, but I know for a fact Benny’s not that good of an actor,” Gringo said. “He looked genuinely scared.”
“Yeah,” Candy agreed.
“Too bad we didn’t interrogate them separately,” Blue said.
“Who says we aren’t gonna now?” Candy asked.
“Ah. Fair play.”
“They started from the bottom up,” Candy said. “Picked the lowest, least involved in the business, and scared them first. Benny’s a notch above Jesse and Eric, and we know they’ve gotten to Patty at this point, too.”
“They’re removing our support system,” Cowboy said.
“Cutting us off,” Candy agreed. “And my guess is they’ll just try to close us in tighter and tighter.”
“And drop something big on us,” Talis said.
Candy nodded. “We need to stop them now, and stop them hard.” For the first time since all of this started, he felt all his anger and frustration moving through the right channels: the head-punching, rival-stomping, getting-shit-done channels of his brain that had enabled him to lead this club for as long as he had. He had a target, finally; now all he had to do was get sites on him.
“The trick is finding them, now,” he said. “We’ve gotta get out and cavass. Talk to all our contacts. Fox, you and your guys need to start doing your spy shit and find me some answers. We’ll go through the rest of our contacts. When I talk to Cantrell–”
His phone buzzed in his pocket. When he checked the screen, he saw that it was Melanie Menendez calling.
“Actually, first I’m gonna talk to Pacer. Everybody else: get on it.”
~*~
“I don’t normally do this sort of thing with women.”
Eden regarded her partner of the moment as they walked across a weed-choked parking lot. She supposed there were women who found Jinx attractive, but the bare arms, the writhing tattoos, and the beard were decided turn-offs for her. Leaving that aside, she would never have chosen to do any sort of uncover work with someone like him: he was too noticeable, too distinct. He wore Biker like it was a fashion label as well as an identity, from the little silver hoops in his ears to the flashing wallet chain, to the skull-printed laces of his boots. He couldn’t have blended into a crowd; couldn’t have slipped into the accent, the mannerisms, the persona of someone else.
She hoped that, in this case, his lack of artifice would serve as an asset. That was the plan, anyway.
“How unfortunate for you,” she said, as they reached the door.
He opened it, and his other hand settled in the small of her back, just like they’d discussed. It needed to look real, and attraction or not, Eden was a damn good actress when she wanted to be.
By the time they were inside, she’d relaxed her spine and her ankles, had tilted her hips and leaned into him, subtly: the portrait of a woman who didn’t want to be separate from her man, not even for the practical purposes of walking. She softened the tension in her face, smiled, tried to look vacuous. Fox would have laughed if he could have seen her.
The building they’d entered – a massive corrugated steel box with soaring, uninsulated ceilings – was an auto garage, the kind that serviced everything from commercial vans, to panel trucks, to the big tractor cabs of eighteen-wheelers. The front door, a dinky metal sign with the company name hanging above it, led into a waiting area that hadn’t been designed for customer comfort. An office stood off to the side, a smaller box with a small window in one wall, and the entire rest of the width of the building was contained behind a long, high counter. A few chairs and a water cooler stood along the front wall, but it was obvious no one spent time hanging around for an oil change here.
A radio up on the counter blasted rap music that couldn’t compete with the echoing of hammers, air hoses, and hydraulics in the workspace beyond.
A young woman sat on a high stool behind the counter, slumped down with an elbow braced on the countertop, absorbed in the screen of a laptop. Her hair was streaked pink and green, and tied up in two messy buns on top of her head; the stacked black chokers fastened around her skinny neck were the fashion transgressions of teenagers from two decades ago.
She flicked one quick, flat glance toward them when the front bell chimed, but then shifted her gaze back to her computer and kept it there as they approached. Eden had no doubt she was taking stock of them, though.
When they reached the counter, Eden laid her head down on Jinx’s shoulder and knotted a hand in t
he back of his shirt. He tapped his knuckles lightly on the edge of the counter and said, “Hey.”
A long beat passed before the girl lifted her head – slowly, and with a bored, sedated expression, like her neck wasn’t strong enough for even that much effort. Again with the flat look, but when she met Eden’s gaze, briefly, Eden saw apprehension lurking there, a shattering sort of fear, one betrayed by the rabbit-fast pulse visible in the hollow of her pale throat. “Hey,” she said, like they were imposing on her.
“Are you guys still looking to hire?” Jinx asked. “’Cause I’m interested in a new job.”
That perked her up a little. Her eyes widened a fraction, momentarily surprised. Then narrowed. She sat up, some of her malaise falling away, revealing the tense reality beneath. “You’re a Dog,” she said. “I recognize your ink.” She nodded to his right arm, and the massive, hyper-realistic snarling hellhound tattooed from elbow to wrist.
Exposing it had been a calculated risk, and Eden hoped it was one that paid off. She put on her best attempt at a Texas drawl and said, “My man wants to move up in the world. The Dogs ain’t shit.”
The girl’s over-plucked brows lifted. She stared at Jinx. “Yeah. And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Things are shaking up around here. I gotta do what’s best for me and mine. You gonna tell me your boss discriminates? He doesn’t hire bikers?”
The girl made a face – and then bit her lip to try and hide it. She could smell the threat on the wind. She was afraid of her boss, obviously, and she was afraid of the Dogs, and now she was caught in the middle, unsure how to proceed. If Jinx was here to make trouble, her boss would be furious; but what if this was a chance to get an in with the Dogs?
The latter – the possibility of pleasing her master – won out, finally. After a long minute, she frowned, said, “Wait here,” and jumped down off her stool, only her pink and green buns visible above the counter.
Eden turned her face into Jinx’s throat, careful with her expression, still. Just a woman being too affectionate; nuzzling at her big, bad outlaw’s ear. She whispered, “Do not fuck this up.”
He grunted in annoyance, and flicked his head back, out of reach.
She pressed her knuckles into his spine. I’m serious.
He sent her a look that said her doubt offended him.
Too bad, she thought. I’ve been playing this game a lot longer than you.
The pink and green buns popped back into view. The girl looked outright nervous, now, and pissed-off. “Go over there,” she said, tilting her head toward the office. “Carlos wants to talk to you. Not you,” she added, looking at Eden. “You have to stay out here.”
“That’s fine,” Eden said, breezily, and detached herself from Jinx with one last nudge at his back. She plopped down into one of the chairs by the water cooler and watched him head toward the office door, trying to look proud, hoping this worked.
Inside her jacket pocket, she felt the reassuring, warm weight of her phone. Axelle and Michelle waited at the other end of the open, ongoing call, listening for her signal. She hoped they’d parked someplace safe and were keeping an eye out. She wanted to execute this op flawlessly, because that was her job; but, personally, she just wanted Fox’s beloved niece to stay safe.
~*~
Axelle’s phone sat on the narrow, wood-paneled center console of the GTO, right behind the gearshift, Michelle and Axelle hovering over it from either side. They’d parked behind the warehouse that was Sandoval Auto, in the parking lot of the lumber warehouse beside it. Axelle had backed in, for a quick getaway, between two tall trucks and in front of a sign, so they wouldn’t be visible from the street. They had a glimpse through the windshield at the back of Sandoval, the huge roll-top doors, and a pedestrian door. A few employees in mechanic smocks were on a smoke break, standing in a loose circle amidst puddles of dripped oil.
So far, the phone – and its connected call – hadn’t yielded much beyond the rustle of pocket noise, and the faint strains of a conversation. There hadn’t been any shouting, though, and Eden hadn’t yelled out her signal word, so Michelle guessed things were going as well as they could be for now.
She fidgeted again, drawing her legs up sideways into the seat with her, cracking her ankles. Restless.
“You wish you were in there with them, huh?” Axelle asked.
When Michelle met her gaze, feeling almost guilty, she was relieved to meet a knowing smirk instead of a judgmental frown. “Am I that obvious?”
Axelle held up her thumb and forefinger. “Just a little bit.” She chuckled.
Michelle settled back deeper against the seatback, sighing. “It’s not that I don’t think they can’t handle it.”
“But?”
“But I used to do this sort of thing when I lived in London. I was my dad’s secret weapon.” Axelle’s brows lifted, genuinely curious. “My mom died when I was really young, and my dad raised my uncle like my brother – well, you were there, you saw how messed up this family is.”
Axelle nodded, expression seeming to say oh yeah.
“Things are different over there. Maybe because Dad was the president – probably – but I grew up with the club, and I always had my nose in something, and Charlie and Albie were always offering to teach me something they shouldn’t. When I started helping – when Dad would let Tommy and me do a little bit of recon – it felt like a natural progression. Why wouldn’t I help the club that raised me? Why not send me in when I was the best fit for the job?
“I didn’t have a cut, wasn’t patched in, didn’t ride…but I was doing the things the Dogs were doing, every day, and I liked it. I loved it.”
“Why’d you stop?”
Michelle hadn’t thought it would sting so much, remembering. When she looked back, her life seemed like it had belonged to two people; like maybe she was living with someone else’s memories: the past, London, still sharp and well-preserved as photographs, but untouchable. It was a story she’d read; a movie she’d seen. So different from the here and now.
“There was this one job,” she said. Tasted the black smoke; smelled the stink of charred…everything. Stumbling through a day made night with burning; Tommy’s face above her, his voice far away. She couldn’t breathe; was choking…
She put a hand to her throat; it felt tight now with remembrance. A thrill shivered down her back. “Things got really dangerous, and there were these terrorists, they were looking for me. Dad got spooked. He sent me to Tennessee, to be with Uncle King, but Fox said they could use me out here.” She touched her temple. “Good with numbers. I fixed their books. And I stayed.”
Axelle regarded her skeptically. “Because you got married.”
“I chose to get married.”
“Did you?”
Michelle couldn’t help a laugh. “Yes! It’s a love match. What are you thinking?”
She shrugged and her gaze shifted away, back toward the building. “I dunno.” She sounded uncomfortable now; her shoulders hadn’t dropped back down, yet. “You hear stories. People being dragged off by bikers. Being forced to marry them so they can’t testify against them. That kinda stuff.”
“That kinda stuff happens in movies.” Except Emmie had been more or less forced to marry King. It wasn’t as if she would have been killed…Michelle didn’t think. And Emmie did love him, now, so…Michelle wasn’t going to tell Axelle that little detail. “I love Candy.”
Axelle’s gaze darted back, assessing.
Let her look: Michelle was a lot of things lately, but she’d never been uncertain of this.
“I do. But. Sometimes.” This was the part that kept getting stuck in her throat; the thing she’d been reluctant even to admit to herself, but that Fox and Eden had seen straight off and tried to draw out of her.
She sighed. “I miss my old life, sometimes. I miss being in the thick of it.”
Axelle regarded her a long time, one hand idly tapping at the steering wheel. “I get that,” she said, hand clo
sing, tightening, knuckles white. This car – driving – was the thick of it for her.
“Who got you interested in cars?” Michelle asked, softly.
Axelle’s answer was soft, too, mouth curving the barest fraction, a sad smile. “My dad.”
Michelle could tell, just from her expression, that Axelle’s father was no longer living.
“He OD’d,” Axelle offered, though Michelle hadn’t asked. “Used to buy his shit from the Dogs. I’ve blamed them for a long time.”
Michelle tensed.
Got a strained smile in return. “We all make our own beds, though, right?”
“Generally.” She asked, “Does Albie know?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s known all along. A lot of days…” She hesitated, hand dropping to the knob of the gearshift, thumbnail tapping against it. “A lot of days I ask myself if I’m shitting all over Dad’s memory. Thinking a biker’s hot.”
“It’s probably a little more than thinking he’s hot,” Michelle said, hoping she was right. Of all her uncles, Albie was the most vulnerable after Shane; the one most in need of something good and happy and honest in his life.
Axelle let out a deep breath that sounded relieved. “Yeah,” she agreed.
The phone on the console, heretofore offering up nothing but the rustling of cloth, emitted a series of beeps. An incoming call, Michelle realized, as both of them perked up in their seats.
But one from Eden’s end. There was more rustling, then Eden said, “Shit,” and the line went silent.
~*~
The office was a cramped, stale-smelling space crammed with a too-big desk, some chairs, file cabinets, and heaps of paper, pile after pile of it, rubber-banded and paperclipped, stacks sitting on the grimy tiles, giving off the smell of ink and dust.
Lone Star (Dartmoor Book 7) Page 20