by Nella Tyler
“Yeah, we’re done.”
He gets up, turns the chair back around and shoves it toward the table.
“That was bullshit,” he says under his breath to anyone listening as he walks out of the club. I note his attitude toward the questions.
“Mickey Pennington,” I holler over the members who are standing around.
He walks over to the table and sits down.
“How are ya doin’?” he asks in his beaten down Irish accent.
“As good as can be expected,” I tell him. “I found a way to help, as you can see,” I say with a smile.
“I see that. Glad your dad came around.”
“Any criminal convictions or financial issues that we should be aware of?” I ask him.
“Nah, I’m doin’ alright,” he says looking me dead in the eyes.
“Have you heard anything from any of the members that you’d like to report?”
“No, but when we catch whoever’s responsible for this, I’m gonna drag their asses through the streets on a chain attached to the back of my bike.”
The look in his eyes says he means it.
“Alright, thanks Mickey, that’s all I need.”
“That was it?” he asks.
“Yeah, we’re all good.”
He arises from his seat and says, “We will get whoever’s responsible for yer baby sister’s disappearance.”
“I have no doubt.”
He walks over to my father and they share a brief chat.
The list goes on until I ask the same questions of Max Vella, Jasmine Bridges, Jack Frack, and the Sergant-At-Arms, Josh Lucas. None of them have any information as I’ve come to expect. They are all clean and share Mickey’s sentiments about what will happen to whoever took Sasha.
“Jason Maple,” I yell out.
The skinny kid approaches the table and sits down nervously.
“Hey,” I tell him.
He fidgets constantly and I question that. I look Jason over and surmise that this kid probably couldn’t hurt a fly. To be fair, I have to question everyone.
“Nervous?” I ask.
“A little,” he says looking up at me, but quickly averting his eyes.
“Why are you nervous?”
“I always get nervous around pretty girls,” he says with a downward expression.
I blush a little at his sentiment.
“Have you overheard anything that we should know?” I ask him.
“No,” he says in response.
“You’re a bit of an electronics genius, aren’t you?”
“A bit, I guess,” he says.
“Can you get me access to bank accounts?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him.
“Anything you need,” he says.
“We’re done, you can relax now.”
He arises from his seat and moves away to the back of the club.
“Justin Hanke,” I yell out.
Justin walks over like he owns the place, but the façade quickly falls apart when he sits down.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, I just have a couple of questions.”
“Alright, what’s up?” he asks.
His black hair is a tad shiny and his blue eyes look like Rodney’s. I trail off.
“What can you tell me about Rodney Vinton?” I ask him.
“Rodney? He’s an alright dude. He rents a room from me. He’s from out of town.”
His face appears serious like he’s hit a certain realization.
“Something wrong?” I ask him.
“Is Rodney a suspect in all of this?” he asks.
“No, I was just asking because we don’t know all that much about him.”
He takes a deep breath full of relief.
“Anything else you want to add? Anyone the club acting strangely or facing problems with their finances?” I ask.
“Not that I know of; wait,” he stops himself. “Ken Clayton is close to filing bankruptcy.”
“He is?”
“Yeah, he talks to the newer guys Pence and Spence more than he talks to me, though.”
“Pence and Spence?” I quiz him.
“Scott Pence and Spencer Nottingham; they’re newer guys,” he says emphatically.
“Got it, alright. We’re done here.”
He moves from the table and I take a drink of my beer.
“Ken Clayton,” I yell out, looking up. I see a blur of black clothes wobbling this way. His smell gets there before he does and I consider holding my nose.
“Hey,” he says, sitting down and putting his arms on the table.
“Hey Ken, I just got a few questions for you.”
“Fire away, I’ve got nothing to hide,” he says.
“Great. Any criminal convictions or financial problems that we should be aware of?” I ask him.
“No, ma’am,” he says confidently.
“Do you know anything about Sasha’s disappearance?” I press him.
“Sure don’t,” he mutters.
“Why were you fighting with Boris Cardov the other night?”
“He’s a fucking idiot.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s dealing pot out of the club and I tried to tell him that it’ll get his ass kicked outta here. Moron.”
I type that new information into my Word document and make a note about Ken’s claim to have everything straightened out financially. He is too confident for some reason and I need to learn more.
“Do you know Lester Samson?” I ask.
“Lester fucking Samson is one shady motherfucker,” he states. “Like a predator or something.”
“Alright, thanks,” I tell him. He gets up and walks off.
“Scott Pence,” I yell out.
A young blonde man approaches me and sits quietly at the table.
“I’m Scott Pence,” he tells me.
“Hi, Scott; I’m Trish. I’m just gonna ask you a few questions. Please answer as honestly as possible and we can get done here quickly.
“Alright.”
“I’ve learned that you are close to Ken Clayton.”
“A bit. He’s a weird dude. Kinda smells bad.”
I stifle a chuckle.
“He’s experiencing financial troubles that’s led him to file bankruptcy?” I ask.
“He said that he’s super close to filing for bankruptcy, but that we should stick with him.”
“Who should stick with him? Why?”
“He said Spencer and I should stick close to him because he knows how to make money. He told us that he’s about to hit the jackpot and we could learn a lot from him.”
“Interesting,” I say nonchalantly.
“Anything else?” he asks me.
“Nah, we’re good.”
He gets up, pushes the chair back to the table and moves back to the back of the club.
“Spencer Nottingham,” I yell out after I scan the room.
A young guy of about twenty approaches me and sits down.
“Hi, Spencer; I’m Trish. I’m just going to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure,” he says with a half-smile. “Glad to help any way I can.”
“Do you know of any shady happenings in the club?” I ask him.
Without skipping a beat, he says, “That shady motherfucker right there needs to get his ass kicked.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Actually two guys,” he starts. “Ken and Boris; those two are up to somethin’, but I can’t put my finger on it. Ken brags a lot, like he’s big shit on shit mountain. He’s coming into so much fucking money and can’t afford to take a fucking shower?”
I once again find myself stifling a laugh. “What do you mean?”
“He says that he’s coming into a lot of money, but when I asked him about it, he clammed up.”
“He clammed up?”
“Yeah, he basically said that a man has to do whatever it takes to survive at all cos
ts.”
“Interesting,” I note.
“That Boris idiot tried to sell Killer, Nate, and I marijuana out of his house.”
“Killer?”
“His real name is King Kyler, but he goes by Killer. He’s that scrawny fella standing over by the wall. The one wearing the Slayer shirt.”
I give a glance to Killer and look back at my laptop. I think about how we’ve got a colorful bunch of people in the club.
“So Boris is dealing drugs out of his house, huh?” I press for more information.
“Pot and pills, mostly.”
“Wonderful,” I say sarcastically.
I type furiously once again.
“Thanks, Spencer; I appreciate the information.”
“No problem at all,” he says, getting up and giving the evil eye to Ken and Boris.
I go through the rest of the prospects until I get to my favorite of them, Rodney.
“Rodney Vinton,” I yell out to the club.
Rodney gives me a big cheesy smile as he walks his sexy self on over to the table to take a seat.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says nonchalantly.
“Hey.”
“So I see that your dad has actually decided to let you in,” he says.
“Yeah, I kept pushing. He finally caved,” I say proudly.
“Good for you. I knew you could do it,” he says with a smile. It’s disarming, but I try to not let it distract me.
“Alright, where do we start? Let’s see. Do you have any criminal convictions or financial troubles?”
“No, sure don’t. You’re so cute. I am proud that you’ve come this far,” he says staring me in the eyes. It’s like he can see through me.
I decide to take this time to push him for information on his family life.
“Tell me about your parents,” I tell him.
“Is that part of the questions you’re asking everyone?” he protests.
“No, but since I’ve got free reign, I can do whatever I’d like.”
“I like this ‘take control’ side of you,” he says, once again deflecting.
“What’s your father like?” I ask.
“My father, Seth, is a snake in the grass. He’s lower than low. I hope I’m never like that.”
“And your mother?”
“She’s an angel, but she puts up with my father’s shit. I don’t know how she does it. I could never understand why she hasn’t left him. He lies, cheats and is a thug, but she still stays.”
I shake that imagery off.
“So you live with Justin Hanke?”
“Yeah, he’s cool dude. He put me up since I got into town a couple of years ago.”
“Where did you live before this?”
“Just outside of Hayleyville,” he says.
“I’ve been to Hayleyville; that town is a mess,” I tell him.
“Yeah, it’s been that way for years. It’s occupied by nothing but thugs.”
“Do you know of anyone who would kidnap my sister?” I ask the obligatory question.
“No, honey, of course I don’t. If I did, I’d turn them in for sure.”’
“Alright, see you later on?” I tease with a wink.
“Sure, sweetheart, anytime you want.”
He gets up to walk away and I find myself staring at his butt once again.
He’s a distraction, I tell myself. A distraction that I can’t leave alone.
I type the rest of my notes into the laptop and note how much of a monster Seth Vinton must be. I say to myself quietly, “Seth Vinton; why does that name sound familiar?”
I shrug it off for the time being. The investigation isn’t nearly over and I need to mine more information.
I power down the laptop and stash it in my bag. I walk over to my father, dodging dirty looks on the way.
“All done, kid?” he asks.
I pat my bag to say that my work at the Lair is done. “All done, for now. We’ll talk about what I’ve found later on.”
“Sounds good. Heading home then?”
“Yeah, I have to look into more stuff.”
“Good, good,” he says, going back to his previous conversation after I walk off.
I stuff my laptop bag into my saddlebag and head home. I need time to think and to reconcile all of this information.
Chapter Seven
Rodney Vinton
Leaving the Lair, I wonder what I’m really doing there. My father made it clear that I was to infiltrate the Dragons to learn information. Since coming to Hinton Township, I have been able to make friends and these guys are good people.
I ride my bike back to Justin’s place. I don’t fault him for telling Trish about me, but instead want to know more.
Parking my bike in front of the apartment, I walk up the stairs and open the door. I notice Justin sitting there watching football.
“Hey dude,” he says, looking up at me.
“Hey,” I say back.
“Trish asked about you during her little investigation,” he teases.
“Yeah? What did she say?”
“She just wanted to know what I could tell her about you. So, I told her that you’ve been renting a room here since you came to town.”
“Is that all?” I ask.
“Yeah, in all honesty, she seemed more interested in Ken Clayton and Boris Cardov.”
“I wonder what those two clowns have to do with anything,” I sigh.
“No clue, but she is zeroing in on them for something.”
“Got it. If they’re guilty of anything, they’ll be sent packing with an ass kicking,” I tell him.
“A well deserved ass kicking,” he adds.
I nod in the affirmative and head up to my room.
I feel a knot of worry building up in my stomach and wonder if Trish is going to put two and two together and come out with four. Will she find out that my father, Seth Vinton, is actually the leader of the Deathdealers? Would she hate me for something I can’t control?
My phone blares its familiar notification sound. A text message from Ronan. Shit, he must know.
“Rod, come to the club,” it reads.
“OMW,” I text back. If it’s a beating that I have to get, then a beating I will take. All in all, I will show my loyalty to the Green Dragons.
I walk back downstairs and zip through the place and outside. I hop onto my bike and zoom out onto the streets, blazing a trail to the Dragon’s Lair.
I park that beast out front and walk in the doors to see Ronan at the bar looking frustrated.
“Thanks for comin’, man,” he says looking up at me. “Have a seat.”
I fret a little that maybe Trish would betray our friendship for the sake of finding her sister, despite me not knowing anything about her disappearance.
“What can I do for ya, boss?” I ask.
“I need to ask you something,” he says with his focus trained on me.
“Yeah? Shoot.”
“I think something’s up with Boris,” he begins.
“Boris?” I question him.
“Yeah, that fucker looked awful shady when I asked if anyone had a problem with Trish questioning people.”
“Interesting,” I note.
“Can you get close to him and see if he’s up to anything?”
“Consider it done,” I tell him.
“Report back to me if you find anything, alright kid?”
“You got it boss,” I reply.
I get up from the red bar stool and when I know I’m out of earshot, I take a deep breath. My secret is safe for now. Maybe Trish isn’t that good at figuring things out?
I hop back on my bike and head to Scott Pence’s place. It’s a ten minute ride and I’m thankful for the wind beating me in the face as I jet on through the town. It wakes me up to the reality that I’m about two shakes away from an ass kicking – or worse – at the hands of Ronan Fitzgerald.
Pulling up to the brick apartment building, I park my bike next to a grey bike that
is already on the street. I assume it belongs to Scott. I walk up the concrete stairs and press the button labeled “Pence - 4”
A voice comes over the intercom and says, “Yeah?”
“It’s Rodney from the club,” I tell him.
I hear the buzzer coming from the door, allowing me entry into the building. I head up to apartment number four and announce my presence with a knock.
He opens the door, looks me up and down and says, “Come on in, man.”
I walk inside taking in everything I see in his place. It’s tidy enough, but I gather that the only woman’s touch it has ever seen is probably at the hands of his mother.
“I thought we would hang out, drink some beers and stuff,” I propose.
“Sure, dude. Let’s drink beers and hang out.”
I sit down on the recliner as he gets up from the couch and walks to the kitchen. He emerges with a couple of cold beers and hands me one.
“I was just watching the game,” he says, motioning toward the television.
I hear rumors springing up all over the club that this dude is close to Boris, so if I make myself a fixture, perhaps I can see what’s going down here.
I notice an ashtray on the coffee table as I put my feet up.
“You smoke?” I ask, crossing my legs at the ankle on the wooden little table.
“Not cigarettes,” he jokes.
“What then, pot?” I push.
“I know we’re not supposed to do that shit in the club, but I know you’re cool. Listen, my mother was in the hospital last week. She had heart surgery and I was fucking nuts over it. This dude gave me some pot to calm my nerves.”
“It’s all good, man. Sorry about your mom,” I tell him. I’m not sure how far I can push him for information before he suspects I’m a plant. He’s a younger guy and I think he isn’t that smart. Maybe he’ll slip up?
“I got bad nerves, too, so I feel ya there, man,” I tell him, hoping that’s enough for him to offer some sort of clue on the matter.
He leans in closely as if his place is bugged.
“Hey, listen, you can’t tell anyone this or that dude will kick my ass from here to Hayleysville. It’s Boris. He gave me the pot. He’s a cool dude. Don’t say nothin’ or he’ll get his ass kicked out of the club.”
Bingo.
“Your secret is safe with me. I dunno that Boris guy all that well. Is he a cool brother?”
“Fuck yes. He told me he’s got a shipment of the shit coming in. Not only that, but he’s bragging about some big score he’s got comin’.”