Midnight Obsession: A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 4

by Olivia Thorne

  Weasel licked his lips nervously. “Yeah… yeah, he did.”

  “Good. Who’s gonna do it?”

  Weasel glanced at Jesus H. Christ, then said, “I am, I am.”

  “That something you can do?”

  “Yeah – yeah, no problem.”

  “That something you done before?”

  “Oh yeah, oh yeah,” Weasel said, in an over-the-top reassuring voice that told me the worst he’d ever done was maybe rob a liquor store.

  “This is important,” I stressed. “Can you do it or not? I need to know now.”

  Weasel was sweating slightly. “Like I said: no problem.”

  “Alright. Here’s the guy you’re going to be taking care of. Memorize that face.” I held up my phone and showed them a picture. “Got that?”

  Weasel squinted his eyes at the photo. “Yeah. What’d this guy do?”

  “He raped a ten-year-old girl.”

  Total bullshit, but Weasel bought it hook, line, and sinker.

  “Holy shit,” Weasel murmured. Jesus grunted disapprovingly, as any good messiah would. The energy at the table shifted, and I could tell they were way more onboard than a few seconds ago.

  “Yeah,” I said. “So you can see why he’s got to go down.”

  “Fuck yeah. Motherfuckin’ degenerate,” Weasel said. “But… why don’t you guys take care of him? I mean – that’s what you do, right?”

  I smiled tightly. “There’s some politics involved. I can’t go into it, but let’s just say he has friends in high places. Which is why I’m going to need you two to wear ski masks and these when you do it.”

  I used my foot to slide the canvas bag I’d gotten from Rodrigo under the table.

  Weasel picked it up, glanced inside, and immediately went white. “Oh, fuck…”

  Jesus scrunched up his face. “Whut?” he grunted, the first word I’d heard him mutter. When he saw what was in the bag, Jesus jerked away like somebody’d just offered him a blowjob from a rattlesnake.

  Weasel shook his head. “Dude, I don’t know about this…”

  “I can’t have anybody know that this hit came from within the Riders. You understand.”

  “Yeah, but… the fuckin’ Santa Muertes?” he whimpered.

  Okay, so he wasn’t that stupid.

  “It’s all been squared away,” I said. “I actually got that from the Santa Muertes. Not that you’re ever going to repeat that piece of information again, ever, ‘cause you’re not.”

  “Why the fuck are the Santa Muertes giving you their leathers, man?” Weasel asked. He was definitely spooked.

  “Because the ten-year-old was the cousin of one of their members.”

  I could see the rusty gears turning inside his brain as Weasel tried to puzzle it out. “But… then why aren’t the Santa Muertes popping this guy?”

  I was losing patience. “I told you: politics. It’ll start a war if they do, and it’ll start an internal war if we do it. I’m trying to split the balance and keep the peace.”

  “But… why don’t we just wear regular jackets, then?”

  I leaned forward slightly. “Gene didn’t tell me you asked so many questions.”

  “Gene didn’t tell me I was gonna hafta impersonate a fuckin’ Santa Muerte, either.”

  “If you don’t want the gig – ”

  Weasel put his hands out like Now hold on a minute. “I ain’t sayin’ we don’t… I’m just sayin’, y’know?”

  There was one last card to play. And the dimwit had let me know from the get-go that it was my trump card.

  “I told Gene not to tell you guys upfront because I wanted to see if you could deliver… but this was supposed to be an audition of sorts. I told him I needed a couple of stone-cold killers to take out a fuckin’ child molester because I couldn’t risk starting World War Three between the Riders and the Santa Muertes, and he told me you two could do it.”

  As predicted, Weasel’s eyes lit up. Jesus’s eyes did, too, but there was a semi-delayed reaction, like it took him an extra second or two to process the information.

  “You ever seen The Godfather, kid?” I asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

  “When you want to become a made man with the mob, you hafta make your bones. You have to do some gnarly shit so they trust you. Well, kid – this is where you make your bones. This is where you prove you’re trustworthy. That is, if you want in. If you don’t – ”

  “No, no, it’s cool,” Weasel reassured me. “We’re in, we’re in.”

  FINALLY. This had been more effort than trying to fuck a nun.

  “Good,” I said, and pulled out my phone. “What’s your cell number? I’m gonna need to call you once the guy’s in the joint.”

  Weasel rattled off a number, and I plugged it into my phone and hit SEND. Five seconds later, AC/DC’s “Highway To Hell” started playing from Weasel’s back pocket.

  Perfect.

  “Uh, we gonna have any trouble from the Riders?” Weasel asked.

  “Nope. I’ll handle it.”

  “And nothin’ from the Santa Muertes?”

  “Nope. They’d probably make you honorary members afterwards, except you can never, ever tell anybody about it, understand?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. What about the cops?”

  “You’ve heard about the Midnight Riders and how we roll in Richards, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you know there won’t be any blowback from the police. Just make sure you get out before they show up though, huh? Otherwise it might be a little awkward telling them to let you go.”

  Weasel laughed, which I took for a good sign. He was getting comfortable with the idea. “Okay, so where’s the joint we’re doin’ this?”

  “The Seven Veils. It’s on Curson, just off of Highway 19. I want you to be in the neighborhood by midnight, ‘cause once I call you, this shit’s gotta go down fast, alright?”

  “Sure, sure. Seven Veils… hey, the owner’s not going to shoot me in the back with a shotgun or some shit, is he?”

  Who knows?

  Maybe I’ll shoot you in the face.

  “He shouldn’t, seein’ as it’s my fuckin’ place,” I said with a grim smile.

  Weasel stared at me, then burst into laughter. Jesus didn’t quite get the joke, but he laughed all the same, just because his buddy was.

  “Alright then… fake robbin’ some fake titties,” Weasel said. “But, uh… could we get a grand up front?”

  No, motherfucker, you can’t. I don’t want you splitting on me without doing your goddamn job.

  “I’ll tell you what… you pull this off without a hitch… not only will I get you in the Riders, I’ll make it twelve grand instead of ten.”

  Weasel’s eyes bugged out. “Okay – wow – that’s great, that’s great!”

  I smiled, and let Weasel bathe in the golden glow of my generosity.

  What the hell. I coulda promised him a million bucks; I wouldn’t be paying either one of them a fuckin’ dollar, anyway.

  33

  Fiona

  “Your buddy Lou’s in tight with the cops, right? One of ‘em musta tipped him off about Fee.”

  Sid’s explanation made perfect sense.

  Shit.

  When I first got to Richards, I’d worried about the cops blowing my cover, which would prevent me from getting closer to the Midnight Riders. I’d never even considered that Lou might get the information and use it stealthily, selectively, as a weapon.

  “But how would they know about Fiona?” Jack asked, confused.

  My stomach churned with fear as I spoke. “Because I called them every day for months about Ali’s murder.”

  Jack stared at me. I couldn’t look at him.

  “You tried to go undercover when the entire fucking police department knew who you were?!”

  “I didn’t know that Lou was that close to them,” I said miserably. “And I thought if I got busted – ”

  “It w
as just going to be you that paid the price,” Jack seethed. “Not me.”

  “…yeah.”

  Jack looked away. I could almost hear his blood boiling.

  “This ain’t couples therapy, you two,” Sid snapped. “I charge a thousand an hour for that. Now, Easy Rider – you wanna pout over spilt milk, or you wanna put your big boy panties on and let’s get back to work?”

  Jack looked at Sid like he wanted to kill him. “Don’t fuckin’ talk to me like that, old man.”

  “Friend Prices don’t include me holdin’ your hand, kid. You want me to pat your head and tell you ‘Poor baby,’ then fuckin’ pay me. Otherwise, there’s the door. Now – are we gettin’ back to work, or do you wanna sulk some more?”

  Jack still looked like he wanted to kill Sid – but this time he answered, “Back to work.”

  “Alright, then. Now – ”

  “There’s something else I’ve got to say,” I said, my voice low and quiet.

  Jack turned towards me again, eyes blazing, expecting another outrage.

  Unfortunately, I was about to give it to him.

  “Jesus, what now?” Sid groaned. “Every time I get this show back on the road, you gotta bust out another revelation. It’s like the fuckin’ Jerry Springer show in here.”

  “Sid,” I warned him.

  “Fine, spill your guts,” Sid said, flapping a hand at me dismissively.

  “What is it?” Jack asked.

  “…you told me that night, before it all happened, that if I was with the FBI or the DEA, just to leave town.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The DEA blackmailed me into being an informant for them.” I felt my face burn hot with shame. “I wasn’t with them, and I didn’t work for them, but…”

  Jack just sat there looking at me silently, frozen in his seat in shock.

  Then he erupted.

  “Mother FUCKER!” he roared as he stood up and slung his chair against the opposite wall with a CRASH!

  I bolted to my feet, scared as hell but ready to defend myself.

  Sid calmly opened up his desk drawer, took out his .357 revolver, and pointed it at Jack. “Don’t do that,” Sid said contemptuously, like he was telling a kid not play with dog poo.

  “Sid, no!” I cried out.

  “Tell your boyfriend not to go fuckin’ throwin’ my furniture around, then.”

  Jack ignored Sid completely and just yelled at me. “EVERY – FUCKING – TIME! Every fucking time I gave you a chance to come clean with me, and you FUCKED me!”

  “I know you risked your life trusting me,” I pleaded. “Well, now I’m risking mine. I could go to jail if they find out about this.”

  “You think those two things are the same?! I lose everything, and you – ”

  “Do twenty years in prison? Yeah, they’re pretty much the same fucking thing,” I snapped.

  That calmed him down. He was still angry, but at least he was rational. “Alright… I guess you have a point.”

  “Well, now that we’re one big happy family again – ” Sid deadpanned.

  Jack ignored Sid and focused on me. “Why are you even bringing this up now?” he fumed.

  “Because you deserve the truth.” I hesitated, unsure whether I wanted to say the next part. “And because… I think maybe we should try to work with my contact.”

  Jack stared at me – but this time he looked more bewildered than furious. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me – you think I’m going to work with the DEA to take down my own club? No way in HELL.”

  Do I go all the way with this? I asked myself.

  …yeah. Why not.

  “Too late,” I said. “You’ve already worked with him.”

  Jack frowned. “…what?”

  “You can’t tell anybody this – you can’t use it against Lou, you can’t out him to the club – ”

  “Just tell me!” Jack roared.

  “Eddie Deacon. He’s a DEA agent. That’s why he joined the Midnight Riders.”

  34

  Jack

  Well, that was a hell of a sucker punch.

  When she told me, all I could do was stare at her in shock.

  Eddie?

  DEA?

  “…you’re sure?”

  “He broke into my room the night Roach disappeared,” she said. “In fact, the DEA were the ones who grabbed Roach and hauled him off.”

  “The DEA has Roach?” I asked, astounded.

  “They did they last time I saw him.”

  I stared at the floor. It was hard to think; my thoughts were jumbled chaos.

  Eddie Deacon –

  I patched that motherfucker in myself!

  He’s been playing us from the beginning –

  How long did the Feds plan this?

  That means Ali might have been snitching to Eddie –

  Wait – Roach broke into Fiona’s room –

  “But your room,” I said, latching onto at least one fact I knew. “Roach trashed it.”

  “No, that was Eddie, to make you guys think Roach trashed it.”

  I thought back to the last time Fiona and I were in bed together, and what I’d said afterwards. Lou thinks you’re a federal agent. It wasn’t the Santa Muertes who broke into your room… it was a guy named Roach he sent to kill you.

  I shook my head in equal parts weariness and disgust. The betrayals just kept on coming; there was no fucking end to them. “I told you about Roach when I asked you about the DEA, and you just lied right to my fuckin’ face.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice anguished. “But I’m telling you now. No more lies.”

  I chuckled bitterly. “It’s a little late for that.”

  She didn’t say anything. She just stood there looking guilty as hell.

  “Wait,” I said, my brain starting to work normally again. “If Eddie’s DEA, then why hasn’t he taken down Lou already?”

  She grimaced. “Because he was after you, too.”

  Jesus – yet another fucking knife to the gut.

  “And you were going to help him take me down?!” I yelled, moving a couple steps towards her.

  “Aah aah aaaah,” Sid said, gesturing with his .357. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  “No!” Fiona protested. “I told him you were clean, but he didn’t believe me. I think he wants the entire club – he said he’s going to wipe out the entire distribution network.”

  My guts suddenly went cold.

  “‘Entire distribution network?’” the old fart asked sarcastically. “What’s that all about, Mr. Goody Two Shoes?”

  “We sell pot, for Christ’s sakes,” I said, glaring at him.

  “Pot?!” Fiona yelped, suddenly self-righteous. “You said you were a hundred percent legal!”

  “We sell to medical marijuana dispensaries,” I snapped. “That’s who we supply. Not to mention it’s only a matter of time before it’s completely legal in California, same as Colorado, Oregon, and Washington state.”

  “But you said – ”

  “All the shit you’ve done to me, and you want to bust my nuts about fuckin’ pot?!”

  That shut her up.

  I looked away and shook my head in disgust. “After all the fucking bullshit we used to be into, now the DEA wants to take us down over weed. Figures.”

  “I don’t think it’s just the marijuana,” Fiona said. “Eddie sounded like he was talking about something really, really big. After years of doing nothing, the DEA wouldn’t piss off California by raiding hundreds of legal dispensaries, would they? And why would they put a guy undercover for that?”

  “They’re the fucking federal government,” I said. “Who the fuck knows what’s going on in their heads.”

  “I still think it’s more than that.”

  “What else could it be? Other than the pot, we’re completely legal.”

  “That you know of,” Sid pointed out.

  I looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “What’s t
he simplest explanation, genius?”

  Shit.

  “Lou might not be completely legal, and I just don’t know about it,” I realized.

  “Ding ding ding,” the old fart said. “Get that kid a prize.”

  “But the DEA might know about it,” Fiona added.

  “Well how are we going to find out?” I asked sarcastically. “You want to call your guy up and just ask him?”

  She looked at me with that unwavering gaze she used when she was set on something.

  “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I think we should.”

  35

  We argued about it for another fifteen minutes.

  There was no way in the world I wanted to get within spitting distance of the DEA, much less work with them. Turn rat? Fuck over the club? No way in hell.

  But, as Fiona pointed out, the wolf was already in the henhouse (if you can call a bunch of bikers a ‘henhouse’). If I stood back and did nothing, the DEA would sure as shit torch the club on their own. It was only a matter of time.

  I thought about outing Eddie and using the backlash to dethrone Lou – basically the exact same play that Lou used with Fiona and me. But I quickly discarded that option.

  One, I’d be opening myself up to prison time for exposing an undercover agent. Fiona was dead right about that.

  Two, there’s no way Eddie would escape alive. Even if I didn’t kill him, somebody else would. A traitor in their midst? Fuck that. The entire club would be out for blood.

  I didn’t care if Eddie was a traitor and a federal douchebag; I wasn’t going to be responsible for his death.

  It also didn’t help that the DEA would come after us like a rabid pitbull for killing one of their own. I could argue to the MC all day long that offing a government agent was the stupidest play possible, but the idiots in the group would still want their pound of flesh, no matter the cost.

  Three, even if I could somehow expose Eddie but make sure he got away, he’d just round us all up later and charge us with whatever evidence the DEA already had on hand. Including me for exposing an undercover agent.

  And four… there was Fiona to think about.