I hoped that wasn’t the case, but… shit. I was becoming less and less certain by the minute.
I went back to the kitchen and picked up the wall telephone with the spiral cord. There was a dial tone.
I dialed the 213 number and listened for the sound of a cell phone ringing in the house.
Nothing –
And then my heart skipped a beat as someone answered.
“Hello, and welcome to Annie’s Florist Shop. We’re busy right now, but if you leave your name and number, we’ll get right back to you!”
That didn’t make sense. A machine right off the bat, when it was three in the afternoon on a weekday?
Then something else surfaced in my memory: Jack telling me about the phone call Venus had made.
Their front is a florist shop in Los Angeles. She left a message, said Venus the stripper was calling, and for Robert Smith to call her back.
They’d turned the number back on.
Maybe they’d turned the 310 number back on, too.
I clicked the hang-up button on the wall telephone, then scrolled through the pictures on my cell until I found the photo of Venus’s contacts from a year ago. I dialed that number, too, and waited, listening for some sort of ring tone in the empty house.
None came – but after the fifth ring, another machine picked up.
“Thank you for calling the offices of Westside Dentistry. No one can come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and we’ll call you as soon as possible.”
Different voice, different message – but again, it was three o’clock in the goddamn afternoon. What dentist office is closed at three on a weekday?
I hung up the phone and pondered my next move.
If I showed up at the meeting, I could confront Eddie… but with what? There wasn’t shit around here to incriminate him. I suppose I could railroad him, get the other guys riled up against him – but what if I was wrong? I was fine framing Fiona, especially since she’d been trying to fuck me over with her playing detective. But I sure as hell didn’t want to lose a good soldier for bullshit reasons.
Say he was DEA, though. If I tipped my hand and let him know that I suspected him, but didn’t do anything about it, I’d never catch him again. This was my one and only chance.
Unfortunately, I didn’t see any way forward –
And then suddenly the wall telephone rang.
I froze, freaked out as shit.
They were calling me back.
Or, more accurately, they thought they were calling Eddie back.
I thought about answering, but I knew I wouldn’t get a damn bit of info, and then they’d know I was onto them…
So I just let it ring and go silent.
Fuck. This entire thing has been pointless –
Ten seconds later, I heard a cell phone chime.
It was muted, but I heard it not ten feet away.
There was a kitchen closet. I opened it and looked inside. Cans of soup, bottles of soda, boxes of cereal and macaroni and cheese –
The cell phone chimed again.
Right under my feet.
I looked down at the hardwood floors. There were small gaps between the boards – and there was a slightly larger gap between a couple of them.
I knelt down, got out my switchblade from my boot – click – stuck the blade between the boards, and began to pry.
One board came up easy as you please.
Beneath the flooring was a shoebox. Inside were two cell phones.
One was several years old and had a cracked screen, like somebody had dropped it. The other one was brand new and plugged into a power strip that had been jury-rigged from somewhere under the house.
There were also a wad of hundreds big enough to choke a mule, and a small notebook. I flipped it open. There were dates and notes scrawled inside, though nothing I could figure out at first glance.
Nothing else, though.
I hit the menu button on the front of the cracked phone. Nothing – it was off.
Huh.
This looks like exactly the kind of piece of shit phone Roach might have.
I held down the power button on the side, and while I waited for it to boot up, I pressed the button on the plugged-in phone. The lock screen appeared with a notification:
JD 2m ago
iMessage
I had no idea who JD was, but I considered it a near impossible coincidence that I’d just phoned two DEA fronts, got called back on the same phone, and seconds later Eddie got a text on his mysterious hidden cell.
Damn thing had a code on it, so I couldn’t get in… but I knew how to get around that.
I unplugged the phone and put it inside my jacket pocket, along with the wad of money and the notebook.
The cracked phone finally booted up to a screen with a naked chick on it. It was lookin’ more and more like Roach’s cell by the second.
I hit the menu button and hoped for the best – and got it: there wasn’t a lock code on it.
Just like that shithead to not secure his goddamn phone, so any fuckin’ asshole could look at it. Of course, at the moment, I was eternally grateful for his carelessness.
I flicked through the Recent calls. There was mine from just a couple of hours before, followed by the shitload of calls I’d made after he stopped answering, and the one when I sent him over to the motel to bust Fiona.
No unheard messages, though.
Which meant Eddie had listened to them all.
Mother FUCKER.
I didn’t exactly have enough evidence to hold up in court… but I had enough for me.
And I was planning on getting a full confession.
143
I was just starting off for the Roadhouse when Eyeball texted me.
Everybody’s here, Lou – where are you?
Stall them, I texted back. And confiscate everybody’s phones.
Confiscate them?
It’s a big fucking word that means TAKE them.
After a few seconds, I sent another text:
Especially Eddie’s – but DO NOT TIP HIM OFF.
I couldn’t take the chance that Eddie might get a text from his handlers about the phone calls I’d made from his house. It might give him a chance to figure things out and bolt.
I got there at 3:20. Eddie was over in the corner, acting all slick as shit, like he wasn’t a goddamn fucking traitor.
I glanced over at him – not quite ignoring him, but not really acknowledging him, either.
The men were restless. They wanted to know what the hell was going on.
I had to give them something – so I gave them a lie.
“It appears I was a little hasty last night, gentlemen,” I said. “Jack’s little whore was a mole – but she wasn’t just lookin’ for who smoked her cousin. Seems she was also mixed up with the Santa Muertes.”
There was a grumbling in the crowd.
“I’ve got some intel I can’t share at the moment, but I want you to keep your fuckin’ eyes open. They’re gunning for us. They want our territory. They want to take us down. But fuck them. We’re going to take them down. Now, I don’t want you to do anything without my say-so – no fights, no shit-talking, no nothin’. You do not engage. You hang back until I give the word. Do you hear me?”
The club muttered their agreement.
“I said, DO YOU FUCKIN’ HEAR ME?!”
“YES!” they roared back.
“Alright, then, dismissed. I want to see Cowboy, Wild Bill, Eyeball, Eddie, and Chuck to discuss our next move. If that’s not you, then clear the fuck out.”
Everybody was just a little bit stunned. Why the fuck did we get called out in the middle of the day for THIS? But nobody did more than grumble a little – they just filed out and picked up their phones from the big plastic bin at the front of the door.
While everybody was grabbing their phones, I texted Eyeball. ‘LOSE’ Eddie’s phone. And get Charlie’s baseball bat when you’re through.
&nbs
p; I saw him read the text. He looked up and nodded at me subtly.
Next I texted Cowboy, Wild Bill, and Chuck. Don’t react to this text, but get ready to grab Eddie when I tell you.
They all read the messages, then put the phones back in their pockets without saying a word.
I went up to Charlie, the Rider who ran the Roadhouse. “Clear out for a while, Charlie. The whole staff, too. I need the place for a while.”
He didn’t put up a fuss. In two minutes, we had the bar to ourselves.
“Where’s my phone, man?” Eddie asked Eyeball heatedly.
“I don’t know, dude – it’s gotta be here somewhere. We’ll find it,” Eyeball reassured him.
“This is bullshit – give me my fuckin’ phone, Eyeball!” Eddie ranted.
“Eddie – knock it off and get over here, we got shit to discuss,” I snapped.
He grudgingly left Eyeball and sauntered on over.
Meanwhile, Eyeball slipped behind the bar where Charlie kept a baseball bat and a sawed-off shotgun for security.
We wouldn’t need the shotgun for my purposes.
“Alright, men… we’ve got a problem,” I said.
“With the Santa Muertes?” Eddie asked, leading us away from the real problem, slick as you please.
“No. That was all a ruse earlier. The Santa Muertes aren’t our real problem – it’s another gang.”
Everybody tensed slightly.
“Now,” I said.
Chuck and Cowboy each grabbed one of Eddie’s arms, and Wild Bill put a knife to his throat.
“Uh unh unhhh,” I said to Wild Bill. “Don’t end the party ‘fore it’s started.”
Eddie’s face was wild with fear. “What the fuck, Lou?!”
“Spread him out facedown,” I ordered, and the boys slammed him down on the nearest table. Then they patted him down and took a Glock and two knives off him.
“Lou – I don’t know what you think I did, but I swear to God – ”
“Shut the fuck up, Eddie, or Charlie’ll be cleaning your brains off the wall when he gets back.”
Eddie shut up.
Eyeball was walking back with the baseball bat. He held it out like, You want this?
“Not yet,” I said. I reached in my jacket and pulled out the phone and the notebook I’d got from his house.
As soon as Eddie saw it, he knew the jig was up. He started struggling and almost broke away – that is, until Wild Bill grabbed his hair and slammed him face-down onto the table.
He knew what was coming next, and he balled his fists tightly together.
“Gimme his finger,” I said.
“On his hand or off?” Cowboy said, and the others laughed.
Neither Eddie or I did, though.
“You heard the man,” I told him. “You wanna do this the easy way, or the hard way?”
“Lou – Lou, this is a mistake, I swear to God – ”
“Eyeball? Break his hand.”
Eyeball heaved the bat up like an ax and swung it down as hard as he could.
There was a sound like chopsticks snapping in two, and Eddie screamed in agony.
“Pull his finger out straight,” I ordered.
Wild Bill pulled Eddie’s pointer away from his fist as Eddie screamed some more.
I put it on the little button and – presto! – the phone unlocked.
I checked the text from JD.
You called twice but no message. Anything up?
Mother FUCKER.
There was just the one text. Everything else had been deleted.
In fact, there were no other messages of any kind.
Under Contacts, there was JD and a handful of other entries with only initials: DF, CM, JO. I checked the area codes, and they were all over the fuckin’ place.
“Who’s JD, Eddie?” I asked as I took the battery out of the phone.
“N-nobody,” he managed to choke out.
“Who is he?”
“A friend, that’s all.”
“Not a friend in the DEA, by any chance?”
The other guys all looked at me in shock.
Eyeball stared at Eddie. “You gotta be fuckin’ KIDDIN’ me – ”
Wild Bill pulled out his Smith & Wesson and put it to Eddie’s head. “Lemme ice ‘im, Lou – just say the fuckin’ word – ”
“Put it away, Bill. We got some more talking to do first.” I slapped the notebook down in front of Eddie’s face. “What’s this?”
“Looks like a notebook,” he said insolently.
I took the finger I’d used to unlock the phone and jerked it to the side so that it broke just above the knuckle.
Eddie screamed again.
“You got any more jokes for me, douchebag?” I asked.
He shook his head ‘no’ as he gritted his teeth through the pain.
“Then I’ll ask you again: what is it?”
“I don’t know – I don’t know – ”
“Eyeball?” I said. “Do the other hand.”
144
It took 40 minutes to break him, but in the end he confessed.
He was DEA, he said. Ten years undercover. The first seven were in white supremacist militias that used drug-running to fund their activities. The last three were in the Midnight Riders.
He told me the notebook was dates and times when he suspected big pot shipments. Once I understood the codes, I had to admit that he’d done a pretty good job of guessing when shit took place – especially for a guy who’d never made it inside the inner circle.
“Everybody clear out for a second,” I said. “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.”
“Seriously, Lou?” Eyeball asked. “What if he – ”
“He’s a fuckin’ wreck,” I said. “He ain’t pullin’ shit.”
And it was true. Both of his arms and legs were broken in multiple places, and his face looked like he’d gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson.
“But – ” Eyeball protested.
“I can take care of myself with a fuckin’ cripple. Hey – you holding?”
Eyeball liked his heroin, and could always be counted on to have at least an eightball on him.
“Why?” he asked suspiciously.
“Just gimme what you got. And leave the bat.”
Eyeball handed over a paper packet with a stamp on it of a dog and the words Mad Dog. Then he and the guys filed out, grumbling as they went, leaving Eddie lying on the ground in a broken heap.
I squatted down in front of him. “Okay, Eddie. It’s just you and me now.”
I held up the packet of heroin between my forefinger and thumb.
“Option A is you answer my questions, and you get to snort this shit. It’ll take away the pain, maybe even check you out permanently – which would be a blessing compared to what the other guys want to do to you right about now.”
I put the packet of heroin in my inner jacket pocket, then picked up the baseball bat.
“Option B is you don’t answer my questions, and… well, let’s just say it’s probably in your best interests to go with option A. We both know you ain’t gettin’ out of this alive, so it’s just a question of how you want to go out.”
He looked up at me from eyes swollen nearly shut. “F-fuck you, Lou.”
I stood up and swung the bat overhead onto one of his broken ankles.
He screamed in pain and writhed on the floor.
“That wasn’t one of the options, Eddie,” I said, “but it’s a damn good idea. Hell, that’s the one thing we haven’t done to you yet. Let’s call it option C. So unless you want me to get the guys back in here and have them shove this baseball bat up your ass, think reeeaal carefully about the next words out of your mouth. I’m gonna ask you some questions, and you’re gonna tell me the truth.”
He laid there whimpering on the floor.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said. “First: what happened to Roach?”
He didn’t answer.
I brought the bat up over my head, like I wa
s going to split a log with an ax –
“My guys snagged him,” Eddie said hurriedly. “He’s being held at the LA office.”
Not what I wanted to hear, but not unexpected.
I lowered the bat. “See how easy that was? Second question: what did he give you on me?”
“Nothing. At least nothing we can use.”
Good old Roach. Too dumb to trust with anything important, and so I hadn’t, thank God. However, he was definitely the guy to handle the rough stuff – but there hadn’t been much of that the last three years. Not until the Fiona thing, which he’d botched.
“Good. Next question: that stripper that got shot last year. Was she your snitch?”
He sighed in resignation. “…yes.”
Shit.
“Did you get anything out of her?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Mostly just rumors and guesses.”
“Does the DEA have anything on her murder? Like who did it?”
“No.”
“So nothing to tie it to me or the club?”
“No.”
“What does the DEA have on me?”
“Just the pot. And the murder of those two robbers.”
I figured I could live with that.
“Well, that first one was self-defense, not murder. Plus, the other one got away,” I said in a cheerful voice.
“Yeah, right,” Eddie said, managing a bitter laugh.
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
I raised the bat. “You sure about that?”
“YES.”
“What about Dan Peters and the Richards PD? Anything on them?”
“I know you’re paying them off, but I don’t have any proof… except when they dropped off Fiona and Kade the other night.”
I figured I could live with that, too.
“You’re doing great, kid. Okay, next question: was Fiona snitching for you?”
“No.”
I swung the bat as hard as I could and cracked his busted leg.
“AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!” he screamed, and rolled over onto his side in agony.
“You want to tell me the truth?” I asked.
“I AM!” he screamed.
I hit him three or four more times, but no matter how hard I swung, he swore up and down Fiona was clean.
Good.
Midnight Obsession: A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 4 Page 32