Dirty

by A. C. Bextor

  It’s not.

  When we make our way around the club, I lose the direction from which I came in. Doors are lined one after another, hallway after hallway. When we arrive at another big red door, Hoss opens it and we’re outside. The wind is still blowing, and I can hear those chimes further in the distance.

  In front of us is another building. Its paint, once looking to have been a solid white, is peeling and chipped. No windows, no frames, just a building with plain white doors. All doors have a deadbolt and handle, with the exception of one at the end. By further study, they look to be the size of separate storage units.

  My curiosity is interrupted when Hoss turns to me and confirms, “Storage units. You’d think the boys would take better care of our precious cargo, but the fuckers get lazy. If I weren’t in such a merciful mood, I may start chopping hands off for not keeping up with the grounds just to prove my point.”

  I say nothing, realizing I’m on his turf and all the threats I’ve heard about him throughout the years could very well be true.

  “Come on,” he tells me, pulling me from my thoughts.

  As we walk the club grounds together, he points to various small buildings and explains each in turn. Gun shop, ammunition outhouse, rooms for passer-by brothers from other chapters to stay in and visit. It all looks the same to me, but he continues explaining as if he’s proud to be king of this notoriously victim-filled vacation getaway.

  The compound sits with its back to an open field. Large trees and brush hide what’s beyond it, but I can see a towering barbed wire fence standing no less than twenty feet high. No one comes or goes without being noticed.

  Seeing I have no way out, I feel this becoming a threat, and I stop us from walking any further. As soon as Hoss catches my momentum slowing, he also stops and looks back at me.

  If anyone would pass Hoss on the street, they wouldn’t have a clue what he’s capable of. I’ve heard he tortures and kills his own members and their families for fuck-ups, even those beyond their control. The man I’m standing in front of may be Hoss Lattimore, President of Satan’s Creed, but with all I’ve seen and heard about him, I feel like I’m staring into the eyes of Lucifer himself.

  “I appreciate you showing me around. It’s impressive,” I lie. “I’ve heard as much about your club as anyone who lives around here has. It lives up to those rumors.” I look around at the area we’re standing in. The vast space surrounding the place would be quite breathtaking if it weren’t for the sole reason of its existence.

  “It needs work, I’ll admit,” he tells me. “Haven’t always had the hands available to get shit done, though.”

  “I can imagine it takes a lot to keep up,” I reply, surveying the area.

  “It does.”

  “I’m curious why we’re out here, Hoss.”

  He narrows his eyes and pins me with an odd stare I can’t place. “You’re nervous, you mean.”

  “Curious.”

  “I’ll get to the point, then.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You want to find your sister’s killer,” he says, as though he’s so sure I haven’t found the killer already myself.

  Shocked by his brazen words, but knowing that’s not the sole reason I’m here, I answer, “Yes, Hoss. I’ve got no leads anywhere.”

  “You want your peace. I can see by looking into those dark eyes of yours that you’re a haunted man.”

  “I am,” I offer truthfully. Even being who he is, he couldn’t have risen to his position without harboring some regrets of his own along the way.

  “What if I said I could help you?”

  “Help me how?” I ask, feeling my patience waning.

  “Help you find who killed her.”

  I look down, unsure if I could believe him. I don’t know if he’s baiting me.

  “Tell me how you’re gonna do that when I haven’t been able to.”

  “You help me, I help you. I’ve got eyes looking and ears to the ground all over this town and miles beyond it. If you keep your word, and you can help me with what needs done, I’ll return the favor.”

  I stand in front of him, unsure how much to ask in case he takes offense and decides my help isn’t worth the bother. My thoughts race and my blood runs thick through my veins as the information processes—Hoss is willing to help me find the son of a bitch who killed Marie.

  Glancing to his feet as he starts walking again, he tells me, “I know your past, even before Marie was taken from you. Even back when you worked for me I knew you were loyal and true to your word. You haven’t changed much as far I can see. You’ve had the same friends since you were a kid, and you don’t trust easy.”

  I don’t speak, just walk beside him as he continues to study the dirt beneath his scuffed boots with every step.

  “Also know the mess you found yourself in out east and what you seem to be capable of when put in precarious situations.”

  “If you know all this about me, then you must know I don’t like being played.” It’s a bold statement, but my reaction to his putrid mouth saying my sister’s name causes me to momentarily forget my place.

  He laughs, his large belly shaking with amusement. He stops and turns to look directly at me, his words pointed with demand. “Everything you are and all you’ve been through do not fucking matter to me. What matters is that you do as I tell you, keep your nose clean in my club, and when all is said and done, I’ll return the favor by offering you the name of the person who was responsible for Marie’s death.”

  With my voice harsh and my posture straight, I advance into his space. “What is it you want me to do? Swear this shit in blood?”

  He lifts his hands in surrender and mocks me like a child. “Don’t get your boxers in a bunch, Max. We’re just talkin’. I’m sayin’ shit goes down, you’re on my side. No more ‘searching for freedom’ or ‘living the good life’. Shit gets messy here and quick so I gotta know, if and when it does, you have my back.”

  “Do you have mine?” I ask without thinking of the consequence.

  “I’ve got one better.”

  “That means what?”

  “You make this happen, you’ll know. I’ve got some shit coming inbound that I’ll need help with, and it’s fixin’ to happen soon. I need all hands on deck, and unfortunately the hands I already have are dumber than rocks. Triad, my former VP, recently got himself killed.”

  I had heard his past VP was murdered, so I’m doubting it as truth. I knew he wasn’t around anymore, but I hadn’t heard he had gotten himself killed.

  “He went soft for a woman we were moving out of here. Said he wanted to keep her. Said he would make sure she didn’t cause any trouble. Well, this is true ‘cause neither of them are causing anyone trouble anymore. She’s shipped off to where she needs to be, and he’s floating somewhere in a lake south of here with his throat cut so deep his head most likely is no longer attached.”

  Confirmed. Women are traded and sold here.

  Confirmed. Hoss Lattimore would kill his own VP if he deemed them a threat.

  I’m playing Russian roulette with my own life by setting stakes here. Hoss has sweetened his part of the deal to the point where I can’t refuse. I could have Casey out of here and Marie’s killer brought to justice. Hoss is making me an offer he knows I’d be a fool to refuse.

  Pinning me with a pointed glare, Hoss asks, “So, I’ll ask you again to be sure. You in?”

  “Two shipments?” I confirm. “I deal with two shipments and you hand me the name of those responsible for my sister.”

  “Yes. That’s my offer.”

  “I’m not in your club, I’m not a member, but you’ll have my back with the others.”

  His hand raises in mock Boy Scout honor salute and when he smiles, my insides clench. No promise could be made to keep me from doubting his allegiance to anyone who comes into his path of destruction. Hoss Lattimore can’t be trusted, but I have to put my faith in the notion that there’s honor among criminals and he�
�ll hold up his end of this.

  “Call me when you’re ready to talk details,” I reply with more enthusiasm than he needs to hear.

  “That, my man, is what I’d hoped you’d say.”

  On the walk back to the main building, I’m met with another surprise I hadn’t seen coming. I fucking hate surprises for this very reason.

  “I knew Marie,” Hoss states, pulling his sunglasses from his pocket and putting them on. “She worked at that convenience store on Ranger, didn’t she?”

  I can’t help but nod. A lot of people in this town knew Marie.

  “She was a sweet kid when I met your dad.”

  “She was,” I agree. Marie was ten years younger than me. She was a teenager when Hoss knew her.

  As we continue walking in the direction we came, he continues talking about my sister. “I met her a few times after she grew up. Beautiful girl in all ways. She had a smile that greeted everyone the same. She was a good person. I respected her because she wasn’t afraid of anything.”

  “She wasn’t,” I agree.

  “She wasn’t afraid of me, either.”

  “Marie didn’t see people for their faults. She saw them only for who they were to her. It was something I always thought she was crazy for. She believed in people.”

  “Can’t say I understand why someone would take away all that beauty the way they did.”

  “Before I left, I looked into it,” I admit. “Nothing the cops said made sense. They said because there were no witnesses and no motive, it had to have been a random killing.”

  “Like a nomad passing through?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer skeptically, wondering how the fuck he knew that was the consensus at the police department. Outsiders weren’t supposed to be privy to that kind of information.

  He must sense my thoughts. “Small town, Max. People go off and get killed, even I demand answers. Marie was innocent. I didn’t like that it happened to her. I wanted answers.”

  “And you got them.”

  “I did.”

  With his full admission in place, I feel my blood warm. “If you really know, Hoss, it’d be better if you tell me now.”

  “Not happening, Max.”

  Shaking my head, I look over his shoulder and try to remain calm. If this conversation gets heated, or Hoss feels I’m threatening him in any way, he’ll kill me where I stand or have one of his goons do it.

  After a few moments of silence, I explain my angered thoughts. “If it were your sister, Hoss, wouldn’t you be angry as fuck if someone you knew had the information but wouldn’t share it?”

  “Yes, I would. There’s a time and a place to share the information, though, and even you can agree that’s true.”

  “Why not take what you have to the police?”

  Tapping his temple with his finger, he says, “Knowledge is power. It’s important to hold it as long as you can ’til you can use it to your advantage. Marie’s killer will get what’s coming to him just as soon as you help me with what I need.”

  “Hoss.” I stop walking and catch his attention. “I’m counting on you to pull through on your end with this information.”

  “And I will, as long as you do the same and hold up your end of the agreement.”

  “You have my word,” I tell him with certainty.

  “I believe I do, Max. You gotta know, though, what I’m asking of you is simple, but not easy or I wouldn’t be laying down the information I have here. Your role in what’s happening here will be a big one. There’s a lot of eyes looking from places you don’t want to know about.”

  “I think I can handle it.”

  The phone in his jacket pocket rings before he can respond. With great annoyance, his fat fingers dig around the wrong pocket first and then cusses as the notification of an incoming call continues.

  “Jesus Christ, hold on a minute,” he states to the vibrating, dull ringtone.

  Once he finally has it in his hand, he clutches the receiver with force.

  “What now?” he asks without greeting the caller.

  A few seconds go by and his jaw starts ticking as the vein in his temple protrudes from under the skin. “Who was it?”

  Silence.

  “Son of a bitch!” he bellows.

  I stay quiet and take a second to look around at the various buildings surrounding us. Hoss doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about my obvious curiosity.

  “I’ve got help standin’ right in front of me. You tell Hang to stay back, in his room, and not to fuckin’ leave it ’til I talk to him. Got me?”

  Silence while the caller confirms.

  “Iron and Wick, that’s it,” he spits out harshly.

  Once off the call, he tosses it back in his pocket and pins me with a gritty and determined glare before asking, “You ready to start your new job right now?”

  “Tonight?”

  “You asked if we had a deal. I’d like to see how far you’re willing to take this deal of ours.”

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  “C’mon. Brought my bike here tonight, so you follow behind me. We’re taking a trip. You’re about to be tested, Max. Don’t fuck it up.”

  Christ.

  After following Hoss’ fat ass for over thirty miles into the middle of the dark desert, my nerves are already shot. It’s true I’ve seen some shit in my time with my prior MC and even before that, but what I find when I pull up in this vast expanse of dark desert shocks even me.

  Wick and Iron are standing over a makeshift mummy. Blood, oozing from the sides of a white sheet, stains the desert floor.

  “Dead, huh?” Hoss asks with a casual tone, walking toward the boys as I follow behind.

  “Yes,” Iron, Creed’s Sergeant at Arms, and the man I met not even an hour ago, confirms.

  Wick, Club Treasurer, is standing next to him, completely motionless. The only light surrounding us is the moon overhead and the headlights of the truck I assume they drove the corpse in.

  Hoss spits near the body before asking Iron, “Do I want to know what happened?”

  “It’s like I told you on the phone. I’m thinking Hangar got carried away.”

  Wick, who still has yet to speak, bends over, and I hear before I see vomit hit the ground in a loud splat. To his credit, the guy backs up enough so it doesn’t land on his own motorcycle boots. From his reaction to this scene, I’m guessing Wick’s not used to blood and gore. I envy him. I’ve seen too much in the past few years.

  “Son of a bitch, what the fuck am I gonna do with that kid?” Hoss asks, and I assume he’s referring to his VP, Hangar.

  “Sorry to call you when you’re busy, Hoss. I didn’t want the others knowing since we’re having a visitor soon. It’d rattle them, I’m sure.”

  “No, no, you did the right thing,” Hoss says in a placating tone. “I’ll deal with Hang when I get back. You guys stay and clean this shit up.”

  “Want the head?” Iron asks in a low voice.

  What the fuck kind of question is that?

  “What’d the dead man do?” Hoss asks with curiosity.

  Iron laughs at his question. I must have missed the joke because nothing about this situation is funny.

  “From what I got outta Hangar, the guy told him ‘no’ and it pissed him off.”

  “Christ!” Hoss bellows, now angry. “No, leave his head attached. I gotta go.” Turning specifically to me, he gives instructions. “Help clean this shit up, keep your mouth shut, and we’ve got a deal. This’ll seal it in blood, so to speak.”

  Realizing this is a far cry from being used as a muscle man all those years ago, I close my eyes in quick regret. By helping with a body, I’m not only breaking the law, I’m immersing myself within Hoss’ hold completely. And I still have no proof any child in need of help even exists.

  She’s been there since she was born.

  Emma’s desperate words and Marie’s headstone pass through my thoughts right before I commit myself to another precarious life
choice.

  “Deal,” I answer, looking the devil directly in the eyes and watching his shadowed smirk fall into place.

  Son of a bitch.

  Now sitting on his bike, Hoss nods quickly then takes off, leaving the rest of us in the dust.

  I hear Iron exhale with his hasty exit. “So, you’re someone to Hoss?” he asks carefully.

  “Old friend of sorts, you could say.”

  “Interesting,” he returns, positioning the body for burial.

  Finally, after thirty minutes of silence, Wick’s gotten over his weak stomach and speaks. “I’m Wick,” he introduces.

  “Max,” I return with a casualness which I, in no way, feel.

  “Iron,” the man who had spoken earlier calls out. “Hoss never mentioned you,” he observes skeptically.

  “It’s been a while since he’s seen me around here. I knew him when I was a kid.”

  “Explains why you’re invited. He must trust you some. Are you a brother?”

  I know he’s asking if I’m now part of the club. The answer is simple. “No, just helping out for a while.”

  “Really must trust you,” Wick speaks again, this time in a jovial tone. “Wouldn’t fuck up, then. Hoss is patient with his boys, not so much with anyone on the outside—old friend or not.”

  “Let’s get this done,” I return, not wanting to discuss my deal with Hoss, or the reasons for it, with either of them.

  As the boys continue to move more brush near the body, a dead branch catches on it and moves the sheet. Bile rises in my throat as I take in what’s been done to him and all because he said ‘no’.

  The naked victim’s body has been carved. My insides twist with sickness as I see the large “M” left on his stomach and take in the gaping skin around where the knife dug in deep. In the dull light of the trucks headlights, I see his fingernail beds are bloody. Before dying, it appears he was tortured.

  “What’s the ‘M’? Hangar got a middle name?” I ask whoever will answer.

  “Mine.” The one word answer from Iron penetrates. Hangar must like men.