BEAST: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  I notice that of the dozen or so people here, Joyce is the only woman.

  “Chief Crup will see you now,” Joyce murmurs, coming back outside. She’s no longer carrying my card, so I’m assuming she gave it to him.

  “Thank you,” I smile.

  “Oh, would you like some coffee?” she asks, flustered, as though she’s remembering her manners.

  “I’m fine,” I reassure her. Joyce steps back, letting me pass, and I push open the door to the chief’s office.

  Chief Brandt Crup stands up to greet me. He’s holding my card in his left hand as he reaches out his right to shake mine. He’s a fairly nondescript man, medium build. I’d place him somewhere in his early forties. He’s got a bit of a paunch, which causes the buttons on his blue shirt to pull ever-so-slightly.

  “Agent… Brentano,” he greets me, glancing at my card. His face is expressionless. “What can I do for you?”

  The first thing that strikes me about him is his overly officious air — an attitude that is enhanced by the multiple framed pictures on his wall shaking hands and smiling with various men in suits. Pillar of the community, I muse to myself ironically.

  “I’m sorry to show up more or less unannounced, Chief Crup,” I begin. Normally, I don’t apologize when I’m working — for anything. As a female FBI agent, I’m already operating at a disadvantage by people who don’t take me as seriously as they would a male agent. But there’s something about this man that makes me instinctively decide to proceed carefully. His rigid posture tells me he’s already on his guard. By softening — feminizing — my approach, I’m hoping to get him to relax that a little.

  “Not at all,” he replies magnanimously, motioning for me to sit down. His shoulders loosen just a hair. Bingo.

  “I’m here from the Cleveland field office,” I continue, sliding into a seat opposite him. “I’ve been assigned to follow up on a call we got from a citizen in your community.”

  “What sort of call?” He leans back in his chair and gives me an indulgent smirk.

  This is where it gets tricky. I’m under no obligation to give Chief Crup any information. In fact, there’s nothing saying I even need to have this conversation at all. FBI agents are not required to work with, or even inform, local law enforcement of their comings and goings. Often, they don’t.

  But I know Tanner Springs — at least, I used to. A small town like this, it doesn’t take long before people notice a stranger walking around, and start asking questions. I made a calculated decision to tell the PD I’m here, before someone sees me sniffing around and calls them.

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” I reply, stepping carefully. “It’s very possibly a false tip. But the agency has a duty to follow up on it anyway. I’m just letting you know I’ll be here in town for a few days.”

  Chief Crup’s eyes narrow, just a hair. It’s clear he doesn’t like the fact that I’m keeping him in the dark.

  “If you let us know what’s going on, I could assign an officer to you,” he suggests, peering at me. “Help you out, show you around town.”

  I don’t offer that I’m not a stranger to Tanner Springs. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

  Crup is not impressed with my answer. “Where’d you say you’re from? Which field office?”

  “Cleveland.”

  “Little lady,” he begins, leaning forward. He puts his elbows on the desk, and fists one hand into the other below his chin. “I’m sure Tanner Springs sure ain’t Cleveland. But you might find you’ll want some backup with you when you go around confronting strangers.” He gives me an indulgent smile. “People here don’t always take kindly to outsiders. You take one of my men along with you, the citizens of our fair city might be a lot more likely to talk to you.”

  And you’ll be able to keep an eye on me, I think.

  In my experience, local PDs run the gamut from cooperative, to indifferent, to hostile when confronted with the FBI entering their turf.

  Looks like this one’s gonna be hostile.

  And sexist, to boot.

  It’s probably just that he’s one of those guys with some sort of superiority complex. He likes being in charge. Likes the people around them to take a deferential attitude.

  Still, there’s something going off inside my head as I stare at him. A tiny alarm bell, sounding somewhere in the far-off reaches of my brain.

  I tamp down the urge to knock him down a peg or two, and try to see the situation from my advantage. Since I’m a younger woman, it’s possible he’ll just dismiss me as incompetent or unimportant. And then he’ll leave me alone.

  “I can handle myself, thank you, Chief.”

  His smile fades a little. “Well,” he says dubiously, “suit yourself. But let me know if you change your mind.” He stands up, clearly indicating we’re done here. “How long did you say you’ll be in town?”

  “Not long. A few days, probably.”

  “Anything I should know? Anything you’re at liberty to tell me?” he asks, his tone slightly mocking.

  “Not at the moment. I’ll be in touch if that changes.”

  I leave Chief Crup’s office, feeling unsettled without quite knowing why. To be honest, this is about how I would have expected our conversation to go. But still. Something tells me if I don’t treat the chief of the Tanner Springs PD with kid gloves, I might have more interference from him and his men than I bargained for.

  7

  Beast

  Huh. Trudy and Rock are on the outs.

  Now that Angel mentions it, I guess Rock has been sleeping at the club a lot lately. It’s not unusual for him to stay in his apartment in the clubhouse. Especially if we party into the night, or if one of the club girls catches his eye that evening. I never noticed he was there every night, though.

  Not that it’s any of my fuckin’ business. But I like Trudy, even though she’s kind of rough around the edges. For her to be mad at Rock, he must have fucked up big-time with her. Hell, for as long as I’ve known her, she’s always taken the club stuff in stride. She’s the old lady of an MC prez, after all. She knows Rock is no saint. Shit, she even knows he’s been fucking our club girl Tammy on the regular for a while. But Trudy’s always looked the other way at Rock’s indiscretions.

  I don’t ask Angel anything else about the situation, though. As long as shit continues as usual in the club, I keep my nose out of everyone else’s private life.

  “I’m gonna call church when we get back to the clubhouse,” Angel tells me as we climb onto our bikes. “I need to make sure everyone knows about Rock. And since he ain’t gonna be going on the run with us tomorrow, I need to make sure everyone’s on the same page about how it’s gonna go down.”

  “Understood.” I was planning on stopping at home after this, but instead I follow Angel’s lead out of the hospital ramp and ride with the others back to the clubhouse. When we get there, I head immediately to the bar and ask Jewel to grab me a beer and pour me a shot of whiskey.

  “Long day?” she asks with a smile as she reaches into the cooler.

  “Holy shit, yes,” I mutter. She takes the cap off the beer and sets it in front of me, then pours some amber-colored liquid into a shot glass.

  “You may as well leave the bottle,” I tell her. “I’m gonna want a couple of these.”

  “You got it.” Jewel sets the whiskey down next to my beer and moves down the bar to grab a drink for someone else.

  “Hey, brother.” Gunner’s voice behind me makes me turn around. Eyeing the whiskey bottle, he reaches across the counter and grabs a shot glass for himself. “Looks like you got the right idea.”

  “You got that right.” I watch as he pours himself a drink. “How’d things go with Lemmy?”

  Gunner grimaces. “Oh, fuck. I managed to get him back home. He’s sleepin’ it off. At least, I hope he’s still asleep.” He slams the whiskey back and sets the shot glass on the counter. “Thanks for helpin’ me out with him.”

  “No worries.
How was Alix’s appointment with the doc?”

  At this change in subject, Gunner breaks into a broad grin. “Good. Doc says she’s about ready to pop.” He laughs. “Well, he didn’t exactly say it that way. But everything’s lookin’ good. Baby’s pointing in the right direction. The doc measured a bunch of shit I didn’t follow, but apparently that’s good too.”

  “How’s Alix doing?”

  “Tired. Cranky. Has to pee all the time. Says she feels as big as a planet. But she’s doing great. I think she’s mostly looking forward to not being pregnant anymore. She wants to move on to the bein’ a mom thing.”

  “How about you?”

  “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kinda ready for it to be over, too.” Gunner grabs another shot. “I’m lookin’ forward to meetin’ the little bugger. And I wouldn’t mind gettin’ back to normal in the bedroom. The last few weeks Alix has been too scared to have sex, afraid we’ll hurt the baby. A man can only have so many blow jobs.”

  I crack up. “First world problems, brother. First world problems.”

  He starts laughing, too. “Yeah. They are pretty great blow jobs, too.”

  Down at the other end, Lug Nut is causing a scene trying to do some sort of weird plank thing off the side of the bar. Gunner catches me staring and snorts. “Eden’s been challenging him to do yoga.”

  Eden is Alix’s sister, and Lug Nut’s woman. She’s a recovered heroin addict. The club rescued her from a bunch of men who were trying to move her into prostitution. That’s how Alix and Gunner met. Gunner’s ma is the one who helped Eden detox and turn her life around. These days, Eden’s a yoga instructor at one of the local foofy health clubs.

  “Lug, what the fuck are you doing?” I yell. “You look like an asshole!”

  “What? Yoga’s fuckin’ hard!” Lug protests. “Eden can do this shit for longer than any of you fuckers can.”

  “Okay, Yogi,” Angel calls out from across the room. “Show and tell time’s over. And the rest of you, listen up. Church in five!”

  “Jewel!” I lift a finger at her. “I’ll take a beer for the road.”

  “Two,” Gunner adds.

  “Coming right up, gentlemen.”

  I take a second to appreciate our bartender’s fine ass as she bends over to grab us two more bottles. Damn.

  “Have a good meeting,” she replies as she sets them in front of us.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out a five-dollar bill, which I stuff into her tip jar. “Thanks, darlin’,” I nod. Turning to Gunner, I ask, “Shall we?”

  He drains his last shot and slams the glass on the counter. “Leave the bottle there, honey,” he says to Jewel. “We’ll be back.”

  “So, Rock’s gonna be laid up for a week or two. Maybe more,” Angel is saying. “Meantime, any problems or issues with the club, you come to me. Understood?”

  A murmur of assent is his response. “We still meeting up with the Outlaw Sons tomorrow?” Tank asks.

  “Yeah. No change on that. We go ahead as planned.” Angel’s jaw is set, his brow tense. The Outlaw Sons isn’t a club we’ve done business with before. They’re a club to the north of us, and there’s been some bad blood between us in the past. The Sons used to have a business partnership with a club we were at war with, called the Iron Spiders. We didn’t know what kind of product they moved back and forth between them — only that the partnership existed. Little by little, the war between the Spiders and our club heated up, and eventually exploded. In the end, the Lords of Carnage destroyed the Iron Spiders’ clubhouse and decimated their leadership. We ended their president, and all their officers. Since then, there’s been no trace of the Spiders in the area.

  A few weeks ago, Dragon, the president of the Outlaw Sons, approached Rock with a proposal to do business moving gun shipments with the Lords. Our club had gotten mostly out of gun running, until pretty recently when we struck up a deal with a club to our east, the Death Devils. We’ve been running for them for a little while now, and not looking to expand. But after talking to the prez of the Sons, Rock came back to the club and told us the terms they were offering were too good to refuse.

  Truth be told, the money in guns is always good, and less of a hassle than drugs for the most part. Our territory is directly to the south of the Outlaw Sons, so it stands to reason they want an open channel going through us. And apparently they’re willing to pay big for our cooperation.

  “They want us to run the guns for them, or just safe passage?” Hawk asks.

  “Little of both, dependin’ on what we say about it.”

  “If we’re runnin’ the guns through territory ourselves, we need to worry about keeping the law off our backs,” Ghost remarks. “Hope they’re willing to make it worth our time.”

  “Rock’s been talking to their prez some more about it. Tomorrow’s supposed to be a first face to face meeting, to hear them out, but Rock’s already given them what he considers our terms. I’m gonna go back to the hospital after this and talk to him some more. See what he’s said to ‘em already. Find out if there’s anything we should be prepared for.”

  Thorn nods. “Good plan.”

  “What time we meetin’ here tomorrow?” Sarge asks.

  Angel snorts. “You wantin’ to know how fucked up you can get tonight and still have time to sleep it off?”

  Sarge grins. “Might be.”

  Angel lifts his chin and looks around the table. “Be here by late morning. We take off from here at noon.”

  He bangs the gavel. The men stand. Someone opens the door to the chapel.

  “Let’s get back to that whiskey,” Gunner suggests.

  “What if Alix goes into labor while you’re here drinkin’ with us?”

  “She’s with Eden. The two of them are goin’ out for Mexican tonight. Besides, the doc said it’ll be at least a few weeks yet. I’ll get one of the prospects to hang around and stay sober just in case.” He claps an arm around my shoulder. “C’mon, brother. We got a bottle to finish.”

  Never one to turn down an offer to drink with one of my brothers, I follow Gunner back to our seats at the bar, where Jewel has set out two clean shot glasses for us. The rest of the night is a raucous blur of music, laughter, and a couple of drunken fights.

  By the time I stumble up to my apartment with one of the club girls in tow, I’ve managed to put both Rock’s heart attack and Brooke goddamn Brentano’s reappearance in Tanner Springs way the fuck out of my mind.

  8

  Brooke

  It’s Friday, so I place a call to my boss before he takes off for the day. I phone the line to his office, and get put on hold for the better part of five minutes. Finally, the line clicks and Special Agent Lafontaine’s voice comes over the line.

  “Lafontaine.”

  “It’s Agent Brentano, sir. I’m in Tanner Springs. Just checking in.”

  “Fine.” He sounds brusque and a little annoyed.

  “I’ve liaised with the chief of police here, Crup. On my way to talk to the source of the tip now.”

  “The police chief tell you anything useful?”

  “No. He was a little less than welcoming.”

  “Well,” Lafontaine replies with exaggerated patience, “You’ll just have to deal with that.”

  It feels as though he’s talking to a child. My blood starts to heat up, but I don’t rise to the bait.

  “I’ll do some rooting around over the weekend and contact you Monday with an update.”

  “Don’t feel there’s any need to keep in such constant contact unless you have anything real to report, Brentano.” He says in a clipped voice.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right.”

  The line goes dead. A sound of suppressed fury rises up in my throat. I hold up the phone and stick my tongue out at it — then hate myself for being the child that Lafontaine was treating me like.

  “God —!” I begin to swear, then shake my head
and snort in disgust. What the fuck is up his ass? I’m sick of his bullshit. I’m a goddamn FBI agent.

  And I feel like the errand girl who’s been sent out for an order of coffee that nobody wants.

  Speaking of coffee, I’m in the mood for some, if only to have something to give me a little mood boost. I spotted a little shop on Main Street in downtown earlier that looks promising, so I head in that direction. I park my car in front of the shop, which is called The Golden Cup, and treat myself to a medium skim latte to go. The woman behind the counter who serves me is an attractive redhead about my age, pleasant and efficient. The coffee ends up being delicious, too. My mood has improved slightly by the time I push out the door with my cup and get back in my car.

  The map app on my phone takes me to the address of the business whose owner filed the tip I’m here to check out. It ends up being in an aging strip mall, on the opposite side of town from my hotel.

  As I’m parking, I happen to glance in my rear view mirror. I catch a glimpse the logo of what I think is the Tanner Springs PD on the side panel of a car. Shifting in my seat, I peer through the back window just in time to notice a police car driving slowly past the mini-mall.

  Huh. Looks like I’ve got a babysitter.

  Of course, it could just be a coincidence. But in my line of work, I’ve learned that coincidences are few and far between. It looks like Chief Crup has assigned someone to keep an eye on my comings and goings.

  I wait until the cop car vanishes down the street. Then I push open my door and step out into the afternoon sun, taking my coffee with me. The sandwich shop I’m looking for is on one end of this mini-mall. The laundromat the business owner called us about is at the other end. I vaguely recall this mall from when I was younger. If I remember correctly, there used to be a video store here, and a nail salon, and a pet shop. Now, about a third of the businesses appear to be empty. Besides the sub shop, there’s an insurance place, and one of those twenty-four hour gyms. My car is one of the only ones in the lot.