Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Margot
My consultation earlier in the week went well and I’ve been nonstop working on the arrangements, fighting with suppliers to get the right casket here, drafting the obituary, and preparing the legal paperwork. There are so many pieces involved in putting a funeral together, and I enjoy working my way through the chaos so the family doesn’t have to.
But by midweek, I hit a snag.
I can’t finalize any of the arrangements.
As much as I hate having to ask my father for assistance, I’m stumped.
I stop in his doorway. “Dad?”
He glances at me and sets his pen down. “What is it, Margot?”
“I still haven’t received a signed death certificate from the medical examiner’s office for Mrs. Baker.”
“Did you call them?”
I grit my teeth. Why does he always assume I messed up? “Yes, but they won’t give me a straight answer and can’t tell me when they’ll release the body. Has that happened to you before?”
His eyebrows draw down, deep furrows lining his forehead. “Only in unusual circumstances. Let me call and check.”
It’ll burn my ass if the cranky old medical examiner gives my father answers he wouldn’t give me. But we need that certificate. No certificate means no burial.
He picks up the phone on his desk and dials the number from memory. I drop into the chair in front of Dad’s desk and slide my hands over the wrinkles in my dress pants.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I discreetly pull it out.
Jigsaw: Missing you.
How can two simple words instantly quell my anxiety.
Me: Miss you too. Weird day here. In a meeting with Dad.
Jigsaw: Call me later.
I wish I could call him now. His voice, his presence, have a way of grounding me.
“Yes, Ed.” Dad’s sharp tone pulls my attention away from Jigsaw’s text. “We’ve already spoken with the family. We’re in a holding pattern, waiting for that certificate, though.”
I slip my phone back into my pocket and lean forward.
His eyes widen and he rubs a spot in the middle of his forehead—a sure sign that whatever the examiner’s explanation is, it’s giving him a headache.
“You’re kidding? I thought she was…” He exhales sharply. “No, I understand. Please keep Margot updated. Thanks, Ed.”
He rests the phone in its cradle, his fingers still lingering on the receiver as he stares at me. “They’re not releasing her because they found something suspicious.”
“Suspicious?” I blink. “What? Her niece didn’t mention any concerns.”
Dad stares at the phone. “Apparently her doctor raised some questions. She had a large estate, and he said she’d just had a physical and was in excellent health.”
“Dad,” I say with tired patience. “How many times do we hear that? We both know after eighty, it’s a gamble whether you wake up every day or not.”
His lips purse in disapproval. “You’re awfully cynical.”
I reach for the file on his desk and flip through the documentation, studying the death report. In the corner of the folder a scribbled note in my father’s handwriting reads— D, ref.
“She didn’t have a lot of family. Her niece says most of the estate is going to charity. Is this doctor upset he’s not in the will or something?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Well, this doctor just made my week a whole lot more difficult.
“I’ll call Colleen and let her know we may need to pick a different date.”
“Just say there’s a backlog at the medical examiner’s office. Don’t mention anything about the doctor raising suspicions.”
“Of course.” I’m not stupid, Dad.
I glance at the address in the file one more time. The street name sounds familiar. But I can’t place it.
“All right,” I murmur, pushing my annoyance at the delay aside. “While I’m waiting, I’ll help Paul with the Allen case.”
“That would be good.” He flips open the planner on his desk. “I have a consultation at nine tomorrow I’d like you to sit in on.”
I hesitate. “Okay. Any particular reason?”
He closes his calendar with a decisive thud. “No, you’ll understand once you meet them.”
Jigsaw
The problem with our upstate and downstate charters being so intertwined these days? Being called for church twice in one week. Not that it didn’t happen before, but it seems to be the norm instead of the exception lately.
Rooster and I ride up together. I’ve missed this. We’ve ridden together for so long that we automatically move in sync. Weaving through traffic, a slight dip of his shoulder and I know to anticipate a lane change. We learned how to ride together. Friends of his uncle taught us, then brought us into the club out in Washington. Years of club runs, high-speed chases, back roads cruising, highway miles—we’ve done it all.
We arrive at Upstate early and back our bikes in close to the clubhouse.
“Surprised we’re not meeting at the new clubhouse in Empire,” I say to Rooster. “It would cut, what—thirty minutes off for the guys coming from Union.”
“I’ll let you suggest that to Rock.” He sets his helmet on the seat, then tips his head back, staring at the cold, gray sky. “I’d rather be here, honestly. It’s crowded and noisy down there.” He side-eyes me. “What’s wrong, you longing to hit up Crystal Ball after church?”
“Fuck no. I helped Dex out the other night and remembered all the reasons I’m not interested anymore.”
He rumbles with laughter, shaking his head as he circles around the bikes to meet me.
The skitter of a stone over pavement is the only warning I get before a thick, inked arm snakes around my throat and yanks me back into a viselike grip.
“What the—ack! Fuck,” I choke out.
Rooster—asshole that he is—busts up laughing.
“Look who it is bright and early, my two favorite fucknuggets,” Wrath says against my ear.
“Not…feeling…the…love, brother,” I gasp.
“You should be able to get out of this move easily,” he taunts. “I thought you were a master cage fighter?”
“He meant masturbator,” Rooster adds, grinning like a dick.
I roll my eyes, or at least I try to, seeing as Wrath’s forearm is steadily cutting off my oxygen.
“I don’t want to hurt you, bro,” I manage.
Wrath shakes with laughter, his chest rumbling against my back, his hold shifting just enough to cut my air further.
He asked for it.
I plant my feet and immediately go for his wrist, gripping it hard. Instead of fighting against his strength, I drop my weight while twisting my torso sideways, pulling his arm forward as I duck under it.
It’s not the cleanest or the prettiest escape, but I break free, gasping for air as I put some distance between us.
“Not bad.” Wrath shakes out his wrist, rolling his shoulders like he’s evaluating my technique. “Figured you’d go for the knee sweep.”
That would have been better. Damn, I’m getting rusty . “Told you I didn’t want to hurt you, old man .”
He wags a finger in my face. “ Old man who just almost put you to sleep in the driveway.”
Rooster snorts. “This how you’re planning to greet us for church now?”
“Just trying to teach you situational awareness.” He reaches out and slaps Rooster’s cheek a few times. “Always be prepared.”
I pat the hunting knife strapped to my belt. “Bro, you came at me on the street like that, I’m not using an evasive maneuver, I’m straight-up stabbing you.”
Wrath’s eyes glint with amusement. “Duly noted.”
Great, he took that as a challenge.
A rustling in the trees grabs our attention, and Z, Rock, and Murphy emerge from the woods, making their way toward us.
“Aw, what’s wrong, big boy?” I ask Wrath in a high-pitched baby voice. “You weren’t invited to the presidential summit?”
“No, he heard you two coming and ran through the woods like Tarzan to ambush you,” Z explains, lazily circling his arm in the air.
Wrath crosses his arms over his chest and nods.
“You need to get out more,” I suggest, shaking my head. “Socialize with people. Go on some playdates or something.”
He screws his face into a mask of pure disgust. “I see enough people at work.”
Rock, Murphy, and Z step into our circle, exchanging looks.
“A heads-up woulda been nice, Prez,” I say, slapping Z’s shoulder, “that fuckin’ Tarzan was coming to get me.”
Z smirks wide enough to show off dimples. “I wasn’t sure which one of you he was gonna target.”
“Thanks, Prez,” Rooster says.
I lace my hands behind my back and rock onto my heels—the picture of innocence. “So, did Z fill you in on Stella’s hundred-and-one men in one day film proposal?”
Murphy turns to the side and gags. “What the fuck?”
Z shoots me a glare.
Rock arches an eyebrow, then shrugs. “You know what? I don’t wanna know.” He holds up a hand, already done with the conversation. “I’m not volunteering as security for that gig.”
“We voted it down ,” Z says, his glare still locked on me.
“Why…How…What?” Murphy sputters.
“It’s as disgusting as you think,” Rooster says.
A thunderous chorus of bikes echoes up the driveway. “Guess that’s the rest of Downstate,” I shout to Rooster.
It’s not just Downstate, though. Dex is at the front of the pack.
He parks in the garage and jogs over to us. “I was worried I was going to be late. Had the inspector down at Crystal Ball.”
“What inspector?” Z asks.
“Fucking fire marshal,” Dex mutters, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “It was just a routine check.”
“Was it Keegan?” Wrath asks.
“No.” Dex shrugs. “Wouldn’t have mattered. That guy’s un-bribable.” He grins. “And it didn’t matter. There weren’t any issues for him to ding us on. He wanted to give me a hard time about the back door since we prop it open a lot, but it’s clearly marked. And obviously if we’re propping it open, people can get out if they need to.” He lifts his chin and taps his fist on my arm. “Thanks for helping me get ready for the inspection.”
“Any time, brother.”
A few of the other guys walk over to us and Rock lifts his arm, waving everyone toward the clubhouse. “Let’s go inside.”
We file straight into the war room.
I take a seat on the far side of the middle of the table, between where Rock’s guys usually sit and where our downstate brothers sit. Seems like an appropriate spot given how I’ve been splitting up my time lately.
I reach across the table and slap Eazy’s hand, then Butcher’s as they take their seats.
Sparky shuffles in and lifts his chin at me before sprawling on the couch tucked into a corner at the end of the table.
“All right.” Rock stands at the head of the table. “Settle down.”
The door pushes open and Grinder hurries inside, walking straight to the empty chair on Z’s right-hand side.
“Where you been, G?” I tease as he squeezes behind my chair.
He flicks the back of my head in response and keeps moving.
“Welcome to our downstate brothers,” Rock starts off the meeting. “I’m going to run through a few of our matters, then turn things over to Z.”
Z’s eyebrows shoot up in a what now expression.
“Dex—fire marshal visit to Crystal Ball?” Rock asks. Even though we already discussed it outside not everyone was there.
“It was good. No issues. I think the guy was disappointed.” He glances down to the end of the table. “All the recent upgrades met with his approval.”
“Good.” Z nods.
“And,” Dex adds. “I want to say thanks for letting me borrow Jiggy. He was a big help in getting stuff moved and out of the way.”
I curl my arm and slap my bicep. “You know it.”
Rock goes over a few more things that only concern his guys. Finally, he glances up. “I’ve got a meeting with Loco. He’s specifically asked for Z, Grinder, and Rooster to join me.”
“Aww, he doesn’t want to see my pretty face?” Teller jokes.
“I told him you’re busy,” Rock says, still looking down the table at Z.
“Yeah, all right. When?” Z asks.
“Sometime this week. I’ll let you know when I’ve got a date.”
Z’s silent for a few seconds. “I’ll probably just stay up here at the cabin, then.” He points at Dex. “Promised Dex I’d watch CB for him while he and Emily are away.”
“Thank you, brother,” Dex says. “Girls will be very excited to see your pretty face.”
“The ones who even remember him,” Ravage adds. “We’ve had a lot of turnover since he was there.”
Z grinds his teeth. “Can’t wait,” he says in the least excited tone possible.
“Uh, Lilly all right with you working at Crystal Ball?” Hustler asks. “I mean, I can do it if…”
“Worry about your own wife, bro,” Z snaps. “Oh, wait, you don’t have one.”
“Ouch.” Hustler claps his hands to his cheeks. “That stung.”
We run through a list of other items, then Rock excuses everyone except the officers.
I’m already halfway to standing. “RC’s too?” As I’m asking the question, I note Dex’s ass still firmly planted in his seat.
Fuck.
Rock points to my cut. “That road captain patch just for decoration?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.” He nods to the vacant chair next to Murphy. “Come sit your ass down.”
“Clown,” Rooster mutters against my ear.
“Dickface.”
Once we’re all rearranged, Rock nods to Wrath.
Elbows on the table and hands clasped together, he leans on the table like we’re about to discuss a bank heist.
This should be good.
“I have a source who says when Griff’s done with that shitshow reality nonsense he’s going to be offered a pro fight in Vegas.”
“No shit.” Murphy whistles and sits back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You think this is an investment opportunity?” Teller asks.
Boy, he sure got there fast. Always looking for ways to make bank.
“I do.”
“Wait,” I cut in, frowning. “I’ve been helping out at Remy’s place, and he hasn’t mentioned it.”
“He doesn’t know yet. It’s not final. That’s why I didn’t want to discuss it in front of everyone yet,” Wrath explains. “Griff still has to agree to do it.”
“Not a chance he’s saying no to that,” Murphy says, shaking his head.
“Did you watch the show?” Dex leans forward, expression twisted with disgust. “From the bits I saw, it’s fucking awful. Doesn’t have much to do with fighting. I tried to warn him…”
Wrath shakes his head as if that part’s unimportant. “The fights they did show? He’s by far the best fighter in the whole house.” He points at Murphy, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Reminds me of you when you were younger. If you’d been more disciplined.”
Murphy bristles. “Well, I didn’t have the luxury of being disciplined when I was younger.”
“Easy, Jolly Green. It wasn’t an insult.”
I jerk my thumb at Murphy. “Is that new? Are we calling him Jolly Green now, because I can get on board with that.”
Wrath’s deep laugh shakes the table.
“Is there a point to all of this?” Z asks.
“Yes, there’s a point.” Wrath nods to Teller. “Bishop Babymaker was right.”
Teller groans.
I grin. Glad that stuck.
“It’s an investment opportunity,” Wrath says slowly, like he’s trying to dazzle us. “Griff will be the underdog. The odds will be against him.”
“Because he’s unproven,” Grinder points out.
Wrath’s already shaking his head. “Yeah, in a professional cage, sure. But he’s been fighting for years. Fought for his life at The Castle.”
Teller’s jaw tightens. “They should’ve burned that place to the ground.”
“ Now he’s been professionally trained, and he’ll have to train nonstop for that fight,” Wrath continues. “Plus, he still needs money. Once the government takes its bite of whatever shitty prize money he wins, he won’t have the nest egg he wants.”
“What does any of this have to do with us?” Rock asks in his usual move it along tone.
“I think we should nurture this opportunity,” Wrath says. If he were a cartoon character, there’d be dollar bill signs in his eyes. “Offer our support. Offer our protection at the fight.”
“You want the whole club to swarm into Vegas?” Z asks, raising an eyebrow. “The club we don’t name still runs that territory. We show up in force there, law enforcement will be all over both clubs.”
“No, not the whole club,” Wrath says. “I’m sure Remy and Eraser will be there. We only need a couple more guys who Griff can trust to have his back.”
“Dawson’s really into MMA,” Rooster chimes in. “ Watching the fights,” he clarifies with an eye roll. “Betting.”
“Does that guy have his own personality?” Hustler asks.
“Yes,” I answer in a dry tone. “Being so stupid-rich that he picks up hobbies like babies pick up seashells.”
Rooster rolls his head to the side and gives me the questioning eyebrow/eye roll combo.
“What?” I shrug. “It’s true.”
“Weird comparison, but okay,” Z says.
“He goes to Vegas all the time,” Rooster says. “I’ll ask him what the security situation is at those events.”
“I know what it’s like.” Wrath circles a finger in the air. “Those fights are on pay-per-view, you know.”
“Yeah, that’s not the same,” Murphy says. “Some of those so-called pro fighters are gutter rats. Griff might not get a warm welcome as an outsider. They don’t air all the squabbles that go on backstage between the fighters and their entourages.”
I pull back and stare at Murphy. “Look at Jolly Green with the big words today.”
“Fuck off.” Murphy laughs and punches my shoulder.
“Exactly.” Wrath nods like he’s happy someone’s finally getting his point. “We should be there to make sure no one fucks with him.”
“The odds will be so against him, the payoff could be huge. If he pulls it off,” Teller says, practically salivating at the thought of a major influx of cash. He turns to Rock. “We could take a portion of club funds.”
“You want to bet club funds on a fight ?” Rock asks with a raised eyebrow, clearly not sold on the idea.
Teller dials back his enthusiasm. “Let’s see what Wrath finds out. Obviously, I’d ask for a vote. I wouldn’t touch club funds for something like that without approval. And I wouldn’t risk more than we can afford to lose.”
Rock scowls at him. “I know that.”
“I’m in.” I raise my hand like someone’s taking attendance. Margot said she wanted to travel. Maybe our first trip together will be Vegas.
“Let’s get a date and more information first,” Rooster says. “But I’ll probably go too.”
“If Remy’s going, I assume he’ll need someone to watch the bar,” Dex says. “I’ll do that for him.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing Vegas,” Grinder says with a casual shrug. “And I’d like to support the kid after everything he’s done for me.”
“Good.” Wrath slaps the table. “That’s all I wanted. See if there’s interest and if Teller thinks it’s worth an investment.”
“Wait a minute.” I hold up my finger. “Is this why you greeted me with a choke hold?” I swivel my head between Rock and Z. “Is attacking us his new way of saying hello from now until Vegas?”
“I told you.” Wrath grins, pure evil. “Situational awareness.”
“Oh, it’s on motherfucker,” I promise.
“All right.” Rock slaps the table, signaling the conversation’s over. “This could be interesting.” He nods toward Wrath. “Thanks for bringing it to the table.”
But Wrath’s distracted with his phone lighting up. He scowls at the screen. “Let me take this,” he mutters, already pushing away from the table.
Rock stands and dismisses everyone.
Rooster and I stop in the living room.
“Vegas, huh. It’s been a while.” Rooster slaps my chest. “You remember our first long ride? Boone and his buddies taking us through Nevada? Supposed to be this epic scenic three-day ride?—”
“And my balls went numb on day one?”
Rooster barks out a laugh. “Well, yeah. Same. But when we reached that town with?—”
“The biblical plague of crickets everywhere!” I shudder with disgust. “I can still hear the crunchy noise they made when we ran over them. Felt like driving on gravel.”
“There had to be millions of them on the road.” Rooster shakes his head. “Remember the woman at the gas station telling us they used snowplows to get them off the road.”
“No, I remember her warning us that bikers wipe out every year because the road gets slick from all the cricket goo.”
“And the guys thought she was full of shit, and we kept going.”
“Jesus, it was like rolling through a massacre.”
Rooster closes his eyes and runs his hand over his face. “Oh, the smell.”
“Rotting fish and zombie brains.” That’s the only way I’ve ever been able to describe it. “That shit stuck to my tires forever. Fucking disgusting.”
Rooster shakes his head. “I know he was a good friend to Boone, but Monkeybutt was the worst road captain. That’s not the only time he made a bad call.”
My mouth turns down at the memory. “Yeah, he fucked around one too many times and found out the hard way.”
After a moment of silence, I ask Rooster, “We’re not riding out if we go out for the fight, right? Wrath can’t take that kind of time from Furious.” And I can’t get Margot on the back of my bike for a ride down the block. She’s definitely not riding cross-country with me.
“Doubt it.” He raises his eyebrows. “Maybe we can borrow Dawson’s private jet.”
“In your dreams,” I scoff.
Behind us, the war room door opens.
“Jiggy, fuck I’m glad you’re still here,” Wrath says, his scowl deeper than usual.
I turn toward him. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to head out to Margot’s. Now.”