Chapter 10
10
Jagger
“ Y ou’re not going to like this,” Diesel says as he gets off the phone with his buddy in the sheriff’s department. “They don’t have a last known address for Calvin.”
“That can’t be,” Knox mutters. “He’d have had to file something with the courts.”
We’re seated at our usual booth in the clubhouse by the window. It’s the southern corner, giving us a full view of the place—we see everything that comes in and out. At this hour, there’s barely anyone, and they’re all MC members or close friends enjoying a hot, greasy breakfast.
The smell of bacon and pancakes and maple syrup does soothe my senses, though my appetite is nowhere to be found. Coffee has been enough for the past couple of hours. I should eat, though, so I text Roddie in the kitchen with an order for the three of us.
“He’s in the wind,” Diesel says. “The motherfucker is in the wind.”
“What about his parole officer?” I ask.
“My guy can’t reach him. He’s gonna keep trying and let me know.”
Knox curses under his breath. “Calvin is not a fucking ghost. We need to pin him down. He sleeps somewhere. He eats somewhere. He bathes somewhere.”
“I checked every halfway house and motel in the entire district,” Diesel says. “Our guys watched those places for days. He didn’t pop up anywhere.”
“He only pops up when he wants to be seen,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “He’s doing it on purpose. Calvin knows we’re watching. He knows we’re keeping Robyn and Kyra close. It’s a strategy. He’s waiting to see how far we’re willing to reach. Waiting for a soft spot.”
“There is no soft spot,” Diesel scoffs.
Knox shakes his head. “There is. There’s two of them, actually.”
“Robyn and Kyra,” I sigh deeply. “Fair enough.”
“But we’ve got eyes on them. Calvin can’t get anywhere near them,” Diesel insists.
“We all know that’s not enough,” I say. “But the best we can do is keep digging. He’ll slip up at some point. Calvin is anything but a criminal mastermind. Someone’s helping him. I’m sure of it. We’ll figure him out. Until then, we keep tight ranks and eyes on Robyn and Kyra at all times.”
“We also move on with our business,” Knox says, opening his laptop. Diesel and I lean forward as he turns it around on the table so the three of us can see the screen. He pulls up a few graphs and a spreadsheet. “The transport routes are doing well. Better in the third quarter, I’ll say.”
“That looks encouraging,” I reply, recognizing the figures and their rise from one column to the next. “What about the times per delivery?”
“Those are still dependent on routes and traffic. The inner-city deliveries all over Oregon take longer,” Knox says.
He’s about to delve deeper into the financial aspect when I hear the front door open and close with a dramatic thud. I look up, somehow expecting to see Calvin walk in. I don’t know why. I’m just itching to bash his face in, much like Knox and Diesel.
The man in the navy-blue suit walking toward us doesn’t soothe my inner tension. In fact, he looks pissed. “Knox Berlanti?” he asks with a low, husky voice.
“That’s me,” Knox says, giving him a curious glance.
“And you must be Jason McKenna and Diesel Voight. Did I get that right?”
“You can call me Jagger,” I say.
“Who the fuck are you?” Diesel says, ever the straight shooter.
We don’t get up; we just sit back and measure the guy from top to bottom. He’s in his mid-fifties. The suit and windbreaker scream Federal. The lack of hair and sharp-smelling cologne whisper small dick energy. I’m guessing middle management that might turn out to be a massive pain in our asses. This guy exudes bad vibes that spell trouble.
“Agent Frank Spalding,” the man says and whips out a badge. “DEA.”
“DEA. No shit?” Diesel mutters and reaches for the agent’s badge. “Can I see it?”
“Why?”
“What if it’s a fake?”
I stifle a smirk as I watch Spalding’s stern face drop for a hot second. Yet he doesn’t object. He gives Diesel the badge and focuses his attention on Knox and me. “I’m here on official business,” Spalding says.
Only now do I notice the black bag on his shoulder. He sets it on the edge of my seat and takes out a package wrapped in yellow plastic, bearing a tag that reads EVIDENCE.
“We figured that much with you walking in here and waving this around,” Diesel says and lets the badge drop on the table. “What do you want? The statute of limitations on any illegal activities the Rogue Riders MC may have been involved with has expired. We gave every fucking Federal agency every piece of information we had for every half-assed investigation you tried to shove down our throats.”
“It’s been quiet over the past couple of years,” Knox calmly remarks. “How can we be of assistance, Agent Spalding?”
“Well, I am not a bearer of any good news,” Spalding replies and takes what looks like a black leather vest out of the evidence bag. My stomach drops as I recognize the Rider insignia sewn on it. “We busted a drug smuggling operation a few miles down from here, linking Oregon to Northern California. About seventy kilos of heroin were seized in the process, but the drivers got away. We were able to arrest one of the men, though, and he was wearing this.”
He lets the vest drop on the table with a flick of his wrist as though simply holding it fills him with disgust.
“What’s this?” Knox asks, simply staring at the vest.
Cautiously, I turn it over and start checking the patches one by one. The more I observe, the more my stomach lurches because the stitchwork looks original. These are our patches—or so they seem at a glance.
“I was hoping you could tell me as leaders of the Rogue Riders MC. That’s what it says on the back of the vest, doesn’t it?” Spalding asks.
“Who is this supposed Rider you arrested?” I ask.
Spalding shrugs. “He won’t talk.”
“How convenient,” Diesel cuts in. “None of our riders are involved in any illegal activities. That, I can personally guarantee.”
“Oh, can you?” Spalding asks, sounding downright skeptical and pointedly ignoring the first question.
Diesel leans forward, nowhere near as impressed by the vest as I am. I can’t take my eyes off the damn thing. It doesn’t make sense. We worked so hard to rid the club of the criminal element, to start anew and take the Riders in a different direction. I simply can’t make heads or tails of this.
Inside, my guts are on fire.
“As a matter of fact, I can, Agent Spalding,” Diesel says. “As I’m sure you’re aware, our club’s history may have been stained in previous decades by various illicit activities, but ever since we came back from the service and took over, the Rogue Riders have turned over a new leaf.”
“Yeah, I heard that story. Personally, I call bullshit,” Spalding says.
“Then you’re disrespecting us as veterans, sir,” Knox says and stands up with squared shoulders and a muscle ticking furiously in his jaw. “We didn’t serve this country for years overseas just to come back and tarnish it with drug-running operations and whatever the hell else this club was suspected of. We made sure all of our operations were legitimate. And that is easily proved. I can provide your office with the documentation you need.”
“I need a full list of your club members, for starters,” Spalding shoots back, hands resting on his hips. “With contact details and last known addresses.”
“Sure,” Diesel says. “Do you have a warrant?”
Spalding gives him a sour look. “Are you really going to go there?”
“We’re law-abiding citizens, Agent Spalding,” Knox says. “We cannot simply divulge our members’ personal information without proper paperwork.”
“But I can tell you right now that I run background checks on every prospect looking to become a Rogue Rider,” Diesel adds. “And given the club’s past brushes with the law, I’ve made it quite clear that those who are still active in the criminal field are not welcome. Our men are clean, Agent.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Spalding says, then points at the vest. “In the meantime, I know one of you fuckers just tried to bring seventy kilos of heroin into my state. And I also know that while I can’t arrest all of you right now, I will come back with a warrant, and then I’ll turn this entire shithole upside down.”
Diesel smiles broadly. “I think you need to prove this patchwork is legitimate Rogue Riders MC material. It doesn’t look like it.”
It doesn’t? I glance at him, but my expression is blank. I’m not sure if he’s bluffing.
“My partner makes a fair point,” Knox chimes in. “Anyone with a good stitcher handy can pull these patches off. All they need are images of our vests, and there are plenty of those on our website.”
“I’ll have our lawyer reach out to the DEA and the district attorney,” I say, picking up on what Knox and Diesel are playing at. “They’ll liaise with you regarding the scope of any warrant you might want to bring over. I’m not convinced this vest did, in fact, come from a club member.”
“You’re just digging yourselves into a deeper hole, you realize that, right?” Spalding says and gives me a sour look, clearly pissed he’s not getting his way.
Diesel leans back in his chair, feigning amusement. “What did you think would happen? That you’d just walk right in, and we’d roll over for you? I’m telling you, Agent, our guys had nothing to do with any drug running. If anything, we’ve been assisting the sheriff in his efforts to keep Redwood and the entire district clear of such activities.”
“You can ask him yourself,” Knox adds.
I don’t like this. I don’t like the fact that Spalding is here. Mainly because I don’t believe in coincidences. Calvin gets released on parole. Rumors of drug trafficking and the Hughes family rise again in the area. And now this? No, there’s a link somewhere, and we need to find it before the DEA. Our club’s future and our livelihoods may be at stake.
“I will. And rest assured, I’ll be back,” Agent Spalding says. He takes the vest, then shoves it back in his bag and leaves a card on the table.
Diesel looks unimpressed. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
“I’ll enjoy slapping the cuffs on you, in particular,” the agent replies, then walks off.
Silence falls heavily in his wake. I feel as though I can even breathe again once he’s out of the clubhouse.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask, exhaling sharply.
“That was definitely our patchwork,” Knox frowns.
Diesel’s lips curl with genuine disgust. “Either somebody’s trying to frame the Riders or we’ve got a dirty fucker in our ranks.”
Either way, we can’t let this go without an investigation.