Chapter 15
15
Diesel
P aulie confirms what Robyn told us the other day.
He was looking into it, if only to make sure Calvin wasn’t just using Marlo—or the other way around—to mess with Robyn in any way. I don’t trust anyone in the Hughes family as far as I can throw them, and the same goes for Calvin Russo.
“He’s working for Marlo Hughes,” Paulie says as we walk out of the clubhouse after a breakfast briefing with the other lieutenants. “Running errands around Redwood for her. Driving her around. He was seen going into meetings with her as well.”
“Meetings with whom?” I ask.
“Gang-affiliated individuals.”
I give Paulie a hard look. “You know what this means.”
“It could be just something Marlo is trying. It doesn’t mean it’ll work in her favor, not with so many of us keeping the district clean.”
“Has he reached out?” I reply, scanning the parking lot and the street beyond it.
Several cars are parked across from the club, and I don’t know any of them. They might belong to local folks working in the nearby office buildings, they could be law enforcement, or they could be someone else’s. Either way, my combat instincts have returned with a vengeance since we learned of a possible Calvin-Marlo alliance.
“Who? Calvin? No,” Paulie shakes his head.
We stop by our bikes, checking to make sure everything is in place. To say we’ve become paranoid would be an understatement, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.
“Not a single phone call. No text, nothing,” Paulie adds. “Jackie’s watching Robyn as we speak. I put one of the prospects in charge of the school, just to be safe. He’s discreet; no one’s gonna notice him, I promise.”
“Where is he stationed?”
“Just around the corner, but he’s got a clear view of both exits. He can see Kyra coming out either way.”
I nod slowly. “Good. Thank you for that.”
“Hey, man, don’t mention it. I’ll do anything to protect the club and Robyn and her little girl.”
“Yeah, you’ve proven yourself more than once. What pisses me off is that Nunzio couldn’t definitively say those were his patches,” I mutter. My gaze settles on a black SUV with someone sitting in the driver’s seat.
He’s looking right at us.
From this distance, I can’t make out the guy’s face.
“What are you looking at?” Paulie asks as he sees me staring.
I nod at the car. “See that SUV?”
“Yeah.”
“Stay here. Be ready for anything.”
“Want to call Knox or Jagger out?” he asks.
“No, sit tight. Eyes and ears wide open.”
I leave him by the hogs and make my way across the parking lot. As soon as he sees me coming, the driver rolls his window down and sticks his elbow out to rest his arm. He’s wearing a dark grey suit. Alright. I get closer and feel the dread clutching my stomach tighter and tighter with every step I take.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask Agent Frank Spalding upon reaching the SUV. “Stalking us?”
“Just keeping an eye on the place, Mr. Voight. There’s nothing illegal or unconstitutional about that.”
The tone of his voice irks me, but I can’t go to war with the DEA. Not when we’ve got so much riding on this club. However, I can’t roll over for this overzealous bastard either.
Glancing back at the clubhouse, I notice Knox and Jagger stepping out to join Paulie. I told him not to call them, dammit.
“So, what are you hoping to see, Agent?” I ask Spalding. “Truckloads of heroin coming in and out of the parking lot?”
“If I shake the tree hard enough, anything might fall out,” he quips.
“All of our paperwork is in order. Even our tax returns were filed on time. All of our members are clean, and the few who do have criminal records did their time, paid their debt to society. They’re reformed and compliant like the rest of us,” I say. “In fact, we went ahead and screened everyone again. Checked their alibis for the raid in question, and it’s starting to look like whoever you’ve got in custody is not one of ours.”
“You sound awfully sure, Mr. Voight.”
“I am, because we personally meet with and vet each of our members. I know every man and woman who bears our patches,” I say, then change the subject. “So, who did you arrest? I think I’m entitled to that information.”
Spalding scoffs, allowing himself a bitter smile as he measures me from head to toe. “A young fella by the name of Terrence Mason. Also known as Terry the Menace.”
“Terry the Menace?” I almost laugh. “By that nickname alone, he wouldn’t qualify to be a prospect, let alone a full-fledged Rogue Rider. He’s not one of ours.”
“Let me guess, you have detailed records of every club member.”
“Yes, sir. They pay their membership fees, and every single penny is reported to the IRS, year after year. I told you; the Rogue Riders are 100 percent legitimate.”
“Then I guess he borrowed that vest from someone? Maybe a club member? That would make said club member an accomplice,” Spalding replies.
I give him a wry smile. “Here’s the thing. We checked. Nobody’s missing a vest. Every member gets one vest with patches. Just one.”
“Interesting. And all of your members have sworn they still have theirs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bullshit,” Spalding says. “Tell you what, I’m just gonna keep sitting here and shaking the tree. Something else will fall out soon enough.”
“You might not like what falls out of this tree, Agent. We’re not easily scared.”
He looks around, also noticing my men gathering in the parking lot. Following his gaze, I see more of our Riders coming out, quietly watching us. The tension is so thick, I can almost feel the air crackling around my head, snapping, biting. It reminds me of a confrontation we had with a rebel leader back in Kandahar.
“All I’m seeing is a bunch of thugs in leather and jeans who took their motorcycle hobby to an extreme,” Spalding says. “While I have nothing but respect for our veterans, I know how hard it can be to make the switch back to a normal life once you’re back from the service. Some of you fail and end up on the wrong side of the law. And some of you lose a piece of yourselves overseas. You can’t get it back, and it makes you fucking ruthless.”
“Oh, so thank you for your service, but I think you’re all criminals,” I reply. “That’s what you’re saying?”
“Just stating what I know.”
“You know nothing about us. You have nothing to tie us to your drug bust except a vest that might very well be a fake, and some dude who—you didn’t even tell me, did Terry the Menace confirm that he’s a member of our MC?”
I see the change across Spalding’s face as he looks away. “He hasn’t said a word since I slapped the cuffs on him.”
“Has he asked for a lawyer at least?”
“I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation, but rest assured, sooner or later, I will be back with a warrant. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on the place, just to make sure you don’t remove any potentially incriminating evidence.”
I laugh hard. “Knock yourself out.” I can’t let him see anything other than nonchalance. At the slightest sign of distress, it’ll be like a shark catching the scent of blood in the water. “And if you’re hungry, you should order our lunch special. The burgers are something else. On the house, of course. The full Federal discount. Have a great day.”
Walking back toward the clubhouse, I can feel his glare drilling holes into my skull. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this bastard catch me looking back at him.
Once I’m back with my guys, I give Jagger and Knox a hard, dark look. “We need to pay that so-called Rider a visit. The sheriff should be able to tell us where they’re keeping him. I doubt he’s in the Portland field office.”
“No, he’s probably local,” Jagger says. “I’ll find out. Who’s the guy?”
“Terrence Mason,” I say. “Terry the Menace. He was wearing our patches when the DEA busted him with a truck full of heroin.”
Jagger chuckles. “The Menace…”
“Yeah, I know, it’s fucking ridiculous.” I shake my head slowly.
Fortunately for us, Sheriff Johnson comes through rather quickly with a confirmation of Terry’s whereabouts. Knox and I pull up outside the Harland Correctional Facility, giving our inside guy a minute to check his phone and read my text message. Twenty minutes later, he escorts us into the prison.
“Thank you for doing this, Bill,” I tell him as we follow him through the main corridor.
“Least I can do after all your help,” he says, using his security guard pass to get us through a series of secure doors before we reach the first level cells. “Lorena and the kids say hi, by the way. They’re looking forward to the next Easter egg hunt.”
Knox chuckles softly. “They loved it, huh?”
“All that chocolate, brother? It took them about a month to finish it,” Bill says. “Granted, Lorena made sure they didn’t raid the whole stock in one go.”
“Smart woman,” I say. “So where’s Terry?”
“Right down that hallway,” he replies, opening another door for us. “It’s where the DEA boys have us keep their catch of the day, as we call them.”
“Does anyone know we’re here?” Knox asks. I glance around. It’s pretty quiet at this hour.
Bill notices my concern and smiles. “Relax, Diesel. The inmates are out in the yard, and most of my colleagues are with them. This is a medium-risk facility, not much happens around here, especially with the DEA constantly coming in and out of the building.” He looks at Knox. “And no, they don’t know you’re here. You asked me to keep it on the down low, so I did.”
“We don’t want to get you in trouble,” I say.
He shakes his head. “You’re just here to talk to the guy, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Then no trouble as far as I’m concerned. Go. Talk to him. I’ll be right here, watching your six,” Bill says.
I give him a soft nod and head to the end of the corridor, passing several cells. Some of them are empty, others have a single occupant. By the looks of it, they don’t get yard privileges likely because they’re here on a temporary basis.
“I think they’re trying to flip them,” Knox says, almost reading my mind.
“Hence why they’re not letting them out in gen-pop. It makes sense. But you know what doesn’t make sense?” I ask, going over our previous interactions with Spalding. “He didn’t tell us who the guy was until I asked him earlier. Why is that?”
“Maybe Spalding knows this guy isn’t one of ours.”
“Or maybe he thought we’re keeping members on the down low. You know he’s already gone through all of our public records by now,” I say.
“Either way, it’s interesting, I’ll admit. Makes me all the more curious to see what Terry has to say.”
We reach the last cell. “Well, you can ask him yourself.” We find the guy sitting on the edge of his bed, flipping through a magazine. “Terry the Menace. As I live and breathe…”
“Who the hell are you?” Terry asks, but as soon as he sees us, he recognizes our patches, and the color drains from his freckled reddish face. “Oh, shit.”
“You can say that again,” I reply with a deadly grin. “Does he look familiar to you, Knox? ’Cause I sure as hell can’t remember him pledging for the Rogue Riders.”
Terry jumps from his bed and puts his back against the wall. The fear I see in his brown eyes is genuine. I can almost smell it on him. “I didn’t mean for things to get this far, I swear,” he mutters. “I swear to God.”
“It’s a little too late for that ’cause now you’ve got some explaining to do,” Knox says.
Terry thinks about it for a hot second, and I foolishly hope he’s going to choose the easy way out. Instead, he nods at his cell door. “Sorry, fellas. You can’t get to me in here. And my lawyer advised me to keep my mouth shut until he can work out a deal.”
“That’s a shame,” I say, taking out Bill’s access card. Terry looks shocked. Knox is surprised too.
“Oh, Bill’s gonna be mad,” Knox replies.
I shift my focus back to Terry. “So here’s where we stand, Terry, I can either come in there and beat the living shit out of you until you give me the information I need—”
“You can’t do that, there’s cameras all over the place. They’re gonna raise the alarm!”
“By the time they get here, you’ll be reduced to pissing and shitting in a bag,” I hiss. “Nobody fucks with the Rogue Riders and gets away with it. But hear me out. Option B is a lot more palatable. You talk, freely, sincerely… and I never set foot inside your cell. Scout’s honor.”
He thinks about it for another moment.
“Clock’s ticking, Terry,” Knox presses him.
I place the card against the reader. The light switches from red to green. The ensuing click has Terry practically soiling his orange jumpsuit.
“Alright, alright! I’ll tell you everything you need to know, I swear!” he cries out. “Just… just stay out there. I know what you fuckers are capable of.”
“See?” I tell Knox. “And that’s why I insist on turning every drug dealer we find in and around Redwood inside out. The word spreads, and what do we get?”
“Efficient marketing, yeah.”
“So, Terry, talk to me,” I say.
Terry takes a deep, shuddering breath. “It was a two-man job. My buddy and me, we’re both outside hires, independent contractors. The guy who brought us, he wanted one of us to wear a disguise.”
“Who’s the guy?” I ask.
“I don’t know. But he’s well-connected. And he had money to throw around for this gig. He paid double the usual fee,” Terry replies. “I wanted more details, but everything was done remotely. Texts from burner phones, messages on Reddit boards, that kind of stuff. I never saw him and neither did my buddy. But he insisted we wear Rider attire for the gig.”
“Where’d you get the vest?” Knox replies.
“We obviously tried making one on our own. We sent the guy photos, but he said he could tell it’s a fake,” Terry replies. “So I asked around. I know some people in the area. Do you know Harlan?”
“Harlan,” I mutter, quickly going over the names in the back of my head. “Is he a Hughes fella?”
Terry nods. “Yeah. He still works for them. He got me the vest. Said it was an original. I showed the photos to our boss, and he texted back and confirmed its authenticity.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Knox growls. “This sounds like a fucking spy thriller, Terry. How’d you do business with a guy whose name you don’t even know?”
“The only name I knew was Benjamin Franklin. And my account was full of him to the point where I didn’t need to ask the boss for any additional information,” Terry scoffs. “Come on, man, in this economy?”
I roll my eyes. “What happened next?”
“Nothing. We went ahead with the job but it turns out the DEA was watching or something. I’m not sure when or where we picked up the tail. All I know is I tried to get away and they tased me.”
“Where did Harlan get the vest?” Knox asks.
“I don’t know; he wouldn’t say.”
I pull Knox aside. “As far as I remember, we burned Calvin’s patches the day we kicked him out.”
“There’s a rogue Rider out there then?” He sounds just as confused as I am.
“Terry, do you swear on your life you’re telling us the truth?” I ask. “I can still come in there…”
“No, don’t. I swear! Ask Harlan. Harlan… fuck, what was his last name?”
“I know Harlan, relax,” I say.
Knox points a furious finger at him. “What did you tell Spalding about the club? What does he know, Terry? There’s a reason the DEA is knocking on our door, you sorry piece of shit.”
“I didn’t say a word. I just asked for a lawyer. I’ve been here ever since.”
“What did your lawyer advise?”
He shrugs slightly. “To keep my mouth shut until he can work out a deal, like I said. I guess they wanna flip me or my buddy. I don’t know. Or maybe they don’t have enough to go on. I’m telling you, the boss, the guy we dealt with, he was super cautious, like really paranoid. We never even saw him, man.”
And that doesn’t bode well for us.
This is organized crime on a whole new level, and somebody went to great lengths to implicate us. It makes my blood boil as I try to think of a way out of this mess. We’ll tear Harlan to shreds if we have to. We know where to find him.
But I’ve got a feeling there’s a lot more brewing under the surface.
Spalding is playing his cards close to his chest.