44. Cody
Cody
C allan’s horse was already out of her stall by the time I made it to the stables this morning, and the fact I didn’t get to check in with him is annoying as hell.
To make matters worse, Tee and Callan’s demonic dogs have taken a fancy to the youngest foal in our coterie—Trever.
Not only did I not get to see my brother this AM, I got snarled at by two furious rescue hounds when I tried to make them leave his stall.
Hands by some miracle intact, a sleepy kiss from Tee setting me on my way as I leave her bedroom, I contemplate checking in with Mike, my shrink, on the ride to work. Before I can, I receive a call from an unknown number.
“Cody?”
It takes a second to register the voice, but when I do, my shoulders drop in relief. “Amy. Where the fuck are you? We’ve had an APB out on you?—”
“If I tell you something, you can’t let anyone know I told you,” she bursts out.
I hesitate to offer her that assurance. “I need you to come down to the detachment.”
“No! S-Something bad happened last night?—”
“You know that James Fairweather accused you of supplying him with the drugs he was dealing to his friends, don’t you?”
“Of course I know,” she snaps, but then her anger shifts and she releases a sob. “Why else would I have dropped out of school? God, I was inches away from graduation! Paulie would be so fucking disappointed in me, but I didn’t have a choice, Cody. You don’t get choices in the MC. It was either do as they wanted or?—”
“Take a deep breath, Amy,” I soothe. “It’s all right. Look, I’m here to help.”
“You can’t help me. I don’t even know why I called you,” she weeps.
“What happened? Talk to me.”
“I should never have called. Once a cop, always a cop?—”
“No,” I grate out. “I’ll help if I can. I swear.”
I have no right making that offer, but fuck, Amy’s Colt passed away in the line of duty. Not everyone has a support system as good as mine. And in comparison to her old man, Clyde might be a lesser monster.
“Can you come to the bar?”
“You’re in Pigeon Creek?!”
“We came here yesterday.”
I’ve no baseline other than too many years with her older brother, but somehow, I know she’s lying. “Were you there when we ran sweeps of the bar?”
“There’s a hideout spot behind the refrigerator,” she whispers.
“Why tell me that?”
“Trust. It has to be quid pro quo .”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m twenty minutes away from the bar. What do you need me for?”
“There’s a body?—”
“Whose?”
“James F-Fairweather,” she cries. “T-They want to dispose of it.”
“The MC?”
“Y-Yeah. Paulie would be so fucking mad at me. He told me to get out. Told me to take this new school as an opportunity to break ties, but I destroyed everything.”
Her weeping morphs into sobbing, then as a crash sounds in the background, her heartbreak shifts into terror.
I straighten at the change, just before someone yells, “Who gave her that phone?” I can hear a struggle before that same voice growls, “Who is this? Who’s talking?”
Instinct has me lying: “I’m friends with Amy.”
“From school?”
“Yeah.”
“Amy doesn’t go to that school anymore.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being friends with her.”
I hold my breath, hoping that eases the situation some, but the stranger’s response is to disconnect the call.
Just as my instinct told me to lie about my identity, it also keys me into the fact that I can’t deal with this on my own. I snag my radio.
“Dispatch, this is Cody. Where’s the nearest patrol car to the Rabid Wolves’ bar?”
Once Marty shares his code, he continues, “We were en route to sweep for Amy Nygard so we’re five minutes away, over.”
“I’m incoming too. Do not engage. Dispatch, send backup.”
Brogan howls the second I slam the gas as I hightail it down the road. I’ve never been more grateful that I put one of those safety nets between the back seat and the front so it keeps him contained. I know he’d have jumped into the passenger seat if it wasn’t there.
With him safe, I allow my mind to race with the little Amy told me.
Fairweather’s dead and she’s been hiding out in my fucking town ever since she went underground.
The question is, what was Fairweather doing in Pigeon Creek?
And what on earth made him borrow trouble by going to the Rabid Wolves’ bar?
These arrogant nepo babies—the true crime books write themselves.
Because I’m speeding on this barren stretch of Clemens Lane, I make the twenty-minute trip in ten.
It’s not fast enough though—just as I’m pulling into the dirt parking lot, I see Dion and Marty taking shelter behind their respective car doors as the unmistakable sounds of gunshots being fired punctuate the squeal of my brakes.
“Marty,” I shout, ducking out just in time for my windshield to shatter and a bullet to pierce the headrest.
The scent of cordite shoots adrenaline through my veins like a hit of heroin. Fuck, I didn’t know how badly I needed to experience this again.
A part of me wasn’t sure if what happened in Russia would have me freezing, but I’m more aware than ever, my brain as clear as if I were flying into direct engagement with an enemy in the sky.
“Chief?!” Dion screams, loud enough to be heard over Brogan’s outraged howling. “You okay?”
Rolling out of the vehicle and taking cover behind my door, I yell back, “I’m fine. What the fuck’s going on?”
“They opened fire when we pulled in,” he calls, but I can hear the panic and inexperience in each word.
Fuck .
“Are you hurt?”
“Neither of us are.”
Nodding to myself, I holler at the MC bar, “You are surrounded by armed marshals. Put the weapons down and step outside?—”
A hoot sounds from the doorway, one that triggers a wave of cheers from inside the building. “You think we listen to the likes of you?”
“If you don’t wanna be shot in the head and become a statistic in police fatalities, then I’d suggest you actually do as you’re fucking told.”
“This is private property. You have no right to come here and lay down the law!”
That’s another voice—a different one. I realize the original speaker was the guy who took Amy’s phone. From the approving yells inside, I have no way to identify how many people we’re dealing with.
“Gunshots were fired,” I answer. “I also have reason to believe you’re holding someone hostage.”
“Hostage?” The second biker barks out a laugh. “Who are we holding hostage? Everyone here wants to be here.”
“Amy Nygard.”
“What about her? She’s one of us.”
“You admit you’re harboring a fugitive?”
“A fugitive?” That’s the original guy. “She ain’t been charged with shit.”
“You and I both know that she was distributing drugs at her school.”
“Says who?”
“You’re refusing to let her leave,” I reason.
“How would you know that?”
The second guy hisses, “You were talking to the cops, you piece of shit?”
A piercing scream sounds from inside the bar, loaded with fear and pain. I fire a warning shot that shatters their front window. “Let her go.”
“She’s my daughter.” The MC’s President is on the premises, then. That’s the first voice. “I brought her into the fucking world, and I’ll be the one to take her out if I want to.”
After last night, that wasn’t the right thing to say. “Sounds like a death threat to me. You’ll get your asses outside or I’ll charge you all with conspiracy to commit murder of a child and child endangerment.”
Razer, the President, lets loose another hoot. “You should get out of here before you find yourself outnumbered.”
That triggers more cheers, making me realize it’s not an empty threat. For whatever reason, that cheer pisses Brogan off even more, which, to be honest, I didn’t think was fucking possible with the racket he’s making.
“Sir?” Dion calls out.
“Backup ETA in four minutes, over,” dispatch declares from the radio.
Ignoring both, I shout, “Amy, are you there?”
“Don’t you say a fucking word, girl.”
“I need to speak with Amy.”
“What… and then you’ll fuck off?”
“It’ll go some way to controlling the situation.”
Even from this distance, I can hear the argument my words triggered, and before I know it, the front door’s being shoved open, the kid’s being tossed through the door, but a bullet chases her and finds its target.
As she screams, staggering to her knees, I shout at the bar, “Drop your weapons!” Then, to Dion and Marty, “Call an ambulance!”
All it takes is a split second for the door to close, but instead of shutting, it bounces back. Someone curses as it flares wide. When a gun fires, I shoot too. My bullet finds a mark in a window that shatters, glass exploding far and wide. I use the distraction to lean out from behind my car door and to grab Amy’s arm.
Another bullet’s shot into the ground; this one burrows a few feet away from her leg—too fucking close.
Snarling under my breath, I bring her into the shelter of the car, but we’re in the open and nothing’s guaranteed.
Blood gurgles from her mouth, and though the plea in her eyes is begging me to help her, I know this is beyond my capabilities.
I can only pray that Nunez is on shift today—he’s one of the only guys with any decent medical experience thanks to a couple tours in the Middle East.
Dragging off my jacket and lodging my gun in the holster, I scan her and see the blood blossoming on her upper abdomen. I hold the fabric there, putting pressure on the wound, but her hoarse scream echoes through the parking lot.
The next thing I know, someone else is being hurled through the doors. I reach for my gun, but with one hand applying pressure to Amy’s wounds, I have no time to do much apart from aim at the guy who stumbles out.
He’s no threat, though.
His abrupt departure sees him being chased by a bullet that lands right where it was intended—his head.
As the MC brother’s skull explodes, Dion gags, Marty vomits, and I bark, “Come out with your hands up!”
Finally, I can hear the goddamn sirens as backup arrives, but I know that the only person who’s combat-ready is me.
Razer jeers, “Your boys scared by a bit of blood, marshal?”
“You’re under arrest for the attempted murder on the person of Amy Nygard!”
“You don’t know who fired the bullet, though, do you? Ever heard of reasonable doubt?”
My jaw works. “Don’t you want to check on your daughter?”
“Rats aren’t appreciated around my people.”
Blood sputters out of Amy’s mouth. Gut rot never bodes well—the fucker’s got her in a place that could forever silence her.
“Where’s Fairweather, Amy?”
Her hand shifts, one finger pointing at the bar.
“You sure he’s dead.”
Her lips quiver. “Y-Yes.”
“You?”
She closes her eyes.
That’s the only answer I get.
“Rats might not be welcome around your bar, but what about the corpse?” I holler. “You going to leave it there to rot? We’ll call in backup from Saskatoon. SWAT will be here before you know it, and they can storm the building.
“Don’t you want to control the narrative? Or do you want the wrong person to suffer? One of you already shot her. If she survives, do you want her moldering away in a cell?
“Then there’s the fact a Fairweather died on your turf. His father can buy and sell you in his sleep. You think he’ll roll over? Fuck if this won’t lead to all kinds of departments sweeping into town to tear you apart if you don’t take charge of this situation.”
I hold out hope that Razer isn’t a complete piece of shit father like mine is.
Paulie used to talk about him, said he was a junkie who was barely around until they were older, that he didn’t exactly love his kids but didn’t hate them either. He was a deadbeat dad who wanted to pass on his dubious legacy to one of his spawn.
Razer was still holding out hope that once Paulie retired, he’d take over as Prez.
“You know who killed that boy,” I shout when no answer is forthcoming.
I glance at Amy, willing her to be alive still. Blood gurgles from her mouth, her chest barely rising and falling?—
“I’ll come out. Hold your fire.”
Thank fuck.
I don’t even want to speculate why Razer takes the blame.
With backup making itself known in the parking lot, the small area filled with blue and red lights, he finally steps out, hands behind his head.
“Where the fuck are you going, Razer?” someone hisses behind him, but he ignores them.
“Sir?” Marty shouts.
“Hold your fire,” I snap.
“Stand down,” Razer roars at his back.
Nunez—thank fuck—scuttles behind me. “How is she?”
“Bad. Can you help her until the ambulance shows up? Single GSW to the upper abdomen.” To my men, I demand, “If anyone so much as looks out the door, you fire.” I stand a little taller, well aware I’m turning myself into a sitting duck. “Razer, I want you to put your hands on the hood.”
When he obeys, I hear rumblings from the bar, but no one shoots.
As I approach him, a weather eye on the building behind us, I state, “You want to tell them to line themselves up and we won’t shoot?”
“Ain’t you the one in control of the situation?”
“I know how these things can end up and I’m trying to limit collateral damage.”
Razer grunts. “Step outside.”
“Watch yourselves,” I warn my team.
But one after another, five men exit the building, hands raised.
“They had nothing to do with it,” Razer says, sounding bored. “It was all me.”
“If we search the premises, what will we find?”
“Shit that belongs to me, you fucking idiot.”
I narrow my eyes. “It’s good of you to fall on your sword for her, but for the whole MC?”
He smirks against the hood. “Got the best lawyer money can buy.”
“One who’ll get you off an attempted murder charge?”
“Prison will be a nice vacation. I could use the break.”
His men chuckle, but I hiss, “What will we find?”
“I’ll leave the surprises up to you.” In a low voice, he asks, “Question is, why you helping my girl?”
“Because I served with Paulie and the last thing he’d have wanted was for his sister to be serving twenty-five years for murder.”
“You knew Paulie?”
“I did.”
He jolts. “Told him not to sign up. Said he’d be safer in an MC than he would fighting for a country who never gave a fuck about him.”
“ I gave a fuck about him.”
“Enough to save his sister.” Razer scoffs out a laugh. “Could use this. Corrupt cop.”
“And I could arrest your seventeen-year-old daughter and have her locked up until she’s in her forties. Which option do you prefer, because anything you say won’t be believed? My word’s clean. Yours isn’t.”
He pushes his forehead into the hood. “I don’t want her to go to jail.”
“Then she won’t.” I grab his hands and go through the arrest process. “You’ll have to confess.”
“I will.”
And just as I think this whole fucking mess is over, Nunez roars, “Boss! Watch out. Brogan?—”
I don’t get the chance to know what Brogan’s doing.
I spin on my heel and watch as my K-9-trained dog, that clearly has escape artist tendencies, races toward the lineup of men.
Before I even have a chance to be scared on his behalf, time slips through my fingertips like I’m trying to collect rain.
One second, he’s a few feet away from me.
The next, as if he jumped off a trampoline, he’s in the air.
It’d be poetry in motion if I weren’t terrified he’s about to get his ass killed.
One of the brothers in the MC screams as Brogan takes him down and, straight out of his hand, a gun tumbles to the ground.
How the fuck did Brogan even see that?!
“Joker always was a stupid cunt,” Razer growls beneath his breath. “Too fucking dumb to live.”
With him cuffed, I run over to Brogan, who does not want to let go of his new chew toy.
It’s only after I yell, “HEEL,” at him that he backs off. Nearly taking the asshole’s arm with him.
Amid the chaos, an ambulance finally shows up.
They prioritize Amy, but the guy, now cuffed after being informed of his Charter rights by Marty, gets shoved on board too.
I only draw Razer into the back of a cruiser once the ambulance is leaving the parking lot and Nunez has updated me on their status.
“Will she die?”
“With a GSW to the upper abdomen… it’s not looking good, chief. That shit’s complicated.”
With the squad splitting up the MC’s members, I have Nunez take Razer to the detachment, leaving Marty, Dion and me behind.
There’s Brogan, too, of course.
I study the net that I bought for safety reasons and shake my head at the dog-sized hole he bit into it.
Still, how the hell can I chastise him when he saved our asses?
Petting him, I pull out one of Mrs. Abelman’s corned beef sandwiches with mustard and a pickle and let him have it. “Least you deserve, don’t you, boy?”
With him wolfing that down as I stroke his back in thanks, I close the door. He’ll kick up a fuss after he’s done, but that’s a problem for later.
“I have reason to believe there’s a body in there,” I inform my men once Brogan’s busy with his treat.
“Wondered where that shit about the Fairweathers was coming from,” Dion mutters.
“James Fairweather,” I agree.
“The kid who was dealing drugs at Our Lady of Sorrows?” At my nod, Marty whistles. “What the fuck was he doing here?”
“Guess we’re about to find out.”