Chapter 9 Gatling
Chapter nine
Gatling
There was nothing remarkable about Gary Fetterman, nothing that indicated he was Kelsie’s stalker. He was just an average middle aged bachelor with a regular desk job. He didn’t even have a speeding ticket on record.
Picking the lock of his rental house took less than ten seconds. No security system, so we didn’t have to worry about tripping an alarm.
The quiet little suburb he lived in wouldn’t appreciate four bikers rolling through their streets, so we left our cuts at the clubhouse and used our cage instead—a generic black utility van.
If anyone came snooping around, we could pass ourselves off as plumbers, electricians, or cable guys.
Folks wouldn’t think twice about technicians in the area.
While I waited for Fetterman to get off work from his 9-5, I surveyed his house, poking through his stuff to pick up information on him.
Credence did a thorough job already, pulling files on previous places of employment, bank account statements, loans he’d qualified for, and even his internet search history.
Now that I was in his house, on his turf, this was my part of the hunt. Studying my target. Learning what made him tick. Then sinking my teeth into him.
Vlad dropped into the armchair and turned on the television, flicking through the channels.
Blackbeard lingered by the door, keeping watch.
In the kitchen, I found nothing out of the ordinary for a bachelor.
Empty beer bottles clustered by the garbage can.
Frozen pizzas and TV dinners stacked in the freezer.
The refrigerator was practically a wasteland, with some moldy leftover cottage cheese, a carton of eggs, and some questionable lunch meat past its expiration date.
Down the hall was Fetterman’s office—clean, tidy, minimal. Not even a framed photo of a pet, or a family member, or a girlfriend.
Why did he pick Kelsie? Why did he target her? Was it a freak occurrence, like a brief interaction in a restaurant or a coffee shop that morphed into obsession? Or maybe he asked her out and she turned him down, so he became hellbent on changing her mind, determined to take what he wanted?
“He’s here,” Blackbeard called.
I gestured for Vlad to cover the back door. Blackbeard tucked himself into the shadows of the entry hall, waiting for Fetterman’s arrival.
Under normal circumstances, I would have handled this on my own. The Blackjacks had already proven they were capable of keeping their mouths shut in the past, but still, witnesses were a liability. I didn't like owing anyone favors either.
And I didn’t like blurring the line between the Blackjacks and my personal business.
If I chose to take a risk, it was on my head alone.
No one else’s. I knew the burden of bloodied hands.
I knew how heavy it felt to remember the lives you took, the sins you’d committed.
Whether you were acting in self-defense, helping a brother in need, or protecting the people you loved, the reason didn’t matter when the memories haunted you anyway for weeks… months…years…
But making someone disappear in the middle of a busy neighborhood was not my area of expertise. Vlad and Blackbeard had more experience with that.
A rumble of machinery indicated the garage door had opened. An engine shut off. Footsteps approached the front door, followed by the jingle of keys in the lock.
Then Fetterman entered the house.
Blackbeard slammed the door behind him.
“What the—?” Fetterman started, bewildered.
I clamped a hand on his shoulder, hauling him into the living room.
“Who the hell are you?” Fetterman sputtered. “What are you doing in my house? I’ll call the cops!”
“Shut up,” I hissed, shoving him to his knees. “You tried to run a woman off the road yesterday.”
Fetterman frowned, baffled.
“What? No, I didn’t.”
I flicked my hunting knife from my boot and brought the six-inch blade up so he got a good look at it. He quailed, turning white as a sheet. Blackbeard took up a position at the window, peeling the curtains aside with one finger to watch the street.
“I don’t like liars," I said. "And I have a feeling you’re lying. Right to my face.”
Fetterman’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.
“I’m telling the truth, I swear.”
“Blackbeard,” I called. “Where do I start carving to cut out this idiot’s kidneys?”
Fetterman turned from pasty white to green.
“Just beneath the rib cage,” Blackbeard replied. “A few inches above the hip. You don’t have to be exact. If you start digging around, you’ll find it.”
“Oh my God,” Fetterman wheezed. “I don’t know who you people are or what you want—”
I grabbed the front of his suit and twisted until his collar tightened around his throat, restricting his airway.
“You tried to run my girl off the fuckin' road in that bigass truck, you son of a bitch,” I growled.
Fetterman trembled and stuttered, clawing at my hand in an attempt to get a decent breath.
“I didn’t—that wasn’t me! My truck…it was stolen yesterday.”
“And you ain't said a word to the cops about it?"
Fuck. My Appalachian roots were coming through. I hated that. I tried so hard to speak properly, to smother my hometown drawl.
Credence would have flagged a police report in his search. But nothing came up. Fetterman’s record was obnoxiously squeaky clean.
“Well, no,” he hedged. “My friend asked to borrow it, and I agreed to lend it to him, so I assumed he took it. But then I found out that my friend never showed up to get it. By that time, it seemed too late to call the police. In the morning, my truck was there in the driveway. With fucking bullet holes in the side.”
Damn it. Those were my bullet holes.
Blackbeard met my gaze. I shook my head slightly, indicating that we just hit a dead end. Fetterman wasn’t our man after all.
There was a slim chance the truck might have fingerprints on the interior, but Kelsie’s stalker had explicitly returned the truck instead of dumping it. That was intentional, calculated. Most likely, the bastard wiped down any surfaces he might have touched. Or he used gloves.
Which meant Kelsie’s stalker was still running free.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. Releasing Fetterman with disgust, I shoved my hunting knife back into my boot. “We have to get out of here.”
“You broke into my house,” Fetterman protested. “You threatened me—”
I shot him a sharp look. He broke off, scrambling away until his back bumped against the couch.
“I haven’t hurt you yet though,” I said. “Keep whining like a little bitch, and that’s going to change.”
Fetterman snapped his mouth shut.
Blackbeard gestured at our hostage.
“We can’t just walk away now that he’s seen our faces.”
I scrubbed a hand over my mouth. Fetterman wasn’t supposed to get out of this alive, so anonymity wasn’t required. I wouldn’t kill an innocent man for my blunder though.
“What do you recommend? Give him a souvenir to shut him up?”
With Blackbeard’s scalpel, he could leave a small incision anywhere on Fetterman’s body that would develop into a scar.
Not enough to cause any kind of damage that would require a visit to the hospital.
But it would scare the shit out of him and make him think twice about squealing to the cops as soon as we made a run for it.
“Vlad can handle it,” Blackbeard said. Raising his voice, he called, “Vlad, get in here.”
The heavy tread of Vlad’s footsteps approached the living room. Blackbeard explained the situation and Vlad nodded. Then he crouched down in front of Fetterman, grabbed the back of his neck, and whispered in his ear.
I couldn’t hear what he said. But the look on Fetterman’s face was enough to tell me that Vlad was painting a pretty gruesome picture.
Vlad thumped Fetterman on the chest with his meaty fist.
“Is that clear, friend?” he grunted.
Fetterman whimpered and nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. Mute with terror.
“What did you tell him?” Blackbeard asked.
“It’s a secret.”
Blackbeard huffed and jerked his thumb at me.
“Would you tell Gatling if he asked?”
Vlad shrugged.
“Of course. I like him better than you.”
Blackbeard looked at me, eyebrows raised expectantly. I shook my head. No way. I wasn’t about to get pulled into the frenemy feud between them. Like bickering divas.
“Nope,” I said. “I’m not asking. I don’t want to know.”
“Come on,” Blackbeard wheedled.
“See?” Vlad said. “Gatling won’t stick his nose where it doesn’t belong. He’s a smart man. You could learn a thing or two from him.”
Blackbeard crossed his arms.
“Listen, sasquatch. Just because you’re freakishly large doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass.”
Vlad scoffed.
“I’d like to see you try, pirate. It would bring me great pleasure to snap your bones like little toothpicks.”
“Boys,” I warned. “Don’t make me separate you two. I will stand by and do absolutely nothing while you try to kill each other. I’m a shitty mediator.”
“You’re shitty at picking sides, too,” Blackbeard pointed out.
I snorted.
“I don’t pick sides because I can barely save my own ass on a good day. I can’t be held responsible for you on top of that. So stop pissing off the bear for fun."
We left Fetterman curled up on the floor, shell-shocked, as we retreated to the cage, parked at the curb. Disappointment weighed heavy in the pit of my stomach.
My only lead turned out to be a wild goose chase.