Chapter Eleven
Cass
Scott, Clayton, and I fire up and get on the road.
Scott had gotten the contact information for Ghost and got in touch with him, letting him know we’d be seeing him this evening.
He didn’t give an exact time, but he doesn’t need one.
He’s going to be where he is all evening.
See, Ghost had been burned by the Moccasins, but unlike most people, Ghost is patient.
He didn’t need immediate revenge. He’s the type to wait ten…
fifteen years before he ever went after a personal target.
His time is taken up by paying customers and their not-so-great friends that they wanted to rid the world of.
When Clayton learned what we had planned, he wanted in, and wasn’t going to accept no for an answer.
Besides, Clayton will be a good asset to have with us.
He may be getting older, but his senses are still sharp.
The ride is short, but the temperature outside is steadily dropping.
It’s almost cold enough for leather…almost.
We turn down a long, blacktop driveway that winds through the woods until an opening appears.
A small log cabin sits neatly with a motorcycle and a truck parked in the driveway.
Lights shine from the two windows in the front onto the front porch that runs the length of the cabin.
One lone wooden rocking chair sits on the porch beside a small table, empty.
“Welcome, boys.” The voice comes from behind us near the wood line.
“Damnit!” Clayton jumps, looking behind him. We’ve only just stepped off our bikes and Ghost catches us by surprise. He has a good reason for his name, that was for sure.
“Thanks for the warm welcome,” I say, walking over to shake his hand.
Ghost chuckles and steps into the light. He isn’t a very tall man. He’s shorter than I am, with dark brown eyes and hair. He’s in his early forties, but he’s the best at what he does. He’ll probably still be doing this shit at eighty, and still will be the best there is.
“I was out making my rounds around the property when I heard y’all pulling in. Had to come scope ya out first. Not my fault you didn’t hear me,” he grins, definitely pun intended.
“That’s why we’re here. You’re the best. I’ve only ever heard of you up until now. It’s a pleasure.”
“Come in. Let’s talk over a cup of coffee.” Ghost walks ahead of us, leading the way into the cabin.
Inside, the walls are identical to the outside. The dinner table is a light-brown wood. It appears to be homemade, along with the four chairs that surround it. Whoever made it was talented. I admire the intricate designs that are engraved on the sides of the chairs and the center of the table.
“Nice work, here. You make these?” I ask, intrigued.
“Years ago, before I got too busy taking lives, I used to enjoy woodwork.”
“Looks like you were pretty good at it,” Scott comments.
“I used to be. Hell, I wouldn’t know now. Haven’t touched a saw in years.” A sadness sparkles in his eyes as he turns around to fix four cups of coffee. One by one, he sets them down at the table, then he takes a seat in the last empty chair.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Gater’s name lights up on my screen. This should be good.
“Excuse me for a moment, I have to take this.”
I slide the answer bar as I walk out the front door.
“You either have a death wish or an explanation. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s the latter,” I bark as I close the door behind me.
“I’m outside of your house right now. I just brought the guns to the prospects and members guarding our ol’ ladies.” Gater sounds apologetic.
“Is there any specific reason I didn’t know about this beforehand and why you didn’t feel like it needed to be discussed with me?”
“You’ve been busy with all this shit going on. I didn’t want to bother you with it, man.”
“Didn’t want to bother me with it? You took a fucking shit ton of our illegal weapons out of the clubhouse and haven’t been seen nor heard from all day!” I roar.
“You’re not the only one allowed to make decisions for this club. That is why you appointed me VP, to help you make decisions and to make decisions in your absence, isn’t it?”
“That’s not the fucking point! If weapons are leaving the clubhouse, I need to know about it.
End of story. We’ll discuss this at church this week, I’ve got other shit to handle right now.
Oh, and Gater…mind your P’s and Q’s, it’s real easy to get a patch stripped, VP or not.
” I don’t wait for a response before I hang up and slide my phone back into my pocket.
I return to my seat at the table as Clayton, Scott, and Ghost are talking about different jobs Ghost has done, but as I sit down, their conversation dies down. Ghost glances over at me with a curious expression.
“Who is it, exactly, that I’m targeting in that sad excuse for an MC?” He raises his black cup of coffee to his lips, taking a gulp. “Not that I much care, they can all rot in hell as far as I’m concerned.”
“That’s the million-dollar question. I need a little more information on who’s leading their little charades before I set a bullseye on anyone. I have a damn good idea, though.” I’m almost certain it was Asher. He was the president, after all.
“I can tell you who is in charge,” Ghost says, smugly.
“Who?”.
Ghost has the table’s undivided attention, which he took advantage of for a few beats longer than normal while he took another gulp from his cup. Setting it down, his eyes meet mine.
“Their VP. The one that likes to get messy.”
Scott eyes him curiously. “Keith?’ he asks, his voice laced with disbelief. “I didn’t think he was smart enough to be in charge of anything.”
“Wait, what about Asher?” I ask.
Ghost cocked his head. “Who?”
“Their president…?”
“Ahh. I was wondering about him, myself. He’s nowhere to be found. Word on the street is he hasn’t been seen nor heard from in quite some time.”
“Something’s not right there.” Clayton’s voice is filled with conviction. It isn’t an opinion, it’s fact.
“What makes you say that?” Scott asks.
“Would Cass let Gater run shit and disappear in the middle of a war?”
“Good point.”
I look back at Ghost. “Then, that’s your target.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that. That’s why I’ve already run surveillance on him over the past few days and figured out his routine.
I may have taken out a few of his throw-aways in the process.
Nasty little fuckers. Got in my way, but they were too strung out to even realize what hit them. ”
I grin as Ghost’s words register in my mind. This guy was the real deal. Good thing he’s on our side.
“Where’s he going to be tonight?” Clayton asks.
I can tell Clayton is antsy, ready to be part of the action.
He used to do this kind of thing for the club regularly when he met my mom, but he’d thrown the towel in after I was a few years old, and he almost got caught tossing a body.
Not by the police, but by me. Clayton told me about it when I was older.
Some things had gotten messy, and he was dragging a body wrapped up in a rug behind him when I spoke and scared the shit out of him.
Clayton had run and put himself between me and the rug and scooped me up, bringing me back toward our farmhouse.
“Cass?” Scott is staring at me, snapping me out of the memory.
“Yeah?”
“Where do you want to start? Keith is going to be at their makeshift clubhouse. The ghetto, rinky-dink bar that they are rumored to have strong armed from the owner.”
I look to Clayton, waiting for his instruction…an old habit that I didn’t realize would make its way back with his presence.
“Let’s start there,” I say, and Clayton nods his approval. That’s something that always let me know I was doing right when I made decisions and they were the same ones my father would’ve made.
“Saddle up, then, boys. I’ll be there before you can say bullshit,” Ghost snickers, leaving us alone as he walks through a door on the other side of the living room.
Just as we’re about to turn out of the driveway, I look at the other two.
“Anybody got an address on this place?” I ask.
“Yeah. Already put it in the GPS,” Scott shouts over the roar of the engines.
“We’re following you.” I wave my hand forward, letting them know we’re ready.
We take off, Scott to my left and Clayton directly behind us.
The bar we’re in route to is a little ways outside of town.
There’s an abandoned gas station about a quarter mile before the bar, where we decide to park at, hoping to still have the element of surprise.
I don’t think they’ll be on guard since to their knowledge, the Hounds have no idea where they’re staying.
Where we’re parked at is hidden well in the dark, giving us shelter from passersby on the highway.
I’m first to step off my bike and walk around the store, looking for anything suspicious.
It’s dark, but not dark enough where I can’t see.
After a thorough walk-through of the premises, I make my way back around to where Scott and Clayton stand.
They’re looking down the street toward the bar.
The sound of a motorcycle accompanied by a single headlight headed in our direction has us on edge, myself included.
It flies past us, never checking up. Whoever it was, was oblivious to our presence. I rest a hand on Clayton’s shoulder. “Ready to fuck some shit up, Pops?”
“I was born ready, son. Let’s go.”
Clayton leads the way, walking into the woods that separate the bar from the old store. To our surprise, a fresh path was already cut, a white paper ghost hanging from the first tree in the path. Clayton chuckles and snags the ghost down.
“He said he’d beat us here. Looks like he did.”