Chapter 7 #2
Trixie is one of our sweet butts, here for our pleasure, and like Star, Sweetie and Heaven, she’s used to spend the time lazing around, if she wasn’t working on her back.
Or front, or however the hell any of us brothers wanted to take her.
But when Saint’s woman arrived, she soon whipped all the club girls into shape.
Instead of doing nothing in their downtime, they now cook for us and keep the clubhouse clean.
As well as relieving the prospects of those duties, under Pippa’s tuition, Trixie, in particular, has become a great cook and even seems to enjoy spending time in the kitchen.
Knowing I’m in for a feast, I’m definitely ready for it.
Grinning, I gesture the way. “Sure, babe, I could eat.”
Half an hour later, bacon, eggs, waffles, hash browns, and other breakfast delicacies are in my stomach, washed down by half a gallon of coffee.
I’m full to bursting, but now don’t know what to do with myself.
Star, when clearing my plate, offers her services.
Mindful that I can’t risk bursting my stitches, I regretfully decline, even though she suggests there could be ways to make it work.
Forbidden to do any strenuous activity, I’m bored. So, I head my way to Genie’s office to see if there’s any new information about how much the Mojave Devils think we had involvement in their errant member’s disappearance.
I also have a very personal interest in knowing whether they’re still in our territory, as I want a few words with them myself.
Or rather, I’ve got bullets with their names on them.
Though with my injuries, I’d have to leave my brothers to take revenge on my behalf.
Not that there’d be any shortage of willing volunteers.
We’d all like to have a piece of the cunts who infiltrated our club.
The room I enter has more in common with NASA’s Mission Control than anything else.
Monitors align the walls showing every aspect of the clubhouse and grounds.
There are now two desks, making the place feel crowded, and both are currently occupied, with Genie at one and Pippa at the other.
As an ex-Secret Service agent, she’s worked on the right side of the law, and now seems to have no difficulty shifting to help us on the wrong side, enabling us to benefit from her expertise.
It’s she who’s the first to look up.
“Short!” Her eyes are full of concern. “Here, let me get you a seat.”
“I can pull up a fuckin’ chair,” I growl, and proceed to do so, but carefully, taking my time about it.
I feel like I’ve done a full day’s cardio by the time I’m seated alongside the two computer experts.
Hiding that I’m breathing heavily, and hoping my excess sweating doesn’t show, I ask, “What are you working on?”
“Well, Skunk, the Devil take his soul…” Genie spits and does this sort of backward cross gesture with his hand, starts, “Has given away our trade route over the border, as you know.”
I nod. Yeah, the fuckin’ plant sent all that info back to his club.
The route we’d used successfully without interference from border control for years.
We’d had no option but to burn it and anonymously hand the info over to the Feds, just so the MDMC wouldn’t be able to benefit from their ill-founded knowledge.
“We’re trying to sort another route out,” Genie finishes.
“You okay with this?” I ask Pippa. Saint’s vouched for her to the club, and from what I know about her, I’m pretty certain that she would never betray us. But keeping quiet is one thing. Actively helping us with our less-than-legal activities is quite another.
Pippa grins. “You’re exporting guns over the border to Mexico, which means there are fewer weapons in the US.” She pauses, shrugs, grins widely, and adds, “Now that I can get on board with.”
My lips curve in response. She’s ignoring that routes can be used both ways and for many purposes, but if she’s willing to turn a blind eye, then I’m not going to argue.
From what I know about Pippa, she likes having something to occupy her mind.
And this is clearly something she’s willing to apply her brain to.
We’re unlikely to look a gift horse in the mouth.
If she can help us find another route to get shit in and out of the country, then it’s not just this chapter of the Kings who will benefit.
Leaning forward, I ask, “So what are you looking at?”
Genie gestures at Saint’s woman, who straightens her back.
Her eyes gleam. “There’s an old tunnel that was discovered and shut down years back.
Everyone knows it’s compromised and sealed off.
” Frowning, I’m not sure where she’s going with this.
“It’s been decades, Short. It’s not guarded anymore.
I think there’s a good chance we can resurrect it. ”
“If it’s been that long, it might have caved in.”
She shrugs, but her grin shows her enthusiasm hasn’t been dampened. “It’s worth investigating.”
“Mexicans are desperate for what we can provide. They could help us out with some of the digging if needed.” Genie doesn’t look like he’s totally on board with her idea, but I can see they must have spent time discussing the pros and cons.
I can see holes in that plan. “There will be drones looking for such activity. Or cameras…”
Pippa rolls her eyes. “This tunnel starts in an abandoned building in Nogales, Arizona, and runs through to the other part of the town in Mexico.”
“And anyone sniffing around it will quickly come to the attention of border control.” This idea doesn’t interest me, and not just because I’m claustrophobic.
Genie shuffles in his chair and sends Pippa a look of commiseration. “Maybe we’ll put that idea on the back burner.” He considers for a moment. “If we need to use a direct route, we need to come up with some disguise for the trucks—”
“Something that’s never been used before?” Pippa scorns. “Good luck with that.” Then, she shrugs and gives me a smile. “We’re toying with different ideas. I’m sure something will come up.”
It’s intriguing, and though I haven’t much to offer, it seems Genie and Pippa are quite happy with me staying with them.
Mostly, I just watch them work. They’re pulling up maps, and Pippa’s gaily hacking into border control databases, to look up anything from staffing levels to cases where smugglers have been caught.
I can tell they’re compiling a list of what works and what doesn’t.
“Short!” A shout sounds outside the door, then after a perfunctory knock, it bursts open. “Short in here? Oh, there you are. Your personal medic has arrived.”