5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Kaison
I open the tailgate of my truck and hop up, careful where I step as I move to the other end. Once I make my way there, I use my feet and my hands to push and shove and kick all the guns out of my truck and onto the ground. It ain’t quiet.
“Whoa, whoa! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sheriff stands off to the side, covering his face with his arms as if that would protect him from a blast from any of these pieces. This man’s got the brain of a jellyfish. Meaning he ain’t got one.
“Don’t worry, I emptied them all,” I say with a roll of my eyes, going back to getting these things off my truck. “Took care of the ammo myself.”
As in, I’m keeping it. I also sorted through the guns and took a few nice ones to add to my collection. Consider it tax .
“What the hell is all this? You can’t just leave this here,” Sheriff Dummer—I mean Dunner —gestures to the mess I just made in front of the station.
“Actually, I can. These are all illegal weapons.” I hop down, pressing my hand to my chest. “I do not have the authority to handle these things. What if they were used in a murder?”
“And where did you get them?” he grits out, face already turning red. Every time I see the guy, he looks on the verge of having a hard attack. He pops blood pressure pills like tic-tacs.
“Found them.”
“Where?”
“I don’t have to tell you that,” I say. “All you need to know is I’m a concerned citizen who found these piled up somewhere they shouldn’t have been.”
“Concerned citizen, huh?” he says, putting his hands on his hips.
The front door of the station bursts open, and out comes the deputy, fixing his belt.
“I’m sorry, did I interrupt you two?” I point between them. Now that’s an age gap if I’ve ever seen one. Dunner has got to be pushing seventy, and not in a good way, while Deputy Shaw just had his 32 nd birthday. Little baby, he is.
Sheriff Dunner looks toward the deputy, scoffs, and glares at me.
“I’m real tired of your attitude, Kaison,” Sheriff Dunner barks at me, not caring that he looks like an asshole.
I hold my hands up, slowly moving away and hiding my smirk. “Just doing a good deed, sir.”
“The hell is all this?” Deputy Shaw grunts as he stops beside the sheriff.
I wave before hopping into my truck and taking off, laughing like a maniac at the mountain of guns in the station parking lot that they’ll have to check, tag, and put into the system.
At least they’re all gone from Harry’s. No way for Ed to get to them now. Wouldn’t be surprised if that fool has some hidden in the woods or buried in the dirt. He needs guns like he needs alcohol.
It’s Sunday morning, and I’m a free man all day. It’s later than I’d have liked to get started, but dealing with these guns was important since I didn’t get to it yesterday. Now that work is done, I plan to fish for the foreseeable future. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to go fishing. Today I’ve got the time, and the weather is cooperating.
My cell rings, and I frown as I look at it. No one calls me, especially on a Sunday when club shit is kept to a minimum. So who the fuck could that be? I turn over my phone and see Pig on the screen. Now this could be a call I don’t mind taking. I answer it, putting it on speaker.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I got something for you,” he says. I hear the smile in his voice.
“What the hell could you possibly have for me? ”
“You get your ass down to the shop and have a beer with me and you’ll find out.”
He ends the call, not letting me argue.
With a huff, I veer onto the shoulder and turn my truck around. Guess I’m making a stop in the opposite fucking direction before I make it out to the lake. By the time I get there, there ain’t gonna be any damn fish left.
I park around the back of Pig’s ‘cause there’s never anyone in the front. All the fun goes on back here, where people can’t see.
Pig and I go way back, and I’m not one to hold favors over anyone’s head, but if there is anyone you want to have in your back pocket, it’s a mechanic. I know my way around a vehicle when it comes to simple shit, but the problem is I don’t have the damn time. Nor do I want to spend my free time working on a car. It’s just not my thing. That’s hard fucking work, and when I have free time, I wanna relax and fish or just sit out on the lake.
“Yo, fuckbag!” Pig shouts, holding his arms up. There’s a rag that looks like it was red once upon a time on one hand. Now it’s bleached in some spots while black with oil in others. Oil streaks his face, and I bet that’s what he uses to wipe away his sweat .
“Nice way to greet your favorite person,” I say as I walk toward him.
“You’re funny.” He nudges me with his elbow. At least he didn’t try hugging me again. Last time he did that, I had oil all over me, which was impossible to get off my clothes. I’m not wearing my cut right now, but I don’t want oil on my damn clothes.
“What do you have for me?” I ask.
“Naw, don’t be like that,” he says, shoving the cloth into his back pocket. “Come have a beer. Let’s talk. I never see you anymore.”
“You’re a mechanic who runs his own shop. Shouldn’t that be a good thing?” I ask as I follow.
“Always with the jokes.”
I’m not joking… I don’t tell him that, though.
The relationship I have with Pig is interesting. He’s more into me than I am him. Likely because I saved his life, and he feels indebted to me. I try not to use that against him too often, but I do when I need to. Like last night.
To be honest, Pig ain’t so bad. He’s just a lot. Too much energy. Takes too much outta me to spend time with him, and I don’t like that. When I hang out, I want quiet. Peaceful. I want to relax. It’s the only thing my brother and I have in common. We’re nothing like Rhino and Grizz, who spend every night at the bar or strip club. Who the fuck knows what Coyote gets up to every night. That fucker doesn’t let anyone know what he does in his free time. He’s hush-hush about everything in his life. Always has been. Except when his dad was alive, he’d let some shit slip, and it’d piss off Coyote.
There’s a fire pit surrounded by law chairs and an old red cooler between two. He digs inside, pulling out two beers, then drops into one chair before offering me the bottle.
“Sit down. Take a load off.” He gestures to the dirty ass chairs on the other side of the cooler.
I take the beer and say, “I’ll stand.”
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man.”
“I ain’t you, Pig. I don’t love walking around with oil up my ass.”
Barking out a laugh, he twists the cap off his beer.
He tugs the chair over and throws his feet up on it. No wonder it’s dirty. His feet look toxic.
I won’t get anywhere unless I do what he wants or I hold a gun to his head—something I don’t wanna do because I don’t have one but also I do like the guy—I pop the top off the beer, toss it into the fire pit, and take a swig.
“Now that’s more like it,” he says, taking a mouthful of his own beer.
“Should you be drinking on the job?” I ask.
“It’s Sunday. No work today.”
“No? Then why is the open sign on the front?”
“I didn’t say we ain’t open. I just said I ain’t working.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head as I take another swig. It’s a reminder to pick up some beers before I hit my boat. Forgot all about it until now .
“So, how’s the family? The club? What’s Kolton up to these days?”
Pig knew my brother and I before we were patched in, meaning he has this nasty habit of calling us by our legal names. Can’t really get mad at him for it, especially when it’s just us.
“Same shit. Everyone’s good. How’s business?”
“Busy as usual. You know people in this town don’t treat their cars right.”
“Think that’s true for most towns.”
“You’re probably right.”
I finish my beer, tossing the bottle into the plastic barrel that’s full of bottles and cans. It clanks loudly but doesn’t fall out.
“How much longer you gonna make me stay here?”
“You late for a date or something? You sure are quick to get out of here.”
“Yeah, with the fish. It’s Sunday, Pig. I got no plans but spending my day on a boat.”
“Shit, why didn’t you say that?” He puts his feet on the ground and gets up to dig around in his back pocket. There’s a folded piece of paper that he pulls out and shoves at me.
“What the fuck is this?” I ask as I take it.
He smirks. “Open it and find out.”
I unfold the paper, righting it when I see it’s upside down. I grin when I read what it says.
“Told you you’d want it,” Pig says with a chuckle.
“Thanks, Pig.” I slap him on the shoulder, giving him a little shake .
“Any time, bro. Any time.”
I have one more beer with the guy since the note heightened my mood. Before I drive off, I read the note again and give Cora a call.
She doesn’t answer. The voicemail is one of those automated ones, and I don’t bother leaving a message. Do people check voicemails these days? I sure as shit don’t.
I drop the phone onto the bench seat and put the truck in drive. I make it all of five feet before I jerk it into park and grab my phone. No one answers numbers they don’t know. I can’t expect her to call me back if she doesn’t know it’s me. So I type out a text, letting her know who it is and that I’d like her to call me back when she has a few minutes. Satisfied, I drive off and don’t stop until I get to the lake—well, except for the quick stop to grab some beers.
My boat is the only left at the docks when I get there. It’s a great day for fishing, so I’m not surprised everyone is out doing their thing. With my case of beer in hand, I step aboard and start her up. I do a quick check over to make sure she’s good, since I haven’t taken her out in a while, and when everything checks, I take off.
Cracking open a beer, I make my way around the lake, going for a joyride before finding a place to chill, enjoy the peace, the beers, and catch some fish.