Joker’s Ghost (Serpents MC: Las Vegas #17)

Chapter 1

Two Days Before Halloween

JOKER

Cobra taps his watch. “Tick-tock, brother. Whatever it is you’re looking for, it ain’t here.”

I pull down another box, knowing I can only ignore my prez for so long. “Daisy said she stored shit down here from last year’s Halloween party, but damned if I can find it.”

The basement under The Gold Mine was unfinished and used for storage. A fact Daisy took full advantage of. My wife is sharp, funny and hot as fuck, but she’s a bit of a hoarder—of course, you didn’t hear that from me. I like my balls exactly where they are, thank you.

Cobra’s lips twist in a smirky grin. “I guess I can mark this down as the day my hard-ass VP is officially pussy-whipped.”

I toss the box onto the floor. “Says the guy who searched all over Vegas until he found his wife an authentic New York bagel.”

“Different story, brother. Sheena’s two months pregnant, and it’s the only thing she can keep down. You try denying a woman who’s puking her guts up while carrying your kid. ”

“Believe me, I get it. Why do you think I’m down here lugging boxes around?”

“Daisy’s got two more months yet, right?”

I wipe the sweat off my forehead with my bandana. “Yeah, but after the last time, I wanna make sure everything goes good right up to the end.”

Cobra twists his lips. “Different times, brother. The Serpents have a solid rep in Vegas, and no one would fuck with the VP’s woman.”

“That’s what I thought the last time, but . . .”

“The last time you weren’t officially a Serpent yet, and even then, we made sure that guy paid big-time.”

I nod, but the memory of that crazy fucker kidnapping my pregnant wife never left me. The vision of her locked in the sweltering cabin of a houseboat on Lake Mead still sent a chill up my spine.

Daisy lay curled in the fetal position, eyes closed tight. He cradled her head and pressed his forehead to hers, willing her to open her eyes.

“ Daisy, baby, can you hear me?” Her pale, sallow skin burned his palms, clammy yet hot at the same time, and when his eyes skimmed down her body, he saw … blood staining the sheets.

Cobra claps his hand on my shoulder. “Like I said, nothing like that is gonna happen this time around, and right now I need my VP with his head in the game.”

I heave one of the boxes onto my shoulder and look around the dark, damp space. “Never like coming down here. Always feel like I’m not alone.”

“Ohhhhh.” Cobra waves his arms around. “My VP’s not only pussy-whipped, he’s afraid of ghosts.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I barrel past him and head for the stairs .

“Hey, you know, the guy we bought this place from said it was Bugsy Siegel’s hangout back in the day.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard the story.” I trudge up the concrete staircase.

“Maybe his spirit never left.” Cobra makes eerie sounds. “Maybe after they took him out, his ghost came back to his favorite hangout.”

We reach the top of the stairs, and I hoist the box onto a table at the rear of the bar. “Maybe my prez is a pain in the ass.”

I undo the flaps of the box, and Cobra and I survey the contents. Plastic pumpkins, skeletons, orange and black crepe paper. Cobra holds one of the masks up to his face. “Daisy really expects us to dress up for this party of hers?”

“Yup, and just like your wife, when they get something on their mind, there’s no changing them.”

“True, brother, but that’s what we love about them, right?”

“The good news is the theme is Outlaws Past and Present, so at least we don’t have to dress up as something stupid like a Smurf or some shit.”

“If the theme is outlaws, then I don’t understand why we can’t go as ourselves.” Cobra throws back his shoulders. “Can’t get more badass than wearing the Serpents’ cut.”

“Yeah, I tried that angle already.” I pull a face. “It didn’t work.” I jerk my chin to the basement door. “Maybe I’ll channel Bugsy and go as him.”

“As long as you don’t end up like him.” Cobra grimaces. “Fucker got blasted in his own living room right in the eye.”

“Geez, why the fuck did you tell me that?”

Cobra checks his watch again. “Enough fuckin’ around. We gotta meet up with the NNN and make sure they stay far away from our shit.”

I close the flaps on the box. “Tell Daisy this was the only box I found.” I call out to Rattler behind the bar .

Rattler gives me a two-finger salute, and Cobra and I head out the back door. By the time we reach our Harleys, my brain has switched gears.

The Northern Nevada Nomads usually stayed right there in Northern Nevada around the Lake Tahoe area, but lately they’d been spotted in and around Vegas.

Then last month, they hijacked one of our gun shipments from Mexico.

That paired with gossip about them wanting to expand made Cobra and me take action.

We’d worked too hard to secure the shipments from the Royal Bastards in Tijuana to let some rogue nomads stir shit up.

An hour later, we pull into the lot of the Cathouse Ranch on the California border. Supposedly, the Nomads were part-owners of the brothel and chose it as neutral territory far enough outside both Vegas and Tahoe.

We dismount our bikes, and Cobra pulls off his fingerless gloves. “I don’t foresee any trouble. I made our case clear when I talked to Arrow yesterday, but always good to be prepared.”

I pat the .45 in the shoulder holster under my cut. “Agreed.”

We’d both seen how fast meetings could fall to shit with a few wrong words, and we always followed the creed, hope for the best; prepare for the worst.

We approach the sprawling ranch-style building then enter an ornately decorated main room.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” A woman in her forties dressed in a long silk robe motions toward the women in the living room. “I’m Darlene. How can we help you today?”

The women lounging on couches and chairs each strike a different pose, accentuating their assets in the scanty lingerie. I smile picturing Daisy’s face when I retell this story.

“We’re here to see Arrow.” Cobra is all business all the time .

Darlene nods, leads us to the back of the house, then down a hallway.

Cobra leans into me. “I haven’t been in one of these places since I was a teen.”

“I guess this is what you’d call an actual whorehouse.” I stifle a laugh. “Back in New York, you went to a shitty strip club and got it off with some hooker in the back room.”

“We’re more civilized in Nevada,” Cobra deadpans. “We believe in getting our dick wet in comfort.”

“Fuckin’ Wild West.” We stop at the end of the hall. “Gotta love it.”

Darlene opens a door, and we enter a small room with Arrow and two other men sitting at a rectangular table, and an older leather-faced guy standing in the corner.

Arrow stands, greeting us with a nod. We’d met him briefly up in Sturgis last year, but the Nomads usually kept to themselves, which made this current issue unusual.

“Sit.” Arrow indicates the two chairs on the other side of the table.

The Nomads were one of the few outlaw indigenous clubs in the West. They were made up mostly of Shoshone who were natives of Nevada.

I respected them because they took care of their own through poker runs, fundraisers and various other less legal means.

No doubt, the Native Americans got screwed in history.

“This is Blade, my VP,” Arrow says to the man on his right. “And Stone, my Sergeant-at-Arms.”

We nod our respect, then Cobra says, “I didn’t know the Nomads had a piece of this place.”

“The history goes way back. The property this building stands on was originally Shoshone land all the way up to the late 1800s. While Nevada became a gambling state in the 30s, Clark County outlaws prostitution, so these ranches began popping up on the outskirts. The Nomads saw this as an opportunity and grabbed it. Our Seminole brothers have the Hard Rock, and we have the cat houses.”

Cobra and I exchange a look. “Interesting history.”

“According to folklore, this was a favorite destination for Bugsy Siegel and his associates.”

“Our clubhouse, The Gold Mine, has the same rep. Apparently, Bugsy got around.”

Tiny pinpricks skittle up my spine at the mention of the notorious gangster. Yeah, that’s not fuckin’ weird.

Cobra draws in a breath. “We’ve co-existed in the same state for the last ten years, so I don’t know what’s changed, and why all of a sudden we’re having issues.”

Typical Cobra, cutting right to the chase.

“Nothing’s changed as far as the Nomads are concerned, but six months ago, we ousted two members.

We thought we confiscated anything with the Nomads logo or insignia, but apparently someone messed up.

” Arrow’s eyes dart to Blade. “We’ve tried to track them down, along with our belongings, but so far we haven’t been successful. ”

“Shit.” I lean into the table. “So, you got ex-members in bad standing pulling jobs while wearing your cuts.”

“Exactly.” Arrow draws his hand through his jet-black hair. “That’s why we wanted this meet. We don’t want trouble with the Serpents.”

“All right, I get it.” Cobra cocks his head. “But that’s not why you drove all the way down south to meet up.”

“Very observant.” Arrow pulls a hand-rolled cig out of his cut, and Stone lights him up. He drags deep and lets the smoke waft overhead. “We were hoping you’d help us catch them. Especially since you know the area and the players, and you don’t want them in your territory any more than we do.”

Something didn’t sound right. “True, but this is your in-house problem, not an issue for the Serpents.”

The Nomad crew was huge, spanning from Reno east to the Rocky Mountains and as far north as the Oregon High Desert. The Serpents, although feared and respected in Vegas, didn’t have half their manpower or territory.

Arrow drew in another deep drag, then let his eyes shift to the old man standing stock-still in the back of the room. “‘Cause the two who were shunned were Warrior’s great-grandkids.”