Chapter 28
FINGER
After leaving Cilla at the diner for her morning shift, I head out to the compound. I need to drop off the truck and grab the club’s van. I am going hunting, and if I find that cocksucker Byron, he’s going to be in the back of the van hogtied.
Grabbing the van keys from Books office, I head outside. Hot Rod jogs over to me when he sees me heading toward the van. “Where are you heading, Finger?”
“Campus. I’m going to talk to a few students. I’ll find that fucker even if it kills me. I’ve no fear of dying. I’ll be with my brothers and haunt all your asses.” I unlock the van and climb inside. Surprised when Hot Rod climbs in the passenger side.
“I’m coming. The prospects knew one kid in college, but the poor fucker is in hospital after a drug overdose. Spencer said he didn’t understand that as the kid never did drugs.”
I turn to look at Hot Rod as my gut churns. That sounds like the kid heard something, saw something, or tried to stop something, and this was a way of shutting him up.
We spend an hour walking around the college campus speaking quietly to the students who were brave enough to spend a while speaking with us.
“Mister, if you are looking for the man that sells drugs, he is usually here first thing in the morning, and when certain people finish for the day.”
Turning without being too obvious I flick my eyes to the teenage girl who is digging around in her school bag. Doing her best to look as if she’s not speaking to us.
Hot Rod drops his phone onto the grass, and as he bends to pick it up mumbles ‘Thank you.’
“He won’t be here today as he comes on Mondays and Thursdays.” The teen says nothing more. She walks away, and we look at each other before making our way back to the van.
“Is there any point in visiting the hospital?” I ask Hot Rod, and the shake of his head tells me it’s a non-starter.
“Okay, so we don’t get information from that source.
So, let’s go take a ride around the East Side.
” I unlock the van and we jump inside. It doesn’t take us long to cross town and park the van in a disused gas station.
“Let’s check one place at a time, Finger,” Hot Rod states as he climbs out of the van.
We walk around the gas station and remember things about the place when it was open and part of the hub of the town. “I reckon we should propose re-opening the place. What do you think Hot Rod?”
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea. If we ditched the place that we rent for the recovery business, we could run it from here. There is more than enough space around the back for all the vehicles.”
“Another business for any new brothers too, and we have five prospects that will need a decent job once they are full brothers. We don’t have to worry about Scribe as he has the tattoo business.
It’s just the others and I don’t reckon the recovery or the roll-off can use more brothers than is already working them.
” I point as I see a junker pull into the warehouse across and down the road some. “I think we may have just got lucky.”
We both chuckle before taking off running towards the warehouse.
Cutting onto the grass to dull our booted steps.
Hot Rod points behind the building, and I veer that way as he heads to the front.
Covering all bases, we should be able to grab this cocksucker and have him in the shed before lunch ends.
I slow my steps and place my back against the wall. Sidling towards the back entrance, which no longer has a door. I take the gun out of the shoulder holster and listen before taking a few steps closer to the entrance.
“Who the fuck are you? What do you want?” I hear snarled.
Which is followed by Hot Rod’s voice. “I’m your worst nightmare.”
A shot is fired, and I rush into the building, but stop when I see Hot Rod already has the asshole on the ground, on his stomach. He hogties him like a steer in ten seconds flat.
“Hey, Hot Rod I reckon we should enter you in one of those cow-chasing and tying things at the rodeo.”
“Shut the fuck up, Finger. This motherfucker tried to shoot me. Good thing he’s a useless turd.” Hot Rod is smirking, and I chuckle because I can imagine he’d really rip this fucker a new one if he’d actually shot him for real.
“I’ll go get the van. Then we’ll drive his piece of shit into the middle of the warehouse and torch it,” I stop speaking when the weasel panics and lets it slip what is in the vehicle.
“No, you can’t do that. I have my supplies in there to get to the kids...”
He must realize what he has revealed as he snaps his mouth closed so fast it’s a wonder he hasn’t bitten off his own tongue. I look at Hot Rod, and he looks back at me. Yeah, we both heard him.
An hour later the warehouse is on fire and the engines are out in force to put out the blaze. Shame the building stored flammable stock at one time! The drugs went up in flames with the vehicle, so not a kid in town will suffer because of that stash.
We drag Byron into the shed, all taped up so he can’t make a noise, and chain him down to the chair, which is the same one Snake died in. Yeah, all bad boys end up here I’m thinking.
Tracker, Cap, Rides, and Scalpel step inside the shed. Both I and Hot Rod step away, giving Pres and the other officers a chance to look at the idiot.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Byron Briggs. The big drug dealer who sells to young boys and girls to make himself feel important.” Tracker turns to look at me. “Did you bring some with you?”
“We sure did, Pres.” I take a small packet out of my back pocket with multicolored pills inside. Nobody misses the wide-eyed, panicked look that Byron gives the bag.
“Well, these are pretty aren’t they, Cap?” Pres asks, waving the bag in front of Cap’s face.
“Sure are, Pres,” Cap replies straight-faced.
Byron can’t speak as he has his mouth full of an oily rag that Hot Rod found in the back of the van and stuffed it in and taped it, before I could suggest anything different. Hey, it is what it is, and he deserves all he gets.
Hot Rod's phone buzzes and taking it out of his pocket he reads a message. “You piece of shit,” Hot Rod loses it, something I’ve never witnessed.
We’ve all seen him lose his temper, but never like this.
The punch hits Byron so hard it’s a wonder it didn’t break his neck.
“He’s dead. The drugs you sold to the young kid were too strong.
He inadvertently overdosed because of it.
He was going to be a doctor and wanted to experience what it felt like, so when he treated an addict, he would understand some of what they were feeling. Now he is dead because of you.”
Cap rushes forward on Tracker's hand signal and stops Hot Rod from killing Byron. I mean at this time, because he is going to die here, and he’s going to wish for it by the time we are done with him.
Tracker rubs his hands together as he steps closer to Byron. “You are going to tell me everything I want to know. You are going to talk fast, and with no bullshit. If you do that, I’ll give you a clean death. If you fuck with me, I’ll make your death so prolonged you’ll beg for it.”
Three hours later, we know Maddog is living in a five-bedroom place on what is nicknamed Millionaire’s Row. It’s a pun basically, as millionaires don’t live there. The scum of the earth lives there. The place is ready to fall down, and a powerful storm will probably do that.
Byron is wasted on his own pills, which we literally pushed down his throat. He is so spaced out that he has given us exactly what we wanted. The torture was more than we needed, but it was fun to make this fucker suffer.
Tracker wipes his hands on an old towel that Scalpel hands to him. “Okay brothers, he has no fingers, no toes, knee-capped, elbows broken, and shoulders dislocated. Anyone want to do the honors?”
It’s like something out of a movie when everyone of us except Pres takes out our weapons and shoots the fucker. Even Scalpel shot him, and that’s saying something when he’s been a medic for years.
Stripping off our paper coveralls, which cover our feet too, we throw them into the can outside the shed. They will all be burned once the prospects and Scalpel, who offered to assist, have gotten Byron into the acid bath.
Tracker snarls, “Tomorrow we go after the other fucker, Maddog, grab him and bring him here. He’s going to regret what he’s done.”
Jeremy walked around the clubhouse. He looked at every room, wrote a copious amount of notes, which he did all the while mumbling to himself.
He asked questions regarding our ideas for a sauna, gym, and swimming pool.
He walked outside the back of the clubhouse and pointed out an area that would be great as an open-air dining area, where a grill, pizza oven, and the like could be built.
“It would make a nice meeting place in the summer. Eat, drink, and enjoy a game of cards or suchlike,” Jeremy suggests as I step closer to hear more of what he is saying to Demon.
“Question, Jeremy?” I say as I get nearer to both him and Demon. I’ve been following them both around for well over an hour, and I’m ready to ask about building my house at this point.
“Okay, Finger, what’s the question?” I can tell Jeremy is going to be a fun guy once you get to know him by the way he replies.
“I’m getting married as soon as we can arrange the wedding. We are aiming for six weeks. But I want a house built on the land we are in the process of purchasing next to us. How fast could you get the house built?”
“Is that the piece of land Tracker told me was going to be like a village? You know where you all build a house and live with women and kids?” Jeremy is finding this highly amusing.
Scowling my best scowl, I reply. “Yeah, we want to build houses, but not sure you’d call it a village. I realize you’d have to sort out the infrastructure for amenities, but it could be done, right?”
“Yeah, it can be done. I know the asshole who owns the land and I’ll put in a word for the club.
He’ll be okay with selling if the price is decent.
He never wanted the land, but his uncle had no other living relatives, so he was landed with it.
Excuse the pun,” Jeremy smirks, and Demon is frowning at him as though he’s not quite right.
“I found a group of men who left the service and they are doing odd jobs to earn a living. If I could pull them in to work for me I could have them build the housing, and it would leave me free to continue working my crew as usual.” Jeremy rubs the back of his neck.
“Or, you could see if they want to prospect for the club and build the housing as part of the prospect requirements?”
Both Demon and I look at Jeremy as if he’s lost his mind. But the more you think about it the more it sounds like a good idea. “We’ll speak with Pres, then let you know. He’d want to meet these people before committing to anything,” Demon states, and I nod in agreement.
Checking the time, I panic a little when I realize I’m late to pick up Cilla. Dashing back into the clubhouse I stop rushing when I see Cilla sitting in the middle of the common room like she’s holding court. Problem being she is talking to—no one. No one that we can see that is.
“What is she doing?” Jeremy asks while watching Cilla.
Sighing, because I have to respond to his question, and I suppose I’m going to have to get used to this sort of question. “She’s talking to the dead people who visit her.”
“Dead people?”
“Yeah, Jeremy, dead people...” I walk over to Cilla, wrap my arms around her from behind, the best I can with her sitting on a chair, but I kiss her on top of the head.
“Hi, Mason. I have four people left to speak to, and then we can go home.”
“Okay, babe. Give me a shout when you’re done.” I kiss her on the lips this time and leave her with a rosy glow as I walk back over to Jeremy, who is watching Cilla with a fascination I’m not sure I like.
“I wonder if she can contact my Pops?” Jeremy steps forward before I can stop him. “Excuse me, can you call up people?”
Cilla grins and replies with a little sassiness. “It’s not a dial-up for dead people. They come to me when they want me to help them, but I have Bono, Tank, and Pyro now, and if they come to me for any nasty reason, they see them off.”
Jeremy slowly lowers himself into a seat opposite Cilla. I don’t tell him to step away because he has such a look of reverence toward Cilla that you cannot take his actions as rude or aggressive.
“Oh, you have three guardian angels?” Jeremy whispers.
Cilla throws her head back, laughing. “That is the last thing you’d call these three. Bono is the levelheaded one of the three. Tank is like a bull in a china shop, and Pyro, well he’s a pyromaniac and still can mess with fire on the other side.”
Grinning, Jeremy leans forward slightly. “I just wondered if you could contact my Pops. He died of a heart attack nobody saw coming. Here one minute and gone the next. I always wished I’d told him how much I admired and loved him. But I suppose I’ll never get to tell him now.”
“Actually, you just did. Is your Pops around fifty-five, sandy short hair, brown eyes and a scar on his left cheek?” Cilla asks.
Tears sprang to Jeremy’s eyes as he gasped. “Yes, yes, that sounds like him.”
“He said to tell you he knows that you loved him, and he loved you and still loves you so much. He sees you working your business and is proud of you for achieving so much with so little help.” Cilla grasps Jeremy’s hand and gives it a light squeeze.
“It seems your Pops has been waiting a long time to tell you that. He took the opportunity while you were here around me. Jumped the damn line to do so too. He has to go now, but he said he’s always around and sees you, even when you don’t see him.
He hears you talking to him in the calm of the night, when you feel his presence. ”
“Thank you so much. It feels good to know he knows that he is loved and is missed.” Jeremy stands and quietly walks back to Demon and me, giving us both a nod as he walks past and out of the clubhouse.
“Damn, Cilla. That was fucking awesome. But don’t bring my father, he’s an asshole and I don’t want him anywhere near me, or you if it comes to that,” Demon snarls the last, and to my surprise Cilla walks over and hugs Demon.
Something I never thought I'd see, and that was Demon hugging her back, gently and brotherly.