Bones (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 10)

by MariaLisa deMora

  He made a gesture with the photo as he lifted his eyes, pinning first Myron, then Mason, seeing acknowledgment on both their faces.

  “This is Diamante. This is Chismoso being called home and ignoring the demands. His failure wasn’t in convincing me he wanted to change camps. His failure”—Bones tossed the photograph to the table, seeing it lying there against a dozen others, different versions of the same graffiti, the same message, same threat—“was in coming to me at all. He is fucked, brother. There is no way back for him.” This to Mason, who nodded. “Do you have him?” Mason nodded again. “They fear him, and for some reason my Ester is important. Many questions. Is Silly well?” She was the tattoo artist who had inked Ester into his skin. “How did they know this was Ester? More, why would Chismoso know this was Ester? Until she became ill, she would have just been any woman, Mason. Key. Why would she be key to controlling him?”

  Myron cleared his throat, and Bones twisted in place, taking in the look on his face. Guilty and ashamed, and something else, something profound in a way that made Bones chest get tight. Without looking away, Bones dismissed the other men in the room, instinctively knowing an audience would be unwelcome for whatever it was Myron was about to disclose. “Walk, brothers.”

  The door had scarcely clicked into place in its frame when Myron began. “We haven’t found Carmela, but I think we’re close. Chismoso was Lalo’s cousin, you remember?” Bones didn’t respond, just stared, unsure what this had to do with anything. “They’re from a little village in Mexico, where Raul and Carlos grew up. Do you remember the first time Raul came to Chicago?”

  Mason spoke from behind Bones, and it was no surprise he had elected to remain in the room. “I remember it. About a year after we’d had the dustup at the strip club, the Machos had lost a lotta men that day. They attempted a run at our bar, Tupelo’s. Wasn’t what it seemed, though. Looked like a run, but was actually Raul coming to stop an attempt by Carlos’ faithful.”

  Slate was the next to speak, and his presence wasn’t a surprise, either. “They were after me. Gonna kill me. Thought everything had turned to shit that day, came out good. Fucking surprised me. Raul gave me a marker he still won’t let me clear.”

  Myron nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off Bones, who remained silent. “They killed a woman.”

  “Carlos’ old lady,” Shades spoke, and him staying was a surprise, but shouldn’t have been, because he’d had Bones’ back for a long time.

  “She looked like Sylvia.” Myron’s words fell into silence. “They were from the same village.”

  “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me? You tryin’ to say Silly’s part of this shit with Mela? Fuck you, man.” Slate’s outburst was loud and forceful, the sound of his boots sliding on the cement floor a signal of his agitation. “Silly wouldn’t turn on the Rebels, man. Fuck you.”

  “Didn’t say that. Silverio and Sylvia were cousins. They knew Lalo, know Chismoso.” He pointed to the picture lying on the table, finger outthrust without turning to see. “She drew the tattoo, knew Bones would recognize it. If Diamante came to her and pressured her, she knew Bones would see this and know where it had to come from. I think she’s hoping we come to her.” He held up his hand, stalling the sputtering Slate was already doing. “I don’t know why she didn’t just come to us off the bat. Maybe she tried. We’ve been a little preoccupied for the past weeks.”

  “Why would she pick this tattoo? Why one of mine?” Bones slung an arm out, gesturing to the men in the room. “Each of us has unique artwork drawn by her. Easily recognizable. Why would she select mine?”

  “Don’t know. Can’t know, until we talk to her. I needed to see the tattoo to be sure. That’s why I had you come here, Bones. Now we take the next step, and see what we can figure out from here.” Myron shook his head, tipping his chin down. “Ester’s safe, right?” Bones heard the undercurrent of fear in his voice, as if the answer to this question mattered more to the man than any other words spoken in this room today.

  “She is safe. She’s in Wisconsin at the compound. Road Runner is personally seeing to her safety, my friend.”

  Myron’s shoulders lifted and fell with a relieved sigh. “Good. That’s good. Means we can concentrate on this puzzle. She’s good.”

  “Myron, is there something you should tell me? This seems a good time for…confessions.” Bones kept his gaze locked on the man, saw his shoulders move, curling inwards, saw him swallow hard. Each of these movements reminded Bones of something. Someone. He’d seen the exact position change recently as Ester—his brain stuttered, trying to reset and see the possibility again. “Myron. Ester is—”

  “She’s safe. Carmela is not.” Mason spoke over whatever Myron might have said. “We need to talk to Silly. Make it happen.”

  ***

  Bones watched as the video image cleared, coming into focus on the large screen. An exhausted-looking Raul sat at a table, a dozen men at his back. Another window appeared on the screen, and the window framing Raul’s video shifted, taking up only half the previous space. On the other half was Opie and what looked like most of the members in Las Cruces.

  “Where is my daughter?” Raul’s question was clipped and angry, his features set in a rage. “Have you heard news?”

  Seated at the table next to Bones, staring up at the monitor, Mason leaned towards the computer and started talking. He spoke for nearly thirty minutes with only minimal interruption from the men on camera. The people in the room here in Chicago knew the plan, so they waited patiently. Once Mason finished speaking, Raul paused only a breath before he nodded. That video feed disconnected, closing the computer window, and Opie and the LC Rebels’ window enlarged to fill the screen.

  “Whatchu need from us, boss?” Bones wondered if Opie knew he flinched every time he said that word, boss, something he had called Watcher for as long as Bones could recall. “We’re ready. Fuck, we’ve been ready. Give us something, man.”

  This was something Mason had talked about with Bones and Slate at length, Shades and Myron silent observers. The men in Las Cruces had done nothing wrong, but their loyalty wouldn’t let them see it that way. The fact one of their own was a traitor would be enough to make them push to redeem the chapter; they would need that chance to make things right in their own eyes. Slate had argued, mostly because he was indeed invested in Carmela, but he’d eventually seen the wisdom of what Mason was about to put into play.

  “Need two teams from you. One’s going deep into Mexico. We need to get to the village where Estavez is from. Need to dig, brother. There’s someone there keeping tabs for Diamante, and we need to know who. The only thing we have is a name, Agustin. He knows something, and we need everything. The second team.” Mason paused while Opie leaned out of view, coming back with a laptop which he opened and started tapping on, looking at the camera with a nod when he was ready.

  “Second team needs to head to San Diego. Blue Line and his Malcontents have a package for us. They’ll only give it up to a personal escort.” Blue Line had contacted Bones via text asking for a call, and upon making that call, Bones had been pleased to learn three Diamante officers were being detained. A cop club, the Malcontents didn’t do things that crossed the line, ever, and for them to have willingly participated in what amounted to a kidnapping was telling. The things Blue Line said the men had already confessed were chilling, and Bones knew the knowledge gained was the reason Blue Line was ready to wash his hands of the men. “That second team, I want you to lead, Opie.”

  Chin lifting, Opie stared at the camera again, waiting.

  “Blue Line indicates they received coordinates on a signal Myron thinks might lead us to where Carmela is being held.” Shouting burst from the men behind Opie, but the man himself was still and quiet. After a moment, he made a gesture and the uproar subsided, another abrupt gesture and it died off entirely. Mason waited until silence fell, then continued, voice firm as steel, “Might. Not a definite, and no offense to Blue Line, but I think it’s thin and
won’t hold. On our side, here’s what we got.”

  Bones took a breath, knowing this was his cue. “Chismoso received a message from Diamante. All over Chicago, in all the places one would expect to find covert communications. They made a mistake, however, in using something personal to me. They did not know it at the time, only thought it would be eye catching. Hard to ignore. We did not ignore it, and Chismoso confirmed their message was not lost on him. The meaning, however, was not what we had thought. The ‘her’ in the message we originally thought was someone close to me, but now believe meant Carmela. Chismoso was not quiet when he took his beatout, he spread it far and wide that an innocent had again been involved in club business. Part of the reason so many dropped their patches was the inference that family was not safe. Not one of us wants to think of our loved ones in the hands of our enemy." Chismoso claimed to have no information about Carmela’s location, and exhibited no knowledge of Ester, and Bones believed him. That left the mystery of who had been behind the attack on his home, which meant it was not yet safe for Ester to return.

  “This message leads us to believe his tale, and gave us insight into where and what your first team will be seeking. There is a woman here in Chicago who has been a friend of the club for a long time. She is originally from the same village as Lalo and Chismoso. He remembers her. Remembers her cousin, who didn’t move to the States, but instead hooked herself to Carlos Estavez.” Opie’s already alert features became more so, eyes squinting as if through blinding lights. “Diamante knew this. The fact they were digging makes me think he has knowledge we have not yet surfaced. That is what I will be doing here in Chicago, while you are dividing your forces. I will be digging into a man’s head, trying to find out what he knows, without him knowing he knows it.”

  “I’m thinkin’ I don’t envy your job, man.” Opie smiled, more a baring of teeth than an expression of enjoyment.

  “Blue Line has a package. You, my friend, have executive decision.” Bones deliberately used a phrase he’d picked up from Watcher, knowing Opie would know exactly what he meant. The widening of Opie’s eyes, visible even on the video, was proof the message had been sent and received. “Have the men report to you.” This was Mason’s idea, setting Opie as the main conduit, and Bones knew he would know the men the best, be able to feel out their fears and dig into anything they might be holding back. If they had to call Mother, they would cleanse every report, ensuring they were painted in the most favorable light. “I do not envy your job, even if I wish I were there to share the burden with you. I pray you find Carmela, Opie.”

  “As do I, brother.” Opie turned away from the camera, looking at the men in the room with him. “Any questions? Now’s the time to ask.” As the new chapter president, that was a powerful play, Opie showing every man standing at his back that he trusted them enough to allow a voice at the table with the national president. One man spoke, pushing between the shoulders of some of the members. Spider.

  “And what’s Mason gonna be doin’ while we’re out here looking for Mela?” Bones studied the man’s face, seeing the pain drawn in lines and creases around his eyes and mouth. “Huh? Sittin’ on his fuckin’ hands?”

  “You do Carmela no favors in courting anger from this end of the call, Spider.” Leather creaked as Mason shifted in his chair at Bones’ hip, but held his peace, letting Bones continue talking for the group. “I see this is weighing heavy on you. The not knowing. The uncertainty. The losses we have endured there in the Las Cruces chapter of the Rebel Wayfarers.” He clipped the words out, seeing Spider jolt in place as if they were physically pummeling him, knowing he hated the reminder the Southern Soldiers were done.

  “Juanita is here, the uncertainty is hardest on her. Yet she is not disrespectful.” She hadn’t been, not once, even when Bones went to her with this information. “She knows everything you know, everything we know, and she is accepting of the Rebel Wayfarers plan.” Another involuntary jolt from Spider, it looked like the fact Juanita was listening to them scored deeply.

  “Chismoso has spoken of what he expects you to find if the trail leads to Carmela. He does not think Diamante would have killed her. Yet. You do your job, and if you can, ensure her safety. I have my job, and Mason’s job is whatever he decides is his, and I respect that. He is my president. I stand at his side, and at his back, and do not ever—” Bones stopped speaking as he leaned forwards, getting close to the camera, knowing his face would be all anyone at the other end would see. “—disrespect him again. I will cut out your tongue, and you will thank me for it, because that would mean I would leave you living. You have one chance to get this right, Spider. Do not mistake yourself. We, every one of us, live and breathe Rebels, and that is because of Mason’s drive and passion for the club.”

  Taking a breath, he said, “Rebels forever—,” With those words, he started the motto and heard every man at his back, as well as most of the men in the room a thousand miles away finish it, “Forever Rebels.

  ***

  “Tell me again.” Bones leaned over, forehead against the backs of his wrists where they were crossed on the tabletop. “Tell me about Florida and the Feds. Tell me about New Mexico. About Texas. About Louisiana. I want to know everything from when Lalo earned Watcher’s hatred.”

  “Jesus, man. I’ve been over this like a thousand fucking times.” The wooden chair across the table from Bones groaned, joints sliding against the wood in which they were set, flexing with the movement of the man seated there. Chismoso made nearly the same noise, rumbling from deep within his chest. Bones didn’t look up, waiting. With a heavy sigh, Chismoso began again. “It ran together, thing after thing. We left New Mexico. Duck had found Bella, and it was time for us to get the fuck outta Dodge. We hit Florida and the DEA picked up Lalo at a bar. He was out of circulation for a week, week and a half. We got him back, and he wanted to talk to Duck. No idea why. Did that, and it didn’t turn out well for him. I was about twelve hours behind him. He got winged, and holed up in a motel, called me. Your man—” Bones lifted his head abruptly, and Chismoso changed his words. “—that man, Tucker, had a hard-on for Mason. There was a well of hate in him that drew Lalo in, moth to a flame, man. He showed at our motel, tales of causing a wreck, killing a gal. Lalo went nuts, beat the shit out of him. He was muy loco, man. Craziest I’ve...I’d ever seen.”

  The break in his voice made Bones look harder at him, and he was reminded that Watcher had taken Lalo with him the day he died, and many other Diamante had died as well. This was the first time Chismoso had shown any emotion for his cousin’s death, and Bones suddenly found that suspect.

  Lips pressed into a line, Chismoso shook his head. “Edwardo could be crazy. All my life I knew he was different, touched. I never seen him like that before. Loud. Fuck, never heard him scream like that. Just fucking screaming. Same sounds, over and over, top of his lungs. Scary as shit, and known him all my life. Our motel room was bloody, all torn to shit. Mattresses ripped, drawers smashed. With all the noise, I figured the cops would be coming any moment, so I loaded us all up into a van. The thing already had a trailer hitched up, so I rolled the bikes up and hotwired it. Took off. Made it back to Mother in Adken. Didn’t even get on the lot before we got tagged. Was like they knew we were comin’, just swooped in and pulled their shit. Took Lalo again, left Tucker and me sitting in a goddamned stolen van. Days later they let Lalo go, same drill as the first time. He didn’t have a word to say about his time in the shit, man. Tight lipped. I don’t know what they asked him. Don’t know why they picked him up. Sure as fuck don’t know why they let him go twice.”

  “Tell me about Tucker. Is he yet alive?” Bones put his head back down, wanting to concentrate on the words.

  “Yeah, he’s breathin’. Gringo was stupid. Came in crowing about how he’d seen a chance and took it, took Mason down a peg. I’m not sure what Lalo heard, but it set him right the fuck off. Duck’s man had shot him, so he was hurtin’, but it wouldn’t usually make him crazed. He’d
been off the charts tweaked since Fury bailed on Diamante, saw it as a personal thing. Hadn’t held back, man. Nearly caused war between chapters when he took us to Fort Wayne. Fuck, my mind’s wandering all over the place, that wasn’t until after.” The chair creaked again, soles of Chismoso’s boots sliding across the floor as he adjusted his position. “Fuckin’ tired, man.”

  “What is your given name? Your government name?” Bones didn’t know why he asked the question, because it didn’t matter. “I’m Sal, Salvador Ramos.”

  “Yeah, I know that. Lalo knew everything about you, quizzed me like a fuckin’ dictator when I was here in Chicago, before you ran me out of town.” There was no rancor in those words, just a plain statement of fact that Bones found interesting. Before he could follow the idea trailing around his brain, Chismoso answered his question. “Oscar Ibarra.”

  Sitting back, Bones stared at the man. “Edwardo Suches.” Chismoso tipped his head to one side, the question plain if unstated. “Your mothers were sisters?” A nod.

  “Alive?” A headshake. “Do you have other family?” Chismoso shook his head again. “In Mexico?” Another head shake, this one accompanied by a drop of his eyes. “Edwardo had family though, yes?”

  “His sister is there. I haven’t seen her in a while.” Muscles bunching, Chismoso stretched, affecting nonchalance. “What’s it matter?”

  “Who is in Florida?” Bones changed directions, still not certain at what he was aiming. “Who did you see after Lalo was taken by the DEA?”

  “Deacon.” Not a surprise, they’d found out Deacon was the founder of the club, which went a long way toward explaining the bloody roots and warped path Diamante followed. “Just Deacon and a bunch of guys, man.”