Truth or Beard

by Penny Reid

  “No?” He didn’t sound surprised, more like he wanted to confirm my final answer.

  “No.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Repo’s face fall into the palm of his hand and he shook his head.

  Razor nodded once, again with no expression. “Then your brother is going to federal prison. But first, my boys are going to fuck you all up.”

  “No,” I said again. “None of that’s going to happen either.”

  “You’re going to give me a compelling reason, son?” The first note of inflection entered his voice; he sounded interested, like he hoped I would surprise him.

  “Yes.”

  “And what is that compelling reason?”

  “When Jethro installed the traps he alerted the law, sent pictures of the cars, VIN numbers, and a letter stating that he suspected the traps were being used for the transport of drugs.”

  Razor’s eyes narrowed, just a tad, and something like a small smile made his lips curve. “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “If that’s so, then why hasn’t the law interfered with our operations?”

  I paused, thinking about Cletus’s confiscated silly string. He obviously thought we were being recorded or videotaped. I didn’t want to say anything incriminating.

  “No answer?” Razor’s smile grew.

  To my relief and surprise, Cletus stepped forward and answered for me. “The law hasn’t interfered with your operations because they’ve been informed, but they don’t know it. The certified envelope is in a safe place at an offsite facility and we have copies, including a receipt—dated three years ago—of the certified letter, signed for by the law. All we need to do is place a phone call. Or, you could murder us.”

  “Say what?” Repo asked. He’d abandoned his stool and crossed to stand next to his boss.

  “Murder us,” Cletus responded slow and loud, like they were hard of hearing. “If you murder us then the police will also be notified about the location of the certified package. As well as other information pertaining to your…activities.”

  “Other information?” Repo sounded skeptical.

  Cletus nodded. “Yes. That’s right. I make a hobby of covert surveillance. And I imagine no one in this room wants the police to know what happened on the night of January seventh, two years ago.”

  Razor’s earlier humorless smile melted away. His eyes no longer looked dead, they looked murderous.

  “Are you threatening me, boy?”

  “Not precisely,” Cletus started, and I knew it was time for me to cut in, before Cletus explained the semantic differences between a fact, a promise, and a threat.

  “We’re not here to threaten you. We’re here to decline your offer. If you push the issue then we’ll have no choice but to call the law.” I spoke plainly because it was clear the club president didn’t respond well to anything but plain speaking. “Now, we’d rather not do that, for obvious reasons. If you leave us alone, and Miss James and Mrs. McClure alone, then we’ll have no reason to go sharing.”

  Razor’s eyes flashed as he returned his attention to me, and I clenched my jaw, bracing for whatever came next. This guy was crazy enough to hold Jess, the Sheriff’s daughter, against her will. He was likely crazy enough to do much more than that.

  “You don’t think you can just walk out of here, do you, boy? I can’t let y’all leave without one of you receiving a souvenir.”

  I swallowed a fair amount of dread, but also relief. We would be walking out of here, not limping, not carried out on stretchers. Walking.

  If the rumors were to be believed, Razor’s boon of choice was a cut, or several cuts, usually on the lower back and in a cross hash pattern. Sometimes he wrote his name. I could do that if it meant all of us, especially Jess and Claire, were going to walk out on our own two legs.

  I felt rather than saw Cletus stiffen next to me, knew he was about to object, but I lifted my hand to stay his outraged speech and addressed the club president. “Fine. I see you need to save face. That’s fair.”

  Jessica’s strangled squeak met my ears and I ignored it, fought the urge to look at her.

  “That’s not fair,” Cletus objected through clenched teeth.

  “I’ll do it.” I stepped forward.

  “Duane…” Beau’s protest was choked, and I heard him say, “No, I’ll do it.”

  A hand closed over my shoulder and I turned my head to find Jethro behind me, his eyes unusually serious. “It should be me.”

  The president pulled a straight razor from one of his pants pockets, flipping it open at the hinge. He was smiling again. “Should I give y’all a few minutes to decide who gets the honor?”

  “No,” Claire shouted, standing and bringing Jessica with her. “No one will have the honor. There won’t be any of that shit today.”

  “Dearest daughter, I didn’t mean you would be leaving. Remember what I said? You ever come back here, you ain’t leaving again. This is where you belong.”

  She shook her head slowly and lifted her hand, and that’s when I saw the 9-millimeter handgun in her grip. My eyes darted to Jess, and despite looking scared, she didn’t look surprised. She looked determined. In fact, at that very moment she lifted her arm as well, and in her hand was another 9-millimeter.

  “You didn’t frisk her?” Razor thundered at Catfish and the other mountain sized biker. “What the fuck is wrong with you? She’s my daughter. Of course she’s got a weapon.”

  Truly, you could have knocked me over with a feather.

  “We’re leaving, those Winston boys are coming with, and no one is getting carved today.” Claire’s voice was unnervingly calm.

  “You try my patience, baby girl.” Razor took a step toward his daughter and she responded by flicking off the safety, murder in her eyes. He stopped dead in his tracks.

  “You dare raise a gun to your daddy?” Christine stood as well; her eyes and voice were full of loathing.

  “Like I said, we’re leaving. And there will be no retribution either.” Claire ignored her momma. She and Jess moved in unison to where we were standing. Jess’s gun was trained on our eight biker escorts and Claire was covering Razor, Repo, Catfish, and the other mountain-sized Order member.

  “Boss?” Catfish questioned, his eyes darting between us and Razor.

  The club president squinted at his daughter for a long moment, his expression unreadable. At last he shook his head. “Let them go.”

  “All the way?”

  “Yeah. All the way.” Razor nodded once, his eyes still on Claire as he addressed her. “I’m only doing this ’cause you’re my blood, girl. I still got a soft spot for you. But don’t you forget, you don’t come back unless you plan to take your place.”

  Claire shook her head, her lip curling with disgust. “I won’t be back. But don’t you forget, Cletus ain’t the only one who knows where the bodies are buried.”

  CHAPTER 28

  “A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.”

  ― Lao Tzu

  ~Duane~

  Claire saved us.

  She guided us out of the compound via a much faster route than the maze we’d taken. It exited through a pair of above-ground cellar-like doors, opening to the outside at the edge of the parking lot. The temperature had dropped in the last half hour and we were dusted with big, fat snowflakes.

  Once we were all outside, Jessica handed her gun over to Jethro, her eyes cutting to mine for the briefest of moments, and then the two of them were off running to Claire’s truck, which was parked nearby.

  “Wait!” I started to follow, but Cletus stopped me with a hand on my arm.

  “No time for that right now. Claire knows what she’s doing. We need to leave.”

  I pulled out of his grip. “No. No fucking way. I need to see—”

  “Duane, let her go. We ain’t got time for this and she ain’t got time for this. Claire will keep her safe.”

  I wasn’t so sure. Not because I didn�
��t trust Claire or have faith in her level of badass, but I had a choking need to be the one to save Jess. I needed to see her to safety, witness it with my own eyes, hold her and know with certainty she was okay. But Claire and Jess were already in the Nissan Frontier and Claire was already maneuvering it out of the lot.

  Cursing, I nodded. Cletus was right and I hated it.

  We sprinted to the GTO, Jethro covering us with the gun Jess had passed him. I heard rather than saw Claire’s truck peel out and the engine rev as she sped away.

  The outside of the bar was vacant, no soul in sight. The four of us quickly piled into Beau’s car and I sped off like a demon, hoping to never lay eyes on the godforsaken Iron Order headquarters again.

  Twenty minutes later no one had said a word and we’d had no sighting of Claire’s truck. I was still glancing in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see motorcycles tailing us. But I didn’t. I saw only tourists’ rental cars, trucks, and campers. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jess.

  We were just about fifteen minutes from home, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know she was safe.

  So I broke the silence. “Jethro, I need you to call Claire, find out where they are.”

  “I texted Claire five minutes ago. They’re good. Jackson is meeting them at the James’s house. He’d read them both the riot act over the phone, she said. Claire is staying with Jess for the night in their guestroom.”

  I blew out a breath, nodding, a new wave of relief passing through me. For the first time in my life I was thankful Jackson James existed. “Good. That’s good.”

  Jethro turned in his seat and addressed his question to Cletus. “What I want to know is, what happened two years ago the night of January seventh, Cletus.”

  “That’s the night Tommy Bronson went missing, aka Lube.”

  “Lube?” Beau asked.

  I saw Cletus nod in my rearview mirror. “Yeah. His biker name was Lube…an unfortunate nickname. But he got it because he was so slippery.”

  “You have proof? The Order killed him?”

  “No. I have no proof. I was bluffing. But everyone knows Razor did it.” He waved his hand in the air like this was a fact and this fact was common knowledge.

  “Well, what I want to know is,” Beau met my eyes in the mirror briefly before turning to Cletus, “why did you tell Razor all that stuff when you were so sure we were being recorded? About how the police have been informed about the traps, but don’t know? Can’t he just use that to blackmail us again?”

  Cletus took off his thick and unnecessary glasses, handed them to Beau. “You see this? This is an FPV video scrambler. It renders recording equipment useless. They might have been recording us, but all they’ll get is static.”

  Jethro huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Then what the hell was the silly string for?”

  “Like I said, it’s silly. And it makes a mess. I like to be prepared for all eventualities.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Apparently, neither did anyone else because everyone was silent. Naturally, my thoughts turned back to Jess.

  I needed to speak to her. Instinct told me to go to her, wrap her in my arms, and take her away from all this craziness. Take her back to our cabin and keep her there until things between us were sorted. I wanted her to look at me with certainty again. Not anger. Never hurt.

  But first I needed a plan.

  “You want us to drop you off at Jess’s?”

  I glanced at my oldest brother, then shook my head.

  “Why the hell not?”

  I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and gave Jethro my stony profile, and said nothing.

  “I agree with Jethro,” Cletus chimed in, then added, “For the record.”

  “Me too,” Beau agreed.

  Jethro continued to push when I remained silent. “That woman loves you. I saw the way she looked at you when we walked in, saw the fear in her eyes when you volunteered to get cut.”

  I shook my head, rejecting his words. “I have no plan. I’ve got nothing. I need to figure things out first, figure out—”

  Jethro cut me off. “See, this is your problem.”

  “I don’t have a problem.”

  “Yeah, you do. You’re always planning, but getting nothing done, waiting for a sure thing. You love that woman, you go get her, Duane. You don’t wait ’til the time is right.”

  “Pot, meet kettle.” Beau’s retort sounded almost cheerful.

  “Shut it, Beau. We’re not talking about me.” Jethro turned in his seat, facing me and added in a more persistent tone, “She loves you something fierce. She does. You don’t wait for that kind of love to cool off, believe me. You strike while the iron is hot.”

  ***

  It was the middle of the night and I was about to throw rocks at the window of Sheriff James’s house. Specifically at his daughter’s window. Now these were small rocks, pebbles really, and I wasn’t trying to break anything. I just wanted her to let me inside.

  I didn’t know what I was doing. This kind of recklessness was completely foreign to me. I had no plan, no idea if I was about to make things a hundred times worse. But something about Jethro’s pushing, when he’d said You don’t wait for that kind of love to cool off. You strike while the iron is hot rang true.

  Jethro’s odd words of wisdom, plus a restlessness that felt like heartburn pushed me to make my second spur-of-the-moment decision in the last month. The first being tricking Jessica James backstage at the community center.

  I jogged over to Jessica’s house—with no strategy, no confidence that this would work—only knowing I needed to see her. I needed to make this right before she’d slept another night on the angry words between us and decided I’d pushed her away too many times to forgive.

  I tossed three pebbles at her second-story window, waited, then threw two more. She didn’t appear, so I tossed another two. I was warring with doubt and eyeballing the tree next to the house, considering the likelihood of climbing it without killing myself, when I saw her light flip on. I didn’t know whether I was relieved or distraught when she opened the window.

  She poked her head outside, her long blonde hair dangling over one shoulder, and scanned the rooftop.

  Not allowing myself to think about it, I cupped my hands to my mouth and loud-whispered, “Jess! Down here.”

  I saw her frown in my general direction, but no focus in her features. She couldn’t see me.

  “Duane…? Is that you?”

  “Yes. It’s me.”

  Her eyes were still searching for me as I again studied the hemlock tree next to the house. I decided to climb it.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m coming up.”

  “You’re…what?”

  I didn’t answer because I was already climbing the tree. Now, this tree was really two trees, split down the middle. I was able to leverage myself between them using my upper body strength exclusively. Luckily, there was a branch just out of reach, so I jumped for it and grabbed on.

  “Oh my God!” I heard her whisper, and she sounded frantic. “Please do not tell me you are climbing that tree.”

  “Hush, I’m almost there.” I pulled myself up until I was finally kneeling on the branch.

  “Duane Winston, you are the craziest person I’ve ever met.” I don’t think she meant for me to hear those last words, but her voice carried, and they made me smile and gave me hope because along with exasperated they sounded affectionate.

  I climbed one more branch, though I wasn’t sure it would hold my weight. It made a cracking sound just as I straightened and I heard Jess squeak, which made me laugh.

  “Are you laughing?” she accused with a harsh whisper. “I can’t believe you’re laughing. After what happened tonight. You are the only person on the face of the earth who would laugh while risking a broken neck. Everyone knows hemlock trees aren’t climbing trees…”

  Her tirade continued as I stepped on the steepled roof and carefully made my way
across. She was still fussing at me as I climbed into her window, keeping my footfalls as soundless as possible.

  “…all this risky behavior, you’re going to kill yourself. Or I’m going to kill you for making me a witness to it. You are completely thoughtless about your own safety…”

  I closed the window behind me and surveyed her room. I crossed to the light switch and flipped it off. Then I moved back to where she stood. Her hands were on her hips; the slant of her mouth was even more pronounced now that she was frowning.

  She was still talking, something about medical insurance and hoping I had a good policy, so I kissed her to hush her. And also because I needed to. I needed to know she was safe, whole, unharmed. I needed to feel her body, her heartbeat against my chest.

  I missed her. Oh, how I’d missed her.

  After a stunned second, she kissed me back. My fingers slipped under her nightshirt—another silk button-up that fell to her thighs—and hers fisted in my sweater.

  I loved her petal soft skin, her curves, how hot she felt beneath my hands. She burned up everyplace I touched. I needed to touch her everywhere.

  I loved her taste, and how responsive she was, like she couldn’t think past what we were doing.

  But then she stiffened and pushed me away, maybe just realizing what was happening. She turned and darted to the other side of the room, placing the bed between us. The back of her hand came to her mouth and Jess stared at me with big eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, shifting from foot to foot like she was ready to bolt.

  My mind wasn’t prepared for talking, so I said stupidly, “We didn’t finish our conversation earlier.”

  “When?”

  “Before now.”

  “When before now? You mean when you walked out on me at the cabin?” Her chin lifted, like my walking out was a sore spot for her. “Or when we were trapped at the biker compound?”

  Being reminded of the cabin made my chest hurt, but being reminded of the danger I’d put her in at the compound made my blood pump cold and furious.

  “Both,” I managed through my self-loathing, hating she’d been in danger because of me.