by Ella Goode
“What do you think is going on at the Misery club?”
While he's inside, a Chevy Impala pulls up behind the truck. The driver gets out, looks around and then drops down next to the right rear wheel. He shoves his hand into the wheel well, grabs something and then climbs into his car and roars off.
“Did we just watch an exchange?” Chelsea bounces on the edge of the seat.
“Think we did. I gotta check that out.” I hop out. “Drive out of the lot and see which direction the Impala goes. Don’t follow it and wait for me.”
"Be careful,” she says. She climbs over the console and jams on the gas. I check to see if Moose is still inside. Looks like he is at the checkout. I pull my hat down and run through the same routine as the other guy. Dropping down to one knee to tie my boot, I glance at the wheel well where a pale envelope sticks out. I grab it and stick it inside my pocket. Boot tied, I stand and walk forward. Not too fast. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Moose exit the shop.
There's a line of pine trees between the edge of the gas station and the next business which is a fast food restaurant. I pause just past the trees and wave to Chelsea who is idling a block down. She flashes her lights to acknowledge me.
I bend down again, untying and retying the other boot. From here I can see the front of the gas station as well as Moose’s truck. He unhooks the gas pump, screws on the cap and then kicks the tire. When nothing falls out, he kicks it again. And then again. After the third kick, he bends over and feels around. He gets on his knees and looks under the chassis.
The envelope burns in my pocket. It’s too thin to be a stack of money. Empty handed, Moose pushes to his feet and this time when he kicks the tire, it’s out of anger. He snarls a couple of loud curses, loud enough for me to hear and then wrenches open the door. Inside the truck, he pulls out his phone and starts yelling at someone.
Time to go.
I jog lightly toward my truck. Climbing into the passenger seat, I pull my beanie cap even lower and tell Chelsea to turn toward me. "Face me and don't look up until I tell you too."
"What the heck just happened there?" she asks.
“Reach inside my pocket. There’s an envelope there.”
“I can’t believe he did the exchange out in broad daylight. It's a gas station. There are probably cameras everywhere."
"Sure, but what are they going to see? Some guy filling his tires with air and his tank with gas. Another car coming in and seeing the place full and leaving. The Dodge’s angle probably blocks what's going on down by the wheel well."
Moose roars by in his truck. He doesn’t even notice us.
"Should I follow?"
I hesitate. I don't want to put Chelsea in danger but this might be our best lead yet. "Yeah, but stay four cars behind."
I call Abel. He answers on the first ring. “You busy?”
“Not yet but Junior got a call not two minutes ago and whoever was on the other end of the line was piss mad."
"Moose made an exchange with a Chevy Impala. There was shit attached to his wheel well. Moose stops to get gas, goes inside to take a piss or something. A guy, about five ten, climbs out of a blue 2012 Chevy Impala. He’s white and has a full beard. Maybe neck tattoos. It’s hard to tell with everyone’s winter gear. He takes the package and leaves an envelope behind.”
I motion for Chelsea to hand me the envelope. I pull out ten crisp one hundred dollar bills and a piece of paper.
Abel thinks for a minute. “They must have used high powered magnets. Not a bad idea.” He admits. “You intercept?”
“Yep, but there’s only a grand in here with an address.”
He taps the address into his phone as I read it out loud. “Looks like it’s near Wirth Lake. Where’s Moose going?”
“South.”
“Wirth Lake is North Minneapolis. What’s South?”
“Trainor,” Chelsea says.
“Shit, you’re right.”
“I think he’s meeting up with Trainor.” A week ago, we’d followed Trainor to a motel on the outskirts of the cities. His wife had been murdered and initially I’d been arrested on two statements that my truck had been parked inside the gated community not too far away from the Trainer’s million-dollar residence. Those statements and my past criminal record were enough to get a judge to sign an arrest warrant.
Thanks to my fancy-ass lawyer, Amelia, I only spent one night in jail but it was enough to remind me why I don’t ever want to go back.
The slamming of the doors, the small cell, the stink. I endured three years of that.
I need to prove that Trainor’s wife was killed by someone else or the Fortune police will plant enough evidence that a saint would be convicted. And I hate that Chelsea is wrapped up in all of this but I also promised that we’d never be separated again.
“Want me to meet you?” Abel asks.
“What’s the temperature like at the club?”
“Chilly but getting warmer.”
“Not a fan of you there by yourself and we could use the backup. Maybe I’m wrong and he won’t go to the hotel.”
“So worst case scenario is I make a thirty minute trip to the outer ‘burbs. No big deal. I’ll see you soon.”
He hangs up. Chelsea has two hands gripped on the wheel. Her pretty cheeks are flushed and her eyes are sparkling. I guess following Moose is a hell of a lot more fun now than when we were tailing him from one errand to another. I feel the opposite. As we get closer to Trainor, the worry over her safety grows.
“What would you say if I took you back to the house?” I know this is a nonstarter, but I have to ask.
“No. And I’m driving so you better believe I’m not going to turn this truck around and go back to the townhouse like a good little girl and sit on my thumb while you and Abel are off saving the world.”
“When you’re sitting on your thumb, is it in your pussy or ass?”
“Fuck you, Grant.” She gives me the finger which I grab and kiss before I let her put it back on the steering wheel.
“Just worried about you.”
“And you think I don’t worry about you?”
I sigh. “I know you do.”
“Besides if the Misery boys are dirty, they could be waiting until I’m alone—without you or Abel around. Would I be safer by myself or with you?”
“Thanks for making my anxiety go up to ten,” I snort.
“You’re welcome.”
Yup, way too cheerful.
* * *
As we both anticipated, Moose pulls into the ratty hotel where Trainor is staying. Chelsea whips past the motel without me saying a word and then drives around the block. There’s alley access and she pulls into there. Within a couple of minutes, we’re parked behind the motel. Trainor is on the second floor.
“You still remember how to shoot your Glock?” I ask, more for my sake than hers.
She nods as she pulls two guns out from under the seat. I take the larger one and we both check the chambers.
“You think we’re going to get into a gunfight in a seedy motel in Burnsville?”
“I can only hope,” I grin. I’m still concerned but it is better that she’s with me. That way I don’t have to worry about what’s going on at home. Back at Fortune, no one would be dumb enough to lay a finger on her but here? No one really knows us which is both good and bad. On the bright side, Chelsea’s been to the gun range with both Judge and me and at least before I went to prison, she was a pretty good shot. There are worse people to have at my back.
Chelsea and I get out of the truck and loiter by the back door. I pretend to smoke while we wait for someone to leave. We get lucky because a business man exits before we get too cold.
I stub out the nonexistent stick and grab the door before it locks. The businessman doesn’t look back and Chelsea and I slip in. We both look at the floor to avoid our faces on the cameras in the corner of the stairwells. At the top of the landing, I pause, holding
my arm out to keep her back.
Good thing I did that because standing in front of room 212 is fucking Officer Paulson of the Fortune police. Chelsea must see him too because I hear her slight gasp before she covers her mouth with a hand. I step back and motion for her to come with me. We retreat to the first floor. I reach in and pull out a stack of cash.
“Get a room, first floor near an exit. See what Abel’s ETA is. Text me.”
She nods and then runs off. I peer around the corner. Paulson is leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking bored out of his mind. He starts pacing in front of the door, never going too far away as if he has been told to stick close. After about ten turns, he checks his watch. Finally, he pulls out his phone and starts watching something.
The phone in my pocket vibrates.
Abel is here.
I text Chelsea.
Go out to the truck. There’s a roll of plastic under the seat in the back. Have Abel carry that into the room and then send him up here.
Abel will know what to do with the plastic. Hell, Chelsea will too.
I tuck my phone away and go back to watching Paulson. He leans back against the wall and starts rubbing the heel of his hand down the front of his tan polyester uniform pants. Fucker’s watching porn.
I laugh silently.
My pocket vibrates again.
On my way.
OK.
Abel is coming up. He arrives a bare ten seconds later. He must have texted me at the bottom of the stairs.
“He watching porn?” Abel whistles under his breath.
“Yeah.”
“How you want to play this?”
“He doesn’t know you as well. Why don’t you go first? If you have a chance to take him out, do it. Otherwise I’ll be right behind you.” The motel hallway is one long shot. The main entrance and elevator bank must be at the other end.
Abel nods. He tugs his cap down around his ears and starts walking. With the dark cap and heavy navy pea coat, he looks dangerous but Paulson’s so hooked into his porn, he doesn’t realize there’s another person in the hall with him until Abel’s right on top of him.
Abel strikes fast. His one hand covers Paulson’s mouth and the other goes to his neck. There’s a small sound, barely noticeable and then Paulson slumps, unconscious in Abel’s grip.
“Nice.”
“Picked up a few things in the Marines,” Abel grins.
Inside the room we can wear some shouting. “What do you mean you didn’t make the exchange?”
I know that voice. Motherfucker, Chief Eric Schmidt is in on this. I wipe a hand down my face as I try to take in this new development.
“I told you I went to the gas station, put my hazards on and went inside. When I came out the shit was gone but there was nothing left behind,” Moose says.
“They’re supposed to leave you the address of the hand off.”
“Well I didn’t fucking get it.”
“Guys. Guys. There’s no sense in arguing.” That’s Trainor trying to play peacemaker. “Just call your contact up and tell him that the exchange was botched and we need to get the goods again.”
“Your lab blew up. You got another pound of meth somewhere we don’t know about?” Moose sneers.
“You know I don’t.”
“Then they’re not going to give me the information for fucking free.” Moose slams his hand on the desk.
“Then you shouldn’t have lost it,” Chief Schmidt says. “You fucked up; now you got to fix it.”
“Or what?”
“Or this is it for you.”
“Fuck you. Look. You wanted goods on the Death Lords dudes, right? Well I got it right here.” There’s silence and then…
“What the hell is this shit?”
“It’s video of the refinery over in Brooklyn Park.”
“So?”
“So that’s where Big gets rid of the problems at the club. He’s in charge of the fires down there.”
“What’s that got to do with Judge’s son?”
“Nothing but I got that other dude, the big fucking Marine, going in with Big the other night.”
“You’ve got two fucking blurry images getting out of a truck going into work. There’s not even a fucking body.”
“He takes the body in later. See, when he pulls out the garbage, he’s taking the trash out.”
“This wouldn’t stand up in a court of law. It’s fucking worthless.”
“I’ve got other stuff on the Misery crew. Judge will want to protect Junior. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again.”
“Until we catch him doing something, then all your talk is just that.” I hear a fist striking flesh. “Now you fucking get on the phone and find out where and when the hand off happens or the next trip Big makes to the ovens will be with your dead body.”
We haul Paulson’s ass between us, dragging him like he’s drunk off his ass. We just make it out of the hallway and into the stairwell when the door to 212 is wrenched open. “Paulson. Where the fuck are you? Let’s go.”
A door slams and then heavy footsteps stomp down the hall.
“That pinhead. He better not be jerking off in the maintenance room.”
Abel and I speed up and shut the door.
“Chelsea, why don’t you go get us some dinner.”
She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and then leaves. No questions and no arguments. Abel shakes his head in disbelief but takes himself into the bathroom to fill the empty ice bucket full of cold water. It takes three tries before Paulson regains consciousness.
I feel like punching him again when the first words out of his mouth are whiny threat.
“You’re going to prison for a long time for messing with an officer,” he cries.
“Really? What about Schmidt talking about meth delivery? How much time will he go down for that?”
I press play on my phone and the conversation plays back loud and clear.
“You can’t tell that’s Chief Schmidt,” he blusters.
Chelsea’s done a good job. There’s a single chair and a plastic sheet. Abel pulls out a small pouch from his pocket and lays it on the desk.
“Gag him.” Abel tells me.
I don’t even get the tape out when Paulson starts crying. “What do you want to know? I’m not going down for this. I just wanted to take my girlfriend to Hawaii.”
Hawaii? Abel and I exchange looks of disbelief. You can take a boy out of the small town, but you can’t take the small ideas from his pea brain.
I pull out my phone to start recording, but Abel shakes his head. “That shit can’t ever be deleted. Use this.”
He hands me a small hand held camera and we start questioning Paulson. He spills it all. Abel doesn't even have to take his tools out of the pouch.
Schmidt and a couple of others have been producing meth since Schmidt took office. Trainor and him met through the Eighty-Eight Henchmen after Trainor lost too much money at the Casino.
Trainor started cooking it up; his wife found out and the Eighty-Eight Henchmen had her killed. Schmidt thought it would be good to pin it on me but the best evidence he had at the time was parking a look-alike truck near the house. He planned on planting the gun but Chelsea recording everything that night I was arrested put a crimp in his plans. Since they executed the warrant and there was no gun recorded, they were going to have to plant it later.
When the Trainor house exploded, it put a wrench in things because Trainor had the gun in his house. Schmidt hadn’t wanted to keep it around.
God, they were so fucking stupid. I had to laugh.
“What are you going to do with me?”
“Sorry, Paulson, but we can’t have you running back to Schmidt.”
The butt end of my gun knocks him out again. We could kill him here but we might need him later. Junior’s serial killer basement will be his new home until we figure out the best course of action. We bundle up Paulson’s body and carry that out to the truck. Chelsea�
�s in the driver seat but smartly doesn’t turn around. She steps on the gas and drives straight to the duplex. Abel follows close behind. When we arrive at the house, she puts the truck in park. I get out and go around to open her door.
“Don’t be gone too long,” she says as I lift her down.
I give her a kiss. “It’ll be quick. We’ll both be home before you know it.”
“I guess I could make potato soup tonight.”
“Love that shit, baby.” I kiss her again and then pat her on the butt before she retreats into the house.
Abel climbs in the passenger side of the truck. “There’s not another woman in the world like Chelsea, is there?”
There’s definite longing in his voice. Not for her specifically but for a woman who understands the lifestyle, accepts it without question. It’s hard to find a woman like that.
“She’s one of a kind,” I admit.
“How many others would just give you a kiss goodbye like you were going to the office instead of disposing of a dead body and probably going to cut a few others?”
“Not many,” I says. “But there are others. Pippa. Annie.”
“Yeah, I guess.” His tone isn’t convincing.
I don’t really know how to respond because this is outside of my comfort zone. I’m down with talking about fucking, drinking, shooting but feelings? Unless it’s with Chelsea, then no on the feelings.
“What do you think of Big?” I say in an effort to change the conversation.
Abel obliges me. “Straight shooter. It’s why I’m not convinced Junior’s messed up in this but he’s definitely hiding something.”
“We can’t make a move on Moose without either taking Junior out or letting him know.”
“I vote for laying it out there. We’re going to have to take Moose out so we might as well give Junior a chance to save himself. Big is…he’s a good guy. You sensed it or you wouldn’t have let him touch Chelsea. I don’t see a guy like Big aligning himself with someone who’s sick.”
“Let me call Judge and run it by him.”
In the end Judge agrees with Abel. If Junior objects to us taking Moose out then he’ll have to go too. And for all intents and purposes the Misery MC will cease.
