Wildman stiffened and turned his head slowly to look at Po’Boy. The man met his gaze, a pained and brutal honesty staring back at him. Po’Boy had dug into his background. Without a word to Wildman, without a single question aimed his way, he’d dug around that bloody past.
“Aww, fuck.” Mudd’s soft curse was background noise to the loud buzzing in Wildman’s ears.
“Retro, someone pay you for information on me lately?” Without looking away from Po’Boy, Wildman asked the question he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer to. He got the answer right away, not from Retro, but from the sick look on Po’Boy’s face.
“Son—”
He’d never know what Retro was about to say, cut him off with a slice of his hand through the air. “Never mind. Neither here nor there right now. The problem is in Philly, and is the Monster Devils.” He couldn’t pull his gaze away from his friend, possibly his best friend, his mentor, a man he’d trusted with his life—who’d gone behind his back for some unknown reason. “They’re in a war, been in one for a long time. But it’s ratcheted up in the past six months. Ain’t no rhyme or reason to their strikes. They’re just flailing around and trying to keep some semblance of control.” With a giant breath that stretched his ribs to their limit, he tore his eyes away, locking them on Retro. “He got a message after he patched into the Bastards. Chances are that’s the direction you need to look, brother.”
“Who’d reached out, do you know?” Mason had an elbow over the back of his chair, still looking as relaxed and easy as ever. “Could be telling.”
“Current president, who is a shitbag cumstain I wouldn’t let within a hundred miles of my club.”
Retro’s statement had the conversation volume increasing in the room, not quite to previous levels, but enough so Twisted lifted the bat again, waggling it through the air.
Wildman got it, why they were all questioning. A club president didn’t reach out to another club via an old member and ask for anything.
“What’d he want?” Sparks’ first question was key, and Wildman raised his opinion of him by a notch.
“Was lookin’ for a soft place to land. Didn’t like the fact they’d gotten into a shoot-on-sight war, probably felt vulnerable, since he was bleeding members and had just lost two more officers to drive-bys.” Retro stood slowly, each movement looking heavy, weighed down. “I think you’ve hit the right of it, boys. Now I at least got a direction to start checkin’.” He sighed. “Mudd, let’s—”
“Brother, you do not need to do this alone.” Twisted pushed to his feet, too, angling his body towards Retro. “IMC stands with the Bastards, thick and thin. You ain’t gettin’ rid of me. So sit your ass back down until we have a goddamned plan. We’ll deal with this and get your man and his family back, and then we’ll circle back around to the next threat, the motherfuckin’ cartel. Or the Bratva. Or the Feds. This group right here?” He punched a finger at each president seated at the table. “We’re the law when it comes to our territory, and we need to start acting like we give a shit about our clubs, our lives. We go things alone, and we’re easy to pick apart. Pick off, like a sitting fuckin’ duck.” He whirled and shook his head at Po’Boy, who slowly closed the mouth he’d just opened. “Between the cartel, the mob, pop-up clubs who don’t have a fuckin’ clue about the life, the other outlaws in North America always pushing at our borders, and the goddamned fucking government, if we don’t stand together, then we’ll all fall eventually. I’ve been puttin’ my money where my mouth is, lately, and I gotta say, life is better with allies. It’s a lot fuckin’ better.” He patted the air, and Wildman grinned as Retro settled back in his chair. Grinned again when Mason’s hand reached out and clasped the man’s shoulder. “I’m not finished, dammit. I say we do what we should have done a year ago, and we work together to not just fix this current line of shit we got trending to our doors, but whatever else needs doing. You can do it alone, Retro, but brother, you don’t have to.”
There was a rap on the doors leading into the clubhouse main room, and Wildman traded a look with Twisted, who nodded. Wildman pointed at the man closest to the door, the South Coast Devils VP, and gestured for him to open it.
Pony’s head popped around the door, his gaze zeroing in on Twisted, broad smile stretching his lips.
“It’s time, boss.”
This time when the uproar happened, it started with Twisted’s joyful shout, followed by him standing so quickly he toppled his chair over backwards. The baseball bat swung wide, straight into Wildman’s deflecting hands, and Twisted shoved between men on his way around the table to the door. When he got there, he put a hand on each of Pony’s shoulders, dipped his head to stare into his eyes, and asked, “You sure?”
“Yeah, she called and said her water broke, so she’s in it to win it this time, brother.”
Twisted’s shoulders rose and fell once, then again, and when he finally whirled to face the room, it was with a blinding grin. “Y’all motherfuckers gotta figure your own shit out right now. My Shiny Penny’s been tired of being pregnant for a while now, had a couple of false starts, and there ain’t nowhere I need to be but next to her.” He pointed at Wildman. “Acting chapter president, effective immediately. So decreed.” Wildman stiffened, but Twisted wasn’t done. “Justine LaPorte, do you hereby swear that you have no ill intentions to the Incoherent MC or to any club so represented at this table today?” Wildman glanced down to see her nod. “Nope, pretty lady, you need to voice this loud and proud so everyone can hear. Do you swear?”
“Yes, Twisted. I swear no club embodied in this room will come to harm by my action or inaction. You’re all safe with me.” Her chin trembled, and Wildman curled his arm tighter around her while Mason reached out and brushed the back of her hand with his fingers. “I swear.”
“Use whatever assets or resources are needed from the IMC to find and retrieve your man, Retro. My word is oath for the club, brother. But right now,” he took a step backwards, Pony moving out of his way, “I got other places to be.”
He whirled and ran, sprinting through the clubhouse. The door hadn’t closed behind him when Twisted’s pipes roared as he took off, gravel spitting against the outside wall.
Wrench cleared his throat, and Wildman looked down as Po’Boy lifted the chair Twisted had used, the same one his grandfather Jimbo had sat in as he founded and then ruled over the club long ago, and placed the seat back in its place at the table. Then Wrench kicked at the legs, angling the chair towards Wildman.
“I believe that’s your seat, Wild.” Po’Boy’s hand on his shoulder should have burned but didn’t. It felt supportive and proud, if a touch could carry such emotion. “We can talk later, and I’ll explain everything, but right now, your nat prez placed a burden on your shoulders you need to pick up and carry.” He was pushed, pulled, and weighted down with a hand to settle his ass in the old leather, worn and molded by only two sets of asses through the years. “We need to get ahead of this, brother. There’s a two-pronged approach that might work, but only if everyone agrees.” Po’Boy’s head was close to his, the whispered words for Wildman alone. “First off, recognize the change here and now. Plant the understanding of what he did when he called on your lady. Make sure they all get the idea. Then you’ll know she’s safe.”
A quick look over his shoulder found Justine standing directly behind him, as he had stood behind Twisted. This was her show of faith and loyalty, in a way that every man in the room would understand. Chin up, she was again taking the measure of every man, and he could almost see the list she was ticking off in her head.
When he went to fold his hands on the table, he realized he still held the baseball bat. He studied it briefly, then rested it across the center of the table. “When we’re done in here, we’ll ride to the hospital and celebrate with our brother. It would be the IMC’s honor to have every man present when our prince is brought to air.” He took in a breath that came easier than any had since Twisted left the room, left the house, rollin
g away from this shitshow. “I’d like official recognition of the oaths sworn in this room prior to Twisted’s exit. If we’re going to work together and leverage everything we need to get shit done, then we can’t afford any infighting, or fuck, even any suspicion. Justine answered Twisted’s question, and I throw my trust behind her in that response. Anyone around the table have anything else to say about that?” He waited a beat, glancing left to right and back again, seeing only headshakes from every president. “And your seconds, can you oath they’ll stick to the same plan?” He arrowed a look at Sparks, who nodded, then looked at the man at his back just in time to see the man’s mouth twist in disgust. “You sure about that, Sparks?” He didn’t beat any harder at the man, simply made the statement and moved on, calling out one other president, because he hadn’t seen Capone’s second before and didn’t know Rocket personally, just through the grapevine. Capone’s easy smile put him at ease, but when he turned back to Sparks, it was to find him embroiled in a heated, if quiet, conversation with his VP. “Sparks, can your man give his word?”
“Seems not, brother.” Sparks stood, hands on his hips as he towered over the other man. “Needa vacate, brother. Head out, now. We can talk about this later, but you can’t be in here no more.”
“Bitch had my brother arrested, and we’re supposed to just believe it’s all puppies and happiness now? Fuck that noise, man.” The man backed up, shoulders to the wall. “Never thought you’d pussy out, man.”
“Not pussying out to say it like it is. We need her now. And Doth, your brother’s a fucking asshole.” Sparks sighed, the air hissing out of his pursed lips. “You gonna make me do this here?”
“Do what? Pussy out in front of the big dogs? Thought you wanted to impress ’em with your leadership, or some shit.”
“Well, I’m sure doin’ a stand-up job right now, aren’t I? My own man won’t even follow a simple direction to unass to the other room.” Sparks sighed again. “You are gonna make me do this here. Shit, man.” Quick as a snake, his hand flashed out, and it was only then Wildman saw the blade. His shout died in his throat as instead of stuffing the metal into the man’s chest, Sparks sliced at his vest, coming away with a hunk of leather and the officer patch. “Return your other patches in Adken. Tomorrow. That’s all you got.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Oh no, here we go.” Sparks leaned close, nose to nose with the other man. “My fuckin’ club. My fuckin’ rules. You got no goddamned place there anymore. Now fuck off and get out of here.” Sparks turned and settled back into his chair, staring down at the patch for a breath before shoving it into a pocket. “He gone yet?”
Wildman shook his head.
“Fuck, he’s gonna make me do this other thing, ain’t he?”
“Likely, brother.” Wildman shrugged. “Or I could help it along.”
“I’d appreciate a hand, man. Appreciate it a hell of a lot.”
Wildman whistled, and the three prospects from earlier flung the doors open, staring openmouthed at him sitting in Twisted’s seat. “Yeah, yeah. There’s been a few things goin’ on. We’ll have a meeting in a bit, but for now, can you get this mouthy piece of shit out of our clubhouse? Man needs to head back to Florida, and if a couple of you would trail him out of our territory, that’d be sweet.” To their credit, none of the prospects questioned him, the seat, the bat, the way the other men still sat at the table—all the proof they needed that for now at least, Wildman’s word was law. They swarmed the sputtering and cursing ex-VP of the Jailbreakers, taking him to the ground, then rose up with a man on each arm and the third holding the kicking legs. They toted him out of the room like a bag of garbage, and the doors closed behind them, Pony’s grinning face mouthing “I’m your VP now, bitch,” the last thing Wildman saw as the gap closed.
“Where were we?” Pinching his lips together, he looked around the room, latching his gaze on Retro. “Findin’ your man. Let’s hunker down, see what we can come up with. Mason.” He angled his head to look in Mason’s face. “If I get your phone in here, can you get your tech guy on the line? If the Monster Devils are imploding to the point the president is vacating, there’s gonna be all kinds of meaty info around. He’ll know where to look first, and best.”
“I can do better than that.” Mason pointed at the doors. “He’s out in the main room. I had a feeling I’d want him close for this meeting.”
“Out-fucking-standing,” Retro said, slapping a hand on the table. “Now we’ve a direction and a tool, we just need a break.”
“We’ll find that break, brother.” Wildman nodded at the South Coast Devils VP again, who grinned good-naturedly at being reduced to the doorman and reached out to open it. “Myron, with the RWMC, the pleasure of your presence is requested. ASAP.”
The skinny biker slipped through the door, looked straight at Mason, and asked, “What can I bring in with me?”
“Whatever you need.” Wildman’s voice cut through the air before Mason could open his mouth, and he experienced a tiny flicker of pleasure when Justine’s hand landed on his shoulder in a silent ask for acknowledgment. “Yeah, baby?”
“If you can get me Wi-Fi and a tablet, one that won’t lead back to anyone here, I can do my own digging. I’ve got my own ways into the nuts and bolts of various investigative data.”
Wildman nodded without hesitation. “Myron, do you have a clean tablet for the lady?”
Myron reached out a hand, and someone out of sight dropped a backpack strap into it. “I’ve got that and a lot more. Pretty boys have the best toys, don’t you know that?”
Wildman waited for the door to close and Myron to make his way next to Mason. Someone shoved a chair in their direction, and Mason and Retro moved down to give Myron room. Wildman reached back for Justine, linking their fingers together as he guided her to sit on his leg. She adjusted herself, then accepted the device from Myron. With a smile, she bent her head over the surface and started tapping, only stopping to ask Myron, then Retro, a couple of questions.
Myron was much the same. He had a laptop he’d reinstalled a battery in, a tablet, a phone, and another device Wildman couldn’t identify but appeared to be a satellite connection. As the two worked their technical magic, Wildman, Wrench, Po’Boy, Mason, Hoss, Retro, Mudd, Capone, and Sparks pooled their knowledge of the Monster Devils and the malignancy of the leadership there on the East Coast.
More than two hours passed before Justine stiffened, putting her nose within a few inches of the tablet and squinting. “Hey, Myron, I think I found something.” She shoved the device down the table, and Myron picked it up, studying the information on the screen.
“Yes, you did.” He tapped the device, then laid it on the table, opening another window on the laptop. A rendering of the tablet showed, and he deftly toggled something, so the document snapped into focus on his screen. “Check this out.”
A picture slowly resolved. Grainy and shot from an awkward angle, it was security footage of a gas station. A van pulling a short trailer slowly rolled into view, two motorcycles lashed tightly in place on the trailer. If the angle had been any different, they wouldn’t have seen inside the van.
A man, trussed and tied, lay with his arms stretched over his head towards where they were anchored to the struts of the driver seat. On the floor of the vehicle next to him were fabric bundles: one small, one large. The man was moving, struggling, though weakly. The other two blanket-covered lumps were still. Very still.
“Your man Einstein, he has a wife and kid, right?” Mason’s question was quiet, nearly gentle.
Retro’s voice broke, rough and filled with gravel. “He does. Little girl. That’s him. Where are we, man? Can you find him?”
“Oh, yeah.” Myron’s tone held anger and sadness, grief. “I’ve had a fuckton of experience at this part of the job.” He shifted and glanced at Mason, who held his gaze. “Well versed in the mechanics.”
“Just find him, My. Fuckin’ find him so we can get him and his fami
ly back.”
“This was taken twelve hours ago, just off I-75, outside Ocala. They’re headed south, for whatever reason.” Myron’s fingers flew over the keys, and a series of camera angles popped into view on the computer. “This’ll take me a hot minute, but I should be able to track them downstate. Where would they be going?”
Wildman had kept his eyes on the initial video, the vehicle rolling just out of view, then backing up closer to the gas pumps. There was nothing for a moment, only the bugs flying in and out of the shot proof that it hadn’t ended, was still playing. Then boots came into view, followed by the rest of a man, the driver, he supposed. He kept his attention there, watching the man with growing disbelief.
“Myron, can you pause this? Enlarge it? Make it better?” He tapped the screen, and the video disappeared, Wildman pulling his hand back like he’d touched something hot. “I think I know that guy.”
“The driver?” Mason’s question was tight and low, filled with anger. “How the fuck would you know him?”
“Get me a good look at him, and I’ll tell you if I fuckin’ know him or not, okay?” Justine squeezed her legs around where she sat propped on his thigh, a quiet reminder he wasn’t alone. Never be alone again if I have anything to say about it. “Just get me a good look, yeah?”
“On it. I just need to download the video so I can enhance it.” Whistling tunelessly through his teeth, Myron tapped, tabbed, scrolled, clicked, and typed on the laptop, working through a variety of screens.
“Oh, is that the Niesha software? Such amazing stuff.” Justine’s quiet question split the silence, and she jerked in place, looking back at Wildman with a mouthed, “Sorry.”
“What’s the Niesha software do?” Mason’s question wasn’t quiet, and he made no apologies at the potential interruption.
Tarnished Lies and Dead Ends Page 23
