Devil's Marker (Sons of Sanctuary MC, Austin, Texas Book 4) Page 11

  “Yeah.” Win nodded.

  “Their prez is kinda young. Too young to be a prez. And redheaded. You know what that means.”

  “What?”

  “Hothead. Reds are always hotheads. Like they got fire in the blood or somethin’.” Win nodded without conceding agreement to Cue’s brand of folk wisdom. “Anyways, when Boss walks up to ‘em, Dredge… that’s the prez’s name, Dredge widens his stance like this,” Cue demonstrated, “and crossed his arms over his chest.” Cue demonstrated that as well.

  “Boss says, ‘Dredge’.

  “Dredge says, ‘What do you want?”

  “’Want to have a little talk about what happened to one of my boys earlier in the week. Out on 35?’

  “Dredge looks at the guy with him, tall ugly-as-hell cocksucker with a scar across his face right here.” Cue drew his finger across his own face to illustrate the path of ‘cocksucker’s’ scar. “The man shakes his head and looks unconcerned like he’s clueless to what Boss is talkin’ about.

  “Boss says, ‘This mean you’re denyin’ it?’ And he has his eyebrows up to here when he asks.” He points to a spot just above his own hairline. “I can tell you from long time experience that, when Boss’s eyebrows are way up here, you’d best be tellin’ him what he wants to know. Post. Haste.”

  “Duly noted.”

  Cue nodded as if to say that he approved of the prudence Win showed by taking his warning to heart.

  “Dredge says, ‘We’re here to look at a ride. You got somethin’ to say, say it. If not, be somewhere else ‘cause we got things to do.’ Now, see, that’s the wrong kind of thing to say to Boss.”

  “No shit.”

  “I would not shit you about this.”

  “Okay.”

  “So Boss puffs up a little. Scares the Baptist outta me when he does that ‘cause I know the man, but those fuckin’ idiots just stand there ‘cause they don’t understand the end times are about to be deposited squarely on their pointed little heads.”

  “And is that what happened? End times?”

  Cue shook his head. “Game called again. Looks like another delay on the end of days. However, Boss reaches out fast as a snake, grabs that little redheaded metrosexual by the cut and shoves him into a corner so they can have a more private kind of chat.

  “Zip, Smash, and me stepped in front of tall and butt-ugly before he can keep his prez from lookin’ like the little bitch he is. Gotta tell you. It was satisfyin’ watchin’ him squirm, renderin’ him unable to do his job. I was smirkin’ the whole time.” He chuckled.

  “Wish we had it on video.”

  “Now that would be somethin’. So I’m not entirely sure what Boss says to Dredge in private, but I’ll tell you this. Fucker’s face turns so red it’s almost purple. That’s another problem with bein’ redheaded. Damn high colorin’. Everybody can see exactly what they’re thinkin’. Can’t play poker worth a shit.”

  “Huh.”

  “So just about the time Dredge’s head looks like it gonna explode, and that’s no exaggeration mind you, cops come strollin’ in like they’re not in any hurry. Smash ‘n Zip ‘n me take two steps away from Ugly. We got our hands in our pockets and it’s clear as day we’re not up to mischief. Just good Harley customers out for a Saturday shoppin’ trip. Know what I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ugly’s startin’ to look around like he just remembered someplace else where he needs to be. Now, Boss, who’s got instincts out the wazoo, I mean that’s how he got where he is if you’re followin’.”

  “I am.”

  “He senses when it’s time to wind up his summit meetin’ with the carrot top.” Cue chuckled. “Now here’s the thing you’re gonna love. I’m not sayin’ that Boss is in bed with local law enforcement, but I will say that he donates to all their funds and, when they’re needin’ help in a way that we could help without bein’ in conflict with our own interests, we give it. We’re an outlaw club, but we’re not the kind of outlaw club that flaunts it or preys on good citizens.

  “Guess what I’m tryin’ to get across is that, between us and S&B, we’re the home team. Locals. Counts for somethin’. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “So cops take one look at them and another look at us and say, ‘You got trouble here, Boss?’ You can almost see the lava spew right outta the top of Dredge’s head. Not so much Ugly. Seems like maybe he’s beyond feelin’ much of anythin’.

  “Turns out Boss knows one of the cops by name. Says, ‘No trouble, Charlie. Seems there’s a new club in town. We were just givin’ a proper welcome and invitin’ them to a get together’.

  “So this Charlie looks over at Dredge and Ugly and says, ‘You sure? Seems like I mighta heard one of yours took a real ugly beat down out on 35. These the fellas that did it?’

  “Boss turns around and looks at Dredge and Ugly like he’s forgotten which two fellas Charlie might be talkin’ about and has to check to be sure he’s talkin’ about the same ones. ‘We don’t know who did that, Charlie. Guess you don’t either, which is a damn shame ‘cause somebody ought to be wearin’ orange right now.’

  “’Well, that’s the truth of it,’ says Charlie. ‘You hear anythin’, you let us know.’ ‘Count on it,’ Boss says. ‘I hate to ask this, but your boys outside are creatin’ kind of a stir. Their presence is discouragin’ business and Harley, here, has to make a livin’ like everybody else.’

  “Boss says, ‘We’re just leavin’, Charlie. Sorry to pull you away from what you were doin’.’ Then he shakes Charlie’s hand and the four of us walk out. As we’re headin’ toward the door we hear Charlie say to Dredge and Ugly, ‘Now you boys need to move on off. Come back some other day’.”

  “And they did? Leave without any trouble?”

  “Yeah. Meek as little lambs.” Cue snickered. “Little lambs that had been sittin’ in the stewpot so long they were red in the face.”

  “Did Boss tell you what he said to the S&B prez?”

  “Not till we got back here.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “Said he told Dredge that movin’ into our town was strike one. Hop was strike two. And that, if Dredge had the sense God gave a redheaded stepchild, he’d take his merry band of miscreants and get the hell back to Dixie before he accidentally stepped on strike three. Which would deliver Armageddon right to his door and that of his family.

  “Boss told him that he plays nice with other clubs who stay where they should and stay out of his business, but that Dredge is no longer where he ought to be and is now in our business.”

  Win looked around and realized that Cue’s retelling of the afternoon’s events had garnered the attention of several members who were there, but outside in the parking lot, and one who was inside, Zipper.

  “Dredge took attitude with Boss. Always a mistake.” That caused several interested parties to exchange looks, nod heads, and murmur agreement. “Said if a man has the only dry cleaning business in town, he’s bound to be out of sorts if another man moves to town and opens up a dry cleaners.

  “Boss told him there are several key differences, the principal one bein’ that the first dry cleaner isn’t likely to bury the head of the would-be competitor in Hill County and send what’s left of the rest of him, after playtime and all, back to his family in fuckin’ Alabama.”

  A couple of the club members laughed at that.

  “Dredge says, ‘We’re not really in competition with you, Mr. Greer.’ Calls him Mr. Greer ‘cause, ya know, he’s not about to call him Boss.” Cue took a minute to smirk about that. It seemed like learning the word had given rise to a new mannerism. “Then he says, ‘You might say we’re targeting a different market.’

  “Boss says, ‘Heard about that. Turns out that’s strike number three. You’re not targeting shit around here. And when I say around here, I mean Texas. Just gather up your little Sassy Brass boys and hope I forget I ever heard of you.’”

  “That the end of it?” Win
asked.

  “Might’ve been more. That’s all he told us. You know Boss though. He’s never felt the need to share every little thing.”

  Again, there were shared looks and hints of agreement among those who actually could say they knew Boss.

  “So what happens next?” Win said.

  “Dogged if I know,” Cue replied. “You’d have to ask Boss.” His eyes slid to Zipper. “Or the VP, maybe.”

  All eyes turned to Zipper, who said, “This point? I know what you know. No more. No less. Boss gave them a chance to formally apologize for Hops and make restitution before they leave town. They declined. That means we wait for Boss to decide how to proceed. Then we do what he says. Personally, if you’re askin’ my opinion. For what it’s worth, I think we have ourselves a big steamin’ pile of a problem.”

  With that Zipper walked away as if to punctuate his message that the subject was closed and that, per usual, there would be no committee and no debate.

  “You don’t discuss things?” Win asked. “In church?”

  Cue nodded. “Oh, yeah, we do. But right now there’s nothin’ to discuss. When Boss has come up with a fully formed proposal, we’ll all get a chance to have our viewpoint heard on the way forward.”

  The little gathering broke up; most people headed over to the bar. When they were gone, Cue pulled Win back. In a voice so low only Win could hear, Cue said, “Never been an issue with R.C. because she’s never let anybody within shoutin’ distance. That don’t mean it wouldn’t become a real big problem real fast if Boss figures it out.”

  Win didn’t bother to deny because, if he did, he knew he’d lose a comrade in Cue Ball. He nodded and hoped that Cue would take that as both acknowledgement and acquiescence, even though it was only the former. Truth was, if he ever got another chance to be close to R.C., he’d risk anything for it. Insane as that might be.

  He walked over to where Zipper had taken a seat at the end of the bar and lit a cigarette.

  With the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, eyes squinted, Zipper said, “What you doin’ in the smokin’ section?”

  The idea of a smoking section in the middle of a giant open concept space would be ludicrous except for one thing. That end of the bar was next to a wall that had been equipped with a giant exhaust system. It was sophisticated enough to filter the air of toxic particulates without sending the costly climate-conditioned air outside. In some ways, the Marauders clubhouse was like a vision of the ‘house of the future’.

  Win slid onto the stool next to Zipper. “Just wanted to get your take. Cue can be excitable.”

  Zipper huffed out a small laugh. “Yeah, he can. That’s his charm.”

  “It is. Enjoyed his retellin’.”

  “He got the facts mostly straight. Added a little of his own color, but that’s the Irish in him. They can’t help themselves. What is it you’re really askin’?”

  “If we’re on the verge?”

  “You want to know if we’re at a threat level of orange or yellow or red.”

  “Hard to say. S&B are what you’d call unpredictable. What they did to Hop?” He shook his head as he took a drag on his cigarette then blew out the smoke. “Doesn’t make any kind of sense. Unless their leadership is irrational, the point was to send a message. But that’s the thing. What was the message? They didn’t put a note on Hop. They didn’t tell him to pass somethin’ along. It’s weird. Kind of.

  “The first possibility is they’re butt fuck crazy. The second possibility is that they know unpredictability and action without reason is its own kind of mind fuck. If they’re smart enough to bring that complexity to the situation, then we’re on red alert.”

  Win had just learned why Zipper was second in command. He wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted to be the center of attention. Zipper was the kind of man who was busy observing and sorting things out in logical, orderly fashion. Plus, not just everybody can get a quality woman like Carla and hold onto her.

  “You think their angle is to tap the vein of your supply line?”

  Zipper shook his head. “Not really. That’s peanuts compared to what they’re after.”

  “You mean slavery.”

  Zipper gave Win a long hard look. “What’s more valuable than diamonds or plutonium?” Win shrugged. “Here in central Texas we got a concentrated wealth of descendants of Scots, Irish, and Germans. Know what that means?” Win shook his head. “Blondes. All the world loves a natural blonde for the same reason diamonds and plutonium are valuable. They’re rare.”

  Win couldn’t help but get an image of R.C. He was glad she’d had her fun and was back in Austin, a safe distance from what Zip was talking about.

  “You look at a world globe,” he went on. “Only a couple of tiny places where you’ll find natural blondes. It’s not a dominant trait. Genetically. Day’s comin’, probably not too far in the future, when there won’t be any. Meantime? Think about it.

  “Unscrupulous fuckers like Stars & Bars can tap into a commodity with no cost but risk to themselves. What if cocaine was walkin’ around at the mall and all you had to do was grab it without gettin’ caught? I’m damn glad my little girl has dark hair.”

  “You’re sayin’ all the girls who’ve disappeared have been blondes?”

  “We don’t have that kind of conclusive intel. Cops are bein’ real tight lipped. They don’t want a panic that would discourage people from bein’ out shoppin’.” Zipper shook his head. “Shoppin’! Number one driver of the economy until the rest of the money ends up in the offshore accounts of the billionaire fuckers who aren’t smart enough to figure out that if ordinary people don’t have money, ordinary people can’t spend money. You got a consumer economy? You need consumers. Simple as that.”

  Once he started talking, Zipper was something of a surprise. He revealed that he was insightful and that he was paying attention to far more than just what he could see around him at any given moment.

  CHAPTER Ten

  Every day Win’s face looked less injured and more like himself.

  In an effort to do research for his upcoming gig as a citizen looking to get laid, he used one of the laptops in the security room to look at what GQ thought was stylish club dress for the modern professional man. After looking through photos, he concluded that he’d rather set himself on fire than take style advice from GQ magazine.

  He decided to do some old school research and stake out the club to see what people were wearing. He got Cue to give him use of one of the club cars and sat close enough to see what guys had on who weren’t making total asses out of themselves. After a couple of hours of observing the comings and goings, he’d settled on how to fit in with club goers.

  Wednesday Cue tapped him on the shoulder. “Boss wants you to stop by his office.”

  Win slid off the barstool where he’d been halfway through watching an MMA match. “Yep.”

  He knocked on the jamb of the open door. Boss looked up and said, “One door down. I’ll meet you in security in a minute.”

  Win nodded and stepped further down the hall to the security room. The door was open there as well. Catcher looked over and raised his chin in macho code acknowledgement.

  “Boss said to meet him here. Said it would be a minute.”

  “Yeah. I heard. You ready for Friday night?”

  “Will be. Have an errand to run first, but mostly.”

  “You’re startin’ to look human.”

  “Thanks.”

  Boss filled the room. “Have a seat right there,” he said. It seemed Boss was always telling Win where to sit. If he was going to be a real Marauder, he decided that would get old fast.

  Since he wasn’t going to be a real Marauder, and was almost halfway done with the month-long gig, he could suck it up and act like he didn’t mind.

  He sat down next to Cue, who pulled up a headshot of a guy who looked rough, not just around the edges, but from every conceivable angle.

  “Cue’s gonna take you through shots of the S
&B known to be in the area. You need to memorize these faces well enough so that, if you saw ‘em cleaned up for an upscale club experience in beautiful downtown Waco, you’d still recognize them for the bottom crawlers they are.”

  Win nodded. “How many?”

  Catcher answered. “We’re gonna concentrate on five because they’re the ones who stand a chance of gettin’ cleaned up enough to fit in. The others are too old, too pierced, too tattooed, too grilled, too bald, too bearded or too mean-lookin’ for the college alums. They’d be an instant turn off for the kind of women who show up to dance and drink at Night Flight.” He stopped and took a good look at Win. “Your face looks better. You’re gonna do fine.”

  “Thanks.” Win looked at the screen. “Show me.”

  They spent half an hour looking at both head shots and random photos collected from here and there.

  “Remember,” Catcher warned, “these guys are likely to look different. You’ve got to be able to recognize the cleaned-up versions.”

  Win nodded. “Do my best.”

  “Well, it’s not critical. ‘Cause it turns out I’m goin’ in with you.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Boss decided two heads are better than one.”

  “You old enough to get in?”

  Catcher smiled. “Twenty-one. Last month.”

  “Happy Birthday.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve given considerable thought to my appearance. Much as I hate to say this, what are you wearin’?”

  They decided that Catcher would go on the final shopping errand with Win. Win had decided on jeans and a indigo blue tee that one of the club girls said brought out the blue in his eyes.

  The two bikers took a club vehicle because they didn’t want Win sighted on a bike. He left the clubhouse in a baseball cap and sunglasses, being driven by Catcher in a black Ford SUV.

  Win had Catcher drive him to Cabela’s. He dropped a couple thousand dollars on a pair of Luchese horn-back caiman tail boots while Catcher looked on wide-eyed.