Page 13 of The Devil's Weakness

“I need to know who called it in.”

“Okay, it may take me a little while; I have—”

“I need itnow.” I encourage him with a threat in my tone.?

With a click of his tongue, he picks up his phone and presses a few numbers.

“Mary, I need the logs of tonight’s incoming calls,” he demands.

“I want the recording, too,” I add. “They placed the call around five-thirty.”

“And make a recording of all calls we received from five-twenty through five-forty,” Turner pauses. “Thanks.”

“Anything I need to be aware of, Connelly?”

“You know you’re not privy to Club business, Turner. You’re just our little bitch boy.” I throw in a wink at the end, just because I feel like pissing him off further.

The look of fury on Turner’s face is priceless, but there’s nothing he can do to me. I don’t know the details—for deniability reasons—but several years ago, Stone began a working relationship with this pig. When I questioned him about it, Stone totally and emphatically shut me down. I stopped asking, but I’ve always remained curious about their arrangement.

We sat in Turner’s office, in complete silence, for the next ten minutes while we waited for Mary to bring us the information I requested. Finally, she drops off a laptop and a thumb drive, as well as the paper call log.

Turner passes them over to me, but I only take the call logs.

“Make yourself useful and fire up the computer, will ya?” I order.

While he does so, I look through the list of calls placed to their emergency line this evening. There were only two calls made around five-thirty; one at five twenty-three and the other at five twenty-eight.

Turner inserts the thumb drive into the USB port and hands the computer over to me. When I open the drive, I see a list of five calls made between five-twenty and five-forty.

The first call is about a cat stuck in a tree; typical small town, waste-of-taxpayer-dollars bullshit. Next, someone called to report their neighbor for mowing their yard every day this week.

Jesus Christ, get a fucking life.

When the next recording begins, don’t ask me how, but I know the voice I hear is the one I’m searching for as soon as the first word leaves her mouth.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Hello, there’s been an accident. A man got thrown from his motorcycle.”

She sounds young. I can hear the panic in her shaky voice when she speaks.?

Why are you so scared? Are you the reason Iron is fighting for his life?

The skin between Turner’s eyes furrows upon hearing about the accident. He knows it has to do with one of my brothers.

“Where are you located?”

“The intersection of Deep Run Road and Wine Road.”

I hear the clicking of keyboard keys for a second before the dispatcher speaks again, “Okay, I’ve alerted dispatch, and an ambulance is on its way. I’ll just need some information. Can I please have your name?”

There’s a long pause before the operator speaks again.

“Ma’am?”

“Ma’am?”

Click.

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