Page 57 of Paladin's Hell

“One look would have showed you the dead body. Why did you jump in?”

“I’m clearly not as familiar as you are with dead bodies. Thought there could be a chance he was still alive.”

“Did you touch the body?”

“Yeah. I turned him over. He could have been drunk, hurt, needing help. But one look at his face showed me he was gone. His skin was stone cold.”

The detective again moves his eyes toward Sykes who’s sitting impassively, then they come back to me and narrow. “Now, the thing is, Mr Marsh, I’ve got to consider that you were responsible for killing the man, and that you conveniently were the one to find him so any fingerprints could be explained away. What have you got to say to that?”

“The truth, sir. I didn’t kill him. I didn’t know him. More than that, I didn’t have the opportunity. I was at the clubhouse and didn’t go off the compound all night.”

“Have you got any evidence to the contrary, Detective? How about time of death? Do we know that yet?” Sykes butts in.

The detective raises and lowers his shoulders. “Medical Examiner is backed up with cases. He’s not given this one priority.”

“Have you ID’d the man yet?” Sykes asks.

“Not yet. You sure you don’t know him?” That’s to me.

“I’m certain,” I stress. “Never seen him before. He looked like a bum to me, but of course, the smell and staining could have come from the dumpster.” I’m trying to be as helpful as I can.

It’s hard to stay silent, not adding more protestations of my innocence. A guilty man is more likely to do that. But as the time stretches out and no other words are spoken, I realise the detective’s waiting for me to let my mouth run.

I start to comprehend just how bad my position is. I’m a stranger in town. A biker. A member of a one-percenter club, and my fingerprints are all over that dumpster and body. I’d rolled him over, even touched the man’s face to make sure he was cold. If they find no one else, I could be facing a murder charge. All I can hope for is that the man was killed, or crawled into the dumpster and died, before I arrived in Pueblo. My concern grows that I’m going to be arrested. Fuck this. I start to grow angry.

As if he can see my body tensing, Sykes speaks. “My client has come here voluntarily, Detective. He’s told you all he knows. He’s willing to give you his fingerprints for the purposes of elimination. I suggest you tell him he’s free to go.”

The detective stares at my face, clearly searching for signs of guilt. After another pregnant pause stretches out, he finally sighs, then his eyes sharpen. “You’re free to go. For now. But stay local. I may want to question you again.”

I’m taken to another room where I obediently press the tips of my fingers against the tablet screen. Doing so, I wish once again I’d never left Tucson. My fingerprints are now in the system. Something all of us try to avoid. Fuck it.

Demon’s still waiting, and not very patiently. He jumps to his feet as soon as I appear. I don’t miss the flicker of relief that I’m walking out of here a free man. The club might not trust me, but no Satan’s Devil wants to see a brother behind bars.

Then we’re all outside in the fresh air. I’m taking in a deep lungful as Demon gives me a nod and discreetly steps aside as he begins a quick head-bowed discussion with Sykes.

When that’s done, as we go toward the bikes, the VP turns to me. “Two days you’ve been here and you’re already costing the club. ‘Bout time you got working and earned back the lawyer’s fee.”

I suddenly round on him. “You saying Taser wouldn’t have jumped in to check if he’d seen the body first? It could have been him here, not me. You seriously think he’d have let that shit go?”

The VP shakes his head. “Taser would know enough not to touch a dead body. You’ve got a lot to learn, Brother.”

“I didn’t know he was dead…”

“Fuckin’ obvious, wasn’t it?” He’s shaking his head. “Get on your ride and follow me.”

“Where we going?”

“To the bowling alley. Let’s go check out the set-up there.”

At least I’m not going back to the strip club and Taser. Rusty I’ve not had a lot to do with yet. All I know is that he’s older than the others, one of the originals who founded the club. I can only hope he, at least, is prepared to give me a chance.

Unlike Tits Up the bowling alley is a family place. Brightly lit lanes, a food bar with a licence to one side, arcade games with lights flashing, and four pool tables. Already there are a few people knocking down pins. Music is playing, but it doesn’t drown out the sound of the balls rolling down lanes or the clattering of the pins falling then the machinery churning as they’re reset.

“Rusty!” Demon calls out to get his attention. When the older man approaches, I notice he walks with a slight limp. “VP. What can I do for you?”

“Want to check out your security system. Can you take Pal and I through where the cameras are?”

“Sure can. You helping out the VP, kid?” I bristle at the term; it must show in my eyes. “Brother,” he hastily corrects. But I suppose I could let it go. He’s probably old enough to be my grandfather. “What kind of experience have you got?”

I hate having no skills to speak of. I dredge up memories of some of the stuff I’ve done. Helping to bury dead bodies probably isn’t a great resume. “I helped out with setting some of that shit up back in Tucson. Installing cameras and the like. Checking positioning.”

Rusty’s eyes gleam. “Sounds like you could be useful.” His eyes meet the VP’s. “Where do you want to get started?”

Demon’s brow furrows. “I can take the inside. Can you take Pal out back?”

As the VP moves off, Rusty eyes me up. “Okay, then, lad. Let’s go see what you’re made of.”

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