Page 24 of Being Lost

I couldn’t see her until I stepped inside. If he really is following her, he might be lurking so he can pick her up when she steps out.

“You recognise him?”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“What’s he look like?” I ask, taking out my phone.

“About five foot ten? Medium build, white with brown curly hair. He’s wearing jeans and a navy t-shirt. I didn’t get close enough to see any design.”

As she speaks, I tap out the info and text Dart and issue him some instructions as well. “Patsy, you’re going to finish your coffee and calmly walk out of here as if you’ve no worries in the world. Head through the mall and out to the parking lot. I’ve got men waiting outside. They’ll check whether you’re being followed or not.”

“If I am?” She picks up her empty cup, lifts it to her mouth and puts it back down, then gathers her shopping bags together. As she stands, she catches my eye.

“We’ll take care of it,” I promise her softly, speaking out of the side of my mouth.

She stands, leaves, and I sit, drinking the coffee that I never touch this time of day, only really enjoying it in the mornings.

Two minutes later my phone vibrates.

VP: She’s got a tail

I think for a moment. We could run intervention and enable her to escape, or, we could get some questions answered. The risk in doing that is we’d tip our hand. Weighing it up, I’d prefer to get information. I always hate working blind.

Lost: Pick him up

Linking my hands together, I stretch until my knuckles crack. There I was thinking this was going to be a normal afternoon but instead things have just gotten interesting.

The Satan’s Devils MC are a one-percenter club, but we rarely get our hands dirty. The decision I just made could mean there’s one less person breathing when the clock chimes midnight tonight, unless we can handle this carefully.

VP: Got him in the parking lot

Lost: On my way

I use the time it takes me to walk from the coffee shop and out into the parking lot to consider what to do. If we can just get away with a bit of bloodletting, then that’s what I’d prefer to do. Dead bodies are harder to dispose of. Not that it would be my first, and I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty—not when it becomes a matter of protecting one of ours. And ours, Patsy is, as she’s the mother to one of the club’s old ladies. Doesn’t matter one bit that she’s connected to a different chapter. Cut one of us and we all bleed Satan’s Devils blood.

I go to my bike, nod to Wrangler, then bend down and open the concealed compartment disguised as a tool kit. As I straighten, sliding the object I’ve taken into my cut, a whistle draws my attention as I saunter out into the evening air. It’s dusk, and the shadows deepen as I make my way toward the sound which comes from behind a dumpster. As I round the corner, I immediately see the man.

He exactly matches the description Patsy gave me, and I admire how observant she was.

“What do you want with me?” he demands.

The sound of desperation in his voice suggests this isn’t the first time he’s questioned Dart. That my VP’s not yet spoken to him is just as I expected. He’ll be waiting for me to take the lead.

I stare at the man who’s been stalking Patsy. One thing she hadn’t noticed was his age, or that his body is almost imperceptibly but definitely twitching.A user starting to get angsty for his next fix.I can work with that.

Dart, Pennywise, Salem, and Niran have him penned against a wall out of the way, the dumpster hiding him from casual sight. As long as no one comes up to throw garbage away, we should have a few uninterrupted minutes to talk.

“I got Curtis on standby to bring a truck if we want to take him back.” Dart shows me he’s prepared for any eventuality, demonstrating the quick thinking I expect from my right-hand man.

Our captive’s eyes home in on me. Whether he can read the patch on my cut or not, he realises I’m the man in charge. “What you doing man? I’ve got no beef with the Satan’s Devils.” In vain, he tries to pull away, but Pennywise and Salem have him held tight.

“What’s your name?” I ask, casually, unsurprised when he doesn’t reply. “Not going to talk?” I jerk my head toward him. “The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you’ll be able to go get your fix. So I ask again, what’s your name?”

He looks down. His hands are shaking, but whether it’s from fear, his need for a top off or something else, it’s hard to tell. When he raises his head again, he mumbles the information he thinks I’ll settle for. “Jim.”

It’s a start, and at least it puts him on a more familiar footing. “Well, Jim, how d’ya get your money to supply your habit?” There’s a low wall running along beside me. I rest my foot on it and lean over my thigh eyeing him carefully. He doesn’t look to me like someone who holds down a steady job. I’m very interested to know how he gets his funds.

A shifty look comes my way, then as quickly as he met my gaze, his eyes move away. “This an’ that.” Once again, the reply is mumbled.

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