Page 92 of Burning Ember
They’re all hanging around the picnic tables, eating, bullshitting, and drinking. Some of the brothers have joined the party. Bodie’s playing the doting husband, and Taz is scowling at him from where he leans against the back of the clubhouse. Rigor’s playing horseshoes with Taffy and some of the older kids. And Dozer’s next to Doll and Lily. It’s probably the only time his closeness to Doll hasn’t bugged the shit out of me. But only because I know if someone says something bitchy to her, he’ll step in.
I know all too well what these women are capable of and how much they hate the clubpieces we let hang around the club.
Doll’s not one of them. Not yet. And as far as I’m concerned, she never will be.
Before I can dwell further, my cell rings breaking me out of my misery. I pull my phone from my back pocket. The screen shows the call’s coming from a blocked number. Walking far enough away where I won’t be overheard, but where I still can keep an eye on Doll, I answer it.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Smoke.”
What the fuck is he doing calling me?
“I thought we had an understandin’?” Then I change my aggravated tone, because yeah . . . I need to remember who I’m talkin’ to. This fucker is scarier than Taz, and he’s been putting people to ground for the Greenbacks for over forty years. He’s the creepiest motherfucker I know. “We’re not havin’ a meet until we take a vote and settle our own shit.”
I hear rock music in the background before he replies. “Relax. Not about that. Passin’ on a message.” He’s silent for a moment then says, “No disrespect . . . but Pappy and some of the boys aren’t comin’ down this weekend.”
I let that information sink in. Not necessarily bad news. But the why of it could be a big fucking problem for us. Allies show up and help us welcome a brother home. Is that not what they are anymore?
“There a problem?”
“Not with the HOCs. Pappy’s old lady’s health issues are comin’ to a head. She took a turn and ain’t got a lot of time left. He wanted me to let you know we’ll deal with the issues on the table another time. Soon. But not right now. So it’ll be just me, Deeds, and a couple other GBs crashin’ there.”
Vaughn is Pappy’s old lady. She’s been battling some serious health problems for as long as I’ve known her. But word is it’s been a bigger struggle the last few months.
“Okay. We’ll talk then.”
“Yeah.”
The next thing I say not because I want to, but because if it were Cap talking to him like he should be, it’s what he’d say. “You got our support when you need it.”
“Same here.”
He doesn’t say anything else and the line goes dead. Smoke’s pretty cut and dry. Mostly dry. Unless he’s high as a kite or drunk. But still I don’t think I’ve ever seen him crack a smile.
I look down at my phone and see two missed calls and a few texts from Whiz.Fuck.I forgot to turn it off silent after leaving the office.
Opening my phone, I read the texts.
WK: Got him! Henry’s sister has a cabin at Big Bear. Her credit card was used ten miles from the property.
WK: ?
WK: You there?
We’ve been searching for weeks for a lead on Cap’s shooting. Whoever did the deed knew what they were doing. No evidence has been discovered and no witnesses have come forward. At least there wasn’t until my contact at the Albuquerque Police Department filled me in about a new tip they received. I listened to the playback of the tip line phone call. This guy Henry described the scene right on. Only someone who saw the shooting, or was told first-hand by the killer about it, would know that the male was shot not just from far away, but three more bullets were plugged into him at close range using a small handgun. So either this guy saw Cap’s shooter or he knows who the motherfucker is.
Me: Big Bear? Where the fuck is that?
WK: San Bernardino County, CA.
Me: Fuck. It looks like we’re taking a road trip.
The fact that the guy is in Cali makes my skin tingle. The Greenbacks’ mother chapter and five others are in Cali. It’s their territory. It’s crossed my mind more than once the possibility they had something to do with Cap’s shooting. Cap’s been standing in their way a long time. Maybe too long. Maybe they think Griz, being family and all, will welcome them into New Mexico with open arms.
I hear laughter and when I look up, I spy the kids trying to wrangle Pumpkin into playing soccer. Three of them are dragging her away from the picnic tables. She’s reluctant, but also smiling.
Shit . . . I don’t want to leave her. Not now. If I leave with things the way they are, there’s a good chance she won’t be here when I get back. The thought has me warring with myself.
