Page 13 of Gypsy's Lady
You earned it
“Dixie, can you pour me one more?” Doug called his order across the room and then angled his head down. He stared at the open folder on the table in front of him. Flipping a piece of paper back and forth, he again compared statements he’d read at least a thousand times. A man’s hand appearedoverhis shoulder and flicked the folder closed, then sat apint glass of beer on the freshly vacant table.
“Not the first time I’ve seen you in here with that.” Winger pointed a gnarled finger at the folder, rings glinting as he settled into the seat across from Doug. “What is it?”
“An unsolved case.” He raised the glass and tipped a salute to the biker. “Haven’t seen much of you lately. Your colors changed.” Winger’s men had all disappeared off theradarfor a couple of weeks, and when they again surfaced in Fort Wayne, the emblem on the back of their vests and jackets was different. No longer a riding club, they had joined one of the larger outlaw motorcycle clubs in the Midwest as a brand-new chapter. It had been all the gossip around the coffee machine in the precinct, as cops tried to figure out if it was a good or bad thing for the community.Other than for Doug, who knew it meant the club had more authority to police their territory which would be good in the long run for individual neighborhoods, most of the shields were adopting a wait-and-see attitude. “You happy about the change?” It would mean Winger didn’t have a say in his men’s livesanymore,since they’d become a cog in a much larger machine, something Doug hadn’t expected.
“Ayeap. Change isn’t always bad, Lawman.” Winger tapped the paper folder with a thick forefinger. “Tell me about this file. Ya never know, maybe I’ll have some great insight and help you solve the murder mystery.”
“I didn’t say it was a murder.” Doug didn’t have to open the file to recite the contents, he knew them by heart. Had for years.
“Son, if it’s old, and by the look of it, you’ve beenholding onto it for a while and handling it often, then it’s going to matter to you. You don’t strike me as a man who is owned by things overmuch. People, though? People own your soul. Means it’s gotta be a murder.” Winger shrugged and took a drink of his beer. “Lay it on me, Lawman.”
Doug stalled for a moment, sipping from his glass. There wasn’t a downside to giving Winger the basics, at least.Lord knows I’ve spent enough time solo with this in my head. With asigh,he made his decision and leanedforwards, elbows on the table bracketing the folder. He sipped again and set the beer down.
“About five years ago, I was in San Diego. There was an exchange programandmy captain wanted brownie points with some politician who liked progressive law enforcement ideas. The first few monthswere…normal. As normal as me bein’ a fish outta water can be. Where I was in Chicago was a good house, you know? Solid men led by someone who lived to make a difference because it was the right thing to do. Not like where I’m assigned now.” Winger nodded, fingers idly turning his beer back and forth. “Cali wasworse,if you can believe that.”
Winger nodded again, hefting a heavy sigh. “Oh, you’dbe surprised at the things I’d believe on that topic, Lawman.”
Doug licked his lips. He had never brought up the politician, the one who’d been found dead. Ignoring it as if it never happened, he’d adopted his own version of don’t ask, don’t tell, this to protect both himself and these men who’d become his friends. “They sent me undercover. There were several good things about that assignment.One was the sweet bobber I rode, the other was the men I met while playing a part.”
Winger laughed loudly, head back, beard moving with each guffaw. He slapped the table, setting their glasses and bottles rattling against the wood. Scarcely quieter, he asked, “You expect me to believe you infiltrated one of the big MCs out West? What the fuck you take me for?”
“Not a big one. They were far downthe chainin terms ofsize. Made up for it by being dirty in ways a lot of the men didn’t even know, thanks to a few of the inner circle who had connections in the middle east. They weren’t big then, but they were poised to explode. That would have upset the balance in place now with those big clubs you mentioned. So, yeah, I’m here to tell you I know my shit when it comes to that kind of club.”He paused, unsure if he wanted to tip his hand so far, then decidingfuck it,said, “I rolled twos with some big names who didn’t impress me, and broke bread with men I wish I could still call brother.” Winger quietened finally and settled his gaze on Doug, his expression frozen between fierce pride and rage.
Doug shook his head and continued, “In most ways, all the ways that count, those werethe best years of my fuckin’ life. You know what I’m talking about. Hell, man, you’re an OG in every sense of the word. Fuck, Winger, I’ve heard you preach protocol and wanted to help you slap sense into some of these fuckin’ kids who want to roll iron with you. I’ve wanted to be that kid and sit and listen, learn. I fuckin’ miss it. Had a taste, man. Had a taste and loved it.Left friendsbehind.Brothers. And now here I am sittin’ in a bar in Indiana, talkin’ to a man like the kind I want to be. A man who has everything I want.” He realized his glass was empty. He didn’t remember drinking it. “Sorry, that’s not what you asked about.” Clearing his throat, he tried to get himself back on track. “While I was under, out of touch, one of the detectives who’d been part of the program was killed.I think he was killed by a cop, but I can’t find the connection. Thornton’s wife was pregnant at the time. Now, his little boy’s growing up without knowing his daddy was a good man, because being told isn’t the same as seeing it, ya know?”
“I know. Man wants to be there for his son, his girl. Should be, God willin’. But, if a man can’t be, then at least there’s the stories. It’s good you’re keepingthis alive, Lawman.” Winger stared at him steadily. “Tell me—” There was a pause that felt a year long, then Winger finished softly, “—brother.”
So, he did.
Doug spent hours there on that stool, changing over to coffee so he could stay the course. Winger shifted his seat around the tableandtogether they pored over the reports and documentation Doug had, things he’d read so often he could recitethem in his sleep, but Winger asked questions from different anglesuntilthey found a thread. Following that thread, by pairing Winger’s experience and knowledge of the area and criminal players with his own, Doug gained a different view of what he’d held true.
Suddenly there was more, and more, and then as the coincidences kept piling up he had to admit Thornton’s death had to be tied to hisown undercoverwork,because the club he and Joel had wormed their way into was now at war with a larger club in the area. Outriders. And Norwood had tight family ties with that club. If trouble had been brewing back then, it was a good bet Norwood would have been informed.
“So, Outriders.” Winger sighed and leaned back, angling his face towards the bar. “Dixie, darlin’, can you bring us a coupleof shots and beers?” This was a clear signal their joint brain session was done, so Doug flipped the folder shut. Winger reached out and placed his palm on top of it. “This patch on my back now, there’s a deep history beyond what anyone would know.”
“What can you tell me?” Doug knew it wouldn’t be everything. It couldn’t be, not with Winger’s new connections to an outlaw club.
Glass bottlesslid across the wooden table, followed by a sharp thump as Dixie placed their shots ofwhiskey. Theback dooropened with a whoosh,andseveral men strode in, the deep rumbles of their voices echoing through the club. Winger’s lips curled up,andhe shouted, “Just the man I wanted to see.”
Doug twisted and looked, watching as one of the men separated from the others, stopping a couple of followerswith a sharp gesture. The man approaching their table was tall and broad, powerfully built. His face was craggy and angular, creased here and there with lines and scars. He walked like he owned thebar,like he owned the world, and that wasn’t arrogance. Doug thought it was probably just the way things were for this man. There were several visible tattoos, but the one that caught his attentionand held it was a colorful phoenix winding up the man’s left arm, flames,andclouds of ash surrounding the mythological bird.
“Winger,” the man offered, bent close to clasp hands in a warrior’s grip and pulled the older man into a one-armed clinch. “Good to see you, brother.” Doug grew more alert, that spoken word on the air representing so much of everything he coveted. The man leaned backand eyed him up and down, head tipping slightly to one side. “This must be the famed Lawman you’re always goin’ on about.”
Doug reached across the tableandthe temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees, a cold chill coming off the man for a moment. Doug left his hand hanging there and held the man’s eyes. They studied him, assessed him, and for the first time in a long time, Doug foundhimself wanting to prove his worth to someone. Something about this man compelled it. After another longmoment,the man nodded and wrapped his fingers around Doug’s thumb, shifting their shared grip up and down twice before disengaging. “Doug Tatum.” He introduced himself and waited, still holding the stare across the table.
“Mason.”
Doug glanced down at the man’s vest, seeing the word Presidentabove his nameplate, then noticed the National tag right above that.
“Lawman, thissumbitchis my national president, and a body you’re going to want to get to know.” Doug jerked his gaze to Winger in time to see him share a glance with the man. “Mason, Lawman here has extensive experience out West.”
Mason jerked and then stilled, face expressionless, his grey eyes drilling into Doug. “Outriders?”
Uncertain of what caused the sudden tension, Doug nodded slowly.
The smile spreading slowly across Mason’s face held nothing of humor in it, only hunger and a deep, abiding rage. “Tell me.”
