Page 23 of Gotta Dig Deep
“Did you hear him?” Horse couldn’t let it rest. The man hadn’t just been hunting the Rebel’s princess but was apparently a serial killer. “He said some of his kills were still out there.”
“So?” Turk slammed the back doors of the van, then he and Horse climbed into the vehicle. Twisting the key in the ignition, he asked, “You care?”
“If it were your sister, wouldn’t you?”
Sand crunched loudly underneath their wheels and Horse aimed his gaze to the side out the window, watching the angular form of the body until it disappeared into the distance.
This wasn’t the first cleanup and disposal he’d done since joining the Freed Riders. Blackie, their president, kept to most of the old school rules, and that was just fine with Horse. He liked how things were predictable in the club. Had always liked when events in life followed a path he could track. Liked it better when men did the same.
And that was his problem with how things had shaken out today.
“You don’t want to know what he meant? It doesn’t pique your interest at all?” Horse changed position, lifted a foot to the dash and wedged himself into the seat.
“Nope.” Turk twisted a dial on the radio and the local DJ’s voice swelled in volume, this a clear tactic to get Horse to shut up about the dead guy.
Pulling out his phone, he texted Slate.
*You guys still at the rodeo?*
It took a minute, but Slate responded with typically cryptic language.
*Could be, you need me there.*
*Think we should look for some parked storage also used as transport.*
Another minute went by and his phone rang instead of buzzing with a text.
“Son of a fucking bitch.”
“Hello to you, too, Slate.” That would let Turk know who Horse was talking to, and by the way he turned down the music, it seemed he still cared about club business overall, just not when pushed by a low-level officer from Mother. “Just want to make sure we don’t leave any arrows out there that could be construed as pointing towards anyone.”
“Fuck me. We knew he was taking her somewhere when he dragged her off but hadn’t made that mental jump yet. Thanks for the push, brother.” Slate sighed heavily. “I’ll start walking and looking. We got a look at his rig a week or so back, but he could have been in a livestock truck too. I’ll text you if we find anything.”
“Gonna be a little while for me, but I’ll be there. I’ll hit the clubhouse first, pick up my own ride and then meet you back at the grounds. When we do find it, I want to take a look at it. Man said a few things that make me itchy, and I want to see if I can figure anything out about it.”
“Don’t give that fuckin’ asshole any space in your head, man. He was sick.”
Horse snorted softly. “Yes, he was. I just want to satisfy my curiosity. We’ll be back in town in a couple hours. I’ll be in touch.”
The call disconnected and he shoved the phone into his pocket before leaning over and turning up the music again. This time it was him who didn’t want to spend time talking to Turk. He passed the rest of the ride turning Nelms’ words over in his mind.
Families. Plural. Families out there not knowing where their daughter or sister is buried, or even if she’s dead.
That wasn’t gonna be acceptable.
***
When they found and entered the trailer—the locating portion of the quest made simple with a click of a key fob and a car alarm chirp from the big diesel truck— and discovered Nelms’ hidden room inside, with knowing what they knew, the intended use was unmistakable. The truck itself wasn’t anything to call home about, just a muted color cowboy-special seen in any of a dozen configurations in most towns across the southwest.
The trailer, though, that was something else.
A six-horse rig modified to accommodate only two horses, the rest of the space walled off and taken up by what had been Nelms’ living and killing fields. The very front portion of the trailer had a tiny house feel with a fold-down bed, two-burner stove with narrow oven, an armchair to watch TV in, and a slim table hosting a single seat pushed underneath. Cabinetry along the walls all sported thumb latch doors, ensuring they’d stay closed even through rough driving. Closer to the table and stove were plates and cups, a couple of pots and pans, a tiny section of shelf with spices. Nearer the murphy-style bed were drawers and a closet with clothing.
But it was about ten feet shy of using all the space not taken up by the animal quarters.
Horse stood in the middle of the apartment-area and studied everything they’d uncovered so far. Everything was neat and organized. He got the sense that Nelms would have known where to put his hand on anything he wanted. Still, it was ordinary in an obsessive-compulsive way. There’d have been nothing to spook a woman Nelms decided to bring back to his base.
He swiveled in place, looking through what had been a hidden opening, and into the rest of the trailer with unease.
