Page 7 of Roughstock
Walking into church, the radio by the door was playing, giving us another layer of protection against eavesdroppers. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust my club brothers, but Popshad told Whistler there was a traitor, so I’d rather remove any opportunity for someone to overhear our plans.
As I took my seat at the table at the front of the room, I looked out at my brothers sitting attentively, waiting for my announcement, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep the frustration from seeping into my voice.
“For three years, we’ve been looking for the motherfuckers who killed Nitro, and today, we got our first lead.” That seemed to grab everyone’s attention as they sat straighter and began talking over each other, asking question after question that I didn’t have the answers to. I raised my hand, requesting silence, and when they settled down, I explained. “I had Pops’s phone hacked by a friend down south, and he just sent the report. I’m no closer to having a name, but I think with what he found, we can start discussing what it means.”
I had slipped the receipt into my pocket, wanting Warhol to look at it, and as I told the brothers about Pops’s missing chunks of time, I could tell they each had ideas that needed to be fleshed out. The dinner bell had rung about ten minutes ago, and not wanting to piss off Ms. CeCe, I spoke quickly.
“I want each of you to make time after dinner to speak with me individually about where you think he was going and how we determine what he was getting into.” They nodded, and I simply said, “Go eat before CeCe kicks my ass.”
They chuckled and smiled as they stood and began to filter out into the dining room. I stopped Warhol and spoke quietly. “I found something in Pops’s cut that I need you to look into.” I handed him the receipt, and he lifted it up, looking closer at the thin strip of paper.
“I’ll take care of it tonight.”
He pushed the paper into his pocket and turned to walk into the dining room. I lifted my eyes and saw Cheyenne leaning against the door leading to the large dining room. She was smiling at me as I walked closer to her, and just as I stepped in front of her, she pushed onto her tiptoes and placed a kiss on my lips.
I took her hand into mine and walked into the dining room with her at my side, giving me the strength I knew was going to be needed when we uncovered who killed my father and why he needed to die.
Chapter 4
Cheyenne
After dinner, Trent gave me a peck on the lips, explaining he needed to speak with the brothers before we went back to the ranch. He found a seat at one of the tables on the far side of the clubhouse, and one by one, the brothers sat down with him and spoke quietly. Trent was writing as they spoke, and I wondered what was going on. I figured it had to do with Nitro’s death, since that was Trent’s motivation most days.
Losing his father hardened Trent, and some days, I wondered if the sweet boy who saw me sitting alone with tears streaming down my face and took the time to make me feel better was still inside, or if the years of anger and pain had finally destroyed that part of him.
The music from the jukebox filled the room as I tended bar, pulling beers and pouring shots for the brothers, club girls, and the patrons who enjoyed drinking with the Bastards. It was fairly slow for a Wednesday night, and I enjoyed filling in behind the bar. Keeping an eye on Trent from across the room was hard with the constant drink orders, but when Warhol took a seat near the end of the bar, I used that as my cue to take a break.
Comet was helping out, and I told him I would be back in a minute. He gave me a nod, his expression blank, as I turned and walked to the end of the bar.
Warhol was sitting alone, using the flashlight on his phone to inspect a piece of paper, and as I stepped up, he lifted his eyesto me before looking back at the paper. “Does this look like a C or a Q? It’s so faded, I can’t tell which letter it is.”
I looked down at the paper, and he spun it so I could get a better look while he shined the flashlight. Shifting my head side to side and gently moving his hand with the light, I saw the name on the paper and felt my stomach drop.
“It’s a Q. It says Quincey’s Short Stop.” He looked confused, so I added, “It’s on the reservation.”
Quincey’s Short Stop was the only store on the western side of the reservation north of Rapid City, and I was familiar with it. My granny, my mother’s mother, still lived on the reservation. Her husband, my grandfather, was a non-native, and their relationship was scandalous for the 1950s. At that time, it was unheard of for natives and non-natives to marry. My mother was the result of their love. She was raised on the reservation but moved to Rapid City when she was eighteen to attend college.
Momma met my dad when she was waiting tables to pay the bills, and even though he wasn’t what she was looking for initially, they eventually fell in love and had me. Dad had been patched into the club just before I was born, and when he lost my mom two days after I was born, he needed all the help he could get.
My granny moved in with my dad and helped raise me, but she moved back to the reservation when I was fourteen and able to be more self-sufficient. When Dad died, she wanted me to move onto the reservation with her, but that wasn’t what he had wanted for me, so I politely declined. No one could legally separate native children from their families, but Granny knewI was happier and had better opportunities here in Rapid than I would up north with her.
We talked almost every day, and I went to see her five or six times a month. I’d been trying to get her to move onto the ranch with us, but she said she would miss her friends and the extended family we had on the reservation. I thought she was afraid of being a burden to me, but she could never be a burden. Having her in my life, giving me a link to my mother, was all I wanted.
“Have you ever been there?” Warhol asked, snapping me back to the present.
I nodded as I answered, “It’s where I gas up before heading back. There isn’t much as far as businesses or even a good infrastructure, but Quincey’s is a reliable place to get what you need.” Glancing back at the receipt, I asked, “Who does that belong to?”
Warhol looked at me and replied softly, “Nitro. Roughstock found it in his cut and asked me to look into it.”
I shook my head, a little frustrated Trent didn’t tell me what he found. I smiled and tried to explain to Warhol, “They won’t speak with you about anything. They don’t trust anyone outside the tribe and close ranks when people start asking questions that could come back and cause problems for a member.”
He pinched his face and sighed heavily. “Roughstock is gonna be pissed, but I appreciate your help.”
He went to stand, and I reached out and grasped his wrist. He snapped his eyes at me, and I immediately let him go. He retook his seat and gave me his full attention. “I can speak with Quincey when I’m up there on Saturday to take groceries to Granny.”
“Roughstock would snap my head from my shoulders if I sent you to do that.”
“He doesn’t need to know. I’ll be there anyway and can ask a few questions. They’ll talk to me, especially if I take Granny with me. No one says no to her.”
