Page 33 of The Lies We Tell
“Later,” Vex says, turning his attention back to his laptop.
Keeping from running is hard. I head out of the compound on my bike and pull up at the first bar I know has a phone. After dialing the number I know off the top of my head, I wait until Weicker answers.
I try to think of reasons why I’m about to tell Weicker all this shit. But there’s only one.
Briar.
I want to use every possible resource at my disposal to keep her safe.
Thankfully he answers before I have to face the reasons why keeping her from harm matters to me so much.
Quickly I fill him in on what has happened to date, without telling him Briar is still with me.
“So we got a lead on the woman’s abductors,” I say, finally. “We’re headed to Bethlehem; letting you know in case you need to get me out of trouble with their PD later tonight.”
“What’s that got to do with the case against the Outlaws?” he asks.
Weicker’s words hit me hard upside the head. “What do you mean? There’s a possible trafficking ring in Jersey. We need to shut it down.”
“And you need to remember which government agency you work for. We need intel to incriminate the club. Not to lose you in the crosshairs of some side investigation. Tell me what you know, and I’ll feed it to the Feebs. Then you keep the hell away, and what goes down, goes down. Stay where the club action is, unless it’s impossible.”
I want to agree. The soldier in me who knows how to take orders flexes inside. But I can’t. I rebel. If there is an organization picking up women, and Briar wasn’t a fucking awful one-off, this is where I need to be.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say noncommittedly.
“The girl, the one you helped. Where did you leave her?” Weicker asks.
“Her place.”
It’s not true. She’s at my home.
Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.
The lies are starting to mount. It’s going to be hard to keep them straight.
“Keep your head on straight,” Weicker says, echoing my thoughts.
“Will do.”
I hang up and buy some smokes from the store so I have a pack and a receipt in case anyone gets suspicious. When I quit the army, I figured I should do the right thing and quit the smokes. Managed to pull it off after a couple of false starts.
But living amongst my brothers, I’ve started again. I’d forgotten how good a nicotine hit feels.
I drive back to the clubhouse and am about to take a seat next to Track at the bar when King opens the door and shouts my name.
“What’s up, Prez?” I ask as I walk toward him.
“We’re going to Bethlehem. Sounds like the kind of place you belong,” King says with a grin.
Spark’s laughter booms from inside the office and I force a smile. “Did you know Bethlehem means ‘house of bread’ in Hebrew?”
King shakes his head. “I didn’t know that, but those new scum that were in town this weekend are from there. Thought we’d go check it out.”
I don’t want to appear too keen, but this has become personal. Rules and laws are falling by the wayside, being replaced by the things I know are morally right for my own personal code. Do I want to fight for a safer America? Of course I do. I already have in some of the harshest places on earth. But I’m starting to feel like I’m here to stop women from being trafficked, not to stop a weapons delivery that will be a drop in the ocean when I think of all the guns that exist in the world.
Instead of saying all that, I scroll through my mental rolodex for the right quote. “Then, when Herod saw that he had been tricked by the magi, he became very enraged, and sent and slew all the male children who were in Bethlehem. Matthew 2:16. Are we slewing because we haven’t slewed in a while?”
King laughs as I intended. “No slewing, which I assume means killing the miserable fuckers. Just intel. But the day for slewing may well come.”
