TWO
“Dude, did you rip one? Smells like somebody fuckin’ died in here!” Taco shouted as he entered the warehouse from the back and pulled his shirt up to cover his nose—not that it did a damn thing to cover the stench. Talk about one hell of a wake-up call. It wasn’t even dawn yet.
Half an hour ago, he’d gotten a text from Country to meet him and a coupla brothers down here. For what, he didn’t know, but they’d better not be pullin’ a prank. He’d left a perfectly good piece of ass behind to be here, and he wouldn’t be smiling if they pulled some nasty shit on him.
But his birthday wasn’t for another couple of weeks, so it didn’t make much sense they would unless they were jumping the gun, hoping to catch him off guard.
“Back here,” he heard Blake call out, and Taco followed his voice past some construction some rusted out farm equipment to the back where Blake, AKA “Quick” who was also the Spartan’s president, it’s VP, Garrick “Repo” Stone, Sergeant Tucker “Country” Abrams, and their muscle, Kade “Moose” Hunter, and his nephew, Tanner, were all standing around in a semi-circle with matching looks of constipation.
Taco’s gaze lingered on Tanner, as it always did when he had to share the same breathing space with the little shit. When things had gone south in the club last year and they’d suspected someone from the inside was working with the enemy, they never thought it would be someone so close to the table. But a tip had led them to suspect Tanner, which was no bueno. They were operating under the notion of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, just waiting for the little prick to slip up so they could justify ripping his balls off and shoving them down his spindly throat.
Fuck, he needed a cigarette.
“What’s up?” Taco asked as he joined everyone. “It sounded urge—Oh, shit. Is that…?”
He trailed off as they stepped back, opening a space up for him to see the bloated, decomposed body they’d all been staring at.
“Frank Kellerman…we think,” Country confirmed what Taco was thinking.
Back when he’d gone missing, they’d suspected he might be dead. Hell, Frank was a dirty FBI agent who’d been playing both sides—the Spartans and the Mexican cartel. Thinking it and seeing it were two totally different things, though. Taco wasn’t surprised, just…well, grossed out. He didn’t care about seeing a dead body, but when they were a year into decomp, they were nasty as fuck.
“Where the hell did you find him?”
“Dropped at the construction site,” Blake said with a bitter edge. “Right in the middle of the dig zone. They wanted him found.”
“Shit,” Taco hissed. That was bad. Real bad. Not just for business, but for the club and everyone involved. Fuckin’ Luciana Cruiz. That bitch was crazy. Ever since her crew had converged on Spartan territory, they’d been working hard to fuck up and undo all the good shit Blake had worked so hard for. Looked like they were stepping up their game.
“Yeah,” Country grunted as he blew out a stream of smoke and tossed the cigarette stub to the cement floor, “good thing I showed up early. Shit would have been bad if one of the crew had found him instead.”
No kidding. They’d been trying hard to keep the bulk of the mess contained and under the local officials’ noses. They didn’t need heat like this right now…not with what they were planning.
Retaliation couldn’t be quick nor could it be sloppy. It would invite too many problems. Problems that would obliterate all they’d worked to achieve and hoped to regain in the coming months. Sooner if they could swing it.
All they needed to do was take care of their little Cruiz problem, cut it out like a tumor, and they could reclaim what was theirs with minimal damage and losses. If all went according to plan, that is.
“So what are we doing with this sack of shit?” Taco and the brothers stared at what was left of Kellerman, contemplating.
“Well,” Repo said thoughtfully, tipping Taco off that the next thing to come from his mouth was probably going to be pretty fucked up, “we have backhoes and hellcats, concrete, and zoning permits.”
“You suggesting that we should bury him on my construction site?” Blake asked.
Country chuckled. “Bro, honestly,” he said, extending a closed fist toward Repo, “I like how that twisted brain works.”
Repo bumped his fist against Country’s with all the enthusiasm of a wet mop.
Blake continued staring at the corpse, while the rest of them waited for his verdict. It came on a long-winded sigh of resignation. “Fine. Whatever. Someone haul the piece of shit over. I’ll use the backhoe to dig a deeper trench where one of the footings is going later today, then dump him in.”
“Wait, Prez,” Moose jumped in, “aren’t you afraid someone will accidentally find him while they’re working?”
Blake passed him a dark smile. “Not as deep as I’m planning to dig it. And by this time tomorrow, there’ll be a slab of concrete too. No one will ever find him.”
“Sweet deal,” Country said, lighting up another cigarette. Taco swore the man had gone from casual to two packs a day. He was a fucking chimney lately. But who was he to judge? He sucked on cancer sticks like they were lollipops too. “Let’s just pray future residents don’t start complaining about ghosts and shit.”
“Oh shit, bro,” Moose said with wide eyes, “that sounds like some Poltergeist stuff. Prez, man, count me out. I can’t even think about buying one of those houses with that kind of bad ju-ju in the neighborhood.”
Blake just laughed. “Do you realize how many bodies are buried all over the world? Hell, you probably have one in your backyard right now.”
Moose shook his head, all serious. “Don’t even joke about shit like that.”
Taco laughed along with his brothers. See, this was why he loved being a Spartan. Those fuckers knew how to lighten a mood. How many people could stand over a dead body they were about to dispose of and toss around jokes and shoot the shit like it was just another normal day?
Taco needed that kind of levity in his life right now. Even though he tried to keep it upbeat around his friends, inside he’d been a sour bastard for way too long. It was those quiet times it snuck up on him. No matter what he tried or how many bitches he screwed, he still thought of Bambi.
She was tattooed on his brain like the Spartan rocker was tattooed on his back. Some days he wondered if it might be just as permanent too. He’d determined it must be the lack of closure that kept her on his mind. After all the time they’d spent together, learning one another and connecting in a way Taco had never done with any other woman before or after, finding her apartment cleared out, no note, no nothin’ had screwed with his head. It was a slap in the face, being left behind like that, as if he wasn’t even worth a goodbye.
By all rights, he should have erased her from his memory and went on his merry way, picking up where he’d left off with the bunnies and other random tail he frequented. But it’d been harder to climb back on that horse than he’d anticipated. In truth, he’d only fucked two other girls since Bambi, and considering it’d been a year since she left was ludicrous.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d suspect he was suffering from some kind of heartbreak, but Taco didn’t do romance and love and shit.
But he might have for her.
Guess the world would never know.
“All right,” Country announced, rubbing his hands together like he was eager to get them dirty. “Let’s get started before the sun says hello and we get tossed in the slammer.”
“I second that,” Taco said. “Just imagine the charges they could put against us.”
“Disposing of evidence, desecrating a body, illegal dumping…” Moose offered.
“Murder,” Blake added helpfully. “Look, we need to move like Country said. The sooner we get this done, the better.”
“I third that,” Moose grunted. “I don’t need or want a rap-sheet, m’kay? I want to do some international travel one day, and felonies don’t go well with travel plans.”
“International?” Country scoffed as he got into position over Kellerman’s legs and squatted. “Taco, you got the head.”
Taco’s upper lip curled as he stepped up. Thank God they’d brought him in on a tarp. If he’d had to actually touch that thing… Yeah, he could already feel the chunks climbing up his throat. The damn thing looked so fragile anyway. It’d probably just break off in bits in his hands.
Wow, yeah, he did not need that kind of visual floating around in his headspace this early in the damn morning.
Gathering the tarp, he lifted his end of the body.
Country was still yapping, going on about how much better the South was than foreign lands, as if he wasn’t handling rotting flesh and bones and committing about twenty different criminal acts. “Alls I’m sayin’ is it’s a waste of perfectly good time and money when you have so much shit to see here at home.”
“Like what?” Moose challenged. “The world’s biggest ball of twine? Paris, Rome, Italy…now that’s where it’s at.” He was following behind them as they carried the body out to the dig site.
“Better than ancient ruins that are, wait for it…ancient,” Country rebutted. “What’s so special about old stones and polluted waterways?”
“That’s history, bro. It’s beautiful, for one, and two, if you don’t learn from it, it’s bound to repeat itself. Didn’t they teach you that in Sunday school?”
“Probably,” Country said with a shrug that threw off the balance of the body they were carrying. Kellerman’s deteriorated foot flopped off the side of the tarp, tattered skin dangling.
“Dude, fucking sick,” Taco groused.
“Yeah, I’m not touching that,” Country agreed with a ripe scowl. He did a little jerking motion on his end, trying, Taco guessed, to get the foot back onto the tarp, but all it did was jostle the whole damn body and send bits of debris Taco didn’t want to even try to guess at flying into the air.
“Quit dicking around,” Taco snapped. “You’re getting pieces of him all over the place. Not to mention, I don’t need to be breathing that shit in.”
Moose snapped his fingers at Tanner. “Grab that broom over there and sweep that shit up. Bring it over when you’re done.”
“Anyway,” Country drawled, giving Taco a sharply annoyed look that told him to shut his mouth and respect his elders, “I spent a lot of time picking up chicks, so I probably missed that lesson.”
Moose belted out one of his standard baritone laughs. “You spent your youth honing your flirting skills and you’re telling me I’m wasting my time wanting to see the world? Brother, have you seen European females?”
Blake was already in the pit operating the backhoe. The hole he’d dug was deep, a dark gouge in the earth. Country and Taco hauled the body over, stopping at the mouth of the hole, and when Blake gave the signal, they tossed Kellerman inside. Tanner joined them a moment later with a dustpan and emptied the bits he’d collected into it, too.
It was the work of a few minutes for Blake to fill the grave back in, then he tamped down the dirt and it was done. Frank Kellerman had been laid to rest, and only the five of them would ever know what truly happened to the ex-FBI agent.
After Blake returned the equipment to its original spot and they regrouped at the front where they’d each parked their respective mode of transportation, Country asked, “Anyone up for some breakfast? I’m starving.”
Taco shook his head in disbelief. “Man, how can you even think of food at a time like this?” Every time he blinked, Taco saw Kellerman on that floor or in that hole. His hands felt dirty, contaminated.
“What?” Country glanced at each of them. “A man’s gotta eat.”
“A man’s gotta shower,” Taco said empathically.
Blake nodded in agreement. “A shower is definitely calling my name. Rain check on the food,” he told Country.
“Spoil sports,” Country grumbled as he climbed onto the back of his bike. “And I was going to pay, too, but y’all can forget it now.”
“Sorry, bro,” Moose said. “Next meal’s on me, ‘kay.”
Country lifted his chin and bumped Moose’s fists, then he saluted the rest of them before driving off. The man was incorrigible, as his grandmother used to say.
Taco was strapping on his helmet when Quick approached him. “Hey, how’s it going? seem a little distant this morning.”
“Tends to be the case when you bury a body first thing in the morning, Prez.”
Quick studied him for a moment, something he’d been doing for…well, a year now. He could see that Taco was bothered, so he asked after him from time to time. Taco appreciated the check-ins. “Anytime you wanna talk…”
“Yeah, I know where to find you,” Taco said, repeating the words Quick had told him time and again.
Clapping him on the shoulder, Quick stalked off to talk to Moose and Tanner. Taco didn’t hang around. He was eager to get back home, grab that shower, and see if the honey he’d left in his bed was up for a little action.
Lord knew he needed the distraction.