CHAPTER NINE

“You have to read between the lines with Outlaws, to wade through the bullshit to get at their truth…” - Charlie Timmons

 

 

 

     Cops had been at his club all damn day. Poking their nasty little noses into his business. Asking too many questions Rider was prone to think he was about to be proposed to.

      Snooping fuckers. Just one more thing he had to grin and bear.

      Of course, he’d smiled pleasantly, showed the sheriff into his office, offered him a seat and coffee, answered every damn question calm and helpful.

      Did his club know anything about the unexplained fire recently at the Raging Rebel’s building? Who us? No officer.

      Had he or his club members been near that area in recent memory? Nope, too busy building bikes and organizing a charity ride for the local kid's hospital.

      Rider bullshitted so much in that first thirty minutes he almost reached up and brushed a thumb over his mouth to check for skid marks.

      He liked the sheriff. Charlie Timmons was Rider’s age, married with a couple of toddlers, and the least crooked sheriff Armado had seen in recent years. The last one, a fat sweaty oaf of a man who always reeked of cigar smoked and was constantly crunching on sugared almonds, had been so far in his uncle’s pockets, that when he was eventually found out to be the bent fucking cop that he was, with just a nice helpful nudge from Rider and a few whispers in the right ear, namely Charlie-boy here when he'd been a fresh-faced rookie officer,  the corruptness uncovered in the then sheriff’s name had reached back decades, such a bad boy, it seemed, he’d taken bribes upon bribes lacing his fat pockets, turned a blind eye to many crimes, falsified documents, gotten rid of evidence.

      Rider had a duty to the community to help his crimes come to light.

      A good citizen with no ulterior motives in mind whatsoever.

      And if it helped pave the way for Rider to take over his club, then all the better. The last thing he’d needed was a cop greedily coveting handouts from him.

      Fuck that.

      He’d gotten shot of his idiot Uncle, taken his gavel and bounced the fat oaf of a cop back to the ground.

      Rider saw him now and then when he rode into town. He’d eaten himself to a fatter state, a giant round gut protruding over too tight jeans and a shirt busting at the seams. He’d always glare at Rider but otherwise kept his mouth shut.  Talk was he was a professional gambler now after his disgraced discharge from the force.

      The club had a side business of gambling and loans, lots of dirty money they made clean through the bike shop and other endeavors here and there, not enough money to make the IRS sit up and take notice.

      Rider was smart like that.

      Texas, his treasurer and money wizard, more so.

      There wasn’t a dime of the club’s money Texas didn’t know where it was going at any given time. And it was Texas who was running the whole shebang of the money loans. Just a touch illegal, but fuck if it wasn’t profitable and the club needed all the liquid cash they could lay their hands on right now.  It wasn't their main business, but it was a good side bene for the times any chapters struggled.

      Wouldn’t that be amusing for old fat ex-cop to barrel himself up for a loan to pay off his gambling debts? Rider would get a hard-on telling that odious fool how far he could fuck off. Right then, though, he was pouring a fresh black coffee, carrying two cups, he handed one to over to Charlie who was sat in front of Rider’s desk out in the cab office, no way he was letting a cop, even one he liked, get comfortable inside his clubhouse.

      Curious tone in place he asked. “You got any idea what went down over at Westbanks then? Heard there were bodies.”

      He gave the very obvious impression he was fishing when in actual fact he knew more than Charlie did. Sat in his tan uniform with his shiny gold star pinned to his chest, a gun belt slung around his waist the guy took a long sip, arching his brow at Rider.

      “You really gonna play it this way, Rider?” Sharp green eyes looked on. Charlie-boy was a shrewd cop.

       “Not sure what you’re gettin’ at, Sheriff. Just a perturbed citizen wantin’ to know if someone is fire-starting buildings in the neighborhood, get me? I got businesses to protect. Those same businesses that profit the city, I might add.”

      The sheriff glared hard enough to curdle milk before bursting out. “Fifteen dead bodies! All with mysterious stab wounds, bullet holes while they slept in their beds. They didn't stab themselves and set their club on fire, Rider!”

      He rolled a meaty shoulder. “Maybe they had a game of Russian roulette get out of hand.” Rider shrugged. “My heart bleeds, I’ll send flowers. Still not seein’ what this has to do with me.”

     "How long have we known each other now, Rider, a decade, give or take a year?"

Rider had retaken his seat, cradling his own mug with his frozen fingers, he needed a second space heater in here or risk dying during the winter months.

      He gave the sheriff a brief nod wondering where he was going with the memory lanes, not that he cared, whatever kept the cop off the topic of who fried the Rebels like chicken fingers.

     "Then how 'bout you give me a little credit and don't try to drip feed me any more bullshit. Do I think you have information about those murders? Yes, I do." His words were smoothly good-natured, calm now, but Rider could hear the underlying steel in his tone as he addressed the fire head on.

     "Those boys were asleep, Rider, whoever got in, got in quick and quiet, fires started in various places at the same time, it didn't just spread slowly, it caught like a tsunami of flames, no chance for anyone to get out alive." His jaw tightened.

      Charlie might be a good cop who knew who was criminal in his territory and who didn't deserve to live, didn't mean he approved of murder. Rider watched the play of emotions cross his face. Pity this would be an open and shut case for the sheriff.

       “Do you know something about it, Rider, yes or no?”

       "If I knew anything, that would be incriminating myself in an ongoing investigation, Charlie. So, unless you’re gonna arrest me for a crime I didn’t commit, I think we’re done here" His discerning gaze swept and held the eyes looking right back at him, a flash of irritation from the sheriff.

      Rider's father wasn't good for much, but one thing he always said that rang true was never give them anything to hang you over.

      He sure as hell wasn't pointing the finger at himself or the club for this, not even for the sake of a friendship.

      Taking a long sip, with the cop watching him he went on. "You know as well I do those bastards had enemies a state long, for you to immediately storm my club throwin' around goddamn unfounded accusations, I'm fuckin' insulted, Charlie. This ain't Westside Story. My boys and me got better things to be doin' with life than goin' near their stink."

      "Jesus H Christ. Now I never accused you of anything, did I? I said I think you know something of what happened and why. Nothing goes on in this town without the Souls say so. If you have a clue who did this I'd be mighty appreciative is all, jeez. All jumping to conclusions and shit."

      He might have sounded indignant, but Charlie had a smile in his green eyes.

      Smart sheriff.

      He'd wanted the Rebels out of his hair as much as Rider did. Maybe not with murder.

      Rider had done the guy and his police department a favor and he didn't even know it, would never know it because Rider would go to the electric chair before he put his name to this crime.

      Silence sat between them for a couple of minutes. It was a fine line between saying too much and having the law look at you, and not saying enough implicating you had secrets and then having the law look at you.

      While he and his brothers continued the search for the few straggling Rebels who had gone to the wind, Rider needed the Armado Springs police department to be watching in any other direction other than at his club.

     "Not much I can tell you. As I said, me and my boys been busy. Coulda been anyone."

     "Hmm."

     "We finished here, sheriff? I'd like to get back to work."

       The sheriff sighed, placed the empty mug on the desk and rose on a groan as if his bones hurt from the cold, straightening his gun belt before zipping up the police issue black bomber jacket with the fur around the collar.

      Rider followed suit by standing, he grasped the hand Charlie offered.

      He didn't feel bad for lying to him, what the good cop didn't know couldn't be held against him. This town needed good law upholders, even if Rider and his outlaws weren't among them.

      It was all about balance. Rider did things his own way and Charlie Timmons by the law book but in the end, the results were usually the same. Save for a few unmarked graves nobody needed to know about.

      "You know where to find me if you suddenly have a reawakening of your memory, Rider. And if I were you ... just a word of advice, I might clean my bikes, you know … DNA carries in soil and dirt, and the Rebel's compound was like a swamp."

      His eyes shrewd held Rider's, who only rose a dark eyebrow, grinned wide and innocent, gently rubbing his face scruff.

      "Told you already, got nothing to do with us." and the fact they'd already hosed the bikes, paying good attention to the wheels, days ago, not a speck of dirt was on the hogs once the prospects were finished, who was to say the Renegade Souls were ever over the Westbank area at all.

      Rider was fucking meticulous with check-lists. He'd already covered every eventuality to their burn party. No blowback, he'd promised.

      The only part of the plan that had deviated was Zara and that other kid who was deep in the child service system now as far as he knew.

      Zara. A tic worked his jaw watching the sheriff leave through the door and signal to two officers over by the shop talking to Capone and Grinder. His entire plan had changed the moment he'd seen her, without a fucking thought he'd endangered all his club, ‘cause if the cops got wind she'd been a part of the Rebels for the last years, and suddenly she was here, wouldn't take long for all those pointed fingers to aim at his chest again.

      And he’d do anything he could for her still if that happened.

      While he wasn't gonna ask his brothers for a vote for what he did with Zara, she fucking stayed, it was the end of it, he did need to have a meeting to fill them in on where he was at and why.

      Likewise, if he didn't fully understand his reasoning’s yet, she stayed.

      He'd never gone above and beyond to get pussy before, it had usually just fallen into his lap and if he'd been horny at the time he'd used it well, abused it long, but discarded it again soon afterward.

      But she wasn’t just pussy. That was the thing. Never was.

      Zara's appearance was fucking with his head, making him do things he'd never think of to do before.

      Like, take care of her.

      Tell her everything was gonna be okay, that he’d make sure of it.

      That meant executing Hades as soon as he caught up with that shithead.

      He thought of the place she'd come from and wished he'd burned it to the ground twice over.

      Over the last couple of days, she'd told him she could take care of herself. And to an extent he believed she could after the horror he was imagining she'd endured. She was like a shadow around his club, primarily sticking to the parameters of his room, never talking to anyone else. Rider was beginning to worry she was making a prisoner of herself and pondered what he could do to pull her back.

      For four nights, he'd slept on his own bedroom floor, she hardly said a word to him save for saying yes or no if he asked if she wanted food. As it had for the past days thinking of her hiding stung his chest.

      Rider brooded for a while, long after the local law had taken themselves off his property. With the gates locked behind them, he sat in the cold office, giving some thought to his Zara situation.

      He was knee-deep that he didn't hear approaching feet.

     "Everything good, Prez?" Asked Texas framed in the doorway after he'd rapped his knuckles on the frame to grab Rider's far-away attention, his cut worn tight to his white pristine long sleeved shirt and copper toned tie.

      If Rider looked closer he'd see the tie had one of those fancy knots Texas liked best, what did he call it again? Something British or other.

      It was more at home at a tea party than an outlaws MC, but somehow Texas fit like a glove.

      Of all outlaws, Texas was antithetical to the rest of Rider's crew in every way possible, except the ones that counted. Namely loyalty and brotherhood.  The guy was club-faithful to a fault, when Rider had needed a money man there Texas was with his immaculately cut hair, manicured nails and a well-spoken voice offering his services for a trial period, a savior in among the dirt and with some deep down shoveling he'd dug the club out of a shithole. He’d been patched in four months later. Rider would always give the guy the same kind of loyalty.

      He looked up. "Hey, man. Yeah, now we got rid of the eyes from the compound. They poke into anything inside?"

      "Not a thing, though I stressed loud enough that they hadn't produced a warrant of any sort to be searching and touching. Timmons' boy, that young thing Barry? No, Larry the lamb tried to puff his chest at Hawk, you can guess how that went. I think the boy defecated himself right there in the common room. He got out of there real quick." A grin split Texas' face.

      Rider laughed, rising to his feet, he'd had enough of this freezer box and enough of brooding.

      "Hawk's got that kinda face. We'll keep a low profile for a few days, Grinder's ridin' the tailcoats of a few contacts he has closer to Westbank, he'll let us know if the sheriff begins to look at us again. I pissed Charlie off enough to have him thinkin' he'd insulted the club, should have the good church boy turned around for a while."

     "You sure we can't use him, Prez? It would be nice to have an insider sometimes, for this kind of situation, luckily this time we were prepared beforehand."

      Leaving the office door ajar, not as though the weather could make the cabin any colder, Rider strode in step with his money man, sharing a look with him. His fingers flexed as he flicked his index finger over his thumb ring, moving the black metal around.

      Cops were buzzing around his place like mosquitos waiting to suck his blood dry, he was sure the ATF still had eyes on some of the other chapters, maybe here, too, a good ten years ago, when his uncle was running the MC into the ground they'd had a hard-on to pin shit on them. So, with all that, the last thing Rider should be thinking about was a sweet-as-candy girl.

      Her scent was all over his room now, she left clothes on the chair, her toiletries were scattered on the bathroom counter, and he was instantly hard every time he stepped into the shower knowing they were sharing soap.

      Turned on by soap. Fucks sake.

       He pushed the troubling thoughts aside before he sported wood.             

     "Thought about it a while back, but nah. Not that I think Timmons would go for it, the man bakes crap for the fuckin' church." he chuckled darkly, his steps drawing him closer to the clubhouse.

      To where Zara was. His body stirred. "We're outlaws, Tex, we don't climb into bed with the law, not if we can help it, and I'd kinda sleep with Hawk first."

     "Unless she's a five foot eleven leggy bit of a blonde cop with a giving mouth, Prez. Then all bets are off because I believe my pants would just fall off."

      He believed. Rider barreled a deep laugh cuffing his treasurer around the back of the neck in a bro-affection way as he laughed as well. Only Texas would talk of boning a lady-cop with the manners of a Prince.

      "Funny fucker."

      "That’s better than ugly fucker. Are you joining us? we have a few pool bets going with the prospects, they've got no idea what kind of hustler Snake is, one of his lady friends has stopped by as well, she's entertaining if you like half-naked drunk girls whose giggle sounds like a braying donkey.  I'm already up seventy dollars. Schmucks keep laying down the cash like big-shots, I'm going to keep taking it from them. Teaching the kids, a lesson."

      After an unscheduled visit from the local law upholders Rider would have happily sunk a few drinks with his brothers to unwind, but not today, not when his skin itched.

      He punched in the key code to get inside, Tex followed behind and gave an ahh to Rider's silence.

      He cocked his head, brow raised in question. "You'll be looking for the girl then? What's happening there, are you claiming her?"

      "What makes you ask that?" Curious, he wanted to know. Was his boner for her clear to all his brothers then he thought? He hadn't made his protection towards her a secret.

     "She's in your room, Rider. We don't see her unless she's trailing behind you when it's mealtimes, when you're not here she's hidden away in your room again. It doesn't take much to reason you’re... Well ... you know."

      Rider scrubbed his nape, let out a long breath.  Yeah, he was you know alright. "It's not like that." he wished, but too soon was a saying for a reason.

      Zara had baggage he didn't think she could ever drop. "But I'm about to do something about this hiding shit. Catch ya later, man."

      Texas laughed, wished him luck. Luck had nothing to do with it.

      His Icy needed to hear a few truths from him.