I was just starting off for the Roadhouse when Eyeball texted me.

Everybody’s here, Lou – where are you?

Stall them, I texted back. And confiscate everybody’s phones.

Confiscate them?

It’s a big fucking word that means TAKE them.

After a few seconds, I sent another text:

Especially Eddie’s – but DO NOT TIP HIM OFF.

I couldn’t take the chance that Eddie might get a text from his handlers about the phone calls I’d made from his house. It might give him a chance to figure things out and bolt.

I got there at 3:20. Eddie was over in the corner, acting all slick as shit, like he wasn’t a goddamn fucking traitor.

I glanced over at him – not quite ignoring him, but not really acknowledging him, either.

The men were restless. They wanted to know what the hell was going on.

I had to give them something – so I gave them a lie.

“It appears I was a little hasty last night, gentlemen,” I said. “Jack’s little whore was a mole – but she wasn’t just lookin’ for who smoked her cousin. Seems she was also mixed up with the Santa Muertes.”

There was a grumbling in the crowd.

“I’ve got some intel I can’t share at the moment, but I want you to keep your fuckin’ eyes open. They’re gunning for us. They want our territory. They want to take us down. But fuck them. We’re going to take them down. Now, I don’t want you to do anything without my say-so – no fights, no shit-talking, no nothin’. You do not engage. You hang back until I give the word. Do you hear me?”

The club muttered their agreement.

“I said, DO YOU FUCKIN’ HEAR ME?!”

“YES!” they roared back.

“Alright, then, dismissed. I want to see Cowboy, Wild Bill, Eyeball, Eddie, and Chuck to discuss our next move. If that’s not you, then clear the fuck out.”

Everybody was just a little bit stunned. Why the fuck did we get called out in the middle of the day for THIS? But nobody did more than grumble a little – they just filed out and picked up their phones from the big plastic bin at the front of the door.

While everybody was grabbing their phones, I texted Eyeball. ‘LOSE’ Eddie’s phone. And get Charlie’s baseball bat when you’re through.

I saw him read the text. He looked up and nodded at me subtly.

Next I texted Cowboy, Wild Bill, and Chuck. Don’t react to this text, but get ready to grab Eddie when I tell you.

They all read the messages, then put the phones back in their pockets without saying a word.

I went up to Charlie, the Rider who ran the Roadhouse. “Clear out for a while, Charlie. The whole staff, too. I need the place for a while.”

He didn’t put up a fuss. In two minutes, we had the bar to ourselves.

“Where’s my phone, man?” Eddie asked Eyeball heatedly.

“I don’t know, dude – it’s gotta be here somewhere. We’ll find it,” Eyeball reassured him.

“This is bullshit – give me my fuckin’ phone, Eyeball!” Eddie ranted.

“Eddie – knock it off and get over here, we got shit to discuss,” I snapped.

He grudgingly left Eyeball and sauntered on over.

Meanwhile, Eyeball slipped behind the bar where Charlie kept a baseball bat and a sawed-off shotgun for security.

We wouldn’t need the shotgun for my purposes.

“Alright, men… we’ve got a problem,” I said.

“With the Santa Muertes?” Eddie asked, leading us away from the real problem, slick as you please.

“No. That was all a ruse earlier. The Santa Muertes aren’t our real problem – it’s another gang.”

Everybody tensed slightly.

“Now,” I said.

Chuck and Cowboy each grabbed one of Eddie’s arms, and Wild Bill put a knife to his throat.

“Uh unh unhhh,” I said to Wild Bill. “Don’t end the party ‘fore it’s started.”

Eddie’s face was wild with fear. “What the fuck, Lou?!”

“Spread him out facedown,” I ordered, and the boys slammed him down on the nearest table. Then they patted him down and took a Glock and two knives off him.

“Lou – I don’t know what you think I did, but I swear to God – ”

“Shut the fuck up, Eddie, or Charlie’ll be cleaning your brains off the wall when he gets back.”

Eddie shut up.

Eyeball was walking back with the baseball bat. He held it out like, You want this?

“Not yet,” I said. I reached in my jacket and pulled out the phone and the notebook I’d got from his house.

As soon as Eddie saw it, he knew the jig was up. He started struggling and almost broke away – that is, until Wild Bill grabbed his hair and slammed him face-down onto the table.

He knew what was coming next, and he balled his fists tightly together.

“Gimme his finger,” I said.

“On his hand or off?” Cowboy said, and the others laughed.

Neither Eddie or I did, though.

“You heard the man,” I told him. “You wanna do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

“Lou – Lou, this is a mistake, I swear to God – ”

“Eyeball? Break his hand.”

Eyeball heaved the bat up like an ax and swung it down as hard as he could.

There was a sound like chopsticks snapping in two, and Eddie screamed in agony.

“Pull his finger out straight,” I ordered.

Wild Bill pulled Eddie’s pointer away from his fist as Eddie screamed some more.

I put it on the little button and – presto! – the phone unlocked.

I checked the text from JD.

You called twice but no message. Anything up?

Mother FUCKER.

There was just the one text. Everything else had been deleted.

In fact, there were no other messages of any kind.

Under Contacts, there was JD and a handful of other entries with only initials: DF, CM, JO. I checked the area codes, and they were all over the fuckin’ place.

“Who’s JD, Eddie?” I asked as I took the battery out of the phone.

“N-nobody,” he managed to choke out.

“Who is he?”

“A friend, that’s all.”

“Not a friend in the DEA, by any chance?”

The other guys all looked at me in shock.

Eyeball stared at Eddie. “You gotta be fuckin’ KIDDIN’ me – ”

Wild Bill pulled out his Smith & Wesson and put it to Eddie’s head. “Lemme ice ‘im, Lou – just say the fuckin’ word – ”

“Put it away, Bill. We got some more talking to do first.” I slapped the notebook down in front of Eddie’s face. “What’s this?”

“Looks like a notebook,” he said insolently.

I took the finger I’d used to unlock the phone and jerked it to the side so that it broke just above the knuckle.

Eddie screamed again.

“You got any more jokes for me, douchebag?” I asked.

He shook his head ‘no’ as he gritted his teeth through the pain.

“Then I’ll ask you again: what is it?”

“I don’t know – I don’t know – ”

“Eyeball?” I said. “Do the other hand.”