Concealed handguns come out in a blur, and the rednecks were all business.
Two bullets to maim.
Before they can even make a play for me, the muted sound of my gun goes off and I shoot the carrot top straight through his bare kneecap, blowing it out as blood spray paints the air, raining down. I’m instantly swinging my gun around toward the long-haired, dirty blond, ready to pump off another shot, but he’s already falling sideways, holding his hipbone, moaning, and cursing. Blood seeps out between his fingers as I note out of my peripheral vision Carrot Top has dropped like the wounded fucker he is, clutching at his knee from the agonizing pain.
What the fuck?
I hadn’t gotten my second shot off, and I was aiming for the blond fucker’s kneecap.
I risk a quick glance over my shoulder at Annie Oakley, who has her gun trained on the dirty blond, more than willing to invest another bullet in him from the look of sheer uncensored anger mixed with triumph on her face.
I gather she heard the gutter-assholes playing rock, paper, and scissors.
I kick the weapons out of their hands before they can rise above the pain and come to their senses. My trigger-happy finger is ready for any sudden movements from either of these boys. “Hands up, the both of you, and act like statues. Grab for a concealed weapon, and I’ll make the next bullet count.”
The fuckers probably still have more weapons on them and may just want to grow a hero complex and reach for them.
Thug 101: Always carry more than one weapon on your person.
Hunter 101: Always be prepared for the fucker to reach for it.
They’re your homegrown breed of redneck. They stink of cigarettes and moonshine, and they each have the makings of a genuine beer gut. They are clothed in open plaid shirts with cut-off sleeves and a wife beater underneath, and shorts that haven’t seen a washing machine in days. They have faces only a mother could love without fault. Their hair is long and scruffy, and their teeth… even a dentist would run from those fucked up chompers.
Miss Catherine drops the gun into her knitted jacket pocket and is now taking it upon herself to use Blondie’s head as a puck. She viciously hockey sticks one of my crutches into the side of his head, snapping it sideways, rendering him unconscious on an unladylike grunt.
I’m impressed. Eighty-plus years old and she didn’t hesitate to take him out.
Here I was thinking the old lady didn’t know the ass from the business end of a gun. I arch an eyebrow at her at what she’s just done.
“What? You be sayin’ to point and shoot, so I be doin’ as you say. I be a fast learner, although I be aimin’ for his penis.” She sounds annoyed she missed. I suppose it’s one less fucker to worry about.
I’m not used to being ignored, and I need to articulate I’m not impressed with her random, Annie-Oakley, gun-toting ways, even though I am. I won’t admit I’m feeling a little proud of Padawan.
“I told you to fucking stay inside the hangar until I came for you.” I grind my words out in a low voice. I need to be in control for her safety. “I had it under control. This isn’t my first rodeo.” If only she knew how talented I was, she would be running in the other direction.
I’m beginning to expect the unexpected with this old lady. She’s much tougher than she looks. She’s a fighter. Something… someone in her past has made her this way. It’s all hidden away until called upon. She’s definitely seen darker days.
“I didn’t listen.” Miss Catherine has sass.
“Obviously,” I say dryly out the corner of my mouth.
I watch on in slight amusement, as she gets ready to batter up again and take a swing at Carrot Top. I shake my head. Did she not hear what I just said?
I’m beginning to see she is a little unpredictable when push comes to shove. “Whoa there, Miss Catherine. I got this one. I need to be able to pry some information out of him, and if you knock them both out, then I have to go wasting time waking up one of these fucked up dickwads.” I take the crutch away from her just in case she decides to take a whack at him and use it instead to steady myself.
“Bad Guy One, do you have a name?” I refer to Carrot Top. Fucker responds by howling a curse and spitting at my feet. I sidestep just in time. “I guess not. Names aren’t important, but for my own amusement, I hereby name you Fucknuts, but don’t get too comfy with it, because we won’t be getting to know each other that well. I’ve just got some questions I need answering, and then we will be on our way. Not unless you want to attempt to draw this out?”
He ignores my words, baring his rotten teeth through his pain like a wild animal. I don’t blame him; that’s gotta hurt like the blazes of hell.
I’ve got things to say, so I pistol-whip Fucknuts across the face to make sure he is gonna pay attention to me, and remind him who’s in charge, which of course has him cursing at me on a raging cacophony of anger.
I check the old lady’s body language because I don’t want to do too much to this asshole in front of her. She appears to be handling my behavior fine. All I get is a disapproving look for pistol-whipping the guy. I roll my eyes because she thinks I’m only playing with him.
Think again, lady. This is a PG-rated show just for you. You don’t wanna see what I can really do.
I can be a scary fucker when I want to be. I need to get her away from here so I can get down to R-rated business. Every minute spent here is taking its toll on Whisper’s wellbeing.
“Miss Catherine, could you go back inside the hangar and wheel out that comfortable looking office chair, so we can make Fucknuts here a bit more amenable. I was gonna tell him to get on his knees, but I can see that isn’t gonna be conducive to him thinking straight, ‘cause that knee’s gotta be hurting like a son-of-a-bitch.”
I have to hand it to her; she’s a trooper. She goes and gets that office chair and wheels it back in front of us. I know I’m ordering her about, but I have to be the strong arm here because he would have that gun out of her hand in a shake.
I give her a tight smile because I know she must be worried about what my next move is… and so she should be. I’m only just getting started.
I would definitely label these guys wild cards. They have no self-preservation. I doubt there is a kindergarten IQ between them. They are cleanup boys, and sickos to boot.
I hand Miss Catherine the keys to the Beamer. “Bring the car back around behind me.” She listens and does as I say without any deviation of her own. I think she has registered this guy is still a danger, and I need to keep him under control, and we need information.
“Now, Fucknuts, load yourself onto that chair without any fuss, and you may just make it out of here alive today. Let that be your incentive.” I place the mouth of the silencer, trigger cocked on my gun, against the side of his head, so he fully understands the position he’s in as he gets himself seated.
The car is parked behind me, and the old lady waits beside me for my next command. She knows I’m dealing with a sick fucker who needs to be kept on a tight leash.
“Fucknuts, before we get down to business, as there is a lady present and I don’t want any surprises, do you have any concealed weapons on you?”
“No,” he growls at me. Grumpy prick.
“Miss Catherine, pat him down for me, but stay behind him or the side of him at all times. Fucknuts, I need you to listen to her when she tells you which way to move, so she can make sure you’re telling the truth. If you’re not… the other knee gets blown out. Understand?”
“Yes,” he snarls. The fucker isn’t very happy with me. Miss Catherine does an excellent job of patting him down and he comes up clean. Then she pats down the sleeping beauty. Stupid bastards were too confident and turned up without reading the Thug 101 manual properly.
“Miss Catherine, there’s a little black bag in the trunk. Could you get it for me? There are some things in there that will come in mighty handy.” She walks to the trunk, opening it, and holds up No Mercy. I nod my head.
The guy is now death-staring me, which is kinda amusing, considering who has the gun trained on them. You would think he would wisen up to his predicament.
I repeat, No self-preservation.
The old lady brings No Mercy over to me and places it on the hood. “Unzip it and take out the duct tape.”
I enlighten Fucknuts, “Miss Catherine here is just gonna tape your hands and feet as a precautionary measure, and also your good buddy, just in case he wakes up from his snooze. It will also stop any wayward thoughts you may have of being heroes and getting your heads blown off.”
I shift my body slightly so I can lean up against the doc’s car, trying to unburden my fucked up foot, while I watch as Miss Catherine starts duct taping his hands together behind the chair good and proper, and then each foot gets taped to its legs.
“What… the… fuck… are you two… doing here?” Which comes out in a deep-south, toothless twang.
My guy is a real trooper, pushing through the pain, panting out his words, and somehow coming to the conclusion that an old lady and myself might not be that big a deal, and he thinks we owe him an explanation.
He would be wrong.
I ignore his question and watch Miss Catherine do a pretty neat job of taping him up, and then she moves on to unconscious mullet-man and binds his wrists and legs tight until he’s trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
“Fucknuts, you might wanna stop moving about so much, because the gun could accidentally go off.” I shrug. “No loss to me. I’ve still got another guinea pig to interrogate. I can wake him up from his nap easy enough.” He grudgingly cooperates and keeps his head neatly on his shoulders.
These two rednecks have proven they have game. I’m not taking any chances with a conscious one around the old lady.
Miss Catherine has finished and joined me, resting against the Beamer, waiting patiently, if not looking slightly at ease with my behavior.
“Are you the cleanup crew? Are there more of you coming, and did I hear you two sick fucks straight? Were you two playing rock, paper, and scissors to see who was going to stick their dick inside the female corpse?” I nudge his head with the gun for good measure. “My hand is feeling mighty shaky at the moment.”
“Okay… I’ll answer… you crazy fuck.” Pot calling kettle black.
No self-preservation. He’ll learn soon enough.
“Be warned I’m very good at judging a liar. If you still have a head on your shoulders after you give me your answers, that means I believed you. Up to you if you wanna hedge your bets on whether your lie passes the test. The one thing you’ll get used to in the time we’ll get to know each other is… I only ask once, and then if I don’t like what I hear or don’t hear, I take action. I don’t give second chances or respond well to pleading or begging, so man up and we will get along like a house on fire.” I know the answer to the last question, but I gotta hear this cocksucker say it.
His mouth starts to open, but I’ve forgotten my manners. “Before you answer, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Edge, and I’m the enforcer for the Soulless Bastards Motorcycle Club. Ever heard of them?”
The fucker registers in that fucked up head of his the deep shit he’s in. Is that a wet spot I can see on his pants? Did he just piss himself? He’s definitely looking at me with a newly found respect.
“I thought you might have heard of us.” I give him a pleasant smile, lean forward, and press my hand down on his shattered kneecap, his pathetic whimpering an embarrassment. “Now you can answer.”
“Yes… Homer… was gonna get… to fuck the corpse.” He lets out a hiss of pain as he talks through those ugly gritted teeth. “And we’re… the only ones coming. We’re the… cleanup crew.” From the look of fear in his eyes, I know the quarter has hit the bottom of the gumball machine, finally, and he registers the deep shit he’s in.
We have a winner. The fucker is telling the truth.
“You’re the lazy cleanup crew, which should have been here how many days ago?”
He goes to nod his head and stops himself.
“Use your words. It will be a little safer for you.” My trigger finger is barely containing the urge to shoot this sick fuck between the eyes so he can see it coming.
“Yes… we are. Shoulda been here a few days ago.” I’m not sure if he’s sweating buckets from his injury, or if I’ve got him scared shitless.
“See, that wasn’t hard at all, was it, Fucknuts? I remove the gun and slap him across the back of the head. “We’re gonna get along just fine. Your laziness worked in our favor.” I point to myself and Miss Catherine.
“There are always checks and balances for the things we decide to take on in life.” I pause for effect. “For example, if you’ve undertaken the job of disposing of dead bodies for some bad guys, and you are a couple of lazy dickwads who get caught talking about fucking one of those bodies, then karma is gonna come and get you.
“Take me, for instance. I’m an enforcer, and I’ve killed many a bad fucker, never an innocent. I dispose of my own bodies, in a timely fashion. I dig my own holes, no subcontracting. I really put my back into leaving no loose ends.
“Defiling those bodies doesn’t even enter my head because I ain’t a sicko. Know what I’m saying?” I’m using my hunter voice. Motherfucker has no clue what’s coming.
“Speaking of which, one of those bodies inside the hangar is known and under the protection of the Lion’s Den MC, and they have been missing this person. It also happens to be the female you were gonna corpse-fuck.” I let that sink in and watch the asshole take a deep swallow. “My club is also missing a young lady, and as of recently, I happen to be missing another one. They’re all under our club’s protection, and we don’t take these women going missing lightly. Hell, you and I are gonna get acquainted, and you will see how badly we feel about what’s happened. The Lion’s Den MC will be coming to claim the body you were contracted to dispose of, and their retribution list has just gotten a couple more sign ups.”
The fucker has the good sense to look terrified. He has every reason to be.
“Now, I’m gonna send Miss Catherine for a walk around the back of the hangar, where she is gonna wait for me because she is a lady and doesn’t need to hear the rest of our conversation.”
I look over at her and give her a look that brooks no challenge. “Go take yourself out back and wait for me to come for you. This time, I need you to listen to me.” I’ve got my calm-before-the-shit-storm hunter voice on. The deadly one, which gives the underlying message to her without any confusion of what is about to go down.
She nods she understands and wanders off around the corner. I hope she does as she is told this time. Anything is possible with her. There is no other place for her to go unless I put her back in that hangar with those dead bodies. If I could, I would be dragging this guy off into the woods. But I can’t. I have to make do.
I turn back to Fucknuts. “Start spilling your guts. I want to know names, numbers, and addresses.”
The idiot is suddenly hard of hearing, so I help his memory along and unzip No Mercy slowly. “Fucknuts, I would like to introduce you to No Mercy, my little bag I use for interrogation. See, it’s not about size; it’s often about the little things and where they get positioned on the body that can really hurt a guy into talking. Are you circumcised?”
“What… the… fuck!” The idiot suddenly regains his hearing and is a little confused by the turn of events.
I thought I was clear enough.
“I don’t like repeating myself. You don’t answer my question the first time, I take action.” I snap on a pair of disposable blue gloves I carry around in No Mercy for such occasions and unzip his pants.
“Get the fuck away from me!” He hollers, spit flying as he struggles against his binds, while I dig around until I find his pathetic cock and flop it out.
I give him a warm smile. “Well, take a lookie at that little slug. Not circumcised! Looks like you’re in luck. I’ve circumcised a man or two in my day. I wouldn’t say it was a medically approved job, but nonetheless, I managed to pull it off.” I pause and admire my humor in the moment. “Well, look there. I think I just made a joke.” I could almost laugh at that pun, but time is wasting.
I cut a piece of duct tape off and then lunge at him, clamping his neck in a headlock, and slap it over his big ol’ mouth because this motherfucker is gonna scream to God and all the archangels for help. He might even sell his soul to the devil. “You might want to hold still for this. It’s a tricky procedure.” Then I hold up a small razor blade and watch his eyes bulge. I grab a hold of his foreskin and get right to it, slicing away, making a bit of a mess, because Fucknuts doesn’t listen to instructions and keeps on trying to thrust his body away from me.
By the time I was finished, I felt we might not need to move on to phase two. He sounded like he was trying to tell me some information, so I ripped the tape right off his mouth.
“You were saying?”
I remove my gloves. The only name he had was Jonathan Boothe.
Bingo!
I believed him. He sung like his life depended on it, which he really believed it did. When another man has your dick in his hands and he’s slicing that fucker up, you tend to fess up.
They were told to be on standby and await instruction and were contacted four days ago. Two keys were left under a rock by the gate to get in here and the hangar.
They had been told to take pictures to prove the job was completed to get paid in cash, and they were to front up in Jackson to receive payment tomorrow in a dive bar called The Pitbull at lunchtime.
“Did this Jonathan Boothe contact you for the job?”
“No. Some other guy. Got no name.” Then he pants his way through the rest of his answer. “Done previous jobs… before for various people, our names… were known in many circles. We always… got the jobs done. Always a burner… phone used so client… kept anonymous. This time… we got given… a name to ask for at The Pitbull, to be paid.”
Neither of the rednecks was wearing a wedding ring. “You two live together?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?” Fucknuts knows where this is headed.
“Yes.” He sounds resigned.
“You ever raped a living female before?”
He lowers his eyes to the ground. I lift his shorts up and slice at an angle across his femoral artery as he lets out a scream, cursing me to the devil.
Actions always get me answers.
He’s now bleeding all over the ground. He has minutes until death and he will lose consciousness soon. He knows he’s dead, so he might as well purge himself and answer me.
“Yes.” That one word comes out resigned to the fact he won’t be walking away from here today alive. His life source is being drained.
“Anybody else know you were coming here today?”
“No.”
“Just so you know, I’ll be leaving Blondie alive in the hangar as a present for the Lion’s Den MC. They will make sure your body is disposed of.”
Whisper’s phone beeps and a text comes in from Lethal. He has the name and address of the lawyer firm on my letter. Eaton Dapusé.
I Google Jonathan Boothe, and with too many to choose from, I do the same with the one from my letter.
Nothing.
I try calling the number associated with the lawyer firm on my letter and get, “This call cannot be connected.”
And then I look at that name again.
Motherfucker!
Eaton Dapusé… Eating the pussy. You’ve got to be shitting me.
I look over at Fucknuts, but he’s an unconscious man. The reaper is knocking on his door.
I hobble to their pickup and find two wallets in the console. I check their driver’s licenses and Fucknuts’ name is Ellwood, go figure, and the other guy’s name is, indeed, Homer. I check for a business card or any information with Jonathan Boothe’s name on it, but there’s nothing, only a few small bills in each wallet and a burner phone under the seat.
I ask Google about a Boothe lawyer firm and Boothe & Brown comes up in Jackson, Mississippi.
What are the chances?
I call the number using the redneck’s burner phone and get ready to impress.
I ask for a Jonathan Boothe and get told he is currently out of the office for the rest of the week.
Again, what are the chances?
“Ma’am, if you wouldn’t mind, this is Stephen Boothe, a relative of Jonathan’s, and I have a sudden death in the family I need to speak to him about. I don’t have Jonathan’s cell phone on me, only his work number.” I put on my upset-family-emergency voice. “I urgently need to speak to him. Could you possibly give me his cell number, please?”
The line is quiet as she contemplates getting into trouble for giving out his private number. She’s also mulling over getting into trouble if she doesn’t let this man talk to his relative. The good person inside of her will relent, thinking nobody would call and make this shit up. “It really is very important I speak to him as soon as I can, ma’am.”
Like taking candy from a baby. She dutifully hands over Jonathan’s cell number.
Stupid woman.
I make the call. The line connects, and my Ellwood-redneck prepares to kick into gear. “Hello.”
“Who is this, and why the hell are you calling me?” Not even a hello. The man has no manners. Jonathan sounds a tad put out.
“Jonathan, it’s the cleanup crew, Ellwood and Homer. We need to meet tonight. Homer and I would like our money. Things are heatin’ up and we want to get out of Dodge for a while.” Can I sound any more like Fucknuts? The guy probably has never spoken to him before, but I can’t take that chance. This operation the Puppet Master has going on has a lot of players.
He lets out a string of curses. “We shouldn’t even be talking. How did you get my personal cell?”
“Googled your name and tried a few until we got onto your lovely secretary, who was quite helpful.” I’m just making this shit up as I go along. He just needs to believe it. I just need the meet and greet tonight. I don’t give a flying fuck how I get it.
“I’m firing that bitch,” he mumbles. “Is the job completed?”
“Sure is, three bodies disposed of. Wouldn’t be callin’ you if it wasn’t.” Cocksucker.
“Meet me at The Pitbull at ten tonight on the dot. Now, don’t call me again.” He disconnects.
Fucking idiot.
I shove Ellwood’s chair out of the way and let it fall backward. I snap off some photos of the rednecks and the cars and then hobble over to the corner of the hangar. What a surprise, guess who’s parked herself just around the corner eavesdropping? I shake my head in disapproval at her. “Miss Catherine, we need to get to Jackson. ASAP.”
“What about Santana’s body?”
“We have to leave it. I’ll make a call and her body will be retrieved. Loose ends will be tied up here.” I just have to hope nobody comes back here until then. I haul Blondie’s body inside the hangar and lock the door. Fucknuts can stay where he is.
We make our way back to the Beamer, and Miss Catherine doesn’t seem to show any signs of shock at what’s happened to Fucknuts. She just picks up the crutches and gets in the driver’s seat, and I scoop No Mercy up off the hood and get in the backseat because I need to put my foot up and rest for what’s gonna go down tonight.
“Need to let Evelyn know where we be headin’,” she says quietly.
“Miss Catherine, if we’re gonna find Whisper alive, we need to step on this lead, now. We can call the doc along the way if it makes you feel better. Head on out of here, and I’m gonna make some calls.” This is starting to get bigger than just me and an old lady, and I need Santana’s body taken care of.
Fuck my privacy.
Miss Catherine pulls out, and I send Hazard a code and wait for him to call me.
I have to get what I can out of this Jonathan Boothe. The trail is cold here. I fear Whisper may even be out of the country by now. This is also the first sign of hope for Ruby being alive. Too much coincidence in their disappearances being close together, one from my club, one from the one we have an alliance with, and now Whisper. Two out of these three missing ladies have wound up in the one place, this hangar. I can’t help feeling my father has a part in this whole circle of women gone missing.
The phone rings. “Hazard, things have gotten more complicated. I need that backup now.” He listens while I explain everything and let him know what I need done. The old lady can hear Hazard cursing down the line. I tell him about Santana, and he says he’ll contact Torque, President of Lion’s Den MC, and they will send club members on a flight out to get Santana and drive her back, and they’ll clean up the mess of bodies. They won’t need keys to gain access.
I set the GPS up on Miss Catherine’s phone for The Pitbull in Jackson, and chew on a pain killer and close my eyes for a bit. We got a three-hour drive ahead of us.
If Homer’s still kicking… he’ll wish he wasn’t.