Chapter Nineteen
Hack
After finding a tracker on all of the officers’ old ladies’ vehicles, Brew and I found fourteen more on other members’ cars. I am so fucking pissed, I stomp to the bar and grab a bottle of Jack then head to my office, without telling Brew where I’m going. Slamming the door behind me, I turn the lock then walk over to my desk and flop down in my chair.
Powering up my computer, I turn on all of my monitors and start playing back last night’s security film. I pull up the time Brew said the packages were dropped. I watch as some kid walks to the right side of the main gate and drops them just a few feet in front of the gate. I’m surprised to see him reappear a second later and drop another box.
After counting the packages, I realize the little bastard couldn’t carry them all in one trip and had the balls to come twice. My head shakes at the stupidity of the prospect standing guard. Getting by him once is a big enough fuck-up, but doing it twice is reason enough for him never to wear a cut.
Opening the bottle, I take a swig then replay the drop-off. I’m a third of the way through the bottle and have watched the feed more times than I can count, when I accidently take the footage back to 3:27am, twenty minutes before the drop-off. Deciding to let it play, I watch the pitch-black yard while taking another drink.
The feed is at 3:39am, when something catches my eye. I set my bottle down and replay it again, totally focused on the prospect manning the gate. He is walking the perimeter, something the guards do at half-past every hour. As he walks in front of the gate, he stops and looks to the clubhouse. Then, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts tapping on the screen. A second later, it is back in his pocket, and he continues walking. The prospect could have been sending a text to his fucking mom for all I knew, but something just doesn’t feel right.
Pausing the feed, I look to another screen and pull up his info. I keep records of every member, prospect, and hanger-on, even myself. Family, education, criminal history, and all that shit is only a push of a button away.
The prospect is originally from Springfield, never graduated high-school, and has been to jail twice on drunk and disorderly charges. He’s been prospecting for eleven months, sponsored by Yank, his uncle. There haven’t been any issues since he signed on. He did what was asked of him but not a lot more. The only black mark to be seen is the fact Yank agreed to sponsor him but made it clear that he was only doing so because Boz asked him to. He made the fact so fucking clear that I made sure to add it to his file.
Going back to the top of his information, I copy his phone number. Minimizing his file, I pull up another screen and type the kid’s number in. It only takes a few keystrokes to pull up his cell records. Within seconds, I have a list of all calls and texts from last night. Ignoring the calls, I find the text sent at 3:39am. It takes a few minutes to open it up, but when I do, it contains one word: NOW. That one word is enough to let me know the little fucker is in for a world of hurt.
I search his call records for the number the text went to, but it doesn’t show up again at any point in the last year. I read the texts sent and received for the forty-eight hours prior, then up until the one he sent a few minutes ago, asking some bitch to stop by the club later for a quick fuck. There’s nothing there, nothing but that one fucking word.
I trace the number the text was sent to. The fucker on the other end was a hell of lot smarter than the prospect. His phone was a burner and has probably been dumped. I can track it to the provider, but no further. It’s a fucking Go-Phone. It was bought two days ago, paid for in cash, and is registered under the name John Doe.
The only plus side to the situation, the phone was bought at the Walmart in town. If we can’t get the information we want from the prospect, I can always hack into Walmart’s security footage. If I’m lucky, I can get a picture of the fucker. I’m figuring it will be the same kid that dropped off the boxes, and he is nothing more than the errand boy.
My phone is at my ear as I start saving all the information. I keep everything, even the bullshit text with his fuck buddy. I take a screen shot of the text, making sure the time sent is visible. It gets forwarded to Boz, along with a copy of the kid’s file.
Brew answers, “Yeah.”
“Get the prospect and the officers and meet me in the basement,” I say as my fingers rush across my keyboard.
“Found something?” he asks, before calling out Round’s name and issuing an order to find the prospect.
Saving the last bit of information, I start shutting down the screens. “Hell yeah.”
“Answer me this, brother,” Brew says with a laugh. “Are we gonna need the pliers and a blow torch?”
“I’m figuring a bullet will do,” I say, cutting a two-minute clip from the security footage to send to Boz.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, his laughter completely gone. “Round just grabbed the prospect. Smoke’s standing right beside me. I’ll make a quick stop at Boz’s office then meet you down in the basement.”
He hangs up without another word. My phone goes back in my pocket, while I forward the video clip to Boz. Soon as that’s done, I start closing out of shit and closing down my computer. As bad as I wanna get my hands on that bastard and force him to give me some answers, I’m not leaving my computer on. Too much confidential shit is on here.
Five minutes later, I’m locking my door and heading to the basement. By the time I get there, everybody is already getting down to business. Smoke is chaining the prospect up as the pussy pleads for my brother to leave him alone. Brew is unrolling plastic on the floor, and Round is pulling some bleach out of the cabinet. Boz is leaning against the wall, staring at his phone. Judging by the fact his finger is nowhere near the screen, I’m guessing he is watching the clip I sent him.
“You wanna tell me who dropped off those boxes?” Boz asks as he slips his phone into his back pocket.
The prospect’s eyes swing to him, and he starts to stutter. “I already told you. I didn’t see anything. I was walking the perimeter.”
Boz lifts his chin to Smoke. My brother slides on a pair of brass knuckles then throws a punch straight at the kid’s face. The sound of his nose breaking is so loud it fills the entire room. Blood streams down his face, dropping onto the plastic-covered floor, making it look like one of those fucked-up Jackson Pollock paintings.
Moving my eyes to Smoke, I look at the brass knuckles and lift a brow in question. “Get yourself a new toy?”
“Gidget gets all pissy when she sees my hands beat up,” he says with a shrug. “Figured I’d save myself the headache.”
I chuckle under my breath then look at the prospect. “You need to try again, kid.”
His eyes come to me for a split second then return to Boz. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You may not have seen anything, but you do know something,” Boz explains, walking over to him. “I’m gonna ask this once more, then I’m gonna let Smoke have some fun.”
The last word isn’t even out of his mouth before Brew starts pulling the blow torch off the shelf. I’m not sure what’s up with my brother, but I’m thinking he wants to watch something burn today.
“I don’t know anything,” he replies through the blood that is quickly filling his mouth. “I was walking the perimeter.”
“You can keep repeating yourself all you want, but that isn’t gonna make it true,” Round says, holding up a cordless drill. “You know, I watched a porno once, where a guy stuck one of these fuckers in the end of his dick and turned it on. He seemed to get off on it.”
With that, he turns the drill on and lets the bit whirl around only a few inches from the kid’s face. “You know, one last fuck before you die.”
I look down just in time to see a stream of piss join the blood on the floor. “Round, I think we’re gonna have to have a talk about the kind of porn you watch.”
“Enough,” Brew says with a half-smile. “Let’s get this shit over with. Before those fucking boxes showed up, I was enjoying a morning blow job. I’ve been busy ever since. It may be afternoon, but I aim to have my woman finish when this is over.”
As Boz said, he wasn’t gonna ask again. He just nods his head to Smoke and takes a few steps back. Smoke takes the blow torch from Brew and turns back to the prospect. Before my brother can even light the thing, the prospect is screaming.
Just as Smoke takes a step toward him, the prospect starts to talk. “I was at a bar in Springfield three nights ago, when some skank ass old bitch sat down and asked me how I’d like to make a thousand dollars.”
He goes silent for a second, and Round sends the drill whirling around again. His eyes grow big, and he continues. “She told me what they were gonna do, said all I had to do was text someone when there were no eyes on the gate. I didn’t figure it was that big of a deal.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “You didn’t think it was a big deal to tell someone when our gates weren’t being watched?”
His eyes come to me. “They were just dropping off some boxes.”
“We’ll deal with that later,” Boz says, his eyes cutting to me then quickly back to the prospect. “Who was this woman?”
“I had never seen her before,” he answers, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “She said her name was Clair.”
“Motherfucker!” I shout, not believing my ears. “What did she look like?”
“I told you. She was just some skanky old bitch,” he answers, without giving me what I was asking for.
“Tall, short, thin, fat? What color was her hair, her eyes?” I ask, trying to get him to give me more.
“Her hair was dark, and she was skinny, like really sick looking skinny,” he answers then adds, “Her eyes were green, a bright green.”
“Fuck.” I look to my brothers and tell them what is going on inside my mind. “Pru’s mom’s name is Clair, and she has green eyes just like her daughter.”
I had already told them about the pictures I found of her mom with the Saints. We talked about it. Boz said to keep an eye on the fuckers’ social media pages and let him know if I saw something else on any of them. When nothing else came up, he told me not to mention it to Pru. My guess is that’s about to change.
“You’re gonna have to talk to your woman, brother. We need to know her connection to the Saints,” the Pres says, proving my guess right.
I nod, knowing he is right. “There’s no love lost between them, so she’ll be okay.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, I have to wonder if they’re true. Pru may not get along with her mom, but she still won’t be happy if the woman is hurt. After this shit, the bitch will definitely be hurting.