The Louisiana dusk settled over Hammond like a heavy blanket, the air thick with humidity and the faint bitterness of exhaust.Jock leaned against the side of Ace’s truck, parked a block from a rundown bar on the edge of town, his eyes fixed on the flickering neon sign that read “Rusty’s.”The place was a known hangout for lowlifes, the kind of spot where deals went down in the shadows and nobody asked questions.
According to Wrench’s information, this was where Ricky Calder had last been spotted, nursing a beer and running his mouth about pit bulls.Jock’s fingers twitched at his sides, itching to wrap around the bastard’s throat, but he forced himself to stay calm.Something I can see: the bar’s sign.Something I can hear: crickets in the distance.Something I can feel: the truck’s warm metal.The mantra kept the ghosts at bay, but only just.Just gotta stay focused, stay sharp.
Ace stood beside him, arms crossed, his weathered face set in a scowl.“You sure you’re good for this, brother?Last thing we need is you going off half-cocked.”
“I’m good,” Jock said, his voice low but steady.“I just want to see his face.Get a read on him.”He didn’t trust himself to say more.The image of Maynard’s burned skin, those trusting eyes staring up at him from the alley, was seared into his brain.He’d spent the last few days nursing the pit bull, changing dressings and slipping pills into bits of hot dog, all while Tank kept watch like a furry sentinel.Every whine from Maynard had fueled the slow burn in Jock’s gut, and now, with a name and a place, he was close to answers.
What they had so far wouldn’t be enough for the cops, not yet, but it was enough for Jock and Ace to make a move.Wrench had offered to send a couple more CoBos to back them up, but Jock had waved him off.This wasn’t IMC or CoBo business—not yet.This was personal.
“All right,” Ace said, pushing off the truck.“We go in, we watch, we listen.No fists unless he swings first.Got it?”
Jock nodded, adjusting his cut to sit right on his shoulders.The weight of the Incoherent MC patch grounded him, a reminder of the brotherhood that had his back.“Got it.Let’s move.”
The bar was dim and smoky, the kind of place where the jukebox generally played too loud and the bartender didn’t bother checking IDs.Jock scanned the room as they stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the low light.A couple of grizzled regulars hunched over their drinks at the bar, while a group of younger guys laughed too loudly in a corner booth.No sign of Calder yet, but Jock’s neck prickled, that same instinct from the alley kicking in.He followed Ace to a table near the back, where they could see the door and the pool tables without drawing attention.
“Beer?”Ace asked, signaling the waitress.
“Water,” Jock said.He needed a clear head tonight.The last thing he wanted was to slip into the sand again.Not with Calder so close.
They sat for a few minutes, the jukebox falling blissfully silent.Jock’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see a text from Silly:
*Just finished my last session.Exhausted but pumped.Check this out.*
Attached was a photo of her sketchpad, Maynard’s eyes staring out from a swirl of flames, the design bold and fierce.Jock’s chest tightened, a mix of pride and longing.
*Fucking badass, baby,* he texted back.
*Call you later.Be safe.*
He was about to pocket the phone when the door swung open, and a wiry guy in a stained flannel stumbled in.Jock’s gaze locked on him.The guy was short, had greasy hair, a broad scar across his chin, and a twitchy energy that screamed trouble.
Ace leaned forwards, voice barely above a whisper as he confirmed what Jock’s gut was saying.“That’s him.Calder.”
Jock’s jaw clenched, but he stayed seated, watching as Calder made his way to the bar.The guy moved like he owned the place, slapping a hand on the counter and barking for a beer.Jock’s fingers curled into fists under the table, but he kept his breathing steady.Something I can feel: the edge of the table biting into my palms.He wasn’t here to start a fight, not yet, but every fiber of his body screamed to drag Calder outside and make him pay.
Ace nudged him.“Easy, brother.We’re just here to confirm.”
Calder grabbed his beer and turned, scanning the room.His eyes landed on Jock and Ace for a moment, narrowing slightly before he smirked and headed to the pool tables.Jock’s blood ran hot.That smirk.That level of arrogance was a tell.It was the kind of look a guy gave when he knew he’d gotten away with something.
Jock leaned towards Ace.“He knows something.Look at him.”
“Yeah, he’s cocky,” Ace muttered.“Let’s see what he does.”
They watched as Calder joined a game, laughing too loud and shoving a guy who missed a shot.Jock’s phone buzzed again, but he ignored it, his focus glued to Calder.The guy was loud, slurring about a dog that “didn’t know its place” and how he’d “taught it a lesson.”
Jock’s vision tunneled, the bar fading to a pinpoint around Calder’s smug face.He was halfway out of his seat before Ace’s hand clamped onto his arm.
“Not here,” Ace growled.“We get him outside, alone.Cleaner that way.”
Jock forced himself to sit back down, his heart pounding.“He’s talking about Maynard.I know it.”
“Probably,” Ace said, his voice grim.“But we need more than words.Wrench is working on it.Dyno’s got a buddy in the sheriff’s office who’s pulling more records.If Calder’s got a history of this shit, we’ll nail him.”
Jock nodded, but his eyes never left Calder.The guy was leaning over the pool table now, lining up a shot, the loose shirt spilling over his belt perfectly framing a gun.Jock imagined him pouring chemicals on Maynard, leaving him to die in that alley, and his hands shook with the effort to stay still.Something I can hear: the crack of pool balls.Something I can smell: stale beer and smoke.He clung to the mantra, but it felt like it was fraying at the edges.
The door swung open again, and Jock tensed as two more guys walked in, both wearing vests that marked them as independents, no club affiliation.They headed straight for Calder, and the three of them huddled close, their voices dropping low.Jock strained to hear, but the jukebox drowned them out.
Ace leaned forwards, his eyes sharp.“They’re planning something.Look at how they’re standing.”
