“I almost missed it, too. The FBI in Coloradodidmiss it. I did a search for anyone named Sorcha born in the Colorado area after the time Damon’s parents split up. I even ran the start date back just in case her birth was the cause of the split but only came up with dead ends. But then I learned that Richard Mecham’s family were members of the LDS church, dating back to the earliest days. Which got me thinking about names. And although Richard Mecham wasn’t the greatest poster boy for the Mormon church, he was still traditional enough to name his daughter the most common within the faith, Sarah. Fun fact, Sorcha is Irish for Sarah.”
“Nice catch,” Hatch said. “Remind me never to go against you in a pub quiz.”
“So, Sorcha’s his sister? Why the hell does that matter?”
“She’s his half-sister,” Booker corrected. “His illegitimate half-sister at that, which is why Richard Mecham’s name isn’t on her birth certificate, and why she doesn’t go by her given name. Her father’s shame is now her shame. It’s been with her for her entire life and is the motivation behind her reaching out to her brother. According to her letters, she only learned of Damon’s existence after her mostly absent father had been diagnosed with terminal cirrhosis and began writing to her in hopes of making a connection with him.”
“Lucky Sorcha,” I said. “She gets a big brother who’s a white supremacistandconvicted rapist.”
“Yeah, well, according to her letters, lucky Sorcha is exactly what she thinks. She’s fixated on him, desperate for his approval.”
“And you think Sorcha’s hiding him?” Hatch asked.
“She’s got a place in Twin Falls, Idaho. It’s only twelve hours from Colorado State Penitentiary. I’d bet my left nut and a tuna salad sammich he’s there,” Booker replied.
Hatch stood up. “Saddle up boys. We’ve got about five hundred miles to ride and less than nine hours to do it in.”
Razor
WE PACKED UP and took off right away. Seven of us, five on bikes, two in a follow van, driving straight through the night, headed east to Idaho. Highway 84 stretching out like the icy finger on the hand of death, from Portland all the way to Twin Falls. We made the run in record time, stopping only for gas, bike maintenance, and two well-timed half-hour rest stops. Hatch, Booker, Flea, Train, and Harm were all seasoned road dogs. Cash was my closest friend, and Booker’s son, and as much as I insisted he sit this one out, he refused. Eight hours spent mostly in the saddle isn’t the kindest thing to do the human body,but not a man among us would admit to the slightest discomfort while on the road. Out here, we’re ‘road hard,’ driven on by a common goal. A shared purpose. We rode not only to avenge Waverly, but to get justice for everyone Damon Mechem had ever hurt. His list of offenses was long, and we intended for him to stand accountable for each and every crime he’d ever committed.
We pulled into the town of Twin Falls at the break of dawn, like a posse who’d been sent for by the local sheriff in some old western. The Primal Howlers were twelve hours away, so couldn’t send any scouts ahead to confirm Cupid’s location, but fortunately Sundance had a solid contact that was willing to help in Burley, which was only a forty-five minute ride away.
“Chappy” was a non-affiliated biker, who farmed sugar beets and cannabis, and on occasion rode with the Howlers whenever they rode through the area. He was more than happy to do a favor for Sundance and his club and was able to confirm Cupid was at his half-sister’s just as Booker suspected. Hatch spoke with Chappy directly during our first fuel up. Apparently, the two long-lost siblings were holed up in Sorcha’simmobile home and appeared to be on the downside of a meth binge. Chappy said he only had to peek through the torn curtains and tinfoil in the windows to see the pair of meth zombies crashed out inside the trailer.
Chappy told Hatch, “Barring any surprises, looks like a classic fish in a barrel type of scenario.”
And Chappy was right.Well, mostlyright anyway.
Having left our bikes down the road a little to avoid waking anyone, we rolled up to Sorcha’s neighborhood at just past seven a.m., which was about equal to midnight in tweaker time. While the rest of the civilized world was either off to, or already at work, the meth zombies were turning in after a long night of twitching, scratching, and sweating.
Cash, Train, and I quietly made our way to the mobile home while the others stayed in the van, ready to receive the cargo and take off. True to Chappy’s scouting report, a quick peek inside the trailer revealed our two-person family reunion participants passed out cold. Cupid was on the couch, while baby sister laid sprawled out on the filthy carpet. They didn’t even stir as we made entry through the unlocked door.
“How do you wanna do this?” Cash whispered.
I nodded to Cupid. “How about Cash grabs Cupid while you keep an eye on the sister and make sure she doesn’t go anywhere?”
“The fuck you gonna do?” Cash asked.
“I’ll watch your backs in case of any surprises,” I replied.
Cash twisted up his face in a ‘whatever’ expression and I gave him the finger.
“Okay, each of you get ready to grab ’em,” I whispered. “On three. One, two—”
Before I could get to three, Sorcha grabbed a nearby pair of scissors off the floor and stabbed Cash in the calf.
Cash let out a holler appropriate for gettingstabbed in the fucking shin and quickly silenced himself. But it was too late, Cupid shot up from his place on the couch.
I may be wrong, but I’mprettysure I heard Train giggle the words, “Back to sleep,” before clocking Cupid directly on the chin. It was a little hard to make out anything over Sorcha’s wails.
“Get your motherfucking hands off my brother!” Sorcha screeched.
“Shut her the fuck up,” I yelled to Cash.
“I’m trying,” he replied as he wrestled around on the floor with a ninety-eight-pound meth zombie.
Train and I bust out laughing and believe me when I say that we were laughinghard.
