I park across the road, a safe distance away so no one can see or hear the car. The only sound is the gravel under our boots as we make our way to the trailer.
Glancing down at my phone, I pull up the info Archer sent over.
Archer
The Red Riders Prez is Austin Williams, aka Smoker. 5322 W. Rock Ridge Rd., Trailer 5
I scan each trailer, searching for the barely legible trailer number, and find Smoker’s at the very end. A dim light glowsthrough the window, probably from the stove. His bike parked outside is the only other sign someone is home.
As I pass his bike, I see two helmets dangling on the handlebars, proving there are two people here, and hopefully one of them is Susie.
I stomp up the weathered stairs, no need to be quiet since this motherfucker will be dead within the next twenty minutes, anyway. A man like Smoker won’t sit back and take it, but I look forward to that. Ineedthat.
As if on cue, the front door swings open, revealing a scrubby, slightly overweight man.
“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” he asks, his body blocking the doorframe, but all I needed was one look to see a uniform from the bar bundled up on the ground, the logo in perfect view. It’s the same shirt Brielle was wearing when we took her.
“Oh, us? Just some friends.” I place my hands in my pockets. “Mind if we come in?” I ask, already knowing Carson has his gun on display, letting this fucking loser know we aren’t here to talk about his day while we sip piss-warm beer on his broken couch.
He looks between us for a long second as if contemplating letting us in, but to his better judgment, he turns and gestures us in.
The second I step through the doorway, the faint scent of weed hits me along with something else. Something fruity.
Carson closes the door behind him and leans back against it, not yet grabbing his gun but keeping his hand close. Smoker plops down on the couch, grabs a pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, and lights one up.
“So, what can I do for you two?” he asks, inhaling the smoke and spreading his arms on the back of the couch.
My eyes track the room, looking for more signs that Susie is here. Women’s shoes by the couch, perfume on the counter, and the uniform by the door tell me exactly what I need to know.
“Is it only you here, or is the wife home as well?” Leaning against the wall, I study him, but he only shrugs.
“Not married,” he states, not elaborating as to why there’s female stuff all over his sad excuse of a living room.
“So, I guess this peaches and cream body spray is yours, then?” I pick up the orange bottle and watch as his lips form a smirk.
“Nah, just someone I spend some time with now and again.” He brings the cigarette back up to his lips, inhaling deeply.
“Oh, well yeah, that makes more sense.” I nod before continuing, knowing this next part might get us somewhere. “It smells kind of familiar, if I’m honest. There’s this older girl. Huge fucking tits. Brown hair,” I say, waving the bottle around. “Fuck, what was her name?” I mumble, snapping my fingers. “Oh, Susie! The hot brunette that owns The Whiskey.” When I finish, my eyes move to watch Smoker’s reaction. His fingers tighten around the arm of the couch, and his jaw tightens.
Just what I thought.
“She’s a real freak show.” I let out a whistle, and that’s his snapping point.
He leans forward, hands on his knees. “Watch what the fuck you say about her, or I’ll blow your goddamn brains out.”
I cock my head to the side, raising an eyebrow before asking, “Oh, you know her?”
“She’s my old lady, you fucking prick. Been mine for a few months now.”
I look over at Carson, and his eyes are toward the back, where the hallway leads to the rooms.
“Gotcha. So, you see, we’ve been looking for her. Let’s just say we have a mutual friend, and said friend has been trying toget ahold of her.” I tilt my head. “Hasn’t had any luck.” I lie, my posture relaxed.
He scowls. “Where my old lady is, is none of your goddamn business.”
“Figured you’d say that.” I nod. “But unfortunately for you both, I’m going to need you to tell me where she is.” I send him a smile as I take out the pink knife in my pocket and twirl the tip on my pointer finger.
Brielle’s knife.I’ve carried it every day since Carson gave it to me.
