Wolf stood on one side. Cam wanted to be here to get his strip of flesh, but Wolf convinced him his place was with his woman. Stalemate didn’t blame Cam for his desire to beat the ever-loving shit out of these two scum-suckers, but the airtight alibi was more important. This club was slowly being built on trust, a most precious commodity. He admired that.
Scrap and Baghouse were present and the only ones seated. Quillon and Crossman manned the strip club, providing otheralibis to anyone who asked. Stalemate hadn’t seen a lot of Scrap, but he’d heard about him. The old man might appear frail with failing health, but the expression on his face would make the fiercest soldier cower in fear.
Stalemate hoped to have a chess game or two with the former president.
Specs and his brother were tied down and stretched out on rough plank tables. Once they were done here, those pieces of wood could be easily cut up and used as kindling in the outdoor fireplace at Cam’s house.
Stalemate started thinking the Knights were due for a family barbecue. He grinned as he picked up a thick towel with a popular chain hotel’s logo on it. He walked over to where Specs lay and wrapped it over the man’s face, effectively muffling the cursing and screaming. Stalemate looked at Wolf. “You want the first one?”
Wolf showed no emotion as he picked up two large pitchers of ice-cold water and started pouring them onto the towel one after the other. For almost a minute, the sound of splashing water and the creak of the plank table as Specs struggled against his bonds filled the air.
Stalemate released the cloth, and Specs gagged, coughed, and choked as he fought to drag air into his lungs.
Billy looked on, the whites of his eyes showing in pure terror. “Why are you doing this?”
Stalemate shrugged. “We need some answers. There were some rumors out there about the old Slaggers MC colors bein’ seen around town. Personally? I think it was a bullshit stunt to throw us off, but we still need to check. Who are you working for?”
“No one!” Billy shouted in desperation.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“I believe you, but that fella over there?” He pointed to Scrap. “He’s not so sure. So let’s try this again.”
Stalemate headed over to Billy’s plank, and the man started crying with hysterical sobs. The biker paused and cocked his head to the side. “Now that’s a surprise. I thought you were the big tough guy. The one who shot up a rally from a bad sniper position. Surely any man who can shoot at a kid can take a little water up the nose. We dealt with a lot worse in Iraq.”
The sharp smell of urine emanated from Billy as he pissed himself. “Please, please, please… I’m sorry… I’m?—”
Scrap lost patience. “Can we get this shit done before I die?”
Stalemate draped the soaked towel over Billy’s face as Wolf refilled the pitchers.
Billy fought weakly for a while, then lay still. Stalemate whipped the towel off the man and slapped him back to consciousness. “Not yet, tough guy. We still have questions.”
Billy came back much like Specs, heaving and choking.
Wolf stood between the two at their heads. He held the pitchers loosely in either hand. “Which one of you kicked the old lady? Edna.”
Billy garbled out, “He did!”
“What about Garfield Hob? Who beat him up?”
“He did! He did it all!”
Specs found his voice. “Shut up!”
The whole story came out amid gasps and coughs. Candy Sweet. The family history. Specs’s obsession with their sister. His need for revenge. The plans they made and how they were executed. Specs calling the cops after they attacked Hob to throw any suspicion off them.
“He had this thing for Candy, and when she got killed, he lost it.”
“Shut the fuck up, Billy!”
The more Billy spilled, the darker Wolf went. Stalemate saw him go completely black before it was over.
“So, no association with a group called the Slaggers?” Wolf asked.
“No gangs. Just us,” Billy said.
