CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
SHORT
It’s past dawn by the time I’ve taken Bron up to my room, retrieved a fast asleep Trip from Tempest’s, and settled them both into my bed. Exhausted, Bron’s eyes close almost before I pull the sheet up over her.
Me? I’m too amped up to rest, and there are too many things I still need to see to.
I return downstairs to find that there are still men milling around in the clubroom. The club girls are manning the bar and making it known they’re available to offer any or all of their many services, to anyone who wants to take them up on them. I see Heaven try to make a move on Baffle, but he pushes her away with a look of disgust. Yeah, well, he wouldn’t be unfaithful to his newly claimed and wifed Nell. Word is he’s devoted to her. Still, you have to admire Heaven, as for a moment it seems she’s not going to take no for an answer, until Baffle loses his shit and pushes her hard. It’s his own club brother, Grease – fully patched up now, sporting a fresh white bandage – who catches her, and marches her off in the direction of the heads, presumably hoping to find a quiet space.
Perhaps before Bronwyn came into my life, I’d have wondered why a man refused to try strange when he was a long way from home. But now I get it. I might only have been inside Bron once, but I’m already certain that no one else could ever compare. Being faithful to her will be no hardship.
Last time I saw the outside of the clubhouse, it was strewn with dead men. When I step out there now, there’s no trace of the bodies of any Mojave Devil recruits to be found. Instead, I find Jester with a hose in his hand, washing down the pavement.
Spying me watching, he grumbles, “Can’t even get away from cleanup when I’m far from home. Thought coming down south would be a vacation, but no, I’ve got to work.” He tries to look woebegone, but fails, and his ensuing grin belies his words.
“You love this.” I laugh. “And we’re grateful and in your debt. But…” I gesture around. “Where the fuck did the bodies go?”
He waves a hand idly and in no particular direction. “Words has got them all stored in the mortuary. Hey, Brother, fuckin’ love the setup you’ve got here. You kill ‘em, store ‘em, then burn ‘em.”
Frowning, I speak my thoughts aloud. “Thought Words couldn’t handle the number.”
He barks a laugh. “Do you know how many men you can get into one of the body trays in his morgue, or you can hide in a coffin?” At my head shake, he continues, “Two and a half men!” He snorts as though he’s impressed. “I went there and helped him. We found we could even fit three in at a push, depending on their size. One of which, of course, has to be the original occupant.” As my brow furrows, wondering about the logistics, he enlightens me. “Just needed some bone saws to remove limbs, and the placement of two heads side by side to make it work. Jeez, it was fun. Like a fucked-up jigsaw puzzle.” He rubs his hands together as though he’d enjoyed the gruesome challenge.
Normally, I wouldn’t have much stomach for it, but it’s the MDMC recruits we’re discussing, and I could probably summon up enthusiasm for literally tearing them limb from limb. Then my mind turns to the practical issues. “Those coffins are going to be damn heavy,” I say, thinking off the top of my head. “And the relatives of the bona fide bodies better not want a viewing.” I grimace, just imagining fulfilling such a request. “Then there’s his civilian workers,” I continue thinking aloud. “They’re bound to get suspicious.”
Jester grins. “That was my concern, too, but Words is certain he can trust them. He mentioned to me they’d make good recruits if you’re looking for more prospects.”
We might well be. We were already one down, having dispatched the traitor Griz, and now that Heathen has gone to meet his maker, we definitely can’t function with just Knight.
Which brings another question to mind. “Tell me Heathen wasn’t one of your fuckin’ puzzles,” I snarl.
“No, Brother.” Jester’s hand comes out to rest on my shoulder. “He’s got a Cadillac version of a coffin all to himself. Words said you’re going to have some kind of send-off for him later.”
Of course. I also expect he’ll be patched in posthumously and buried as a full member. I just hope he’s going to be the only loss we have. I’ve yet to check up on any news about Tempest or Genie.
“What you doing out here by yourself, anyway? Didn’t any brothers offer to help?”
Jester jerks his head toward Woody, who’s just appeared from around the corner. He’s carrying a bag and studying the ground. “He’s picking up bullet casings and any other suspicious shit he can find.” He looks down at the hose he’s been using. “Water will help, but if I knew I’d be here in my official role, I’dhave brought my murder van.” Another of his easy grins flicks across his face.
His first comment, I can understand. He’s the cleaner for the New Mexico club. Up to now, we’ve never needed anyone to fill that position. I suppose that’s something we might need to reconsider due to current events. But it’s the second time I’ve heard of his mysterious form of transport tonight. “Your murder van?”
He chuckles. “Fuckin’ Sammy, Prez’s ol’ lady, named it as such. The name seems to have stuck.”
While we’ve been talking, Jester’s continued hosing the ground down. To my eyes, all the blood’s been washed down the drain. “Looks clean enough,” I tell him, admiringly. “You must be tired as fuck. I know I am. Why don’t you come in and get your head down?”
He snorts. “It’s fuckin’ standing room only in there. All the floor space has already been taken up. You lost your fuckin’ bunkhouse, Bro, and there’s no place for the injured to settle down, let alone the rest of us.”
“Fuck.” I shake my head. I hadn’t even thought about the logistics of that loss. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I think hard, quickly coming up with the answer. “I’ve got a house, Jester, a couple of miles up the road. It’s only got two bedrooms, but there’s a sofa in the lounge, and a comfortable recliner.”
Jester brightens. “You’re offering it to us?”
“Yeah, Bron, Trip, and I can sleep here tonight. And you guys will need to get some shut-eye before riding home.”
He slaps me on the back, puts away the hose, and turns to go inside. “Hold up. I’ll text you the address.” I call up his contact on my phone and quickly tap out the details. His phone pings, and he gives me his chin before he disappears into the clubhouse.
Following him inside, I see it’s exactly as he described. It’s quietened down since I last walked through. Even the bar now appears to have closed, or is serve yourself only. Men are lying on every available surface. Bullseye and Saint are leaning on the pool table, still holding court with Bigfoot and his crew. Jester gets to them first and explains my offer, so when I approach, it’s to receive heartfelt thanks. They make it clear that they intend to make every use of it. The next few moments are taken up with Bigfoot and Baffle leading Jester and the rest of his men outside. When their bikes start up with a roar, I wince as a wave of jealousy floods through me, as I remember how mine and the rest of the Arizona Kings’ are in pieces.
“What fuckin’ MC are we when we can’t even ride?” My thoughts, unintended, come out as a snarl.
