“We still can’t get Coochie or Birdie on the phone,” Whisker said. “We’ve got some people out looking for them, but so far, no one has seen them or their vehicle.”
“Fuck,” I said and looked down at my feet.
“We need to move her to the clubhouse and secure her in the basement. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I want everyone who isn’t out looking for Coochie in the clubhouse.”
My eyes narrowed as I processed his words. “You think something other than the weather happened to them?”
“I don’t know, but the last time we had a dead body and the old timers were involved, my dad and Pocket went to prison. Here we are again with a dead body, the old timers are involved, and now we’re waiting on a woman to bring back the patch my dad gave her over thirty years ago.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. He’d been suspicious of everything since he’d become president, but it was hard to disagree with him when he made valid points. The connection between Kalani and Coochie wasn’t all that strange, but us not knowing about it was. The island wasn’t very big. Between the members of the club, we knew almost everyone. But I didn’t think Coochie going missing right after a kid diddler was murdered on our property was a coincidence. Especially when you added in the fact that Coochie was with the grandmother of the woman who murdered the kid diddler, it seemed much less coincidental. “What do you need me to do after I get her moved?”
“I need you to stay at the clubhouse and keep an eye on things,” he said. “If something happened to Coochie and Birdie and it’s related to last night, someone will eventually come here.”
“I’ll be right over,” I said.
When I went back inside, Kalani was no longer pretending to be asleep. “Is Birdie here?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “But we need to go over to the clubhouse.”
“Why?”
I didn’t have to tell her anything, and I almost didn’t. But for reasons I didn’t want to address, I answered her with a partial truth. “Because some of us still have a job to do.”
“Fuck,” she groaned. “My job. I have to work tonight.”
I laughed. “What will the other mermaids do without you?”
“Listen to an innocent child tell them about the abuse they’re suffering while begging to be saved,” she deadpanned.
I turned to look at her.
“Yeah,” she continued. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? The adults in their lives are failing them, so they tell their fictional hero.”
“That’s …” I didn’t know what to say.
“A harsh reality no one talks about,” she sighed. “But I meant my job at the bar. The mermaid thing was a one-time deal.”
Once again, I cut the tape from her legs and chest and escorted her to the clubhouse.
“Can I call my boss and tell her I’m not going to be in tonight?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Why the fuck would we let you call someone?”
“So I can keep my job,” she said as if it were obvious. “What am I gonna do? Tell them I’m being held against my will by a motorcycle club so they can send someone to come get me and you can tell them about the man I murdered?”
“You can get another job.”
“That’s not as easy as it sounds when you’re a convicted felon.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Really?” she asked in surprise.
“What assumptions didyoumake?”
“The obvious one—that outlaw bikers are criminals.”
“You’re not wrong,” I conceded, hoping to keep her engaged in the conversation so she wouldn’t question where I was taking her. “We are criminals, and most of us have a record.”
