Page 6

“You’re just a suck-up. Always playing up to whoever’s in charge to get what you want,” Bill responds loudly.

“No. I’m just not under their thumb. You’re just freakin’ henpecked and scared to death of wifey. She’d have you for breakfast if you grew a pair,” Tanner laughs. “Oh, wait. You had a pair, but they're in her purse now, aren’t they?”

Bill looks as though he is going to throw down on Tanner, but realizes they have an audience. “Vortex. Silas. Whack asked us to drop by. Said you’d get us up to speed with what’s happening.”

“Of course he did. He wouldn’t want to be bored with the mundane bit of it.” I should have expected this.

“Come inside, gents. We’ll have a coffee while you get up to speed. Vortex will have it all explained by the time the coffee is ready.” Silas slips from his chair and leads us all inside.

It doesn’t take long to tell them what we know and what we suspect, which isn’t much. Bill looks a little doubtful, but Tanner looks like he knows more than he’s willing to let on at this precise moment. Sensing some unrest in the Bill/Tanner camp, I sip my coffee and let things be. Silas, however, has no such intentions.

“What were you two arguing about when you got here? Don’t try palming me off with some bullshit, either. I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m one of those Boomers, ya know. Not one of them Silent Generation.” Silas grins as though he’s just shown how UpToDate he is on modern terminology.

“We weren’t arguing…” Bill starts to say.

“Bill thinks I’m a goody-two-shoes that gets all the good stuff that’s going, like a place in the MC. He forgets that he had the same offer from Whack, but he chose not to take it. He was afraid of his wife who said it was a downward step in their social standing. Might even affect his promotion prospects if he was cavorting around town on a noisy machine, and goodness knows about them gals that they hang out with!” Tanner has obviously overheard some of the conversations between Bill and his wife. Bill gives him a look that confirms my suspicions.

Before this goes any further, I hear the roar of bikes in the yard and moments later, Ghost and Chips walk in.

“If you two bozos think you’re gonna make us behave all legal and proper when the shit hits the fan, you can think again. I’m here for the fun, not the Boy Scout badges.” Chips drops a carryall on the table, and it sounds like he’s brought an arsenal with him.

“I don’t want to know what’s in there, Chips,” says Bill, standing and walking towards the door.

“I do. I’ll catch up in a minute,” grins Tanner. He waits until Bill has walked through the door, but before it closes fully he states loudly, “Where the fuck did you get a rocket launcher from?”

We all hear Bill mutter, “For fuck’s sake,” as the door finally closes.

Tanner hangs back for a few more seconds before giving us all a wink and following Bill to the cruiser. It positively flies down the ranch road as if the devil himself is chasing them.

I leave a short while later after having had a lengthy discussion with Ghost, Chips, and Silas about how they are going to work the defense of the ranch should they get any unwanted visitors. Silas is going to remain close to the ranch house. Chips is going to run perimeter checks, in the guise of checking the fences and general cowboy tasks that Silas will explain, while Ghost is going to be Overwatch. He has sniper expertise and will no doubt be the first to see anything untoward, and probably be the first to take any form of action. Unless Chips gets lucky or puts himself out there to be the first. He is not known for his patience when it comes to action.

Sitting in the chair in Pres’ office, I wait for him to finish on the phone. I don’t listen to his conversation, but the tone of his voice tells me he isn’t happy with what he’s hearing. Slamming his phone on the desk, I’m surprised that both the phone and the desk survive the experience.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, and fuck again. Jesus H. fucking Christ and all that’s fucking holy.” Whack stares at me, but I don’t think he even sees me. “Fucking hell.”

“Am I supposed to say something at this point? Or just sit quietly until your vocabulary returns?” His eyes slowly get back into focus, and he looks at me as though I’m a bad smell in the room.

“Fucking Martha fucking Gable just got elected mayor, for fuck’s sake. How did she manage that, I wonder? Christ in his crib, this is not going to go well for us.” Pres stands up, walks around his desk and sits down again. “F…”

“Yes, Pres. I get it. Can we think of something else in which you can express your disgust at this travesty of voting?”

“Motherfucker, bitch, prick, shit, asshole, bastard, and any more I haven’t heard, used, or even know.” Pres looks at me again. “She’ll come after the club with everything she can. She won’t be able to help herself. I can only hope it all blows up in her face and she doesn’t last five minutes in office.”

A knock on the door deflects his attention away from Martha Gables, and he shouts for them to enter. Bull is the first one through the door, quickly followed by Pens and Bank. They all have a shiteating grin on their faces, so they’re happy with whatever it is they’ve found out.

Taking a chair each, they wait for Pres to speak. He raises his eyebrows and waits for one of them to get the ball rolling. Bank takes the lead.

“Tristan Everett, Chris as everyone knows him, has suddenly become very wealthy. He isn’t a millionaire yet, but he will be if his finances keep expanding as they are. He’s just taken delivery of a new Mercedes…”

“Yes. A very nice SL,” I throw in.

“Not that Mercedes. He has just taken delivery of a Mercedes G-wagon. It makes his SL look like small change. He’s also moved into a new home. I say home, but it’s an estate out by the lake. It has been in the same family since it was built and has never been on the market. It was sold privately earlier this year, and it went for a song. It was at least two million dollars undersold. It was a cash buyer at that stage and I can’t see where Chris paid for it. He’s on the deeds, there is a record of the transfer, but I can’t find any evidence of the transaction that got him there.”

“He paid cash for the Mercedes SL, and only weeks later, he paid cash for the G-wagon. That is not an easy thing to do for the owner of a small rural realty office. I’m sure the IRS will be looking into him very shortly if he carries this on.” Pens is happy with his contribution.

“Well. He seems to have become closely associated with a huge multinational company that goes by the name of Cottonwood Glades Land Development Company. They have their fingers in everything to do with land or construction. Homes, shopping malls, developments, roads, bridges, farms, ranches. Anything and everything. ” Bull adds.

“Doesn’t sound very multinational? Cottonwood Glades? Sounds more like a small-town HOA than a large company.” I frown at the idea of Chris being involved with a company that is supposedly as big as this one sounds. “Ranches, you say? How big are the ranches?”