He knocked twice on the table with his knuckles and the men filed into their conference room. Folding the paper into my purse, I drifted over to where Dingo avidly surfed the net, Deloy looking over his shoulder.
I murmured, “If it’s top secret stuff, I’d turn the computer around so our friendly neighborhood bartender can’t see what you’re doing.” As if he could hear me, Skippy Cavanaugh glared at me again. He had nothing better to do than to endlessly polish the bar.
Dingo and Deloy glanced at Skippy. “Oh. I know. I trust that guy about as far as I can throw him,” said Dingo, but he rotated his computer a few inches anyway. I gasped when I saw what Dingo was looking at.
“What the hell—”
He held out a calming hand. “It’s all research, Oaklyn. I know, I know. It’s a horrible job but someone’s got to do it.”
Deloy’s eyes were round with fear and awe. “It’s the darknet, Oaklyn.” He said “darknet” as though saying “chunky raccoon vomit.” “These are camboys who perform for set prices per minute.”
“I can see,” I said, hand to my chest like the judgmental prude Levon thought I was. Dingo was surfing fast, not settling on any one camboy, but the flashes I caught were certainly enough to tell me these poor boys were degraded. Mostly they just masturbated but a few had a horrifying array of dildos of all sizes and textures. They penetrated themselves lewdly, apparently capable of popping impossibly large items in the toaster. A couple suspended themselves from the ceiling, one hanging by piercings in his pectorals. “What are you hoping to find?”
Dingo said, “We’ve narrowed down the geographical location to a hundred square miles.”
Deloy said, “Dingo’s a frickin’ genius.” Mild swearing like that was new to Deloy, too. His entire world was expanding—a bit too far, I feared. Did he know about the insinuations in the article? Like any good parent, if he didn’t know about it, I would try to protect him as much as possible. “He can find anything on the interwebs.”
Dingo whispered, so I had to lean down to hear. “I’ve found a few tags and indications that our mayor Pratt has been on here—doing what, I don’t know yet. But when I find out, we’re going to nail that mother to the floorboards.”
“Dingo is getting his top rocker,” Deloy said with shining eyes.
I shook my head vacantly. “What does that mean?”
Deloy explained, “See this moon-shaped patch on his back—Avalanche, Utah? Well when he goes full patch he gets a top rocker that’ll say The Assassins of Youth. Then he gets to attend chapel.”
“Well congratulations, Dingo!” I said cheerfully. I meant it, too. This was the best news ever. Six months ago, I had heard, Skippy Cavanaugh had nearly caved in Dingo’s skull with a rifle barrel for stealing nachos or something from behind the bar. He’d been living in the abandoned elementary school, afraid to go to Bountiful where his friends had gone before him. He’d come a long way, all thanks to the protective guidance of the motorcycle club. “Then who’ll be your next Prospect? You need someone to do the grunt work.”
Deloy started answering. “Oh, they’re going to invite Lev—”
But Dingo shut him up by stomping forcefully on his tennis shoe. Dingo was only wearing some boating shoes that didn’t exactly scream “biker,” but then that was what I liked about this odd group of men. They didn’t seem to play by the usual rule book. It was a new chapter, the mother chapter being in Bullhead City, so Gideon probably had lots of latitude when choosing who to enlist. But Levon? He’d make a fine biker, already riding a Harley and all, but…
Actually, the more I thought on it, the more sense it made. They needed more members and Levon could be a bad-ass, I knew. His dark past before he’d started Liberty Temple was written all over his slick, smooth face. He could be a nasty customer. Casually flipping my hair behind my neck, I stood and said, “Speaking of, I need to pay him a visit.” I didn’t address Deloy’s near-accident, but he gave me a glimmering, in-the-know smile.
“Oh!” cried Dingo, glued to his screen. “Look at this guy! He’s suspended by ankle cuffs.”
Deloy pointed at the laptop. “That looks like a double ball steel anal hook,” he said knowledgeably, nodding.
“You should know,” teased Dingo.