“Nothing. We’ll find out who did this, and I’m gonna enjoy killin’ his ass.” Rock clenched his jaw, rammed his hands into his pockets, and followed Hawk, Jax, and Banger to their cars. He glanced one last time at the lifeless body, then drove away.
When they entered the clubhouse, anger and sadness crackled in the air; the brothers had a soft spot for the likable twenty-six-year-old.
“Who the fuck snuffed the kid?” Bear asked as he shuffled behind Rock to the meeting room.
“Not sure yet, but I’m gonna find out,” Rock answered.
Banger had called an emergency church regarding Sketcher and the encroaching threat of hard-core drugs in Pinewood Springs. The Insurgents knew meth was the drug of choice for some of the residents in town, but dealing coke, acid, and H in the county just didn’t sit well with the brothers. There was no way in hell they were going to allow that shit to come through; they didn’t want to blow their tacit agreement with law enforcement that they’d keep that shit out of Pinewood Springs in exchange for the badges looking the other way at some of the club’s indiscretions.
As the brothers let their rage over what happened to their informant spill out, Skinless came in and went over to Banger. The president looked at the group. “The prospect says the fuckin’ badges are in the great room.”
“I’m surprised they found Sketcher so fast. They usually can’t find their ass with both hands,” Chas said, and several members chortled and grunted.
“Tell them we’re in church and they need to wait,” Banger told Skinless. The young man nodded and left the room.
“Hold up. I’ll go out and stall the fucks,” Rock said.
When he entered the great room, he saw two assholes in uniform and one in a suit. He went over to the bar and leaned against it, his foot propped up on a chair. The one in the suit came over.
“I’m Detective McCue, and I have a few questions about Tommy Horace.”
Rock jutted his jaw out, smoothed down his cut, and snapped his fingers at Skinless, who promptly placed a shot of whiskey in front of him. Curling his fingers around the shot glass, he threw back the dark amber liquid, then crossed his arms. “I don’t know who the fuck you’re talkin’ about.” He motioned to Skinless for another.
“His street name is Sketcher. Know him now?” McCue shifted from one foot to the other.
Rock shrugged.
Putting his pad back inside his suit jacket, McCue stared at Rock. “The word is he was an informant for the Insurgents. He was found murdered in Crenshaw Park.”
Rock stared deadpan at him and didn’t say a word.
“We can do things the easy way or the hard way. The easy way is that you and your fellow club members cooperate and tell me what you all know about the killing. And the hard way is that I tear your clubhouse apart.”
“I’ve never done easy in my whole fuckin’ life. And good luck in getting a search warrant, ’cause that’s the only damn way you’re gonna get past where you’re standing right now.”
“Did Sketcher piss you guys off, betray you?”
Rock just stared at the detective until he heard Banger’s and Hawk’s voices behind him.
“Banger. Hawk,” McCue acknowledged them. “Your informant Sketcher was found murdered in Crenshaw Park, and I need to clear up some things.”
“Don’t know him, McCue.” Banger turned to Hawk. “Do you know someone named Sketcher?”
“Nope,” Hawk said.
Soon all thirty-five members filled the room, each one asking the other if they knew the person the detective was yapping about.
“Fucking unbelievable! Are you that cold-hearted that you don’t give a shit what happened to Sketcher?”
“Let me tell you something, McCue,” Hawk said, leaning against the bar next to Rock, a shot of whiskey in his hand. “If we did know this Sketcher dude, we’d take care of things on our own.” He threw back his shot.
“And we’re not sayin’ shit ’cause we don’t know shit. You’re wasting your time and ours,” Banger said as he posted himself next to Hawk and Rock. Skinless set a shot of whiskey in front of him.
McCue shook his head. “There were tire tracks and a shitload of footprints at the scene of the crime. I’m going to guess they belong to some of your members.” Dead silence descended on the room. Staring each of them in the eyes, McCue said, “I’ll be back.” He turned around and walked out, the two badges following him.
“If that one keeps getting in our business, we’ll have to talk to the police chief,” Hawk said.
“Agreed. I gotta get going home. I just wanted to let you know that next Saturday there’s gonna be a big party.” Cheers drowned Banger out.
Rock put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. The din died down. “The president hasn’t finished talkin’. Shut the fuck up!”
“As I was sayin’, we have all the charter clubs coming, and many of the affiliate ones will be here. All the officers have to be here. No damn excuses.” He glanced at Rock, who nodded, along with Hawk and Throttle.
As Banger talked about the party, Rock felt his phone vibrate. He slipped it out of his jeans and stared at the number flashing. Fire shot through his veins. Why the fuck is Andrew’s school calling me? Ducking out to the back porch, he answered the call.
“Hello?”
“May I please speak to Mr. Aubois?”
“That’s me. Is my boy in trouble?”
“This is Mrs. Crowe, the principal, and… well, yes, he is. He skipped school again. If he does it one more time, I’ll have to report it. That’s the law.”
Rock gritted his teeth as he tried to control the rage threatening to explode inside him. “He’s not gonna do it again. Is that all?”
“It is. Perhaps we should make an appointment so we can talk.”
“I don’t have anything to say. I told you I’ll handle it. I’ve gotta go.”
Heat flushed through his body as he ground his teeth. When he returned to the great room, Axe came up to him. “Throttle’s already got the balls stacked.”
“I gotta pass on the pool game. There’s a problem that needs fixin’. I’m outta here. Later.”
The wisps of frosty air from his heavy breathing ribboned around him as he hoisted himself into his truck. With the fire of a pissed-off parent burning inside him, he made it home in record time. He waited several minutes in the garage, taking deep breaths to calm down before he confronted his son.
Opening the car door, he saw Clotille standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “I thought I heard the garage door open and close. Roche… what’s the matter? You look like a bull ready to charge.”
“I’m fuckin’ pissed! Did the school call you?”
“Which school?”
James popped his head out from behind Clotille’s legs. “Père!”
The boy’s black eyes shone and his chubby hand waved at Rock, melting his heart. He laughed and came over, swinging James up and settling his son down on his shoulders. The boy’s fingers pressed against his head tightly as Rock brushed Clotille’s lips. “Andrew’s school. He cut his classes again.”