Motherfucker!
Eaton Dapusé… Eating the pussy. You’ve got to be shitting me.
I look over at Fucknuts, but he’s an unconscious man. The reaper is knocking on his door.
I hobble to their pickup and find two wallets in the console. I check their driver’s licenses and Fucknuts’ name is Ellwood, go figure, and the other guy’s name is, indeed, Homer. I check for a business card or any information with Jonathan Boothe’s name on it, but there’s nothing, only a few small bills in each wallet and a burner phone under the seat.
I ask Google about a Boothe lawyer firm and Boothe & Brown comes up in Jackson, Mississippi.
What are the chances?
I call the number using the redneck’s burner phone and get ready to impress.
I ask for a Jonathan Boothe and get told he is currently out of the office for the rest of the week.
Again, what are the chances?
“Ma’am, if you wouldn’t mind, this is Stephen Boothe, a relative of Jonathan’s, and I have a sudden death in the family I need to speak to him about. I don’t have Jonathan’s cell phone on me, only his work number.” I put on my upset-family-emergency voice. “I urgently need to speak to him. Could you possibly give me his cell number, please?”
The line is quiet as she contemplates getting into trouble for giving out his private number. She’s also mulling over getting into trouble if she doesn’t let this man talk to his relative. The good person inside of her will relent, thinking nobody would call and make this shit up. “It really is very important I speak to him as soon as I can, ma’am.”
Like taking candy from a baby. She dutifully hands over Jonathan’s cell number.
Stupid woman.
I make the call. The line connects, and my Ellwood-redneck prepares to kick into gear. “Hello.”
“Who is this, and why the hell are you calling me?” Not even a hello. The man has no manners. Jonathan sounds a tad put out.
“Jonathan, it’s the cleanup crew, Ellwood and Homer. We need to meet tonight. Homer and I would like our money. Things are heatin’ up and we want to get out of Dodge for a while.” Can I sound any more like Fucknuts? The guy probably has never spoken to him before, but I can’t take that chance. This operation the Puppet Master has going on has a lot of players.
He lets out a string of curses. “We shouldn’t even be talking. How did you get my personal cell?”
“Googled your name and tried a few until we got onto your lovely secretary, who was quite helpful.” I’m just making this shit up as I go along. He just needs to believe it. I just need the meet and greet tonight. I don’t give a flying fuck how I get it.
“I’m firing that bitch,” he mumbles. “Is the job completed?”
“Sure is, three bodies disposed of. Wouldn’t be callin’ you if it wasn’t.” Cocksucker.
“Meet me at The Pitbull at ten tonight on the dot. Now, don’t call me again.” He disconnects.
Fucking idiot.
I shove Ellwood’s chair out of the way and let it fall backward. I snap off some photos of the rednecks and the cars and then hobble over to the corner of the hangar. What a surprise, guess who’s parked herself just around the corner eavesdropping? I shake my head in disapproval at her. “Miss Catherine, we need to get to Jackson. ASAP.”
“What about Santana’s body?”
“We have to leave it. I’ll make a call and her body will be retrieved. Loose ends will be tied up here.” I just have to hope nobody comes back here until then. I haul Blondie’s body inside the hangar and lock the door. Fucknuts can stay where he is.
We make our way back to the Beamer, and Miss Catherine doesn’t seem to show any signs of shock at what’s happened to Fucknuts. She just picks up the crutches and gets in the driver’s seat, and I scoop No Mercy up off the hood and get in the backseat because I need to put my foot up and rest for what’s gonna go down tonight.
“Need to let Evelyn know where we be headin’,” she says quietly.
“Miss Catherine, if we’re gonna find Whisper alive, we need to step on this lead, now. We can call the doc along the way if it makes you feel better. Head on out of here, and I’m gonna make some calls.” This is starting to get bigger than just me and an old lady, and I need Santana’s body taken care of.
Fuck my privacy.
Miss Catherine pulls out, and I send Hazard a code and wait for him to call me.
I have to get what I can out of this Jonathan Boothe. The trail is cold here. I fear Whisper may even be out of the country by now. This is also the first sign of hope for Ruby being alive. Too much coincidence in their disappearances being close together, one from my club, one from the one we have an alliance with, and now Whisper. Two out of these three missing ladies have wound up in the one place, this hangar. I can’t help feeling my father has a part in this whole circle of women gone missing.
The phone rings. “Hazard, things have gotten more complicated. I need that backup now.” He listens while I explain everything and let him know what I need done. The old lady can hear Hazard cursing down the line. I tell him about Santana, and he says he’ll contact Torque, President of Lion’s Den MC, and they will send club members on a flight out to get Santana and drive her back, and they’ll clean up the mess of bodies. They won’t need keys to gain access.
I set the GPS up on Miss Catherine’s phone for The Pitbull in Jackson, and chew on a pain killer and close my eyes for a bit. We got a three-hour drive ahead of us.
If Homer’s still kicking… he’ll wish he wasn’t.
BOXER
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
I roll over on the hard cement. Christ sake! I know I’ve got the mother of all headaches working overtime pounding my gray matter to a pulp, but it’s not this loud.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
I’m starving, dehydrated, and weak.
I listen again.
There’s nothing but silence and my throbbing headache.
I croak out weakly to Lincoln, “Linc… mate, you awake?”
There’s no reply.
Jesus Christ!
And then it starts up again.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
I drag myself over to the door and put my palm flat to it.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
There’s silence for a few minutes.
I think maybe I’m dreaming this shit up. I’m not feeling too good, so I let myself lie back. My eyes drift shut and then…
KABOOM!
That sounded like an explosion.
Wait, I thought I heard a voice. I concentrate on listening.
“Fuck! Lincoln!”
That was definitely a voice hollering through the air vent, not unless the hallucinations are playing with me.
“Wake up!” Nope, not hallucinations, I’m definitely hearing a voice. “Aww, thank Christ.” The voice sounds relieved. “Lincoln, buddy, here’s some water. Open your mouth a little and take it easy.” It’s a familiar voice, and then I hear Lincoln coughing. I run the voice through my memory bank.
Ghost?
“Ghost?” I croak into the vent as loud as I can muster. “You… really here?” My lips are so dry.
“Joel, quiet down. I can hear someone.” There is a pause. “I’ll disconnect unless you put a lid on it. He’s safe now. I need to listen, so zip it.”
Am I hearing things? Is my mind indeed playing tricks on me? He’s talking to Joel?