make
money.
“This was put to a vote, Darrell,” he said tightly. “The club
agreed this was what they wanted. You can’t undo that without
another vote, and you have no authority to bring one about.”
Darrell shook his head. “You’re not listening to me. Everyone
here has served their country so you know what I’m talking about.
Too many of our brothers and sisters in arms are struggling, looking
for a way out. Some by suicide, some by drugs. We’re hypocrites if
we run meth.”
Wick pointed his finger to the door. “Leave, Darrell. You’re
dismissed from Church.”
“You’re kicking me out because you don’t want to listen to the
truth?”
“No, I’m kicking you out of here because you’re not obeying
protocol.”
“Fuck protocol!” Darrell yelled. “You’re not listening to me!
But I don’t know why I’m surprised. You’ve always had your own
agenda, Wick.”
“Enough, Darrell,” Wick snapped.
Darrell held up his hands. “And that’s the problem. No one
ever fucking listens, do they? You get a stack of hundreds lining your
pockets and suddenly your moral obligation seems too heavy to carry,
but I’ve been there myself, Wick. I scrapped the bottom of the barrel
and it’s an ugly place to be.”
He took one last look around the table, at each man, staring
lastly at Wick. Bitterness lined every bracket on his face and a thread
of remorse rolled through Wick upon seeing it. He hadn’t wanted the
club to become drug dealers, but he’d though it best at the time the
vote had gone through. The men needed money, and living in
southeast Missouri didn’t provide a whole helluva lot of options for
men like them. But Darrell’s words reminded him that things weren’t
always so black and white, and the path to hell was often lined with
good intentions.
He didn’t say anything, though, and only watched as Darrell
turned and stormed out of Church, slamming the door behind him.
The man had given him lots to think about.
His phone buzzed and he glanced at the text message. From
Parky, letting him know cops had just shown up outside the
compound, asking to come in.
“We’ve got a fucking problem,” he said to the others. “Seems
like the good sheriff has decided to darken our doorstep.”
He banged the gavel, ending Church, and hurried from the
room. Members were already hiding shit in the clubhouse, and the
girls were cleaning frantically.
“Striker,” he said. “With me.”
The two of them left the clubhouse and headed over the yard
to the bolted gate. He nodded a greeting at the prospect in the tower
keeping watch, and then unlocked the door to greet the police.
“Afternoon, Wick,” Sheriff McCoy said and gave him a rueful
smile. “Sorry to bother you but my office received a very unusual
complaint via email, and I have to follow up on it.”
“Complaint?” Wick asked, cocking his head. “About what?”
“Well, about the fact that you’ve kidnapped a woman.”
Wick blinked. “Is that a joke?”
Sheriff McCoy shook his head. “Afraid not.”
“And just who am I supposed to have kidnapped?”
“A woman by the name of Abbott Carney,” the sheriff replied.
Wick shared a grim look with Striker. “Yes, she’s here, but I
didn’t kidnap her.”
The sheriff frowned. “Oh. Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have
to see her and talk with her, Wick. Procedure.”
Wick turned to Striker. “Go get Abbott.”
“Sure,” he said, and gave the sheriff a hard look before turning
and marching back to the clubhouse.
“What’s going on, Wick?” Sheriff asked him in a low voice.
“I’m afraid you got played,” Wick said. “Abbott’s been on the
run from a man named Billy Walker for years. Hiding from him. I’m
guessing this email you got is just a way of him saying he found her.”
“Christ, and I just confirmed it for him, didn’t I?”
Wick nodded. “But I kinda figured he’d make his way here
sooner or later.
money.
“This was put to a vote, Darrell,” he said tightly. “The club
agreed this was what they wanted. You can’t undo that without
another vote, and you have no authority to bring one about.”
Darrell shook his head. “You’re not listening to me. Everyone
here has served their country so you know what I’m talking about.
Too many of our brothers and sisters in arms are struggling, looking
for a way out. Some by suicide, some by drugs. We’re hypocrites if
we run meth.”
Wick pointed his finger to the door. “Leave, Darrell. You’re
dismissed from Church.”
“You’re kicking me out because you don’t want to listen to the
truth?”
“No, I’m kicking you out of here because you’re not obeying
protocol.”
“Fuck protocol!” Darrell yelled. “You’re not listening to me!
But I don’t know why I’m surprised. You’ve always had your own
agenda, Wick.”
“Enough, Darrell,” Wick snapped.
Darrell held up his hands. “And that’s the problem. No one
ever fucking listens, do they? You get a stack of hundreds lining your
pockets and suddenly your moral obligation seems too heavy to carry,
but I’ve been there myself, Wick. I scrapped the bottom of the barrel
and it’s an ugly place to be.”
He took one last look around the table, at each man, staring
lastly at Wick. Bitterness lined every bracket on his face and a thread
of remorse rolled through Wick upon seeing it. He hadn’t wanted the
club to become drug dealers, but he’d though it best at the time the
vote had gone through. The men needed money, and living in
southeast Missouri didn’t provide a whole helluva lot of options for
men like them. But Darrell’s words reminded him that things weren’t
always so black and white, and the path to hell was often lined with
good intentions.
He didn’t say anything, though, and only watched as Darrell
turned and stormed out of Church, slamming the door behind him.
The man had given him lots to think about.
His phone buzzed and he glanced at the text message. From
Parky, letting him know cops had just shown up outside the
compound, asking to come in.
“We’ve got a fucking problem,” he said to the others. “Seems
like the good sheriff has decided to darken our doorstep.”
He banged the gavel, ending Church, and hurried from the
room. Members were already hiding shit in the clubhouse, and the
girls were cleaning frantically.
“Striker,” he said. “With me.”
The two of them left the clubhouse and headed over the yard
to the bolted gate. He nodded a greeting at the prospect in the tower
keeping watch, and then unlocked the door to greet the police.
“Afternoon, Wick,” Sheriff McCoy said and gave him a rueful
smile. “Sorry to bother you but my office received a very unusual
complaint via email, and I have to follow up on it.”
“Complaint?” Wick asked, cocking his head. “About what?”
“Well, about the fact that you’ve kidnapped a woman.”
Wick blinked. “Is that a joke?”
Sheriff McCoy shook his head. “Afraid not.”
“And just who am I supposed to have kidnapped?”
“A woman by the name of Abbott Carney,” the sheriff replied.
Wick shared a grim look with Striker. “Yes, she’s here, but I
didn’t kidnap her.”
The sheriff frowned. “Oh. Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have
to see her and talk with her, Wick. Procedure.”
Wick turned to Striker. “Go get Abbott.”
“Sure,” he said, and gave the sheriff a hard look before turning
and marching back to the clubhouse.
“What’s going on, Wick?” Sheriff asked him in a low voice.
“I’m afraid you got played,” Wick said. “Abbott’s been on the
run from a man named Billy Walker for years. Hiding from him. I’m
guessing this email you got is just a way of him saying he found her.”
“Christ, and I just confirmed it for him, didn’t I?”
Wick nodded. “But I kinda figured he’d make his way here
sooner or later.
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