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“Well Pops, let’s see what else you can get out of the kid.” Marx waves at him to continue, leaning his bulk up against the wall. I see Pops and Chewy share a giddy look before putting their heads together. I’m guessing to come up with a game plan. Chewy turns to look at August and gives him the nod, and then he and his brothers leave the shed. Within a couple of minutes, they’re back with Chewy’s bag and an old army-issue duffle. Jesus Christ.
We all watch in silence as they don goggles. I should think that they look ridiculous. Chewy’s eyes and nose seem to be smooshed against the plastic goggles, and yet she still takes my breath away with how beautiful she is. My brothers and I all share a look, but I notice Chewy’s brothers look bored as hell, so I take that as a sign that this isn’t anything too out of the ordinary.
About 10 minutes after that thought, I change my mind. Chewy and Pops give off a weird fucking energy whilst going about their work. There’s banter, giggling and clapping when something they try works out well, grumbling when something doesn’t.
It’s hard to hear what’s going on between the crying and groaning, Chewy and Pops never raising their voices to interrogate and the hostage himself whispering back as I’m sure his voice is almost gone. In between peppering our hostage with questions and torture, they stopped to do a quick two-step like they were on a dance floor, the only music was the Johnny Cash that Pops was whistling, and I swear the tune was “Gods Gonna Cut You Down”.
All this obvious crazy should scare me away from Chewy, and yet it doesn’t. It compels me to know more about her. How can she be so comfortable inflicting pain on someone, and yet find joy and wonder in everyday hum-drum things? She just finished blow-torching this guy and yet I know that on Wednesdays she volunteers at an animal shelter. I feel like a lifetime would never be enough time to find out all her secrets, but I’m going to try.
A wet slop to my right snaps me out of my thoughts and I notice that Chewy and Pops are taking off their goggles. The Tombs brothers have already started tidying up, with Marx agreeing that we’ll dump this one the same as Alan, so Kraykowski can find him.
“I’m just gonna clean up a little and then Pops and I will let you know what we found. Rendezvous in the bar, yeah?” Chewy tilts her head towards Marx, not maintaining eye contact as usual. Marx grunts and nods and we all head back in. I hope they found something useful because I want this shit sorted and fast so I can move forward with my plans to get to know Chewy better and the last thing I want is her out there, too busy maiming people to go out with me. It’s official, I’m a pussy.
Tuesday
It’s been too long since me and Pops had fun like that. Not to mention we also got to come up with a couple of new techniques. The slow cutting and cauterizing we’ve used before, but never on finger webbing and it seems that it really loosens the tongue. Not so much the pain of it, more the psychological torture of watching someone cut you over and over.
I quickly wash my hands and face before drying off and heading into the bar. I see all the MC brothers waiting eagerly to hear what we found out. Marx is brooding in the corner and I have to hand it to him. It must be chaos having my family here, especially me and Pops, and yet he is handling it quite well. I sometimes think that the gruff bossy exterior is a bit of an act, a way to shut down conversations and questions before they start and before Marx is ready to reveal his plan. There is a lot more going on there than we all think. He reminds me so much of August, just with a much bigger family to look after.
“Right, so Tuesday, Pops. What do we know?” Marx starts the ball rolling. I take a deep breath, getting my thoughts into order.
“Bart has been working for his uncle for a long time, started off selling drugs at high school, that sort of thing. He was telling the truth that after Alan’s death, he decided he wanted to step up and take a larger role in the family.” I start off.
“Because he’s family, Kraykowski lets him into the inner circle a little more than he should. Fucker learned his lesson because that boy squealed like a piggy,” Pops snorts out.
“Yup. He squealed good. So we all know Kraykowski is like, a bad guy. However, he isn’t the top man. He’s funded in part by some rich Russian oligarch. Apparently, he had a daughter that was smuggled out of Russia by her mother’s sister, and her husband,” I look towards Rhodie.
“Katya?”
“Bingo Sunshine, you’re not as dumb as you look.” Rhodie raises his eyebrow at Pops’ comment, whilst Pops grins and flips the bird back. I swear that man is still young at heart and a total menace.
“Turns out that not long after Katya left Russia, her mother died under mysterious circumstances.” Marx snorts.
“Of course she did. What do they want with Rhodie? It’s been nearly, what, 18 years since you saw her last?” Marx looks toward his brother. Rhodie shrugs and looks at me.
“He give you any insight into that?” I hold Rhodie’s eye contact, unsure how to word this next part. Fortunately, or maybe not, Pops answers instead.
“Yeah, seems after Katya went missing the second time, not long after her graduation, she had a kid. A daughter. Congratulations Rhodie, you are the father!” Pops calls out like he’s on a talk show and the DNA results just came in. I hear Marx inhale at the same time Rhodie bursts into laughter.
“What the fuck?! I do not have a fucking kid. Don’t be stupid.”
Marx stands there with a thoughtful look on his face before interrupting his brother
“Dude, Rhodie, are you SURE you don’t have a kid? Is there in any way, a slight chance, that you could have knocked this girl up? Like any chance at all? Think about it. You and her spent time together, you slept together, then you both went on your way. No one knew what happened to her and then suddenly guys start turning up stalking you? Even if the kid isn’t yours, they seem to think it is.”
Rhodie looks shocked. I know that emotion; I’ve practiced it a lot because it was one of the emotion flashcards that used to confuse me as a kid. Seeing it up close on a live person, it’s almost like I can feel the turmoil. I want to make him feel better, but I’m not sure how. I’m not the biggest hugger. I mean, I like it when certain people do it, like Pops and now Rhodie, but I’m not sure that it’s the right time for me to approach him for a hug. Instead I settle for walking closer and patting him on the shoulder. He turns his head slowly toward me before giving me a thin-lipped smile and pulling me in for a proper hug. This feels good, and it feels like I might be helping. I give myself a mental pat on the back. I read the situation, and I didn’t fuck it up! Yusss!
Rhodie slowly drops his arms and clears his throat
“Ok brother, I can’t be 100% sure that I didn’t knock this girl up, but Jesus, if I did, that kid would be close to 18 years old. They’re barking up the wrong tree thinking I know anything about a kid, let alone someone who is pretty much a legal adult by now.”
Gus finally steps forward. “Well, then we need to find this kid. Dayz, I know you’re not a fan of the dark web, so if you don’t want to go there I can reach out to my contact”
“Socks?” I ask. I like Socks. We get on well online, have similar interests and I’m pretty sure they’re a woman. I mean, a lot of the time with hackers you never know their true identities, but once you get to know them, you get a feel for them, and this is something my gut tells me.
“Hmmm, maybe let me look into all the white hat hacking I can and if I hit a dead end we’ll call Socks, yeah?”
I overhear Rider whisper to Wire, “What the fuck type of name is that?” I see Wire smirk out of the corner of my eye.
