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“No luck in New York?”
“Fuck no.”
“Now what?
Judge lifted and dropped one shoulder. “No fuckin’ clue. Asshole left no trace. Just disappeared.”
“Feel bad for her, tryin’ to raise her girl and in some fuckin’ limbo ‘cause her husband fucked her. And not in a good way. Screwed his family, then split. That ain’t a man, that’s a fuckin’ coward. She’s left holdin’ the flamin’ bag of dog shit while he could be on a tropical island somewhere livin’ off the scratch he skimmed, drinkin’ a Corona and suckin’ on a fuckin’ lime wedge.”
“If he is, hope the fucker chokes on that lime.”
“Never know, maybe he’s dead.”
Judge thought about that possibility. “I’d be all right with that if—and that’s a big fuckin’ if—Cassie got a death certificate. That might free her of his debt.”
“Or as the widow, make her responsible. Not sure. Don’t know how any of that fuckin’ shit works.”
He didn’t, either, and a lawyer might have to get involved if that was the case. However, a lawyer cost a good amount of scratch. Money Cassie didn’t have.
“If that’s true, need to find his ass alive and get him to sign those divorce papers.” In truth, he wasn’t even sure that would clear her of all the debt, but Cassie seemed to think it would.
Trip sipped on his own beer as they both stared into the flames. “When I was down in Shadow Valley with the Dirty Angels, met a few guys, not sure if they were mercenaries or not, but definitely some kind of former special ops. They worked for the DAMC’s enforcer at In the Shadows Security. Do all kinds of jobs. Diesel, the enforcer, said they’re the best. Remember Slade who just came up here? My Marine buddy? He vouched for that crew, too. Said they could find or lose anyone. Got a problem? They could make that problem disappear.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Rub is, they ain’t cheap. Gotta take a goddamn mortgage out to hire ‘em, but they get the job done. They could probably find his ass, in case you and Deacon can’t.”
“You know she don’t have the scratch for that.”
He hated to drop that kind of dough, but he would if he needed to. He’d put a little money aside in case Ry ever took Judge up on him paying for college. Even if his son wanted nothing to do with him, Judge still wanted to make sure his son’s future was set.
Trip flipped his baseball cap off his head, then jerked it back on. One of the habits the man had when he was thinking hard. Or hardly thinking. “Yeah, know it. Feel bad for her, gettin’ fucked like that. She’s workin’ really fuckin’ hard at Pete’s. Workin’ that bar again tonight by herself. Stel trusts her completely and knows she’ll get the job done.”
“Yeah, she’s exhausted every night. Daisy keeps her on her fuckin’ toes, too. And with not havin’ help ‘cause her sister and her man are gone...”
Trip’s lips twitched. “Apparently she’s got you. Sig said you haven’t slept in your apartment all week.”
Fuckin’ Sig. “Was up in Rochester.”
“Before and after.” When Judge didn’t answer, Trip continued, “Anyway, the Shadows are an option, even if they’re an expensive option to hunt that fucker down.”
“If I keep runnin’ into dead ends, will give it more thought.” Judge took a deep breath. “Wanna run somethin’ by you.”
Trip paused his beer bottle at his lips. “Shoot.”
“Know she’s a vet tech, right?”
“Yeah, Stel said she was.”
“Once she’s free of that asshole, thinkin’ she’s gonna need a better job than workin’ at Pete’s. Needs to make some real scratch for her and her girl.”
“Yeah. And?”
“We now got that pet crematorium...”
“Don’t need a vet tech to flip the switch on an oven or scoop the ashes into a bag. Ain’t much better than what she’s doin’ now.”
“Thinkin’ we could expand the business.”
Trip set his beer bottle on his thigh and frowned at Judge. “You were thinkin’? Did it hurt when you did it?” He snorted. “What kind of expansion? You run it by Deke?”
“Not yet. Wanted to run it by you first.”
Trip slowly turned the sweating bottle within his fingers. “Hit me with it.”
“Not sure if she’d be willin’ to do it, but it could make her and the club some decent scratch and it goes along with the crematorium.” He cringed as he stared at Jury crashed at his feet, soaking up the heat of the fire. The whole crematorium thing just gave him the fucking creeps.
“You gonna spit it the fuck out?”
“Thinkin’—”
Trip snorted. “There you go again. Gonna fuckin’ hurt yourself doin’ that.”
“That we could start a mobile pet euthanasia service. She’s good with people, she’s got the experience workin’ with pets. She’s certified. She could use the van, go to people’s homes, do it in their house so the dog or whatever ain’t freaked out because family’s there. She does what she needs to do, comforts the family, and then brings the pet back to the crematorium. Full-service euthanasia.”
