Page 44 of A Handsome Devil

Hunt said, “Thymus and I were talking. If this underground shit becomes public knowledge, Pine Valley is going to get hit with fraud, health code violations, reckless endangerment, maybe even murder. We want out of that investment of course. But we want to make it so that Bridgewater dirtbag doesn’t function ever the fuck again.”

Thymus nodded. “In other words, kill him.”

That’s when I first spoke up. “We realized that the Undisputed Truth club is standing up for the little guy, but we’re trying to avoid going as far as murder.”

Gunning just had to say, “We murdered that Les Moore skidmark.”

I told the bikers, “He was the underground supplier for Pine Valley.”

“Yeah,” said Truman, “but he sort of committed suicide, hanging from that basketball hoop like the douchebag he was.”

Hunt put his bottle on the coffee table and laced his long fingers between his knees. “How else are we going to save all those poor old memory care patients? Kill the jagov and get someone legitimate to take his place.”

I said, “We’re working with this podcaster who can help expose the assclown. We’re on the run from the law, so we don’t want to appear in front of a camera. But you can.”

Truman added, “Jack Hoffman knows exactly where we are, but we haven’t met him in person yet. We could have him come here and set it all up with you.”

Hunt looked to Thymus. “I guess we could try that first. Before killing him.”

Thymus seemed to want to advance directly to the homicide phase of the plan. He shrugged. “I guess we could try.”

While Truman went into the kitchen to text Jack Hoffman, I asked the bikers, “How many of you are there in this Rough and Ready?”

Hunt said, “Maybe thirty. The town is so small, we pretty much run it. Lots of us own businesses. My husband’s a cook at our Happy Hour clubhouse. We’re both still Prospects since we haven’t inducted anyone new. They let us wear MC patches, but we still have to do Prospect work.”

Was this possibility on the tip of my brain? Of course it was. Hiding in plain sight protected by a club of bikers suddenly seemed like the most sane option for us. I caught Denmark sending me a sharp sideways glance, a slight nod. Were we really thinking the same thing?

As if to ingrain this idea in our brains, Hunt said, “Whose Electra Glide is that out front?”

Thymus added, “And a Road King with a trans flag.”

Denmark’s eyes lit up. “That’s my trans flag!”

I said, “I keep telling him to take it off. Makes us stand out so much.”

Thymus cried, “In a good way! You’re trans and proud! That’s excellent.”

Denmark looked abashed. “I thought so.”

I told Hunt, “That’s my Electra Glide. I swapped out the plates, but couldn’t bring myself to get rid of the ride.”

Hunt nodded. “So you’re already gay bikers.”

Truman came out of the kitchen. “It’s done! Jack Hoffman will be here in—”

“Yo!”

Some guy was already at our screen door. Even with the screen obscuring, I could tell it was Jack Hoffman in the flesh, dark hair flowing over his sleek eyebrows. His natural, flashy smile was only darkened when he spoke onscreen of our dead serious journey, but today he was lit like a spider’s silken web.

I was the closest inhabitant to the door, so I leaped to slide it away from him. “Jack Hoffman!” I held my hand out, and he grasped it firmly.

“Man!” he declared. “So great to meet you in the flesh. Alessio Medina! I grew up watching your band play. Saw you a couple times in Berkeley.”

“Well,” I admitted, “it’s been quite a different scene lately.”

“Yeah,” said Jack, “too bad you got strung out. But I’m confident you’re on the right track now. I want to see you make a comeback.”

“He already has,” said Truman, hand on my shoulder.