Page 58 of Thug

“Come down to the station and fill out a missing person’s report,” he said. “We’ll see what we can do.”

“No offence,” I said. “But I’d rather handle it myself. I wasn’t lying about hating cops.”

“Understood,” he said. “Good luck. I’m here if you need me.”

I’d never needed a cop in my life. I doubted that would ever change. I gave him a nod of appreciation for saving me a trip to jail on a day that I felt I really needed to be elsewhere.

I kept my ride to the clubhouse at ten over the marked speed. Brisco, Carp, and Panzer were all parked beneath the awning. I situated my motorcycle beside theirs and meandered to the donut shop.

Clutching two-dozen mixed treats, I sauntered into my crowded office. Panzer, Carp, and Brisco were discussing theories regarding the benefit of charcoal barbeque grills versus propane.

“Make yourselves at home,” I said in a snide tone. I tossed the box of donuts on my desk. “Can a motherfucker get some peace and quiet around here?”

I sat down, grabbed a maple glazed and propped my feet on the window ledge. Panzer stood, leaned over the desk and pointed at the box.

“By all means,” I said. “Help yourself.”

“Still nothing?” he asked.

I swept a wad of jelly away from the side of my mouth with the edge of my index finger. “Been everywhere I know to go. Got nothing.”

“She’s not at the bar.” He pulled a maple glazed Long John from the box. “Just stopped by a few minutes ago. The fellas are kicking ass at getting the job done, but she hasn’t shown up yet.”

“Something stinks about this deal,” I said.

“Why you say that?”

I stared blankly at the taco shop. “Got a feeling.”

“Your gut’s always right,” Panzer said.

“Generally speaking,” I said.

“Think she’ll turn up?” he asked.

I reached for another donut. “I’m beginning to have my doubts.”

“After spending fifteen grand on kitchen equipment, it’d suck if she never came back.”

“You did what?” Brisco howled. “You spent fifteen—”

“What I spent is none of your business,” I snapped back. “It was a donation to the bar, so she could get the kitchen open.”

Brisco scowled. “Fifteen grand of the club’s money without a vote?”

I glared back at him. “Fifteen grand of my money.” I tossed the donut in the trash. “My fucking money. Mine. No need for a vote.”

“You spent fifteen grand on kitchen equipment for some bitch you don’t even know, and you won’t buy a new bike?”

“Don’t need a new bike.” I sucked the sugar from my fingertips. “The fellas all want something other than eggs and sausages, and she was keen on cooking. So, I donated some new equipment.”

“Dumbest fucking thing I ever heard,” he muttered.

“Pffft.” I rolled my eyes. “Dumber than a cat that cost damned near eight grand? Who ever heard of a one-percenter with a baby leopard cat? That’s some dumb shit, right there.”

“Cat’s a different story,” he insisted. “Cats provide comfort, companionship, and they—”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Brisco,” I said. “I’m not in the mood. My money. My decision.”