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“Nat used to call them that when Rosie was little.” Savage adds wistfully. “I kinda miss them.”
Jules jabs a finger in Savage’s direction. “We don’t need more kids.”
“He’s right. There’s already like 600 of them. And bobcats,” Pops adds as he swings in his seat.
“Can we just get on with shit?” Marx bitches and everyone settles down.
“So, for those of us who missed the ride to Roxburgh, can someone get us up to speed?”
“It’s still a shithole.” Savage snorts, “But, ain't no one living there. They’re using the warehouse though.”
“Like a depot?” Gus asks.
“Pretty much.”
I knock the table with my knuckles, “Willa’s ex -”
“The reason I’ve been in my house with fucking binoculars?” Switch whines.
“Stop being dramatic.” I roll my eyes. Since Willa agreed to letting the brothers keep an eye on her it’s been me and Niko watching out for her the past three days. “Anyway, Willa’s ex is Quarter Mile MC, but guess what he did in his last MC?” Everyone looks blank. “Logistics. Specifically picking up product, and dropping it off.”
“So,” Chewy begins, her brow furrowed, “Quarter Mile MC are using the old Death Riders compound to store stuff before it gets moved on.” She twirls her fake moustache. “What type of stuff?”
“Random stuff. Nothing of any value except the drugs.” I answer.
“They cooking it themselves?” Marx asks, leaning back in his chair.
I look to my brothers. “No cooking on site. No nothing on site except what’s in the warehouse.”
Gus raises his hand, “Hold up, last time you went there you saw members,” pointing to me and Rider.
“We saw five bikes parked, two rode in escorting a truck and we had an altercation with four of them.” Rider fills in.
“Lemme get this straight. You two personally saw six men, is that right?” Rhodie asks.
Rider and I look at each other before turning and nodding. “Yeah.”
“What are the chances,” Chewy starts off slowly, “that the Quarter Mile MC only have eight members?”
Eight?
Chewy looks around the room, bright eyed, waiting for the penny to drop and all us big, dumb men to figure it out. Which we don't.
Chewy rolls her eyes and huffs. “They’re a fairly new MC. You said yourselves their set up is amateur. The clubhouse is unused and you have only really seen a handful of them with your own eyes. The fact they’re only using the warehouse makes me think they’re doing their own runs to either drop off product or pick it up.”
“Yeah, but eight?”
“Two prospects, the two riders you saw with the truck, the other two patched members that come to rescue the big guy Rider had an altercation with and Diesel.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Tank grumbles.
“I know.” Chewy says, leaning over to press a kiss to Miles’ fuzzy head.
“OK. Well, this whole thing is a problem,” Marx rasps out. “We got Quarter Mile bringing shit into our town and we don’t know where the shit is coming from, where the shit is going to, and who the hell they work with.”
“Thompson,” Nitro says.
“Probably not,” Chewy replies.
