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“What time do you want to head out?” Donovan asked.
“Give it an hour or so. I have to feed the animals and give the dogs a walk, then take a quick shower.”
“Alright. I’ll be ready.”
And an hour later, we were heading out in his sleek sports car, an homage to his old life. It also didn’t link back to the club, which was important for the day’s mission.
The last thing I needed was to get the club involved in some shit it didn’t belong in if it turned out the guys weren’t just some shithead dog fight ringleaders.
“Really? This is the front for a dog fighting ring?” Donovan asked as we luckily got stuck in traffic in front of it.
“Yeah. In the built-up lower level. The place is hopping on fight nights. There are dog bodies in the dumpsters.”
“You reported it?”
“Lark did and I did too. As far as I can tell, though, no one has investigated.” Donovan’s gaze slid to me, a brow raising a bit. “I know,” I said, nodding.
He didn’t need to say it.
I’d been thinking about it since Lark passed out on the couch and my mind was free to wander.
Animal cruelty to the extent of dog fighting rings with corpses out in the open was not usually so looked over.
But it would be looked over if they were paying off the right cops.
And who paid off the cops?
Real criminal organizations.
The more organized kind of organization.
Not necessarily the Italian mob, but something a little more established than a street gang.
“Do I suddenly have the need for a new piece of gaudy-ass jewelry?” Donovan asked as he found a parking spot just far enough away from the store that we could still see it, but not look like we were scoping out the joint.
“I think you might,” I agreed, watching someone walk out of the store who had just walked in. Sure, he was holding a bag, but there was no way he was in there long enough to look at items, let alone get it properly rung up at a register.
“That look like a deal to you?” Donovan asked.
“That’s what it looks like,” I agreed, exhaling hard.
Of course it couldn’t just be some assholes running a dog fight ring. It had to be something else. Which didn’t bode well for Lark.
“What am I looking for?” Donovan asked.
“As many descriptions of the guys and names as possible so I can try to track them down. I’m sure Arty could get me the names of the owners, but I want to know all the players. Layout of the store, in case that becomes relevant down the road.”
“You think it will come to that?” Donovan asked, knowing what I meant about it becoming relevant. Meaning me going in and… taking care of shit.
Was that crazy for a woman I didn’t really know?
Yeah, probably.
But it also wouldn’t be that uncommon for the guys in the club, if anyone thought about it.
And it wasn’t exactly off-brand for me, either. First, because she was a woman in need of help. Second, because I wouldn’t regret taking some animal abusers off the face of the Earth.
“If it looks like they aren’t just going to cut their losses and move on, yeah, it might come to that,” I told him.
