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“Under the influence?”
Carmelo shook his head. “No, he’s clean, no alcohol, no drugs-”
“Injuries?” Colt barked, interested, leaning forwards.
Carmela nodded, emboldened by Colt’s reaction. “Major road rash from his fall, he wasn’t wearing gear.”
Both Ash and Colt winced. Colt spoke up, “Fuck, everyone wears leather pants from now on when out on runs, okay? No more fucking around with denim or whatever the fuck people want. If we are being a MC, then we’ll fucking wear the right gear-”
“Black leather? For the Black Coyotes? It can be like your signature…” Carmelo trailed off. Ash and Colt looked at each other, nodding slowly. Huh, this outlaw MC shit wasn’t so hard after all.
“Anyway,“ Carmelo carried on, “so we pulled him in, kept him overnight. He’s okay, we checked him out, but something’s wrong, Colt, something’s very wrong. He hasn’t said a word.”
Colt frowned. “Nothing?”
Carmelo shook his head. “Not even nodded or made eye contact.”
Colt ran a palm over his jaw. “So you have no idea who he is, where he came from, why he skipped the light...”
Carmelo nodded once and cleared his throat. “Yeah, he doesn’t have a record, he’s said nothing but he’s refusing food and water, too. Our medic reckons he passed out from dehydration, that’s how he plowed through the light-”
“Fuck,” Colt muttered. “How old is he?”
Carmelo shrugged. “He could be anything from twenty to early thirties, hard to tell. It’s like he’s lifeless, Colt. Like he’s already a ghost, a phantom, passing out of this world. Like he’s already kind of... given up.” Carmelo took a breath and let it shudder within his chest. Colt and Ash heard it and exchanged a glance. Colt ran a hand through his hair, seeming uncomfortable.
“Poor bastard,” Colt said, empathetically. Ash gave him a tilt of his chin in solidarity. Carmelo nodded, the men united for a moment in their emotion.
“There were no witnesses, or victims, he was in front of an officer, it was just after one this morning… his charges will be dropped. We can let him go but I think he’ll just pass out in the parking lot, to be honest.”
“Hospital?” Ash injected, Carmelo shot him a glance. Ash looked worried, concerned. Hell, all three of them did.
“Well, the road rash is gonna leave a mark, and… he’s got... scars... on his body. When our medic checked him over... treated the road rash... it’s something else, it’s self-inflicted, or done by someone else, all over his chest...”
Colt riled, getting angry now. “What the...”
“What’s it look like?” Ash asked.
“Like… tally marks… like he was keeping a tally, in scars… you have to see it to believe it…” Carmelo licked his now dry lips before continuing. “And a brand... Colt... burnt on...”
Colt set his jaw. “The Demonios?”
Carmelo nodded. “Yes, but that’s not all...”
“What else could there possibly be?” Ash huffed.
Carmelo took a breath. “The brand is old, it’s healed… like he was branded years ago. The oldest I’ve seen…”
Colt pursed his lips. “But if he’s only in his twenties… like when he was a child?” he asked, already knowing the answer from the tone of his question. Carmelo nodded. Colt and Ash exchanged a loaded glare.
“So the hospital is a no-go. Too many questions, too much heat.” Colt let out a hiss of air from between his teeth. “Have you approached the Demonios about this? Horatio and his men? They might know, or should be able to answer for our Mr. Phantom here?” Colt asked, leaning back, elbow on the bar.
Carmelo frowned and began to gesticulate as Colt was saying the words. “That’s another weird thing, I can’t get hold of them. My usual contacts… their phones are dead. I’ve asked around… no one has seen or heard from Horatio’s men for a few days now. They were all having some big meet-up, I don’t know if it was business or pleasure but I know there was some sort of big shindig and it seems like they’ve all just… disappeared. And another thing,” Carmelo continued quickly, “Horatio’s own personal limo driver has just turned up in the hospital, stab wounds all over him, practically bled out… he’s in a medically induced coma, they aren’t sure he’s going to make it…”Colt looked thoughtful, and took a sip of his whiskey. A small sip. He winced, like it pained him to taste it. Carmelo wished he’d asked for the same, the excitement and drama of his shift catching up with him now, he felt tense.
“You’re working with the Demonios, right?” Carmelo thought he’d try his luck at getting some info out of Colt. He was kept out of the loop of their FBI involvement, but he knew the FBI basically told Colt which gang they wanted him to get into bed with. And the Mexican Demonios were flavor of the month.
Colt simply growled in response.
Carmelo sighed. “The whole thing is a fucking headache to be honest…” Carmelo trailed off.
