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* * *
Kitten gave me some details of the asshole who hit her that I’m hoping will lead me to him. The club owns two of the three tattoo shops in town so I will start there.
17
LINCOLN
At the second shop I hit pay dirt. Dingo is my man, the fucker who put his hand on C. Tim, the artist at the shop, remembered doing the tattoo of a dragon last night. Said the guy came in with a picture of the ugliest dragon he ever saw, but he's not paid to judge. Pulling his consent form, we got his address, which is on Route 6, and that is a gravel road. Tim said he came in with his roommate, guy by the name of Dylan. This could get a little messy, I know both of these little shits are Roscoe's grunts. I also know Dingo is a little punk bitch who I don't doubt would slap a girl.
* * *
Heading in the clubhouse, I walk in through the bar, ignoring everyone as I slip back to my office. “What's up, Linc?” I hear Flynn holler. I look back to see him and Billy playing a game of pool at one of the tables that sits off in the corner. I just wave and head straight through the door. I don't want to talk; I want to go kill this fucker. In my office I head over to the gun safe, opening the doors, I look around inside for the perfect weapon and spot the gun I took from her the other night laying on the bottom shelf.
“How fitting.” I grab it and a switchblade knife. Putting the knife in my boot, I remove the clip of the gun to make sure it has ammo. Well, at least she made sure it was loaded before she brought it in here. Sliding the full clip back in the gun, I position it into the waistband of my jeans. Shutting the safe. I turn around to leave and Flynn and Billy are standing side by side, arms across their chest, blocking the door.
“What's going on, Linc?” Flynn asks with accusing eyes.
“Got a problem I need to take care of.”
“Yep, I've figured that out,” he says, nodding to the gun safe behind me. “Now, you wanna tell me about it?” he continues, quirking his eyebrows up.
“It doesn't involve the club, Flynn,” I argue.
“Tell me anyway,” he answers, tilting his head.
“I'm in no mood to listen to your shit,” I spit.
“Just tell me what’s going on!” he shouts, his arms out wide as if he can take anything. Sighing, I give in, I know he is not going to let this go. “Somebody, Dingo to be exact, put his hands on that girl who lives in my building,” I say, looking at him. “C, who delivered the weed here the other night,” I explain, looking to Billy.
“Dingo hit C?” Billy shouts, dropping his arms from his chest.
“Yes, now move,” I demand, walking toward the door as Billy walks around me, heading to the gun safe.
“Hold on a minute, I don't know who C is, but I thought you were trying to get rid of the girl in your building?” Flynn asks confused.
“I was... am... I don't know. I told you; I don't want any shit over this.” I’m confused, I don’t know what my intentions are with Kitten, and I don’t want to lay it out in detail right now. I’m only focused on pulling the trigger of the pistol, watching the bullet sink into his chest, sweeping the life from his body in split seconds.
“Okay, just hold on a second, Dingo is one of Roscoe's little shitheads, so your mission here does involve the club!” Flynn states.
“I'll take the blowback. Roscoe comes around, you send him straight to me,” I say, pointing my finger in my chest.
“Let me finish,” he says, holding up his hand. “This girl is someone you both know, so if someone hurt her then the club has an obligation to get involved. But it’s fucking Roscoe, this is next level shit and I don’t want y’all throwing us into her mess just for a piece of ass.”
“She’s not just a piece of ass,” I grit through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, so you’ll claim her as yours? Put a patch on that she’s your old lady?”
My eyes narrow in on Flynn, the fact he would have me claim C is ridiculous, but he’s right. I wouldn’t put the club in jeopardy if it was just a piece of ass. The thought of someone touching her, whether it’s lover or foe, has me seeing red.
“Just think about that. Take Billy with you, and please, Linc, I can tell by the way you’re acting you got some personal feelings fueling you. So, I know you want to shoot his head off, but please don't kill him.... just...rough him up,” he orders, his hands waving the take it easy sign.
“Come on,” Billy says, ignoring us, carrying the Marlin .22 papoose rifle case.
Heading out to our bikes, I tell Billy all about finding C in the doorway with a bruised handprint on her face. I then repeat the whole story she told me, all the way down to the dogs looking starved. And how I used some of the details in her story to track down Dingo as the one responsible.
“She is going back there with weed and dog food once a month? Is she nuts?”
“She doesn't know that's not happening yet. I'll deal with that part later,” I explain. He shakes his head in disbelief and chuckles.
