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“The apartment in Colorado Springs. Yeah, I checked it out.” I shrug casually. Sometimes I wonder what these people think I did with my time before I decided to let them in.
“What do you mean you checked it out?” Squealer looks at me with a worried expression.
“I called by there when I first came to town, pretended I was making a routine call and looking for a missing kid.”
“You spoke to the person that was there?” he questions, his eyes doubling in size.
“Yeah, some guy, your build, black hair, black beard. It’s a dead-end, Squealer. He’d only been renting the place a few days. The guy who lived there before when Hawker was visiting was long gone, left the place in a right state.”
“That guy you spoke to, that was Chop, Skid’s brother,” Squealer informs me, and I take a moment to recall where I’ve heard those names before.
“Skid’s a member, he was at the club last night, and because of the fucked-up shit Chop did to his wife, he’s really fucking struggling,” he explains, and it triggers my memory back to when I was looking into the club members. Skid’s wife killed herself a few years back. It was one of the reports Roswell did actually bother to file.
“Is that why she killed herself?” I question, suddenly realizing what I’m into here. Last night was fun, I got sloppy. These people make it too easy to forget who they are and what they do.
“Carly didn’t kill herself. Chop killed her after he raped her. He was on the run from the feds at the time and came back to the club looking for something he thought she had. We had to make it look that way so we could get to him before they did.”
“Roswell.” I shake my head. The chief’s in deep.
“It wasn’t just about revenge. Carly had a family; she was preg… Skid didn’t want her folks knowing what really happened. He wanted to avoid putting them through a trial and all the reports. Especially when Chop’s judgment had already been made. We’re just waiting to serve it.
“So, he preferred everyone to think she'd take her own life. Jesus Squealer, you of all people should know how fucked up that is.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“I didn’t make the call, that was on Skid. His bitch, his choice,” he says matter of factly, and I could punch his face for being so callous.
“You think it’s a coincidence?” I quickly change the subject.
“I don’t think anything Chop’s involved in is coincidental,” he replies.
“But you listen to me,” he grabs the tops of my arms and holds me firm. “You gotta promise me that if you ever see that man again, you’ll run in the opposite direction. Chop hates the club, and he’s got no problem using women to get that point across. I’d tell ya to ask Carly, but she’s 6ft fucking under because of him.” My body turns to ice when I recall the day I visited him. He was charming and welcoming. He’d listened so intently to the story I’d made up about the missing kid and genuinely seemed like he was trying to be helpful. I didn't doubt him.
“Promise me.” Squealer shakes me out of my memory.
“I promise,” I whisper. There’s real concern in his eyes, like the thought of anything bad happening to me would hurt him. And for just a tiny second, I forget all the shit that's happened this morning.
“I can’t have anything to happen to you,” he confesses, his low whisper allowing me, for the first time since I found out I was having his baby, to wonder what he would be like as a father.
“A fucking disaster,” the tiny voice in the back of my head answers before I quickly pull myself back to reality.
“I got to go to work, Squealer,” I manage, trying not to release the sudden surge of emotions that are attacking my conscience as I shove past him and head out the door without looking back.
I jump into my squad car and pull out onto the road, making the drive to the station last as long as possible. I’m still far too early when I pass reception, and Lucille greets me with a smile that I struggle to return. So I head straight to my office, slamming the door and firing up my computer.
“You had some mail delivered here.” Lucille lets herself in behind me, placing a brown paper envelope on my desk.
“You okay? You seem—”
“I’m fine,” I snap, lifting up the envelope and checking it out. This was hand-delivered.
“Then I'll get out of your way.” She holds up her hands defensively.
“Wait… who dropped this in?” I question.
“I don’t know. It was in the mailbox this morning with all the other mail.” She shrugs, and I wait for her to close the door behind her before I tear the envelope open and pull out its contents.
QUIT, BITCH, OR YOU’LL END UP LIKE YOUR BROTHER
The words are written in red and stand out from the white page they’re written on. I drop the paper like it’s scalded my hands and try to breathe. This has to be from Hawker, but how does he know who I am? I’ve been so careful. Only the club knows about the files Danny left for me.
