Dirty Page 3

  “That wasn’t on you.” I hear the guilt in Tommy’s voice. “You had Natalie already. You had your own life to live.”

  “No, but maybe I could’ve done something more. Maybe I could’ve called her parents, or even Em.”

  “Em doesn’t touch this,” I snap. “She’s no longer part of any further discussion we have about Dee Dee or Creed.”

  “You’re going to help her,” he states it, as if he already knows my answer.

  “I’ll see what I can do. Em said there’s a kid in there.”

  “Her name is Casey,” Tommy replies, telling me what I already knew. “Dee Dee‘s kid. I’ve heard she was there, but no one’s confirmed. Em’s the only one who’s seen her and that had to have been eight or ten months ago.”

  I look toward the TV, which hangs on the wall beside the bar mirror. “It’s been almost exactly a year now,” I inform him. “She gave me a picture of her. I’m going to look into it.”

  “You need to be careful, Max. I’m not all about lecturin’ you on what you can and can’t do. I know you’ve been gone a long while and, from what you’ve shared, what you saw wherever you ended up, wasn’t good, but this isn’t like that. These men aren’t friendly, and they’re a fuck of a lot less tolerant than they used to be. I doubt they’d take kindly to you dippin’ your nose in their pool of shit.”

  Smiling, I turn to my friend, whose eyes are full of worry and concern. “I know people, too,” I tell him, starting to stand. “And I know Hoss personally.”

  His eyes widen at my news. “How the fuck do you know him?”

  “From before I left,” I answer. “Remember?”

  Around the time I met up with Hoss, before Marie died, I was on my way to looking for something bigger than what I thought life in this town would give me. I went to him and offered my services for a project he was working on at the time. Back then, Hoss’s reputation wasn’t nearly what it is now, from what I’ve heard.

  Hoss used me as muscle when someone who owed him money wasn’t living up to promises of paying him back. He sent me in to track them down. They’d take one glance at my intimidating appearance and either pay or get the shit kicked out of them with a notice of when payment was due. I never did the dirty work if they didn’t pay, though. And when things got heavy and Hoss started dealing drugs, I refused to be a part of it. Instead, I backed off and stepped away.

  I enjoyed the money when it was there. The work was quick and easy.

  Hoss also knew my dad, because he’s older than I am. When his life went to shit after his parents died, he found himself in an impossible situation. My father, being the upstanding citizen of his church that he is, found Hoss homeless. He offered him a place to stay in the church and encouraged him to become an active member in it. Hoss declined, but did it respectfully. He looked up to my dad in the same way I always had.

  When I told Hoss I had no interest in being part of his club back then, he didn’t take offense. Instead, he paid me for time served and moved on with his next order of business.

  “Fuck me, I forgot all about that,” Tommy says, his memory coming to focus.

  “I haven’t.”

  His eyes narrow, and his cheeks jump with irritation. “You’re an idiot for what you’re thinkin’.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, giving him a half-smile full of sarcasm.

  “You’re thinking of stormin’ into that place and tearin’ shit down,” he says on a breath. “Don’t get mixed up in there, Max,” he worries again.

  Throwing the bills for the tab on the bar, I push in my chair and find Maggie, the bar owner, watching Tommy and me together. It’s been a fuck of a long time since she’s seen the sight, so she nods in what I assume is her appreciation.

  “You worry about Denver. She’s gonna be tearing shit up if she’s not already.”

  “Aging me, man.” He puts his hand to rest on his chest above his heart, before expressing the concerns he has of his sixteen-year-old, heartbreaker-in-the-making daughter. “Her and her friends wear the most fucked-up shit. A father needs therapy to un-see some of that mess. It’s not right.”

  “She won’t be in high school forever, Tommy. It’ll pass.”

  “Hope I survive it and I’m around to appreciate the woman she’ll become.”

  “You will,” I confirm.

  “Easy for you to say; you’re not dealing with hormones, boys, and attitude every fuckin’ day.”

  No, I’m not. I don’t have any kids and by looking at Tommy, sitting here stewing in his own worry, I’ve never been so thankful for that.

  “Have a nice night, brother.” I pat him on the back on my way out and smile at the waitress who hasn’t quit staring at me since I walked in.

  Stopping just before I hit the door, I look to the last stool of the bar and find Earl Winters, the town drunk. Earl’s long since been retired from the factory paper mill in town and takes up residence at O’Malley’s when he can. His certified spot has always been that last stool.

  It’s been said Earl sleeps with a bottle of brandy under his pillow. After his wife passed away over a decade ago, Earl uses it to help him sleep through the night without her.

  Earl feels me standing next to him. He turns his head around, not exuding the effort a handshake would take, and he greets, “Hey, kid.”

  “Hey, Earl.” I pat him on the back and lean in to the bar beside him. “How’s life?”

  “Too damn long,” he answers. “How’s yours?”

  Smiling and readying my keys, I reply, “Too damn interesting.”

  “True that,” he says before I walk out the door and into the evening air.

  Nothing ever fucking changes.

  Chapter Three

  I’ve learned to look your captor in the eye, if it pleases him.

  Finishing her bowl of macaroni and cheese, a meal she considers to be her favorite, Casey pushes the tray back to its place next to the door where she already knows by routine Cilas will be by to collect it.

  The pictures she drew earlier this morning are kept well-hidden under the mattress she positions herself on top of. She’s added characters to her collection, faces and names assigned to each new sketch. In a sense, she’s accumulating more friends to her memory.

  The voices she hears outside her room sound faded and dark. They always do.

  When her door opens, she jumps at the sight of the man looking down on her. It’s the same man who put her in this room so long ago, never giving her so much as a reprieve since. She didn’t know why it happened. His explanation, which she heard him tell the others, was that she needed to be put somewhere safe, yet she didn’t understand the danger to which he was referring.

  Today, his suit is dark and smooth; his hair, although grey, is short, combed and neatly kept. His body is clean; she can smell the soap she longs to use as the breeze from the hallway carries it toward her. His eyes are steel-grey, with a shading hint of brown.

  She dares to imagine if, had she known him from anywhere else, his face would look loving and kind. Living the life she’s led, though, has forced her to trust no one.

  “Casey, sweetheart, I need your attention for a few minutes,” he tells her with a serious expression. The deep Russian accent rushes to her ears in a slur of words as he tries hard to speak his way through the English translation.

  Thinking he must be mistaken, possibly talking to someone else in such a pleasant manner, she looks around the room, finding no one else. It’s then she notices those who stand behind him.

  “Now.” His voice rings out as his hand reaches down to her in an offer of assistance.

  Standing carefully, she feels her body growing weak and tired from nervousness. Maintaining her posture, she walks to him slowly and accepts his outstretched hand. It’s warm to the touch and inviting—everything he’s not.

  Bending his body down and inching his face closer to hers, he runs his large palms up and down her small, frail arms. He asks her with faint gentleness, “How’s my bea
utiful princess today?”

  Nodding to answer, she verbalizes nothing. She smells the stench of alcohol on his breath, having no idea the expensive taste Viktor has acquired through his years.

  She doesn’t know money and power make a man hungry for the finer things in life. She wouldn’t know this because she doesn’t know him. Not in any real-life instance, anyway.

  Looking at her, but not speaking to her directly, he smiles shortly. In a harsh whisper full of disgust, he closes his eyes as he speaks. “I need her cleaned up. You’re treating her like fucking garbage. She’s not that.”

  “Got it,” the man behind her answers in a voice she recognizes. “I’ll have Tag run her through a shower and fetch her a change of clothes.”

  Ignoring her attempts to remain steadfast in his company, she peers over Viktor’s large body and looks up to the other man responsible for putting her in here.

  Hoss Lattimore stands shorter in height than most she’s used to. His long, greasy, grey hair and shaggy matching beard hide what she senses is a grotesque soul, darker than she’s ever known.

  “Tell the others I want her fed more than what you’re feeding her now,” Viktor says, checking the proportions of her limbs with his hand, squeezing each briefly and growing more agitated with each pass.

  Releasing her and standing straight, Viktor looks down from above. She wonders what he must be thinking. Her own appearance sickens her. Her hair is a mess of dark and uncontrollable curls, her body limp and unclean. Her teeth feel as though they’re each in dire need of attention.

  Viktor smiles, moves a finger and places it gently on her nose. He leaves it there and continues to look at her while talking to Hoss. “She’ll be worth nothing if she isn’t kept well. Have Anna mother her, show her the proper way to greet a man. Her own mother’s a worthless whore. I want Tag kept away from her. Do you understand?”

  “Understood,” Hoss confirms with marked obedience.

  Unsure whether to breathe a sigh of relief at his direction or worry about what’s coming next, Casey looks to the floor beneath her.

  Viktor doesn’t allow this for long. Using his finger to lift her chin, he aims her head toward him and smiles softly. “First lesson, my love: never look away. Second lesson: always do as you’re told.”

  Nodding again, this time she vocalizes her understanding. “Yes, sir.”

  She’d heard the others answer in the same manner; same words, same tone. Once seeing another girl, although much older than herself, receive a new band around her ankle, she’d forgotten to use the word “sir” and was beaten until she laid bloody on a bare hardwood floor.

  Casey feared the day that ever happened to her.

  Chapter Four

  Sitting at my corner table in the high-class downtown restaurant, Zetty’s, I’m looking into a crowd of people I know I don’t fit in with. My ripped, faded, dark jeans and motorcycle boots, coupled with my faded blue Henley, stands out in a sea of superiority. These men are dressed for business, each wearing a designer suit, expensive shoes, and cufflinks which would pay my rent for more than a few months.

  I chose this place for its visibility, not its clientele.

  Several men, gathered near the bar, smoke cigars while sharing war stories of how they became so successful. The others linger throughout the open arena in search of who to offer their services to. A few of them spare a glance my way then hesitantly continue to move past my gaze.

  Before coming here, I’d made a few calls to the local police department in town. Finally, James Fuller returned one of my messages.

  James is the lead detective in charge of investigations, as if this town needs such a position. When I explained the reason for my call, he told me nothing and remained tight-lipped as I asked as series of pointed questions that could help me better understand what exactly they were denying.

  I could tell he was getting nervous by the way his voice wavered back and forth between nervousness and anger, so before I closed out the conversation, I told him he was probably right and there was nothing to be investigated.

  He asked if he should expect further inquiries from Emma or myself, and to avoid keeping Emma on the radar, I told him if I had any questions I’d get a hold of him at a later time. At once, he sounded relieved, and I ended the call by asking about his wife and twin sixteen-year-old boys.

  All in all, I got the same assistance from the local PD as Em did—jack shit.

  When the front door of the restaurant swings opens, I lay eyes on the one person I’ve been waiting to see for over an hour. Apparently, Hoss was confident I’d wait, and under any other circumstance the man wouldn’t get my time, but he has it. Unfortunately, though, now I’m at his mercy.

  Hoss looks as professional as the fat man can. Leaving his biker cut behind, he’s dressed as I am. With his black motorcycle boots, faded black tee-shirt, and dark ripped jeans, stains included, he looks every bit a biker. As he puts his cell phone in the front pocket of the jacket he’s carrying, he frowns in my direction but continues walking my way after catching my presence.

  In the face of evil, it takes great will to remain calm.

  Not bothering to hang it up, he tosses his jacket in the booth next to him and takes a seat across from me. The table moves when his weight presses against it. “You wanted to meet here, Max, really?”

  I smile, feigning ignorance, and take in the area around us. “I thought this was as good a place as any.”

  Not smiling at my joke, he moves the conversation to the real reason we’re here. “I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. Your call was a surprise; I’m just not sure it’s a welcome one.”

  “Busy man?” I ask in jest.

  Don’t you have drugs to push, kids to arm, or young girls to sell? I think—only to myself, of course.

  Running his hand over his beard, he tugs the end slightly and nods to my drink. The waitress nods back then goes to the bar to fill his order. He’s going to join me for a beer.

  “So,” he starts, placing his arms on the table between us, folding his hands together, and lacing his fat fingers. “Haven’t heard about you in years. What’s it you’re lookin’ for?”

  His eyes, vacant and distant, can’t be mistaken as calm or casual. His voice, although aged from alcohol and cigarettes, can’t be considered relaxed and easy. The man I’m staring at carries enough weight and power in this town to make anyone, whether important or not, disappear; never to be heard from again.

  “I’m back in town for good, so I thought I’d start interviewing for some available positions.” I don’t smile with my blatant lie.

  “How you know I’m hiring?”

  “How you know I’m the one looking to be hired?”

  His eyes narrow. Apparently, he doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm. “Well played, Max. Is that what I should call you? Seems I’ve heard of a road name you used to go by, or am I mistaken?”

  Sitting back, now with my eyes narrowed, I contemplate how to answer. If I piss him off, I’ll get nothing I need. And I desperately need intel. Hoss has done his homework. He’s acquainted with my former road name, which I’d earned with my prior MC, but he’s leaving it unsaid. This tells me he’s interested in what I have to say or he’d have pushed this meeting off on someone else; some second-rate club officer or, at the very least, a young prospect with nothing to do on a Saturday morning.

  Unsure how to answer, I tell him, “Call me whatever you’d like. Buddy, Max, Asshole, whatever.”

  “I’m just ribbin’ ya, Max.” He laughs sardonically. “I’d heard what happened out east. Sounds like some fucked-up shit went down. That why you’re back here?”

  “It is and it isn’t.”

  “Marie.” He voices my sister’s name, and I taste the bile in my throat hearing her name come from his sickened mouth.

  He catches my initial reaction and his face reveals his triumph.

  “In some part, yes,” I lie again. “I’m home, though. This is where I’m supposed to be.”


  “Home,” he utters. “Haven’t thought of a place that way since I was eight. Right before my father killed my mother then turned the gun on himself.”

  I knew all this was true. My dad explained his circumstances after I was old enough to understand them. Everyone in town knows Hoss didn’t have a bright start in life. After his parents’ death, Hoss went from foster home to foster home, finding out that no one gave a fuck about him—only the money his care brought with it. Shortly after turning fifteen, the rumor is that Hoss turned a blade on his foster father who at the time had been raping him and his young foster brothers. That’s when my dad tried to help.

  “How’s your ol’ man been?” he asks as if he’s remembering the past the same way I am.

  “He’s good, I think. I haven’t been by to see him since I’ve been back.”

  A kindness I don’t recognize passes through Hoss’ eyes. “Max, when you called, you told me you’d been back a while, and you haven’t spoken to your parents?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “I’m sure as fuck not one to give advice on family and shit, but I’ll tell you from my own experience, if you’ve got good family and good people around you, you should pay attention.”

  “I’ll get there.”

  Hoss had been married for a time. Her name was Ursa. I never knew her and they weren’t married very long. I was gone, searching for whatever it was I was trying to find at the time. She was part of his club before meeting Hoss, and it was before he became president. She died only a few years ago of cancer. I heard he truly loved her, more than anyone thought possible. After she died, I also heard Hoss’ life went dark; she took the light from it when she passed away. That’s when shit started getting worse at the club.

  He took up drinking as a hobby. He started sharing his men’s women, and it didn’t matter if they approved or not. He went from being the semi-decent man I knew for a time to the feared one sitting in front of me now.

  Dismissing his unsolicited advice on family ties, I get down to business. I don’t want to be in his company for long. “Since you seem to already know so much about me, let’s talk about what we can do for each other,” I suggest then watch his eyes pull back and focus on our conversation.