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Chapter Twenty-Four

Fitz

The day had dragged. Sawyer called to say he would have to cancel dinner and our slumber party that night because something came up with the club, and as disappointed as I was, I understood and didn’t give him shit about it. We were both in demanding jobs and having just returned from several days away from Vegas, I couldn’t fault him.

I was sitting in my bedroom reading a book my parents had given me for my birthday back in the summer when my phone dinged on the table. I picked it up to see a message from Lawry Schatz.

Fitz—call me. Casper

I checked the time on my phone to see it was just after seven in the evening, which meant it was after ten in New York. It had been a few days since I’d asked Lawry to check into a few people for me, and it seemed as though he had news.

I hit the button to call the man, and it rang once. “Hey, man. I’ve got news.”

“What’s up?” I held my breath, not sure if I was ready for whatever he had to tell me.

“TJ Middleton.” Casper told me things I already knew about TJ. Thankfully.

“Okay, no surprises. Jimmy Germaine?”

“Oh, he’s a real prince. He’s got a record in New Jersey. He was a fight promoter in Atlantic City until he was picked up for fixing a match where a local businessman lost an assload of money. He got out on bail, but he left town before he could go to trial. How do you know him?”

“Well, he’s turned up here in Vegas. Best I can tell, he’s working at a gym in town and setting up underground fights. I’m surprised the Atlantic City authorities haven’t caught up to him out here. The guy’s hiding in plain sight.” I’d check into that after I finished talking to Casper.

“Interesting. Anyway, on to Ricky Marlow. He used to be an agent with the ATF. I can’t find anything about what he was doing for them because his file is sealed, which usually means working undercover. It shows he left the office about seven years ago. He worked for them for ten years. You oughta reach out to Dallas St. Michael. He might know the guy or know of him.”

“Good idea. I appreciate the info, Casper. If you can talk your husband into coming to Vegas, dinner’s on me. Talk soon.” I ended the call.

After checking my phone again to see it was twenty to eight, I scrolled my contacts and found Dallas St. Michael’s number. We’d worked a case together when I was still working for Gabe Torrente, and I liked the guy.

He’d recently married a famous chef and was living full time in Vegas, so I called him, doubting he’d be sleeping—though he might be in bed, the lucky fucker. I wondered what Sawyer was doing.

“Hello?” It was Dallas, and he wasn’t out of breath. His husband owned a fancy restaurant in one of the newer hotels and casinos in Vegas, The Intercontinental. I guessed they had a good life.

“Hey, Dallas. It’s me, Fitz Morgan. Is this a bad time?”

“Naw. I’m just watching a TV show while I wait for Rafe to finish up at the restaurant. How the hell are you, Fitz?”

“I’m good, man. Working for Sparky. Got my license and have gone on a few hunts out of town. You know the drill. That’s why I’m calling you. When you worked for ATF, did you know a fella named Ricky Marlow?”

“Uh, Ricky Marlow? How’d you hear that name?”

That was disconcerting. “So, you have heard of him?”

“Where are you?” Dallas sounded worried.

“I’m at home. I live on East Windmill, not far from Sparky’s office.”

“There’s a small slot place on South Jones. Sierra Slots. Can you meet me there for a beer in half an hour?”

I glanced down at my flannel lounge pants. I’d changed after Sawyer called me, but it wouldn’t take a minute to get dressed again. “I’ll meet you there. I know where it is.”

We ended the call, and I pulled out a gray Henley and a pair of jeans, dressing quickly. My stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything for dinner, and I knew the place had pretty good food, so if Dallas didn’t know anything about Marlow that might hint at him being involved in shady shit, I’d at least get to eat.

Fifteen minutes later, I walked into Sierra Slots. I glanced around the place, seeing Dallas at a high-top across from the bar.

“Hey, man, congratulations on getting married.” He stood and shook my hand before I sat across from him.

“Thanks. We’re coming up on a year pretty soon. We’re headed to New York for the family Christmas dinner that Rafe makes every year, and then we’re going back to Italy with the family for a party his parents want to throw. How are you settling into life in Vegas?” Dallas looked good. Marriage seemed to suit him.

“I’m good. Work’s good. What are you doin’ these days?”

“I’ve been on a few bond cases here in town. I guess Sparky’s hired enough guys that he hasn’t needed me.”

The server came and took our orders, and when she walked away, I could see Dallas was ready to get down to brass tacks. “So, about Marlow…”

I sighed. “I’m dating Sawyer Abbott.”

“You’re dating the president of the Pahrump Steel Cowboys? That’s kind of a surprise.”

I nodded. “And Marlow is a patched member of the club. What do you know about the guy?”

“He was fired not long after I went undercover with the Scorpions. The Bureau let him resign, but it was all damn fishy. As far as I know, he was never charged with anything, and a lot of rumors were bandied about, though nothing was confirmable.” Dallas glanced around the room, but there weren’t many people in the place, and most of them sat around the U-shaped bar playing video poker or slots.

“Did you know him personally?”

He shook his head. “Never met him. I didn’t really know many of the guys who worked at the Bureau. I only had contact with my handler and the SAIC over the task force.”

“What was the purpose of the task force, if you can tell me.” Some of that shit might still be pending, though if I remembered correctly, the Scorpions who were arrested during the raid Dallas was referencing were still in jail, along with those who tried to steal an assload of drugs from the cartel. He wasn’t involved in the Bureau anymore.

Dallas looked around again, seeming satisfied that nobody was paying any attention to us. “We were trying to bust up a gun smuggling ring that involved the Corsica Cartel out of Guadalajara. Our SAIC suggested that Marlow had gone dirty. He’d gone undercover with the Steel Cowboys, and he claimed they had nothing to do with the business of the cartel. My handler intimated that they suspected Marlow was feeding information to the Cowboys that he found out from his handler.

“The Cowboys intercepted a shipment of guns coming up from Guadalajara and sold them to another buyer through their sister club, the Reno Rough Riders. That was how the feud between the clubs originally started. The Cowboys were trying to take over the Scorpions’ territory back then.”

I sighed. It all sounded really fucked up, and as I thought about my Sawyer being involved in shit like that, my chest tightened. “Sawyer is trying to take the club in a more legal direction. They own a few legit businesses around the area now. They’re not doing shady dealings anymore, Dallas.” I hoped I wasn’t being misled.

“I’m not saying your guy isn’t like his old man, but one-percenters don’t change their stripes, Fitz. You’re used to the right side of the law, and these clubs can’t survive there. You need to get the hell away from Sawyer Abbott, man. I know he did a solid for the Torrentes when Giuseppe and Teresa were kidnapped, but Fitz, man, they mess in shit you don’t want to be anywhere near.”

Our food arrived and we changed the subject to talking about the cases he’d been working on. I told him about my recent trip to Tahoe to bring Whitey Crow back. We laughed about how damn dumb skips could be sometimes.

“We’ve got a lot on our plates right now, but I heard of a guy you might want to look into. He’s here in town, and I heard there’s a warrant for him in Atlantic City. Talk to Lawry Schatz about it. The guy set up a fight on November 22. He’ll be at the Ace of Spades Casino on The Old Strip that night. You should drop by.”

Dallas reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small notebook like I had in the pocket of mine. Some habits never died.

My phone lit up at four in the morning the following Wednesday. I’d spoken to Sawyer a couple of times over the weekend, but he was busy with his parents coming to town. He’d been cleaning and fixing things at his home in anticipation of their arrival, so I didn’t crowd him. We were supposed to be going to dinner tonight, but I had a feeling our plans wouldn’t happen.

I picked up my phone to see a number I didn’t recognize. “Morgan.”

“Fitz, it’s Spider Remmick, Bones’ friend. We met at The Roundup not long ago.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Yeah, uh, Spider. How’s it going?” What else could I say?

“I don’t suppose Sawyer’s there, is he? I’ve been calling him for a few hours, and he isn’t answering. I came over to the clubhouse to see if he was home, and the house is empty. The guys who live at the clubhouse said they haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon when he was taking TJ and Mr. Middleton to the store. His truck isn’t here, either. I asked Mouse to track it, but he hasn’t found anything yet.”

Even though I didn’t know the man on the other end of the line, I could hear the worry in his voice. It nearly matched my own.

“We were supposed to have dinner over the weekend, but something came up and he had to cancel. I spoke to him for a bit on Monday, and he didn’t mention that he was going anywhere. Do you know where they were going shopping?”

I hopped out of bed and flipped on the bedside lamp, grabbing my jeans from the chair where I liked to read and pulling them on. I opened my dresser drawers and pulled out a sweatshirt and a pair of socks before rushing into the kitchen.

Spider cleared his throat. “He mentioned going to Carberry Square and Walmart to pick up some stuff for when his parents get into town tonight. I’ll ride over there and see if his truck’s there. Maybe it broke down and they stayed at the Silver Bullett Casino and Hotel that’s not far away to deal with the truck in the morning. I bet that’s it. I’m sorry I woke you up. I’m sure everything’s fine. My momma tells me I’m a worrier.”

“Did you go into his house? Is anything out of place?” My instincts told me something was definitely wrong.

“No, we don’t have a key, and we were pretty sure he’d be pissed if we broke in. We’ve looked in through the windows, and there’s definitely nobody inside,” Spider said.

“I’m going to that shopping plaza to look for his truck. You go to Walmart and call me.” I grabbed my jacket and the keys to my truck off the keyholder and headed out the back door to the garage.

I looked up the directions on my phone and set the GPS to tell me where to go. My heart was pounding in my chest. If anything happened to Sawyer, I was going to lose my mind.