Page 9

Chapter Eight

Sawyer

Tiny stood on the porch of my house when I opened the front door. “Hey, Tiny. What’s up?”

“I, uh, I hate to bother you, prez, but Tim Walton didn’t show up for work today. We’ve been friends since grade school, sir, and I’ve been trying to find him for a couple of days without any luck.” The big guy’s expression showed how worried he was.

I motioned for him to come inside and pointed toward the chair by the couch. Tiny sat down and the chair creaked, not surprisingly. The kid had to weigh at least three bills, and he wasn’t fat. He would be a force for certain. I wouldn’t want to meet the guy in a dark alley.

“Tim Walton? The new guy working at the clubhouse?”

I remembered the skinny red-haired guy who Tiny had introduced to me and asked if we could give him a job and suggested maybe he could prospect. I gave him a spot cleaning the clubhouse, and the kid had done a great job.

“Yeah. He’s got a shitty home situation, which is why I was trying to get him to move into the clubhouse and share with me. T-Roy told me he’d help me build a bunk bed in my room, and I told Tim to get his shit together at his parents’ house and I’d pick him up when he was ready. He hasn’t called me back.”

“You trust him? Did he have a hand in any shady shit?” Trust was hard to come by in our business. I had no idea if Tiny’s friend was trustworthy, which was why we hadn’t invited him to prospect yet.

“No, prez. Tim is a solid guy, but his folks… I’d like someone to go with me to check on him. I don’t want to hurt his parents. I might not be able to control myself if they did anything to him.”

“Okay, I’ll go with you.” I headed to my bedroom to slide on my boots and grab my cut.

I’d been moping around because I wasn’t sure whether I should call Fitz after the night we’d shared under the stars. What the fuck was with the lovesick shit I was going through? That wasn’t me at all.

But Fitz seemed like a damn nice guy, and he’d been in law enforcement, leading me to believe he might not be cool with some of the shit we had done to save our club. I couldn’t live with the worry that he might have a stronger moral compass that would lead him to do something I might regret—like turn me in to the cops if I told him some of the shit I’d done for the club that were still unsolved cases.

After stepping out of my bedroom, I headed to the gun safe in the hallway and punched in the code. Once I had it opened, I grabbed an untraceable pistol I’d picked up from an asshole who came to the North Woodchips house one night with the idea of robbing us while I was taking the watch.

Stupid motherfucker pissed me off the minute he stepped on the porch and tried to play it off that he had a reservation—which he didn’t—and insinuating I was a dick for not letting him in. At the end of the day, he was resting in the desert, and I’d had the final say.

I walked out of the bedroom and stood in front of Tiny in the doorway of my kitchen. “Bikes or truck?”

“Maybe the truck? His folks are religious fanatics, so the bikes might be too much. Tim’s a quiet guy, and I hoped prospecting with the club would bring him out of his shell.” Tiny pulled keys out of his pocket and flipped them around his fingers. Seemed like a nervous habit, but maybe there was a reason to worry about young Tim?

“Let’s walk up to the clubhouse and get Hobie to come with us. He has an SUV that will fit all of us when we find your friend.” I removed my cut and hung it over the back of a chair.

Tiny nodded, and we walked the hundred yards to the clubhouse. There were a few of the guys inside, which pissed me off. The old-timers I expected, but Spider and Derson had other places they should be—namely, at our business in the Las Vegas Valley, Tumbleweeds Dispensary on South Durango Drive—where they should have been providing security.

“What the hell are you two doing here? Don’t you have jobs to do?” I crooked my right eyebrow, glancing from one to the other.

“We’re on our lunch break. Hammer and Boyd showed up and said they’d relieve us, so we came to get something to eat. Arlo’s making us burgers. What’s up?” Spider smirked at me as if I was getting pissed for no reason.

Hammer and Boyd were old-timers in the club, both patched in under my father. Hammer—Henry White—had been an enforcer back then. He’d developed a bad ticker not long after Dad retired and had a heart attack that he’d barely survived. He mostly hung out to have something to do while his wife worked as a cocktail waitress at a small casino off the strip. I was cool with it.

I had no idea why Spider thought Hammer and that crabby old bitch, Boyd Townsend, could provide proper security if something popped off.

“We’ve got a missing guy. Tim Walton. I came to get Hobie to go with us to the kid’s parents’ place to see if he’s there.” I glanced around the large club room, not seeing Hobie. He hadn’t said anything about taking the day off, and I was concerned.

“Anybody seen Hobie around?”

“He left about an hour ago,” I turned to see T-Roy standing in the doorway to the back door.

“Where was he going?”

T-Roy shrugged. “Not my day to watch him.”

I flipped the smartass off as the front door opened and Gilly Tate—Gilbert, the server at The Roundup—came inside with two brown paper bags. The smells reminded me I hadn’t eaten breakfast.

I turned to Spider and Ders. “Take your food with you and get back to Tumbleweeds. Tiny and I are gonna go look for this Walton kid. Never leave Hammer and Boyd in charge of one of our places again.”

They both nodded. I didn’t trust Boyd in the least, though I was sure Hammer was a decent guy. The idea that they could provide security at a pot dispensary was fucking stupid.

“Sorry, prez. We’re on it.”

The two of them left, and I turned to Tiny. “Let’s go. We’ll be fine.”

We took my truck and headed out to Searchlight where Tim Walton’s family lived. It was a small town near the border of Arizona, and there were a lot of dicey areas that far out in the desert. It was rumored that a religious encampment had established itself fifteen years prior, after being run out of Arizona. That was all Nevada needed—more crazies.

I didn’t give a shit about crazed religious zealots, but I turned to Tiny. “What kind of shit will we find here?”

“What do you mean?” He glanced in my direction, but I could see he was holding something back.

“I mean, are we gonna meet some unreasonable motherfuckers with machine guns? Does your family still live out here?” I took the exit and turned left onto West Cottonwood Cove.

The town had a population of about four hundred and fifty people. There wasn’t much—a small casino, a convenience store, a fire station, a motel, and a fast-food restaurant. Not a hotbed of activity.

Tiny directed me toward the center of town. Funnily enough, I’d lived in Southern Nevada my whole life and had never ventured to Searchlight. I was guessing it was because there wasn’t shit out there as far as I could see. And I’d be right.

We turned onto East Encinitas and came upon a nice mobile home community with desert landscaping and tidy patios with nice seating groups. “Stop here. It’s just up there.”

Tiny pointed toward a double-wide trailer with an attached double carport and a white fence toward the end of the community. There was a car and a truck under the carport and another truck parked on the other side of the home.

I turned off the motor as directed. “You recognize those vehicles?”

Tiny nodded. “I know that one’s Tim’s old truck.” He pointed to a rusty brown Chevy parked by the trailer. “I think the others belong to his parents.”

“You think he’s in there?” I reached into the glove box and pulled out a can of pepper spray. I already had a gun behind my back, so I was prepared to do whatever was necessary once we knew what was going on. If I didn’t need to use deadly force, so be it.

“I don’t think he’d just leave his truck here and go off somewhere. He worked in housekeeping at a dive motel for months to buy it, so it’s pretty important to him.” Tiny opened the passenger truck door and stepped out, so I followed. Tim was his friend, and I was only there to back him up.

I stepped to the side where I wouldn’t be seen from the front door. Tiny walked onto the porch of the beige trailer and knocked. And again. Finally, an older woman opened the door wearing a housecoat. “Dean? What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for Tim, Mrs. Walton. He didn’t show up for work today, and I’m afraid he might get fired if he doesn’t come in tomorrow.” Tiny stepped back and lifted a finger to point toward the back of the structure.

I slid along the side of the trailer to the back door that was open, probably to let the heat out. The screen door was closed, but I was guessing the air conditioning wasn’t top-notch in the metal box where they lived. I glanced through one of the windows, seeing an old man with a shotgun next to a recliner. I needed to get Tiny out of there before the couple became suspicious and did something irreversible.

There was slow pounding against the wall at the end of the trailer, so I hurried around the corner and stepped on a large rock to see into the window. There was a curtain that wasn’t completely closed, and when I peered inside, I saw the young redhead I recognized. He was tied to a bed and steadily whacking the wall the bed was pushed against.

The television was so loud I was sure nobody could hear him kicking, so I knocked on the window. Tim was gagged, and when he glanced up, his eyes filled with fear as he continued to struggle against his bindings.

He nodded that he’d seen me so I put my finger over my lips for him to be quiet. I damn well didn’t want Tiny to rush the parents because they wouldn’t let him see Tim. We needed to know what the fuck was going on so it could come to a reasonable end.

I manipulated the louvered windows, sliding the glass plates out of the slots so I could hoist myself into the room. I held my finger to my lips to remind Tim not to make a sound. “Shh. There’s a man in there with a shotgun, and I don’t want anyone to get killed.”

Tim nodded, so I removed the mouth gag. “Who’s that guy?”

“It’s my father. He’s crazy, and he’s invited his fucked-up friends over tonight to pray the gay away. That means they’ll probably beat the shit out of me again. Last time they put me in the hospital with broken ribs and a bruised kidney.”

“How often does that happen?” I couldn’t believe people still did this shit… tried to beat the gay out of their loved ones. How the fuck did they not understand that sexual orientation wasn’t a choice?

“Too often. I came back for my clothes, and two of my dad’s friends jumped me and tied me up. They’re waiting for the pastor to get back to town from some trip since he’s the leader of this bullshit.” The kid was whispering, obviously scared shitless, so I nodded. My blood was boiling.

I finished cutting him loose. “Get your shit together and toss it out the window. I’ll load it into my truck. You climb out after you change and I’ll get Tiny. We’ll leave and you never have to come back.”

“I don’t wanna leave my truck here because they’ll set it on fire. It’s mine, prez. I paid for it.” His face was scrunched up in worry, and I understood how he felt. When one didn’t have much, everything became precious to you.

“It’s okay, Tim. We’ll get it back for you.”

The kid did as I asked, and after I loaded his shit into the back of my truck, he crawled out the window. Once I had him inside, I glanced up to meet his gaze. “Where are the truck keys?”

Tim swallowed, his face pale. “By the front door.”

I nodded and went back to the front door where Tiny remained. I climbed the stairs and pulled the gun from behind my back, keeping it behind my thigh, out of sight. There was no way I’d let anything happen to either one of those guys. One day, they’d be my brothers, and it was long engrained in me to protect a brother or sister.

I swung into the room to see the woman—the mother, I was guessing—pointing a small pistol at Tiny. He held his hands in the air, and my anger skyrocketed.

I raised my gun and when she aimed it at me, I put one in her dome and one in her heart. She didn’t deserve to live, the fucking bitch. She should have loved her son and made sure he was safe. Instead, she was willing to let people hurt him. No way would I feel bad for taking that bitch out, just like I didn’t feel bad about taking out the father, too.