Page 23 of His Flawed Ride

I light a cigarette when we’re on the back deck and I lean against the rail.

“If something’s happened that I need to know, I’d rather you just get it over with. I’m running on two hours sleep in the last two days and…”

“Brother, it’s not what you’re thinking. Harry’s family has filed a missing report, and Nora is on her way back to town for a funeral.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you to watch her like a fuckin’ hawk until Grim’s driving her back to the mountain.”

“Do you think this missing report is gonna spook her?”

“I have no fuckin’ idea, hence why I want you on her.”

He leans back in his chair and lights a cigarette. “Sure. What do I do if it looks like she’s gonna talk?”

I stare at him, and he stares back. “Whatever you need to in order to keep her quiet.”

“Are you saying…”

“I’m saying… do whatever you need to keep her quiet.”

“Prez… I mean, don’t get me wrong I couldn’t give a shit, but what about Grim?”

“If it comes down to it, Grim should’ve picked a better suited old lady.”

Mason shrugs and then from somewhere in the house, the babies wail. He’s up and out of his chair, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray can.

“You’ve got a couple of days before they get here, get some sleep. I’m relying on you to make sure you don’t miss anything.”

“I’ve got it.” His assurance soothes me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why the fuck did you let her stay? Her knowing we killed him is vastly fuckin’ different from her witnessing it.”

“I’ve been asking myself this for months. Trust me though, it won’t be something I’ll allow ever again.”

Lessons have to be learned, and this is a lesson I’ve well and truly fucking learned.

I plan on heading back to the club when I spot the sheriff’s cruiser parked at the diner. Making a split decision, I turn and park in the parking lot. Killing my engine, I light a cigarette, and fuck what people say about it not being good for you, it’s helping to keep my calm.

I inhale each puff deeply until my lungs burn and the cigarette has burned down to the butt. Swinging my leg over my bike, I head into the diner and sit at the counter, three stools up from the sheriff.

After ordering a coffee, I keep my voice low with no one close enough to hear, “Make this missing report disappear.”

She sips her coffee and then tells me, “I’m working on it, but his family are persistent.”

“I don’t care how you do it, get it done.”

“Is there a particular reason why you’re so concerned about this?”

Keeping my sights straight ahead, I say, “Is there a particular fuckin’ reason you think I’d answer that?”

She’s not stupid, she was the one who dropped him off at the club.

“It’d help.”

“You’re the sheriff, you don’t need my help. Make the report disappear.”