Page 12 of Snarl (Primal Howlers MC #9)

“And who is this mutual associate of yours?”

“Legs Walker,” I replied as cooly as possible.

“Is that so?” the bartender asked, sizing me up as if mentally fitting me for my coffin.

I nodded.

“Wait right here,” the bartender said before coming out from behind the bar and disappearing down the adjacent hallway. He returned in less than a minute with Boneyard and two other club members in tow.

“Who the fuck are you?” Boneyard asked, coming in closer than I’d usually allow. His goon brothers were standing directly to the left and right of him.

“Keith Massey,” I replied.

Boneyard motioned to the bartender. “Bob here said you claim to know Legs Walker.”

“I don’t claim to know him, I do,” I said.

This, like everything else I would tell Boneyard, and his skin job pals was, of course, complete horse shit.

Florence was a maximum-security prison, and its star prisoner was Thomas “Legs” Walker.

A violent and ruthless criminal who was not only a founding member of the Supreme Riders MC, but also the Denver chapter of the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan.

He was currently serving two ninety-nine-year sentences for the murder of two young black men, who were simply at the wrong place, at the wrong time, and the wrong color according to Legs Walker, who gunned them down in the street with no provocation whatsoever.

I’d never been a guest of the Florence Max Pen, but my cousin, Dale had.

He spent twelve years living three cells down from Legs Walker, and he told me everything I needed to know in order to sound credible to these guys.

“Legs happens to be a real fucking close personal friend of mine, ya know. So, how come I never heard of you?”

“I only knew him for the last eleven months of my five year stretch in Florence. But we became tight after I did him a solid.”

“What did you do?”

“Inside Florence, they called me ‘ Messy’ Massey, because inmates paid me to mess up people’s faces.”

“And what? Legs hired you to fuck somebody up?”

I shook my head. “Someone hired me to fuck up Legs. An inmate named Jimmy Fredricks, who owed Legs a shit ton of money and couldn’t pay, and so wanted to intimidate him into forgiving his debt.”

Boneyard’s eyes widened. “This guy Fredricks paid you to jump Legs?”

“He did, but instead, out of respect, I went straight to Legs and told him what was up.”

“What did Legs do?”

“He told me to keep the money Jimmy Fredricks paid me, and promised to pay me double the amount next week if I did the job on him instead. So, three days later, Jimmy Fredricks was found in the shower with a busted orbital socket and two broken arms. Legs paid me, just as he’d promised plus he said he owed me one, and should I ever need anything, just ask. ”

“Sounds like Legs. So, what’s all that gotta do with me?”

“I told Legs what I needed most was a solid street connection once I was released. I told him I had a big stash waiting for me on the outside and all I needed was distribution. He gave me your name and told me to look you up once I was out and settled.”

Boneyard studied me for a few moments before asking, “You said you didn’t know Legs until you were moved into his house, right?”

“That’s right. Less than a year before my release.”

“What unit were you in before you moved?” Boneyard asked, clearly testing the credibility of my story.

“I was in Gen Pop, Echo Unit, until I was moved due to fighting with my Cellie.”

“You were moved straight to Leg’s house? To Joker unit?” Boneyard asked.

I shook my head. “Legs doesn’t live in Joker Unit. He’s in Kilo, the same unit I was moved to.”

“Oh, that’s right. Legs lives in Kilo. I guess I have too many friends in Florence. I get a little bit mixed up.”

“Easy mistake,” I replied with a smile.

“You know I can check out your story with a single phone call, right? In less than an hour, I can get Legs on the phone.”

“Be my guest. He’ll tell you the same.”

I was bluffing my ass off at this point. If Boneyard called Legs before I got him into the van I was dead meat.

“I don’t know if you’re full of shit or not, but you’re in my bar so you obviously know who the fuck I am. And if you know that, you’ll know that I’ll cut you up with a fucking chainsaw if you’re fucking with me in any way.”

“I respect you and your club, and everything you do for the community,” I said, my stomach souring as I praised this garbage human being and his Nazi brothers.

“So, what do you have for me? What the fuck is this big score that you want my help in moving?”

“It just so happens that I can answer all of your questions, but not in here, and for your eyes only.”

“Why?”

“You’ll understand everything once you see what I have to show you. You’ll also understand what kind of money you’d stand to make should you choose to partner with me.”

Boneyard’s eyes narrowed as he continued to study me.

“Did you frisk him or check him for a wire?” he asked Bob, who simply shook his head. “Check him out,” he said to one of his ‘bodyguards,’ who began patting me down.

“There’s two types of people know all about life on the inside. Criminals and cops.”

“I’m not a cop. That’s for fuckin’ sure.”

Boneyard’s bodyguard checked under my shirt, down my legs, and of course, in my pockets.

“What the fuck is this?” Boneyard’s goon asked, pulling the mini canister of Chloroform from my inside jacket pocket.

“It’s my inhaler. I have asthma,” I replied. “Please be careful with that.”

“My sister was asthmatic. I ain’t never seen one like this,” he replied.

“I’ll bet your sister didn’t also lose the use of one lung due to a knife fight, did she? ”

“Give it back,” Boneyard ordered his goon.

Finally, at the very end of my frisking, goon number one checked under my hat. As soon as he lifted the ball cap, my long hair fell to my shoulders.

“What’s up with hiding those pretty locks of yours?” Boneyard asked.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Because of that kind of shit,” I replied, pointing back at him. “I’m not stupid. I know the hairstyles around this place tend to run on the short side. Let’s just say I wasn’t hoping to draw any unwanted attention.”

“Hell, I don’t give a rat’s ass if a man has long hair. The guys in Skynyrd had long fuckin’ hair. I’m just surprised no one made you their bitch down there in Florence. Or did they? ”

“One guy tried,” I said. “My first week inside, a Unit Boss named Richie Harrow tried to punk me out. After the inmates saw the Picaso I made of Richie’s face, no one ever tried again.”

“I hope you don’t think you can muscle me like that.”

“And I hope you don’t try to fuck me in my ass.”

Boneyard laughed.

I pointed to the bar’s rear exit. “In less than two minutes time, you can see what this is all about, and what you stand to gain or lose.”

After a few tense moments, Boneyard addressed Bob and his bodyguards. “Y’all hang back for a second. I’m gonna step out back with Goldilocks here, and if I’m not back in exactly one hundred and twenty seconds, come out to the back, guns drawn. You understand?”

Nods all around meant we were good to go.

“You fucking try anything and you’re a dead man,” he warned.

“All I’m trying to do is make us a shit ton of money. I’m telling you this is gonna be the score of your lifetime.”

I followed Boneyard as he led us to the rear entrance of the building, where Orion should have been waiting in the running van, but when we got outside, there were only us two.

Shit.

“Alright, where’s this deal of the century? What do you want to show me that’s so fucking mind-blowing? ”

At this point of the plan, Boneyard was already supposed to have a face full of chloroform and I should have been loading him into the van by now, but with no van in sight I was going to have to improvise.