Page 5 of Spooked (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #13)
CHAPTER THREE
HOUND
Tentatively opening the file as warily as if I were approaching a nervous dog, I slide out the papers.
I spare a glance at Shooter, then Bullet, both men who’ve been far longer in the club than I have, and in the construction business for twenty years or more.
Both men’s expressions are now blank and guarded, and neither gives me comfort this isn’t some kind of hazing.
It makes me doubt why I bothered to come here.
If I’m useless as a mechanic, what the fuck did I think I could offer to the club’s construction business, of which I know nothing except for the dollars it adds to our bottom line?
While not retired officers, Bullet and Shooter have been Devils since well before my time. They’re F.O.G.s in everything but name and, like the others, fucking with younger brothers is often their game. They wouldn’t do that to an injured comrade, would they?
I don’t fucking know. But mentally preparing myself for the worst while having absolutely no idea what might have landed in my hands, I steel myself to look down, inwardly relieved when I note the first page is an innocent picture.
It’s just a house. I sigh with relief, then examine it some more.
The word “house” barely describes it. It’s a goddamn mansion—colonial style, with columns, not that common around here, more akin to the East Coast. Studying it closer, it appears to have been abandoned for years.
Overgrown creepers cover the front and block light from some of the windows.
As for the grounds, I suspect they were once expansive and manicured, but now nature’s taken over, and what’s left of any previous glamour has all disappeared.
I’m puzzled. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? I won’t get any more information unless I ask. Fixing my gaze on Bullet, I query, “What do you need doing?” And how could I, who knows nothing about architecture or construction, possibly help?
“Direct and to the point.” Shooter grins at his partner, or one of them, I belatedly remind myself. Drummer’s younger son, Zeke, has a full interest in the company, though he isn’t present at the meeting. Strangely, in my view, he has never shown any inclination to become a patched Devil.
Shooter sits forward. “You want us to be straight with you?” His shrug is accompanied by a shake of his head.
“Truth is, we don’t rightly know. The owner of that mansion wants it razed to the ground, but we want to do an assessment.
Could be it’s worth renovating, in which case the club could buy it from her and do the work. ”
“I’m no structural engineer,” I remind them. “Isn’t this more in Zeke’s field?” He’s one for real. Got all the certificates to prove it.
“Zeke’s snowed under with all the work coming in, and this is a bit of a mystery.”
“Yeah,” Bullet takes over. “Bitch has offered us a sum that’s way over the top for a simple assessment. Raised red flags, you know?” Without waiting for me to give an acknowledgment, he picks it up again. “Got Mouse to look into it.”
The decades the two men have been working together are obvious as Shooter seamlessly takes over. “We’re her last resort. She’s been through every construction firm in Tucson, and even as far away as Phoenix.”
My eyes widen. “They all turned that job down?”
“No.” Bullet retakes pole position. “They all took the job, went on site, and then turned tail and ran.” He pre-empts my next question. “We’ve no fuckin’ idea why.” He raises his chin at Shooter.
I suppose it’s a telltale sign of how long they’ve worked together, Shooter taking over as full partner after Viper died. They’ve got a kind of double act going on, making my head swing from one to the other as if watching a tennis match.
“We’ve felt them out but gotten no clear answer. The job’s not worth what she’s willing to pay.” Bullet snorts and Shooter rolls his eyes at him. “It’s either too much work for them to cope with, or too small and not worth their time.”
“So, she upped the ante and came to us,” I surmise.
Fuck, I served as a Marine and a sergeant-at-arms now.
Give me weapons to acquire, or people to protect and I’m your man.
I know nothing about building, structural defects, or anything of that ilk.
How would I be able to assess if the job is too big or too small?
Admitting defeat, I shake my head. “Thanks, Brothers, for thinking I might be able to help you out, but I’m not sure that I can.
” I start to reach for my crutches, knowing they’re busy and I need to get out of their hair.
Shooter holds up his hand. “Brother, you can do this. We’re this deep,” he holds his hand to his chin, “in work. Can’t spare anyone to check this house out when, as everyone else has turned it down, it’s likely to be a complete waste of time.
To be blunt, we can’t see any point in us sparing someone qualified to check it out.
Was going to let it go before you came along.
” He chuckles. “Don’t like refusing good money, and you’ve got time on your hands.
All we’re asking is that you go to the property and photograph everything that you can. ”
“Don’t expect you to make an assessment, Bro, that’s down to us,” Bullet adds reassuringly.
Narrowing my eyes, I clarify, “Just go there and take pictures?”
Both men nod, giving satisfied grins like teachers whose pupil has answered a question correctly.
Rolling my head back on my shoulders, I sigh deeply. “Drummer’s asked you to keep me occupied, hasn’t he?”
They don’t even bother to look sheepish. As one, they both answer in the affirmative, then turn to each other and grin. Shooter gestures to Bullet that he should speak next.
“Yeah. You’re apparently getting under everyone’s feet at the compound.
” He pauses to chuckle. “But, Brother, this ain’t made-up work.
It’s really something we want to look at.
At the end of the day, it probably isn’t worth considering, as we’ve so many good-paying projects on the go.
The fact that no one else wants the job raises suspicions from the start.
We probably wouldn’t even bother to check it out, but you’re a gift horse we can’t look in the mouth.
You’ve got time, and if you’ve got the inclination, then I’m not kidding you, you’d be doing us a solid. ”
Staring at the photo one more time, I consider their situation.
If they didn’t have me at their disposal, they wouldn’t even consider taking this job on?
Maybe the place would have to be demolished, but it’s one fine-looking mansion, a piece of history, something that should be treasured.
If SD Construction could restore it to its prior glory, it would be one more feather in their cap, one more level of expertise they could lay claim to.
It might be just “made-up work”, but maybe I could add something of value.
I clarify again, “I just walk around and take pictures?” Before giving them a chance to answer, I again study the photo.
Tapping my full leg cast, I warn them, “I might not be able to go everywhere if stairs are missing, or there are holes in the floors.”
Bullet throws up his hands as if horrified. “Wouldn’t fuckin’ ask you to, Brother. Top priority is your healing and protecting yourself. You take pictures of anything you’re able to access. That will be enough.”
Shooter sighs. “Whatever you can do, Hound. I hate turning down work, but rather that than having you injure yourself.”
“Any timescale?”
Together, they shake their heads. “As soon as you’re ready, and take all the time you need. While the client’s desperate for someone to take this job on, having exhausted all other options, they won’t be rushing us if we say we need space to assess it all properly.”
While I still have doubts I’m the right man, I’m desperate to do something, anything, that gets me out of the headspace I’ve been in since I’d laid my bike down.
Having been demoted, while it might not be true, I feel I have to prove myself all over again.
As a prospect, I was expected to do anything the club asked of me.
Years down the line, that hasn’t changed since I became a patched member, or lately, as an officer of the club. I’ll never let my brothers down.
If I’ve been asked, I’ll do it. Whatever doubts I might have are pushed to the back of my mind.
My decision isn’t hard. “I’ll go there tomorrow.”
Shooter grins, pulls open a desk drawer and extracts something. When he hands it over to me, I see it’s a bunch of keys. “Looking forward to seeing what you find out, Hound.”
Something occurs to me. “You got a fancy camera I should use? An SLR or something?”
Bullet cackles. “You’ve got a fuckin’ phone, Bro.”
I do. But I also have to try to remember how to take photos. My job is, was, to protect the club. I usually don’t have time, reason, or need to document my life through pictures. I suppose it’s just point and snap, and hope for the best.
One thing’s for certain. When I take on a job, I do it to the best of my ability and beyond. I’m determined to get SD Construction all that they need.
Bullet, Shooter and I shoot the shit for a while, then, knowing they’re busy, I take my leave.
As I exit the company office building, I’m certain this is work that’s been conjured out of nowhere just to placate me.
If every other firm in the vicinity turned this job down, then I doubt SDC has any expectation of taking it on.
Then again, beggars can’t be choosers, and I’d rather be doing something, anything, than nothing at all.
Tomorrow I’m going to go to this ruined mansion and document every fucking brick, every stone, every wall. If nothing else, it will keep me occupied and away from the compound for the day. My club should feel like home, but right now, being there makes me feel less than useless.