Page 67 of Misguided

TWENTY-THREE

Dog

Her hand shakes as she reaches under the edge of the table and sets it on my leg. I place mine over top, stroking the soft spot on the side of her wrist with my thumb.

Shit’s definitely serious if Crackers has brought Mel into the chapel.

“Figured we’d all fit better here than jammed in the office,” Crackers says from the head of the table.

Serious if he’s finally decided he can warm Hooch’s seat, too.

“Any objections?” He looks around the table at the officers of the Fort Worth chapter.

They all glance at one another, daring each other to say something. There’s nothing but pleasing silence.

“Got news about Hooch,” he says with his head down, forearms laid out on the table before him.

“Good news?” Mel asks, barely above a whisper.

“No news.” He frowns, touching the tips of his fingers together. “We haven’t heard from him since the day after he left us at the farm.”

“And you’re only just tellin’ us now?” Murphy shouts. “What the hell, brother?”

Crackers blinks, deflecting the heat by choosing to ignore it. “Digits tracked his phone the first few days, but he’s probably out of battery, or switched it off. It gave up sharin’ location early last week.”

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” Mel mutters. She looks around the table. “To us.”

“There were other factors involved.” His eyes flick to Digits, who stares down at his hands as he cracks his knuckles. “Turns out that retrieving Mel was just the icing on a huge as fuck cake of shit he had goin’ on.”

“You about to explain why he was askin’ me strange questions before he left?” Murphy asks.

“Possibly.” Crackers raises both eyebrows as he takes a deep breath. “He had a DEA agent on his ass.”

Mumbles bounce around the table as everybody takes stock of the news. Mel visibly pales, her throat bobbing as she swallows.

“Johnny spotted the guy camped out on the road when he rolled in a week or so back. Made me aware and we played a game of stalk the stalker with the asshole.”

“Then what?” I ask. “Where is he now?”

“In the worker’s house,” Digits answers without a trace of emotion.

“What are you going to do with him?” Mel asks.

She knows as well as I do that the worker’s house hasn’t had anyone living in it for decades. It’s basically the dungeon, where assholes get thrown while the club decides their fate; partially hidden by the flora that’s overgrown it over the years and far enough away that the sounds from within don’t bother the members up here at the big house.

“First,” Crackers answers. “We’ll find out what the fuck he wanted with Hooch. Seems we aren’t the only ones tryin’ to track down where he went. Mighty’s already dealt with the feds about your kill, Mel, so it has to be related to somethin’ else.”

“You think there’s guilt involved?” Murphy asks with trepidation.

Crackers shakes his head. “Not in Hooch’s nature. I won’t believe that until I have hard evidence to prove it.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, as does Mel.

“Regardless,” he continues. “It’s time our president came home, don’t you think?

“Agreed,” Murphy concurs.

“Where was the last location his phone gave off?” Jo-Jo startles the hell out of the lot of us by speaking up—a rare occasion for him.