Illusive (Storm MC 5)

* * *

“What have you heard, Jimmy?” Scott asked with the kind of patience he wasn’t known for. We stood in Jimmy’s living room, and my patience was waning due to the stench in his house. A mixture of cat piss and rubbish that should have been taken out days ago made my stomach roll.

Jimmy was one of the locals who had a finger in everything. If it involved drugs, guns or pussy, Jimmy was bound to either be involved or know something about it. Storm had an easy relationship with him, and he often fed us information when we came calling, but today he’d clammed up. Scott had been questioning him for a good ten minutes and had come up with nothing. I was surprised his patience was still at a high.

Jimmy’s beady eyes flicked from Scott to King who stood in the background. He’d remained silent but King’s presence could never be misconstrued – he radiated a don’t-fuck-with-me energy. Everyone who came in contact with him knew it, and didn’t dare question it. I figured it was the reason the Sydney chapter remained a strong force in not only their city, but throughout the country.

“I’ve told you what I know - nothing,” Jimmy replied, but his voice sounded off. Not quite the Jimmy we knew.

Scott stared at him with distaste, but before he said another word, King pushed past him. Grabbing Jimmy’s wrist, he dragged him to the table in the kitchen and shoved him down onto a chair. Grabbing a handful of his shaggy hair, he yanked his head back, and snarled, “You’re a lying piece of shit, Jimmy. And you’re wasting our time. Either you open your mouth and let the words Scott wants to hear fall the fuck out, or I shove my gun down there and we all stop wasting our time here. Your choice, motherfucker.”

The fear on Jimmy’s face matched the fury on King’s face. The seconds ticked by, and if panic were a sound, the silence in the room would have been drowned out by Jimmy. He squirmed under King’s hold, and muttered, “Dude - ”

King’s nostrils flared. “Don’t fucking dude me, asshole,” he roared, tightening his hold on Jimmy’s hair.

Jimmy blinked in quick succession as he stared up at King. His breaths came hard and fast, and I figured he’d reassessed his predicament. “Shit,” he finally muttered.

King didn’t relent. “Keep talking,” he ordered.

“I swear, all I know is what Slug told me…that there’d be a hit on the restaurant last night, but I swear I don’t know by who or why.” His words tumbled out, fast and uncensored, but they didn’t shed much light on the fire.

King glanced up at Scott. “You know this Slug?” he asked, maintaining his firm hold on Jimmy.

Scott nodded. “Yeah.”

King gave Jimmy’s hair one last yank before letting go and smacking the back of his head. The force caused Jimmy’s head to snap forward, and he yelped in pain.

“Next time, don’t fuck with us,” King muttered.

Scott eyed Jimmy. “Any idea of Slug’s whereabouts today?”

Jimmy’s eyes darted to King quickly and then back to Scott. His fear breathed on its own, and it seemed he wasn’t keen on messing with King again today. “Yeah, he’s working down at The Eclipse Bar today.”

King grinned and I saw a trace of the crazy in his eyes that he was known for. “So much easier when you just give us what we want,” he said as he slapped Jimmy on the back.

Scott was already on his way out the front door. “Griff, we might need back-up for this.” He voiced what I’d been thinking.

Shit was really about to go down.

* * *

An hour later, after calling in Nash, J and Wilder, the seven of us entered The Eclipse Bar. It was a dive of a bar in The Valley. I’d been here before and my memories consisted of stale alcohol, worn carpet, peeling paint and two-bit hookers looking for a john to get them through to their next hit. My memories were accurate.

It was still early in the day so there weren’t a lot of customers around yet. We split up and searched the bar, but Slug was nowhere to be found.

King scowled. “If Jimmy has fed us the wrong information, I’ll personally make sure he never takes another fucking breath.”

“Right there with you, brother,” I muttered.

“You boys want a drink?” The skinny, forty-plus, redheaded waitress who was aiming for sexy with her skimpy outfit, but who didn’t quite pull it off, sidled up to Scott as she asked her question.

Scott looked her up and down, his lack of interest in her clear, and said, “Slug in?”

“Now, sugar, that’s no way to greet a beautiful woman.” She pouted and placed her hand on his chest, moving closer to him. “How about you grab a seat while I get you a drink.” She winked at him. “And I’ll bring you my number, too.”

He took hold of her hand and removed it from his chest as if it was a piece of garbage. “I’ve already got the only number I ever want,” he snapped.

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. You can have two numbers; she doesn’t need to know what you get up to on the side.”