Teller
“What is it?”Rock’s harsh, angry whisper breaks through my trance.
I don’t have an answer for him, though.
He reaches my side and stares at the body twisting in the breeze. “Christ.”
My heart kicks a painful thump. Not giving a fuck who might be lying in wait to shoot me, I take off, jogging down the hill toward the hanging body.
“Marcel. Fuck.” Rock’s heavy footsteps pound behind me. “Wait.”
My steps slow as I get closer. Something about the body isn’t right. It’s too puffy, the limbs bobbing in the wind instead of hanging limp.
Relief pumps through my veins. It’s not Carter.
“Is it a…” Murphy steps forward, craning his neck. “A blow-up sex doll?”
“Fucking psychos.” I don’t dare take out my flashlight and shine it. I can make out enough details without turning us into an easy target.
A crude mustache and beard have been scribbled onto the face of the doll, in an effort to give it a masculine appearance. Goober is spelled across the doll’s forehead in thick block letters that remind me of the box that had been addressed to Charlotte. Whether it’s meant to be an insult or someone’s actual road name, I’m not sure.
Rock’s face locks into a grim scowl as he studies the doll. “It’s wearing an S.O.S. cut.”
My gaze slips lower. More black marker had been used to draw a replica of the Sons of Satan MC colors. “Traitor” is scrawled in red across the chest of the doll.
“A threat? A warning to other members?” Murphy asks.
“Who fucking knows.” Rock kicks at an empty beer can on the ground. The area’s littered with cans, broken bottles, cigarette butts and other trash.
“Must’ve been the highlight of their weekend,” Murphy says. He squints, studying the tree line behind the gallows.
“They could’ve hosted an elaborate ‘out bad’ ceremony.” Rock shrugs.
Our MC has never been into theatrics. You fuck over the club, you die a quick, painful death and we bury you in places no one will ever find your pieces. End of story. Taking the time to doodle on dolls seems silly.
“We haven’t come across any human bodies. Maybe this was a message?” Murphy suggests.
“The stench of this place is so bad, there could be a corpse somewhere and we’d never know the difference.” I turn to head back the way we came. “This isn’t our mystery to solve.”
Z, Jigsaw, and Grinder stand on the top of the hill. Z jogs down to meet us halfway.
“Is that…?” He lifts his chin toward the gallows.
“Blow-up doll,” I explain.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Okaaay.”
“What we got here?” Jiggy asks, meeting up with us. “A little Salem Biker Trials cosplay?”
“Something like that.” Rock smirks and pats Jiggy’s shoulder.
We reach the top of the hill and Grinder gives us a frustrated hand wave. “Come on,” he urges. “Don’t have time for this.”
The last structure waits for us to the right of the hill. A large, rusted-out rectangle that looks like it came directly from Satan’s trailer park. The largest of all the other structures we’ve seen—practically a palace in this place. At one time, someone tried to give it a homey touch with flower boxes dotted around the perimeter. The flowers must’ve withered under the relentless stench. Nothing but dry dirt fills the cracked boxes now.
We split up into two teams again. Z, Grinder, and Jigsaw circle around the back of the trailer before coming around to the front.
Thump.