“Pussy’s gonna have to wait,” I snapped as I pulled off the club’s property, the old truck jerking as I switched gears. “Tommy and Mick are in the parking lot of your school with their tires slashed.”
“What the fuck?”
“I’m on my way with the truck, but I want you to go wait with them. Not sure what’s goin’ on, but three of you is better than two.”
“Yup, I’m goin’ now.”
The phone disconnected, so I stuffed it in the front pocket of my jeans.
“Fuckin’ stupid to slash Tommy Hawthorne’s tires. Who the fuck would have the balls to do that?” Price, our youngest prospect, asked from the passenger seat. The kid had graduated the year before, and he knew all about the Hawthorne boys. Even without the weight of their dad’s power in the club, they were a force to be reckoned with.
Leo, Tommy and Mick owned the high school, like the fucking Three Musketeers… only with knives and crowbars instead of swords.
“I don’t know,” I answered Price a few minutes later as I pulled into the parking lot of the high school, seeing Tommy’s Chevy Nova sitting in the middle of the lot.
I climbed out of the cab as I reached the boys and whistled between my teeth.
“Yeah, no shit,” Mick mumbled, looking at the car sadly.
“You fuck someone’s girlfriend?” I asked Tommy bluntly.
“Hell, no. I don’t fuck high school girls.”
“You fuck someone’s wife, then?”
“Uh,” his eyes widened comically before he swallowed hard. “Don’t think so.”
I rolled my eyes and stuck my hand out for his keys. What a fucking idiot.
By the time we got the Nova back to the club, the forecourt was filled with bikes. Grease, Will and Poet sat outside at a picnic table smoking, and all three came to their feet as they caught sight of us.
“What the hell happened?” Grease asked as I climbed out of the cab, Leo and the boys pulling in behind me.
“Someone slashed my fucking tires!” Tommy shouted, hopping out of Leo’s car.
“You got any idea who it was?” Will asked as he climbed on the flatbed to get a closer look. “Shit, they weren’t messin’ around.”
“No shit,” I agreed.
Poet and Grease shared a look.
“Leo can you take my sons home?” Grease asked.
“Sure.”
“What? Why?” Tommy asked as Mick crossed his arms over his chest. “I need to fix my car.”
“You ain’t fixin’ nothin’ tonight,” Grease answered flatly. “Those tires are fucked and we don’t have anything in the shop to replace them.”
“This is bullshit!” Tommy’s hands went to his hair and pulled it tight as he glanced wide-eyed at his car.
“Thomas,” Grease warned, cutting off Tommy’s ranting instantly.
“Let’s go,” Mick mumbled, pulling at his brother’s arm. “We’ll see you at home, Dad.”
The boys climbed back into Leo’s car and took off, leaving Grease, Poet, Will and I standing in a half-circle, staring at the mangled tires of the Nova.
“The fuck?” Grease mumbled.
“Who the fuck are these guys?” I asked in frustration. “And why the fuck would they slash a kid’s tires?”
“Don’t know that it’s the same—” Will began to say.
“No coincidences,” Poet cut him off, shaking his head as he started toward the front door of the club.
“We’re runnin’ in fuckin’ circles here,” Grease said, his voice laced with frustration. “None of this shit makes any sense.”
I laced my fingers behind my neck and circled the car as I tried in vain to find some reason why, out of every vehicle of every member of the club, Tommy’s would be targeted. It was flashy, yeah, because of the body style and the engine, but at first glance, it looked like a junker. The boys had covered it in primer, but they hadn’t saved up enough money to paint it yet, so it was a flat grey. The back window was spider webbed and there was a black sticker in the lower right hand side that said “Ilusive”—some sort of snowboarding company the boys bought gear from.
While it was running, it was a beast. But sitting in the middle of a high school parking lot? It looked like a mangy old dog.
“How did the meet go?” I asked after a few minutes.
“Fine. Guy seemed interested.”
“Nothing decided yet?”
“Draggin’ his feet, I think.”
“Huh.” I glanced at the car again. “Ask my dad,” I said finally.
“What?” Will asked, his head popping up from where he’d been staring at the ground.
“Ask Casper.”
“Ask him what?” Grease was looking at me like I had two heads.
“For a pattern.” I waved my arm toward the tow truck. “Tell him to think about it all. Everything that’s happened in the past two months, even the shit that doesn’t seem like it’s connected. There’s a pattern—there has to be.”
“And you think he can find it? Then why hasn’t he already?” Grease asked as I started backing away. “Where you goin’?”
“He’s a genius,” I replied seriously as I came to a stop. “Maybe he hasn’t added everything in, or hell, I don’t know. Maybe the shit today will clear it all up.”