Their Lasting Claim (Death Lords MC 5)

Judge leans forward, “Why don’t we have Chief Schmidt there too. It’ll give the boys an airtight alibi.”

“How’s that supposed to work?” Easy asks in disbelief.

“He’d love to clean your clocks due to you beating him and rendering his arm useless. He can’t patrol anymore and is limited to desk duty. The only reason he stays on is because of that disability thingy. So he takes a bunch of money at the table and feels like he pulled one over on us.”

“How are we supposed to be playing cards with him and offing the good pastor?”

“We’ll have Abel sit in for you. You two are about the same height and same coloring. With enough smoke and a little peyote piped into the room, Schmidt will swear you were there. He’s not going to admit to being so high that he can’t remember you. It’s bad enough he’s sitting down at the poker table with a bunch of Death Lords. Schmidt will have to say that you were here all night long. With Schmidt and the mayor vouching for you, there’s no way that anyone can pin the death on you two.”

“I want to beat on that man for at least ten hours,” Easy growls.

“You don’t get everything. You want him dead and you don’t want to go to prison, then we have to work it this way.”

“Fuck. What do you think?” Easy asks me.

“If this is our best option, it’s our best option.” We get to kill Bloom and keep our cuts so for me, it was all good.

“You can do whatever you want to him at the gravel pit. Just make it fast and get back here.”

“Let’s do him in the church,” I say.

“Why the church?”

“Because it’s closer and because it’s the place he defiled with his own evil. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust and all that shit.”

“Fine. Church it is. Make it easier for you to do him and get back.”

Easy rubs his hands together. “So we gonna vote on this?”

“Anyone got a problem with our enforcers taking care of Pastor Bloom?”

No one raises their hands.

“All right, moving on to the fun shit. Abel’s been a prospect for eighteen months and I think it’s time we vote on patching him in. We want any discussion?”

“I thought the fun shit was pussy and tequila?” Mech shouts from his end of the table.

Bang Bang reaches up and slaps him across the head. The vote passes easily as we all knew it would. If there was serious opposition to Abel’s patching in, there would be no vote. He’d just be an eternal prospect until he got tired of being shit on and left town.

“Welcome, brother,” I say, pounding him hard on the back. He’d be sore there tomorrow after all the congratulations were doled out.

Abel grinned but before he could respond Mech muscled his way between us and grabbed Abel. Dragging him out of the chapel, he shouts, “Which one of you ladies is going to be the first to welcome our newest patch?”

There’s a virtual stampede of sweet butts that close in on Abel and pretty soon he’s drowning in pussy and tequila.

A year ago, I’d have been right there in the midst of those tits, legs and ass. Now?

“Want to go home?” I say to Easy.

“Thought you’d never ask,” is his swift response.

Chapter Nine

Easy

Judge shuffles the cards as I watch the clock. The plan was that we would take the first two hands to spice up the table and the rest of the night Heinz would rake it in—kind of a double payment. He got to discharge a marker and got cash money in the pocket. Michigan and I agreed to cover this to the tune of three grand.

Worth it.

Would have paid twice that amount.

Schmidt took that bait easily. Rhiann Clark, a sweet butt, delivered the invitation by dropping a hint to her girlfriend and roommate who is a dispatcher at the police department. Schmidt went to Mayor Heinz who admitted, reluctantly, that he was sitting down to play some high stakes poker with a few Death Lords including Judge. When Schmidt asked to buy in, Heinz agreed and had to promise it would be a surprise.

We all tried to look suitably shocked and angry when Schmidt came in. Judge went for his knife and Abel and Michigan had to hold him back while Schmidt looked on with a smug face. We finally sat down and started playing.

Heinz is in a good mood, likely because he hated the idea that I had something over him. It wasn't as big of a marker as Judge and the others made it out to be. Heinz had an unfortunate attachment to coke and strippers which I’d cleaned up for him. At some point he’s going to screw up again.

My eyes flick over to Abel’s. He’s a good patch and will make the Death Lords stronger. Last night he got the good of the club—the easy pussy and the free liquor. Tonight he’d learn what it’s like to be a true brother. We watch each other’s backs.

Judge deals the fourth hand. Two cards down, two cards face up. Heinz is the first to bet and leads off with a modest one.

“Don’t be so shy,” I joke. “We know the city pays you a fortune.”

Everyone laughs because the mayor’s position doesn’t pay shit which is why he’s still the owner of the local hardware store. I toss in a few more bills to sweeten the pot. The last card Judge throws is the Suicide King. My signal to leave.

The Suicide King is the King of Hearts. He holds the broadsword behind his head in a way that looks as if he's going to cut his own head off. It also means a nice payoff for Heinz.

I jerk my head at Abel. “Come play my hand for me, I gotta take a piss.”

“Sure thing.” He slides into the chair I vacate.

“Don’t lose it all on one bet.”

“I’ll try to lose it over two or three hands,” he jokes.

Schmidt’s staring intently at his cards and doesn’t even look up.

Michigan follows me as I leave. We take the truck over to Wheels Up and then separate, walking toward the church which is two blocks off Main Street. A few other Death Lords roar through town making an unholy racket with their bikes. This starts off a sound of horns as the teenagers who are taking one last ride on the loop before they have to go in for the night try to out-hoot the bikers. It serves as a minor distraction.

I go inside while Michigan heads to the cellar. He's never been in the house but I had dinner here once so if there are prints and DNA and shit, I have plausible excuses why I show up. We bring rope and duct tape. The rest of the stuff will come from Bloom's kitchen. By the time we arrive at the rectory it’s about half past ten. Most of the lights are off and we hear the faint honking and throttle of engines from Main Street. The bell tower and the exterior church lights are on but everything else is dark.

I jiggle the backdoor slider loose and enter soundlessly. I haven’t done a B&E in forever but some skills you just don’t lose.

The house is silent. I find the necessary items in the first two kitchen drawers and lay those things on the table. I do a quick check of the front room and make sure the door is locked. We don’t need anyone busting in while we’re busy. I walk softly with one foot behind the other like a fox, testing each board to make sure that there are no sounds. At the top of the stairs are three doors and the light under the left one is the only clue I need. After I lay down the big black trash bag, I pull my sleeve over my hand and turn the knob. Pastor Bloom is lying on his bed, his hand on his withered dick watching lesbian porn. How predictable.

“Sorry to interrupt your ‘me’ time, but we’ve got some old business to address,” I say cheerfully. I walk over to the bed and pick up the remote he’s fumbling for in the covers. Sitting down on the side of the bed, I scroll through his download history. “You know this shit is free on the Internet.”

“Get out of here,” he bellows. “This is breaking and entering. It’s illegal.”

“Are you even supposed to be watching porn? You’d think that would be a violation of your bail or something. They don’t have porn in prison. At least not this kind.” I wipe the remote off and throw it to him.

He grabs for his cell phone but I b

eat him to it. I pop out the SIM card and stuff it in my pocket. Might come in handy later. Never know.

“Get up,” I order. “The Lord is judging you today.”

“Don’t use his name in vain,” he spits at me.

“That’s rich coming from you, Pastor Bloom. Now seriously, get your fat ass off the bed and downstairs.”

His eyes dart around and settle on the closet. He must have a firearm in there. Pastor Bloom is not a small man. He’s about my size, but I’m at least twenty years younger and I work out every day. He lunges for the closet but an easy extended leg has him falling facedown.

I grab the back of his head and slam it back into the floor. Blood spurts out from his broken nose.

“Shit. Michigan’s going to be mad I started without him. Best if we go downstairs now.”

“Fuck you!” Pastor Bloom curses and tries to roll over but I’ve got my foot on his neck.

“My dance card’s all full but thanks for offering.”

I give his head another good slam and then drag him onto the black trash bag for easy transportation. He thrashes a bit on the plastic but that just makes his trip a little more bumpy. When we’re on the first floor, I haul him to his feet. He’s dazed and it makes it easy for me to push him out of the sliding glass doors and then down into the cellar. He trips down the four steps, unable to catch himself because there are no railings, and he tumbles to the ground face first onto the compacted dirt floor.

Michigan steps out of the way to avoid getting struck by the falling body.

“You will never get away with this,” Pastor Bloom gasps as we pick him up by his two arms and drag him over to the table. It’s a table similar to the one we’d found Annie on. After we rescued her we learned that it was one of the folding tables that the church used for potluck and bingo games. “I did this for Annie’s own good so that she could receive forgiveness for her sins and seek the Lord’s love.”