Page 43 of Race With The Devil

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Unity

Smoky Mountain Bud & Breakfast

“Holy freaking shit, Tanner!” cried Duji, peeking through the blinds of the conference room. “Wolf went and did it. He got a sidecar for that dog you gave him!”

All the businesslike, gruff men sitting around the oval table went rushing as one body to the window. Tanner didn’t even get a visual on the sight that was no doubt as cute as a little red wagon. My maternal instincts tweaked during times like this, and depression stabbed my heart. I hated when people showed photos of their babies around. It was God’s way of kicking me when I was down. Buddha said, “Love the whole world as a mother loves her only child.” I would not be given that chance . . .

The half-brothers Ford and Lytton even shoved each other in the shoulder to get a better view. “The dog has goggles!” chuckled Ford.

“Just like Bellamy’s dog,” pointed out Knoxie. Bellamy tooled around Pure and Easy with her Husky in his sidecar. Bellamy couldn’t have children after some cult surgery up in Merry-go-Round Canyon. It knocked seven bells out of her, another reason I felt close to her. And now she was adopting my half-sister.

Wolf left the goggles on Beetle to make a grander entrance. “Behold,” he bellowed, grinning ear to ear. His eyes sought out Tanner. “See? His training is coming along. He absolutely won’t jump out of that sidecar, not even if he sees a cat.”

“You’re sure about that?” asked Tanner, gesturing for Wolf to take a seat—on the other side of the table, that is. Tanner was trying to separate himself from Beetle as much as possible, and the dog barely glanced at Tanner as he walked by, head high. “You could test him by tossing some cats in your path.”

“Good idea,” said Wolf, putting his dome of obedience on the table, although he could’ve left it out on his bike. Smoky Mountain Bud and Breakfast was just like it sounded. Founded by Fox’s wife Pippa, it had been doing, shall I say, a smoking hot business with people coming from all around the world to mellow out with Leaves of Grass products lounging on their docks on Mormon Lake. Knoxie came up to ink the bud enthusiasts, and Fox brought his raptors and flew them over the lake like kites. Fox’s wife Bee was a master gardener and I loved watching her create formal pathways or benches by the water ensconced in azaleas, and, well, other flowering bushes. I wished I knew more about it, but my little apartment didn’t give me much chance. I’d modeled some ads for the Smoky Mountain. That was my talent, I guessed, but when would that grow cold and stale too?

“Beetle, sit!” commanded Wolf, and the dog sat next to him. Beetle was a floofy good boy, his puffy ears peeking above the expanse of table. Wolf’s immense pride was almost obnoxious, and Tanner said,

“Good. Now what news did you bring us from Goodfella Ranch?”

Wolf drew an imaginary X with both palms facing the table. “Wiped out. I mean, as far as the cockfighting biz goes. Our Friends of Distinction made a total and utter raid that was an absolute success.” The Friends of Distinction was an MC based in Vegas that we—I mean the Bare Bones—did business with.

Ford asked, “Like, did they seize or kill the poor birds?”

Wolf reported, “Well, Fox, like you said, they were unsalvageable. When the Friends tried to grab birds, they’d shred their arms to smithereens. They were meaner than, uh, cockfighting birds.”

Fox rubbed his face. “I wish I could’ve been there.”

“Remember,” said Tanner, “we didn’t want anyone recognizable as a Bare Boner. We want to keep our relationship with Tutti cordial until we find that damned body.”

“I know,” moaned Fox, “but I don’t think I want to know what you did with the birds.”

“No,” said Wolf, texting furiously, “you don’t.”

Since this wasn’t an official chapel sit-down—Tanner or I couldn’t have been present for that—we still retained our cellphones, and everyone’s dinged at the same time. Except for Fox, we all read in tandem:

Birds thrown into big pit and doused with gasoline. Burned while making “aaaaaggggh” noise.

Emotionless, we all put down our phones while Fox sighed deeply.

“OK,” said Ford. “What else? Was Tutti present during the raid?”

“Hell to the yeah he was present,” barked Wolf. “He came rampaging down from his McMansion, all ‘what the fuck is this,’ you know, ‘what the fuck is going on with my birds,’ and Maitland Quitmyer, you know, he’s the Friends’ sergeant-at-arms, he gets in Tutti’s face and goes, ‘This is what you get for torturing animals, you fucking animal torturer.’”

“Or something like that,” Tanner added.

“Or something like that. I wasn’t there. I’d be recognized in a hot minute. Guess what happened at that exact second? Someone found Lavinia’s dog Diesel in a cage next to the beaten-up pit bull, I guess they’d been using them as bait dogs in dog fights. Diesel was battered almost beyond recognition, so the Friends grabbed their cages and ran. What could Tutti do? He was just lucky no pigs were involved.” Bare Boners would never involve pigs. Aside from that pigs bumbled everything they got their hands on.

“What happened to the dogs?”

“Well, Quitmyer brought them to me, so I took them to Dr. Bornstein downtown.”

“He’s a good vet,” I said.

“They’re still there getting tested and treated, but I had to come out here and give my report to you guys. The pit bull might be put down, but I think Diesel will make it. Half of one ear was torn off, half his tail is gone, deep tooth puncture wounds in his belly.”