Rod (12 page)

“The quicker you cooperate, the quicker we
can get done,” I tell him.
 

He grumbles something unintelligible and I
take it as a sign to begin.

“Do you have any prior criminal
convictions?” I ask.

“No,” he growls.
 

“Any financial problems?”

“I live paycheck to paycheck, but that’s
nothin
’ new,” he says.

During questioning, his eyes never meet
mine.
 
He squirms around in his chair,
but tries to play it off.
 
He comes
across as nervous to my scrutinizing eyes.
 
Curious, I make copious notes.
 
I
have a feeling I can’t shake that this man might be hiding something.

“Why were you fighting with Ken Clayton?”
I press him.

“That fucker owes me money,” he claims.

I nod as I type furiously on my laptop.

“You’re on probation, is that correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Care to elaborate on why?” I push.

“Not really, but I don’t have much of a
choice, do I?”

“No.”

“One time I forgot to pay my dues on time
and the other, I didn’t back up a brother during a scuffle.”

I look at him and he doesn’t appear to
feel any shame for not backing one of the other members up.
 
Strange.
 

“Do you know Lester Samson?”

“No,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Anything you want to tell us?” I ask.

“No.
 
Are we done?
 
I got shit to do,”
he harps.

“Yeah, we’re done.”

He gets up, turns the chair back around
and shoves it toward the table.
 

“That was bullshit,” he says under his
breath to anyone listening as he walks out of the club.
 
I note his attitude toward the
questions.
 

“Mickey Pennington,” I holler over the
members who are standing around.

He walks over to the table and sits
down.
 

“How are
ya
doin
’?” he asks in his beaten down Irish accent.
 

“As good as can be expected,” I tell him.
“I found a way to help, as you can see,” I say with a smile.

“I see that.
 
Glad your dad came around.”

“Any criminal convictions or financial
issues that we should be aware of?” I ask him.

“Nah, I’m
doin
’
alright,” he says looking me dead in the eyes.
 

“Have you heard anything from any of the
members that you’d like to report?”

“No, but when we catch whoever’s
responsible for this, I’m
gonna
drag their asses
through the streets on a chain attached to the back of my bike.”

The look in his eyes says he means
it.
 

“Alright, thanks Mickey, that’s all I
need.”

“That was it?” he asks.

“Yeah, we’re all good.”

He arises from his seat and says, “We will
get whoever’s responsible for
yer
baby sister’s
disappearance.”

“I have no doubt.”

He walks over to my father and they share
a brief chat.
 

The list goes on until I ask the same
questions of Max Vella, Jasmine Bridges, Jack Frack, and the
Sergant
-At-Arms, Josh Lucas.
 
None of them have any information as I’ve
come to expect.
 
They are all clean and
share Mickey’s sentiments about what will happen to whoever took Sasha.

“Jason Maple,” I yell out.

The skinny kid approaches the table and
sits down nervously.

“Hey,” I tell him.

He fidgets constantly and I question
that.
 
I look Jason over and surmise that
this kid probably couldn’t hurt a fly.
 
To be fair, I have to question everyone.

“Nervous?” I ask.

“A little,” he says looking up at me, but
quickly averting his eyes.

“Why are you nervous?”

“I always get nervous around pretty
girls,” he says with a downward expression.

I blush a little at his sentiment.
 

“Have you overheard anything that we
should know?” I ask him.

“No,” he says in response.

“You’re a bit of an electronics genius,
aren’t you?”

“A bit, I guess,” he says.

“Can you get me access to bank accounts?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him.

“Anything you need,” he says.

“We’re done, you can relax now.”

He arises from his seat and moves away to
the back of the club.

“Justin
Hanke
,”
I yell out.

Justin walks over like he owns the place,
but the façade quickly falls apart when he sits down.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, I just have a couple of questions.”

“Alright, what’s up?” he asks.

His black hair is a tad shiny and his blue
eyes look like Rodney’s.
 
I trail
off.
 

“What can you tell me about Rodney
Vinton?” I ask him.

“Rodney?
 
He’s an alright dude.
 
He rents a
room from me.
 
He’s from out of town.”

His face appears serious like he’s hit a
certain realization.

“Something wrong?” I ask him.

“Is Rodney a suspect in all of this?” he
asks.

“No, I was just asking because we don’t
know all that much about him.”

He takes a deep breath full of relief.

“Anything else you want to add? Anyone the
club acting strangely or facing problems with their finances?” I ask.

“Not that I know of; wait,” he stops
himself.
 
“Ken Clayton is close to filing
bankruptcy.”

“He is?”

“Yeah, he talks to the newer guys Pence
and Spence more than he talks to me, though.”

“Pence and Spence?” I quiz him.

“Scott Pence and Spencer Nottingham;
they’re newer guys,” he says emphatically.

“Got it, alright.
 
We’re done here.”

He moves from the table and I take a drink
of my beer.
 

“Ken Clayton,” I yell out, looking
up.
 
I see a blur of black clothes
wobbling this way.
 
His smell gets there
before he does and I consider holding my nose.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down and putting
his arms on the table.

“Hey Ken, I just got a few questions for
you.”

“Fire away, I’ve got nothing to hide,” he
says.

“Great.
 
Any criminal convictions or financial problems that we should be aware
of?” I ask him.

“No, ma’am,” he says confidently.

“Do you know anything about Sasha’s
disappearance?” I press him.

“Sure don’t,” he mutters.

“Why were you fighting with Boris
Cardov
the other night?”

“He’s a fucking idiot.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s dealing pot out of the club and I
tried to tell him that it’ll get his ass kicked
outta
here.
 
Moron.”

I type that new information into my Word
document and make a note about Ken’s claim to have everything straightened out
financially.
 
He is too confident for
some reason and I need to learn more.

“Do you know Lester Samson?” I ask.

“Lester fucking Samson is one shady
motherfucker,” he states.
 
“Like a
predator or something.”

“Alright, thanks,” I tell him.
 
He gets up and walks off.

“Scott Pence,” I yell out.

A young blonde man approaches me and sits
quietly at the table.

“I’m Scott Pence,” he tells me.

“Hi, Scott; I’m Trish.
 
I’m just
gonna
ask
you a few questions.
 
Please answer as
honestly as possible and we can get done here quickly.

“Alright.”

“I’ve learned that you are close to Ken
Clayton.”

“A bit.
 
He’s a weird dude.
 
Kinda
smells bad.”

I stifle a chuckle.
 

“He’s experiencing financial troubles
that’s led him to file bankruptcy?” I ask.

“He said that he’s super close to filing
for bankruptcy, but that we should stick with him.”

“Who should stick with him?
 
Why?”

“He said Spencer and I should stick close
to him because he knows how to make money.
 
He told us that he’s about to hit the jackpot and we could learn a lot
from him.”

“Interesting,” I say nonchalantly.
 

“Anything else?” he asks me.

“Nah, we’re good.”

He gets up, pushes the chair back to the
table and moves back to the back of the club.
 

“Spencer Nottingham,” I yell out after I
scan the room.

A young guy of about twenty approaches me
and sits down.

“Hi, Spencer; I’m Trish.
 
I’m just going to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure,” he says with a half-smile.
 
“Glad to help any way I can.”

“Do you know of any shady happenings in
the club?” I ask him.

Without skipping a beat, he says, “That
shady motherfucker right there needs to get his ass kicked.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Actually two guys,” he starts.
 
“Ken and Boris; those two are up to
somethin
’, but I can’t put my finger on it.
 
Ken brags a lot, like he’s big shit on
shit mountain
.
 
He’s
coming into so much fucking money and can’t afford to take a fucking shower?”

I once again find myself stifling a
laugh.
 
“What do you mean?”

“He says that he’s coming into a lot of
money, but when I asked him about it, he clammed up.”

“He clammed up?”

“Yeah, he basically said that a man has to
do whatever it takes to survive at all costs.”

“Interesting,” I note.

“That Boris idiot tried to sell Killer,
Nate, and I marijuana out of his house.”

“Killer?”

“His real name is King Kyler, but he goes
by Killer.
 
He’s that scrawny fella
standing over by the wall.
 
The one
wearing the Slayer shirt.”

I give a glance to Killer and look back at
my laptop.
 
I think about how we’ve got a
colorful bunch of people in the club.

“So Boris is dealing drugs out of his
house, huh?” I press for more information.

“Pot and pills, mostly.”

“Wonderful,” I say sarcastically.

I type furiously once again.

“Thanks, Spencer; I appreciate the
information.”

“No problem at all,” he says, getting up
and giving the evil eye to Ken and Boris.

I go through the rest of the prospects
until I get to my favorite of them, Rodney.

“Rodney Vinton,” I yell out to the club.

Rodney gives me a big cheesy smile as he
walks his sexy self on over to the table to take a seat.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says nonchalantly.

“Hey.”

“So I see that your dad has actually
decided to let you in,” he says.

“Yeah, I kept pushing.
 
He finally caved,” I say proudly.

“Good for you.
 
I knew you could do it,” he says with a
smile.
 
It’s disarming, but I try to not
let it distract me.

“Alright, where do we start?
 
Let’s see.
 
Do you have any criminal convictions or financial troubles?”

“No, sure don’t.
 
You’re so cute.
 
I am proud that you’ve come this far,” he
says staring me in the eyes.
 
It’s like
he can see through me.

I decide to take this time to push him for
information on his family life.

“Tell me about your parents,” I tell him.

“Is that part of the questions you’re
asking everyone?” he protests.