Page 11 of Baiting Kong
“Need us to go see what we can learn?” Pope asked, the man’s once calm demeanor beginning to prickle with restless energy.
“You got a hard-on for this kid or something?” Mark asked.
“Not the way you’re thinkin’ Prez, but after speaking to Dalton about him and some of the things he heard going on in that trailer while he was still living in the park, I think the kid could use a father figure in his life and some big brothers to look out for him,” Pope replied.
“Yeah, I picked up the same vibe,” Mark admitted. “But give Scout the sixteen; you can grill him when he gets here. If he gets here.”
“Alright, but at seventeen I go take a look for myself,” Pope declared.
“Fair enough.”
Maybe it was his own curiosity and the endless cycle of days spent in the shop, or maybe it was hearing about the kids’ upbringing and the images that had sprouted in Creature’s mind, distorted memories of the furious, drunken man who’d spawned him and the heavy fist he’d wielded while raising his sons. If that was the kind of hellhole Axel was living in, then Pope was right; someone did need to take an interest, or at least step in, touch base, and make sure the kid was okay.
“Someone’s here,” Mark replied as the buzzer in the office sounded the way it always did when someone entered the right code.
Was a whole different noise when you fucked around and typed in a wrong one. Guys had been met at shotgun point for setting off the warning bells. Security was something the club took seriously, and not just here. Every business had a state-of-the-art security system, cameras, and at least one weapon on the premises. Mr. Martinez wasn’t even willing to put a handgun beneath the counter, not when it was well known that he and his wife would help and even start a tab when someone was struggling and in between jobs. People knew that all they needed to do was ask and they’d catch a break, as long as they weren’t known for trying to take advantage. For that reason alone, Creature highly doubted that whoever had been rolled out on a gurney had been known to them.
“Hey, look at this shit,” Pope said as he flipped the television on and switched the channel to the news.
Three state cruisers were chasing an teal Dodge Neon with gray steam pouring out from beneath the hood and a driver weaving all over the place, occasionally throwing random, useless shots at the deputies behind him and the news chopper circling the pursuit.
“Does that asshole seriously think he’ll be able to stay ahead of the cops in that rolling wreck?” Mark asked as he stepped up to the bar, rapping it with his knuckles until Night stepped from the back, long hair beneath a black bandana, to see what their Prez needed. “Got anymore wings back there?”
“Got as many as you’d like,” Night said. “You just need to tell me how you want ‘em.”
“Sweet and spicy.”
“You got it, Prez.”
Talk about another welcome change. Their former prospect had really revved up the menu, taking in feedback from everyone to provide the most well-rounded options for everyone in the club. He’d even put together a special menu for the pups and littles, with special dishes and containers purchased just for them. Now that was a man who’d earned trust and loyalty through unwavering actions and service to the club.
“I-I’m not late, am I?” a gasping, breathless Scout asked as he burst through the doorway and made a beeline for the to-do list Kat left for him each day.
“Naw, kid, you’re a few minutes early,” Mark remarked after checking his phone again. “Now bring your ass over here; we need to talk to you.”
“Yes, sir,” Scout replied, already on his way over.
His shirt looked hastily put on, the seams showing, while his hair was damp, now that Creature got a closer look at him.
“You might wanna fix your clothes too,” Mark said, never missing anything. “Your fly is open, and your shirt is on inside out.”
“Sorry, I—I had to grab a quick shower,” Scout muttered as he hastily buttoned his jeans and stripped his t-shirt off.
Up close, the three-headed hound looked to have letters scrawled across the bottom of it, though the letters didn’t belong to any language Creature knew, not that there were many. English and Spanish, predominantly, though he’d picked up a smattering of Portuguese from his time living with relatives up north.
Interesting.
“And why was that?” Mark asked, having turned away from the bar to cross his arms as he studied him.
“T-there was a robbery at the gas station,” Scout stammered, but he never lowered his gaze and easily maintained eye contact with him. “Ms. Esperanza got shot, and I tried to help her until the paramedics came.”
“Was she still alive when they rolled her out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you did good,” Mark replied, turning his back and patting the seat between him and Pope. “Now sit your ass down and tell us what happened.”
Chapter 5
