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Scooby
I sat in the Howlers’ booth at the back of the Spotted Frog, quietly drinking myself into a bad mood. Not that it took much to get me there these days. Personally, I preferred drinking at Smiley’s, but the loyal road veterans taking up space on Smiley’s barstools wouldn’t get me closer to the scumbag who murdered Scrappy. So, here I was on neutral territory, drinking, watching, and waiting. Waiting for Li’L Frisco, or anyone that may know him, to walk through the doors. Waiting for an opportunity to avenge my little brother.
As the afternoon dragged on, the cloud over my head grew darker. I stared at a group of tough guys playing pool across the room, psychically willing them to start shit with me. I was looking for any reason to spill blood, but so far, they hadn’t so much as glanced in my direction.
I sighed and accepted the scotch the bubbly new waitress handed me. She looked like she’d been sent here by central casting to play the part of the fresh-off-the-bus, starry-eyed girl who’d left Kansas to pursue her dream here in the big city. Except this wasn’t a movie set, and Monument was as far from the bright lights of the big city as you could get.
“Is there anything else I can get you...” she leaned in, reading my patch, “...Scooby?”
Jesus, she wasn’t gonna last a week in this shithole.
“No, I’m good.”
“Well, my name’s Phillipa, if you change your mind.” She grinned. “Everyone calls me Pippa.”
That was when I heard her thick accent. I cocked my head. “Where you from, Pippa?”
She grabbed a towel and wiped down the table quickly. “New Zealand.”
I chuckled to myself. New Zealand, the Kansas of countries.
“You’re a long way from home, huh?” I observed.
“Yeah.”
“Runnin’ from or to somethin’?”
She bit her lip. “Don’t know yet.”
“Pippa!” Sid, the day manager, bellowed. “Order up, table four.”
“Gotta go,” she said, turning on her heel and rushing to the bar.
I noticed my current ‘babysitter,’ Squeaker, say something to her, but she shook her head and continued to the bar. Squeaker slid in across from me and grinned over at Pippa. “She’s smokin’ hot.”
“She also doesn’t seem to be interested in your dumb ass,” I pointed out.
He shrugged. “Yet.”
“Squeak,” I warned.
“Don’t worry, I’m not creepin’ on her.”
“Good. Now, why the fuck are you creeping on me? I told you to sit over there and make me forget you’re even here.”
I shot my drink, setting the glass down just as Squeaker glanced at his phone. “I know. It’s just...”
“What?”
“Wrath needs me over at Nocturn,” he said.
“Then, go.”
“Sundance gave strict instructions...”
I glared at the young patch. “I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter.”
He didn’t respond.
“Just go, Squeak,” I repeated.
“I can wait a few,” he said but then his phone buzzed again, and he put it to his ear. “Hey. Yeah, I got it, but I’m with Scooby.” He glanced at me. “Sundance’s orders.” He nodded, then nodded again before sliding his phone into his pocket. “Rocky’s on his way, so I’m gonna go.”
“Fuck me,” I breathed out.
“Please promise me you won’t do anything or go anywhere until he gets here, okay?” Squeaker begged. “Sundance’ll have my ass if you do something stupid.”
I flipped him off and he let out a nervous laugh, sliding out of his seat, and heading toward the exit.
I was alone for less than a minute before a dude dressed like an investment banker slid into the booth across from me. My hand went straight to my gun, but I kept it holstered, hidden from Sid’s bouncers. Earl Jacoby owned the pub and he set the rules, but Sid enforced them, and Sid was not a man you wanted to cross.
“You lost, asshole?”
“I’m not armed.” He flattened his palms on the table. “I’m also not here for trouble.”
“What a fucking relief, I was about to piss myself with fear.”
“I need some assistance,” he said.
“The door is that way.” I pointed to the exit. “There’s a Starbucks one block down to the left. There’s you’re fucking assistance.”
“No. I’m in the right place,” he replied.
“I highly fucking doubt it.”
“You’re Scooby, of the Primal Howlers, right?”
“And you can read,” I said, pointing to the name patch on my cut.
“Big Tommy gave me your name.”
“Who?” I asked, playing dumb. Of course, I knew who Big Tommy was. Everyone in the game new him. He was a connecter. No matter what the need may be, Tommy always ‘knew a guy’ that could help. For a cut of the fee, of course.
“I’m looking to hire someone to do a job for me.”
“This is a bar, jackwad. Not the employment office.”
“The thing... well, the thing is,” he stuttered. “When Big Tommy told me about you, I knew right away you were the guy for the job.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Everyone in town knows not to mess around with the Primal Howlers. When I was a kid, I’d see your club’s patch everywhere.”
“Good for you.” I tipped my drink toward him in salute. “Keep looking. Maybe someday you’ll find Waldo.”
“I was told I’d find the kind of man I was looking for in here and I think I’ve found him.”
“Look, I don’t know what you and Big Tommy have goin’ on, but you definitely have the wrong fuckin’ bar.”
“No, I’m not looking for...sex. Just hear me out,” he begged. “Please.”
Chalk it up to being half in the bag, needing a distraction from the grief of my brother just dying, or maybe just plain old-fashioned curiosity, but I decided I’d hear him out.
I looked at my watch. “You got a minute or two until my associate gets here and I can finish getting drunk, so start talking.”
“I need someone...” he looked over both shoulders nervously, “taken care of.”
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talkin’ to?” I hissed. “Get the fuck outta here, pig.”
He slid a flash drive across the table. “I assure you, I’m not law enforcement. Even if I was, this would be entrapment and therefore inadmissible in court.”
“My answer is the same either way. Get the fuck out of this bar.”
I wasn’t in the business of contract murder. I wasn’t in the business of murder, period. Self-defense, yes. Vigilantism, certainly. But murder? Not my jam.
“Please, just look at the information. I’ll give you fifty-thousand up front if you agree, and another fifty when the job is done.”
“What are you? Fresh out of the fuckin’ academy? Jesus, get the hell outta here before someone else figures out you’re a cop and turns you into dog food.”
“I’m not a cop. Swear to god,” he said. “Please. I promise. This will be the easiest hundred-grand you’ll ever make.”
This asshole didn’t know what kind of money I made and how easy it was to make it.
“Why me?” I asked.
“You’re a Primal Howler. You have a reputation for keeping your mouth shut and I need this matter taken care of as discreetly as possible.”
I shrugged. “I’m not your guy.”
“No one will trace the money if that’s what you’re worried about. In fact, I’ve already deposited ten-thousand dollars directly into your personal account as a sign of good faith. The rest can be paid in cash or crypto currency if you prefer.”
I shrugged. “Don’t know what the fuck that is.”
“You can act dumb all day.” He smirked. “Check your account, you’ll find ten-grand has already been deposited.”
“Bullshit,” I hissed, whipping out my phone and checking my currency app. “What the fuck?” Sure enough, my balance was ten-grand higher. “Who the fuck are you?”
“The less we know about each other, the better,” he said. “I’ve come to you because we have no previous ties. Believe me when I tell you, I could easily take care of this matter in-house, but I need to take care of this matter in a way that can never be tied back to me or any of my associates. It needs to look like an accident.”
“Thanks for the ten-grand, but I’m not for hire,” I snarled. “You need to find someone else.”
“If money’s not your motivator, maybe the fact you’d be ridding the world of a dangerous and evil person, will be. Despite the appearance of the subject, they are responsible for the death of my father.” He sighed. “A crime for which they were never charged.”
“I’ll repeat,” I growled. “Fuck off.”
“Just look at the drive,” he begged. “All the information to do the job is there should you choose to accept it.”
“Jesus,” I hissed. “Are you gonna tell me it self-destructs after I watch it, too?”
“If you want the job, I’ll meet you back here in two days and I’ll have the first fifty-grand ready to deposit on acceptance of our contract. That ten-grand is yours to keep either way.”
The man slid out of the booth and walked toward the exit.
I caught Rocky’s eye and gave him a chin lift as the asshole walked past him, and my VP followed him out from a distance. I snagged the flash drive and slid it into my pocket, no intention of doing anything with it, but not wanting anyone else to find it.
Pippa delivered another scotch a few minutes later just as Rocky slid into the booth across from me.
“What’s up with the Wolf of Wall Street?”
“I dunno. Some asshole looking for directions,” I replied.
“Oh, yeah? Where to?”
“Prison,” I said.
“You done here?”
“Not even close,” I replied, slugging back my drink.
“What’s the end game here, brother? Am I gonna have to send a recruit to watch you drink yourself stupid day in and day out until Sundance is sick of your shit and decides to intervene?” Rocky tapped the table with his fingertips. “You know he’s giving you time, but there are only so many grains of sand in every hourglass.”
“Hey,” I said, barely listening to Rocky. “Did you spot any unfamiliar cars in the parking lot when you came in? Like something that guy in the suit would have been driving?”
“There was a silver Mercedes, with local plates.” Rocky said. “Why? Who the fuck is he?”
“No clue,” I said.
“What’d he want?”
“He wants me to kill someone.”
“What the fuck?”
I nodded.
“Who?” Rocky asked.
I shrugged. “All the information’s on a flash drive in my pocket.”
“But you don’t own a computer.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
Rocky rolled his eyes. “You can use mine. Let’s get back to the cabin and find out what this shithead wants.”
I dropped a fifty on the table and followed Rocky out to his truck, noticing with a sneer that my bike was already gone from its parking space.
“Who?” I hissed.
“Moses,” he said.
“Fuck.”
Moses was my sergeant, so everyone knew if he was the one pickin’ up my bike and ridin’ it back to the compound, I’d have no reason to object, considerin’ he was the only one I’d ever trust to ride it besides me and they all fuckin’ knew it. He was the only person who had the spare set of keys, after all. Still, the fact that Sundance didn’t trust me to ride wasn’t good.
I pulled myself up into the cab and said nothing as Rocky drove us back to the compound. Unfortunately, my buzz was wearing off faster than I would like as we pulled through the gates, which gave my rage the inconvenient opportunity to rear its ugly head.
“Where the fuck’s my bike?” I growled, pushing open the truck door. Because I’d just been promoted to Road Captain, I had a designated parking spot, and my bike wasn’t in it.
“Take it down a notch,” Rocky warned.
“Or, I can take it up with Moses because it’s none of your goddamn business.” I walked toward the cabin, my anger on ten, and found Moses in the kitchen about to open a beer.
“Hey, brother,” he said with a smile.
“Where the fuck’s my bike?” I snarled.
He twisted the top off his beer and took a swig. “It’s slippin’ between third and fourth gear—”
“Not when I ride it, so I’m gonna ask again, where the fuck’s my bike?”
“Well, if you’d wait one goddamn second, instead of goin’ all apeshit on me—”
“You haven’t even seen me apeshit, but you just might if I have to ask a third time—”
Moses scowled. “Jesus Christ, man, don’t you ever give it a rest?”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” I demanded.
“I’m beginnin’ to think you’re incapable of accepting anyone’s help,” Moses muttered.
“What the hell do I need help with?’
“I got a list as long as my dick,” Moses said. “For one, the transmission is slippin’ on your bike. I’ve got Ratchet looking at it in the shop right now because I didn’t want you gettin’ killed outside on the road. I also rode it home because I didn’t want you getting on it blind fuckin’ drunk.”
“Thanks, Dad, now you’re gonna tell me how much I can drink?” I snapped, taking a step toward him, my boot catching the corner of the island, and I went down... hard.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Moses hissed. “Needles!”
“I’m fine,” I grumbled, pulling myself up as Moses pressed a towel against my head.
“Don’t move, you’re gettin’ blood everywhere.”
“What the fuck happened?” Rocky demanded just as Needles, our resident witch doctor, walked in behind him.
“Sit down,” he demanded, and Rocky slid a stool over to me. Needles sat me on it and pulled the towel away from my head with a sigh. “You gashed the fuck outta your head. Gonna need to stitch that. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
“What the hell happened?” Rocky demanded again, setting his laptop down.
“Tripped on the island,” Moses said, holding the towel back to my head. “Because he’s a dumbass.”
He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t about to agree with him out loud. I blinked a few times, the blood dripping into my contact. I thumbed it out, flicking it into the trash can next to me. Jesus, at the rate I was currently going through them, I was gonna have to make another eye appointment sooner than later.
“You find your bike?” Rocky asked.
“Ratchet’s fixin’ the transmission,” Moses answered for me. “And Scooby was about to hug me because he was so grateful, but he tripped. Poor guy.”
I snorted but decided it would be better to keep my mouth shut at this juncture. I was already bleeding and didn’t need to push my luck. Needles returned, washing his hands then donning gloves before filling a syringe with lidocaine.
“Give me the flash drive while Needles deals with your head,” Rocky said.
I handed him the drive and Needles numbed the area around my wound above my eye before starting the sutures.
“Jesus,” Rocky hissed.
“What?” I asked.
Rocky stepped away from the laptop and I was suddenly transfixed by the unbelievably beautiful woman on the screen. I could only see clearly out of one eye, but what I could see was enough.
Fuck me. I felt like I’d been gut punched.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“That’s your mark,” Rocky said.
“What the fuck?” Moses hissed.
Rocky gave him a quick rundown of the guy who’d hired me to kill her and the two of them went through the file while Needles continued to tend to my wound.
“Please stay still,” Needles said in his best doctor tone.
“I’m good,” I growled.
“Just two more stitches to go, brother.”
“Then stop talking and hurry the fuck up,” I ordered.
“Stop fucking moving and then I can finish,” he growled back losing all doctorly tact.
“Has anyone ever told you your bedside manner sucks?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?” Needles retorted.
“What? Do you mean just today?”
Once Needles finished with my stitches, he gave me a shot of antibiotic, and I pushed out of my seat, shoving Rocky and Moses away from the laptop.
“Careful, Scooby,” Needles warned. “We gotta watch for signs of a concussion.”
I shook my head. I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop staring at the beauty on the screen. “Why would someone put a contract out on a woman like that?”
“According to Stanley Morter, the guy who gave you the flash drive, she murdered his father after he signed over his fortune to her, cutting young Stanley out of his will,” Rocky provided.
“Bullshit,” I hissed.
“Looks like you got less than two days to find out whatever you can about Stan and his daddy, then you can figure out what to do about the pretty Rowan Samuels,” Moses murmured.
Rowan Samuels. Sexy.
“I know what I’d do about the pretty Rowan Samuels,” Rocky retorted, and I glared at him. “What? Like, you didn’t notice she was hot? Even shitfaced and with a head wound, you couldn’t miss that.”
“How ’bout you think with your brain instead of your dick for one second instead so we can figure out why someone wants to kill this nice lady,” I sneered.
“We don’t know she’s nice,” Moses countered.
“Yeah,” Rocky agreed. “For all we know, she drowns puppies in her spare time.”
I glared at him. “Were you born a psycho, or did your mother specifically raise you to be one?”
“Okay, gentlemen, let’s all take a beat and try to figure out why someone wants Ms. Samuels dead,” Moses said, the ever-present voice of reason.
“Can I borrow your laptop for a bit?” I asked.
“Sure, brother,” Rocky said, and I closed the laptop, carrying it up to my room.
* * *
Rowan
I slammed the oven door shut and gave it a kick for good measure, a sharp pain shooting through my foot as swift retribution from the appliance gods. “Mother Frigidaire!”
“What the dickens is goin’ on in here?” Dusty demanded, pushing through the swinging saloon doors, and freezing.
I was holding my shin, hopping around the diner kitchen as I tried to shake the pain out of my foot.
“You know, honey, that dance move went out long before your time.”
“I think I broke my toe,” I panted out, continuing to hop around the room.
“Oh, my lord, honey, well, then let’s get you off your feet.” She wrapped her arm around my waist, surprisingly strong considering she was well into her sixties and had been overworked and underpaid for most of her adult life. Leading me to the back office, she sat me into my desk chair and gently pulled off one my Keds. “Now, how did you break your toe?”
“Kicked the oven,” I grumbled.
“Again?” she admonished.
“Well, if it didn’t quit breakin’, I wouldn’t need to keep kickin’ it,” I pointed out.
I’d put my heart and soul, not to mention my meager savings, into the Starbright Diner and I had nothing left in the coffers to replace anything. I’d already spent way too much paying a general contractor who’d, in hindsight, used my naivety to practically rob me blind, using shoddy parts and overcharging me for them. And now everything was either breaking or already broken.
If I’d known then what I know now, I’d have gone down to the hardware store myself, purchased a hammer, and bashed his brains in.
The whole place needed an overhaul, and I had no idea where I was going to get the money. But for now, priority one was the oven.
“Well, it’s not like we’re busy enough to need the oven right away, right?” she pointed out.
“It’s almost time for the dinner rush,” I countered.
“Which consists of Earl and his wife, Sheriff Sanders since it’s Thursday, and maybe a family passing through for vacation, if we’re lucky.” She smiled. “Let’s not borrow trouble.”
She had a point.
I sighed. “You’re right. We’ll have plenty of time to find someone to fix it tomorrow.”
“Come on, I just made a fresh batch of cookies before the oven crapped out. They’re still warm.”
I pushed up from my chair. “Those fresh cookies, along with everything else you bake is going straight to my butt, Dusty.”
“You could use a little more junk in that skinny little trunk of yours, sweetness,” she retorted, walking out of my office.
I laughed. God if only that were true. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d worked out. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d walked around the block on purpose. Lately, I’d been living on a steady diet of caffeine and whatever thousand calorie treat was left over from Dusty’s daily dessert menu.
I followed Dusty out of my office, and she headed out to the dining room while I made my way to the kitchen sink, washing my hands, then making sure we had enough produce for our dinner special.
“Rowan?” Dusty called from the swinging doors.
“Yeah?”
“Customers.”
“Awesome,” I said, distractedly.
“A lot of customers,” she squeaked. “Um, honey. We might need to get that oven fixed faster than we anticipated.”
“Huh?” I wiped my hands and pushed through the swinging doors, freezing in place.
I found myself face-to-face with no less than a dozen bikers, all of them large, all of them staring at me. If I had good sense, I’d have prayed to god they weren’t here to rob us, but in truth, I only prayed, they weren’t hungry.
