She glared at him. “Food.”
“I know they were food.” He stopped opening the can and stared at her. “Why?” Her face twisted in anger and she ground her teeth at him. “You can get mad all you want. Answer my question or you go without.”
She tensed, her hands balled into fists. She continued to glare at him as her body shook. “The…fire!”
“What fire?”
She slapped at the side of her head again. “The fire…inside.” She looked up at him, her eyes wild. “In here!” She slapped at her head again.
Simon twisted the lid on the liquor bottle and handed it to her. “Try this. See if it helps with that fire.”
She gave him a dirty look then took the bottle from him, tilting it back and sucking the amber liquid from inside. She drank nearly a third of the half gallon bottle before he reached out and took it from her. “I think that’s enough.” He twisted the lid back on and smiled at her. “Give that a few minutes to kick in and then tell me if you still feel that fire in your skull.”
He finished cutting the lid off and handed her the can. She was visibly wobbling, her face slack. “Fire.” She grunted before sliding to the floor.
Simon smiled and shoved his fingers into the can. He scooped out a brown paste and licked it off. “Yeah. Nothing like a little night-night juice to shut your bossy ass up.”
Chapter 9
Hatcher clicked off the microphone and leaned back in his chair. “I hope that quells some of the rumors.”
Roger sighed and gave him a shallow shrug. “Or it might fuel more. Who knows?”
“What more could I say? I told them everything that we actually know. Anything else is guessing or pure fiction.”
“You know that. I know that. But there will always be people who think that ‘the man’ is hiding shit from them. Or using their people as guinea pigs. Or…” He chuckled to himself. “You should have heard some of the shit I used to have to listen to when I was undercover.”
Hatcher leaned back and crossed his legs. “Enlighten me.”
“My favorite was the FEMA camps.” Roger rolled his eyes. “Some asshole swipes a picture off the internet, calls it an internment camp, and gets all of the monkeys in the zoo to throwing shit.”
“I think I read something about that once.”
Roger nodded. “Their paranoia made the national news more than once.” He sighed and shook his head. “Good times.”
“So what else?” Hatcher waved him on.
Roger leaned back and pried into the dusty memories. “Well, we had a guy that swore that aliens had abducted him and run experiments. He tried for years to convince the club to make a rush on Area 51 so that he could shove a Vance & Hines exhaust pipe up the alien’s ass.” He snorted as he laughed.
“Oh, that’s classic.” Hatcher leaned forward. “I thought those bikers were all into outlaw shit?”
Roger nodded. “The higher ups, most definitely. But like any organization, you’ll find the cutups, the fruit loops, the straight up Section 8s. You run the whole gambit.” He crossed his arms and stared into nothingness. “But they’re all rattlesnakes down deep. You can’t trust a one of them.”
Hatcher sat up quickly. “Coop.”
“What about him?”
“He’s dating my sister. He’s one of us.”
Roger held a hand up to calm him. “Coop wasn’t with Simon’s clan. He got absorbed after the shit hit the fan.”
Hatcher nodded slowly. “So, he’s an okay guy?”
Roger shrugged. “I didn’t really know him much. I just remember when they picked him up, he was wearing colors that nobody recognized.” He rubbed at his chin as he tried to remember what exactly it was. “I think it was a ‘Nam thing. Something military.”
“Well, you called him ‘Sailor.’”
Roger nodded. “Oh yeah. He’s old school Navy. Maybe he wasn’t even wearing colors. It could have been old military patches that somebody assumed was colors.” He shrugged and sipped his coffee. “But either way, Simon took to him. Sort of adopted the old codger as a lieutenant right off.”
“Maybe he recognized experience? Was Coop an officer?”
Roger shrugged. “Beats me, man. He could have been a cook or a fucking Gunner’s Mate for all I know.”
Hatcher raised a brow at him. “Were you Navy?”
Roger shook his head. “Marine.”
Hatcher gave him a confused stare. “But…you can read.”
“Hardy-fuckin’-har-har.” Roger kicked his foot out, pushing Hatcher off balance. “Don’t forget I was a cop, too.” He smiled slyly. “They were the ones who taught me my letters.”
Candy knocked at the door. “Hatcher, we may have a problem.”
“What’s up?”
“Vic just said that she’s had three people already show up to the dispensary with really bad sore throats. She thinks we may have a bad case of strep going around.”
Hatcher gave Roger a dumbfounded look. “Okay. And?”
“And…she says that if this is as bad as she thinks it is, she doesn’t have enough antibiotics to go around.” She crossed her arms and raised a brow at the pair. “Somebody’s gonna have to make a run.”
Hatcher stood, his head shaking. “We cleaned out the pharmacy at the grocery store. Surely…”
“There’s not enough.” Candy blew her breath out hard. “Apparently not all antibiotics can deal with strep.”
“Great.”
Roger stood and patted his leg. “No sweat, Hatch. I’ll go.”
“Like hell.” Candy gave him the look.
Hatcher laughed and pushed off his desk. “I’ll grab Hank and Wally. I’m sure they’re just dying to get out and get into trouble again.”
Roger narrowed his gaze at Candy. “I’m sure it’ll be an easy in and out.” He stroked the sides of her arms. “How about you drive?”
She shook her head. “We got other things to do.”
“Like what?”
She hooked her thumb down the hall. “Like help get big Mike to and from the radio stack. Stanton couldn’t raise anybody on the radio last night and since we’re almost certain those were military jets, they want Mike’s expertise in
