I hear his sigh down the line. “Might mean Honor flying down there, but we’ll see if the room is still empty, and if it is, book it out for a few days so we can do our investigation. If it’s been let out, there’s probably not much point. The equipment will have been removed, but there might be clues we can trace. They could have gotten the video out via the hotel’s network.”
This is why we needed the experts. Utah appears to think more like cops, whereas we’re men of action.
“Honor would be welcome at the clubhouse,” Lost confirms.
“Well, we’ll check the hotel records and see whether he can help. Grumbler?”
“Yeah?” I answer Snatcher.
“We’ll deal with the tape, but this might be the tip of the iceberg. You come across Owen or Devon before we do, don’t do anything too drastic. Break arms, legs, but nothing to stop them talking. Not until we’re satisfied we don’t know anything else. Then,” Snatcher pauses for effect, “after that, you can fuckin’ castrate them.”
“Well, I think that’s about it, isn’t it?” Drummer’s amusement comes down the line. But then he adds seriously, “Sounds like you know what you’re doing Snatcher. Any word from Stormy?”
There’s another audible sigh. “I’m starting to think he has to be dead, Drummer.” He pauses. “Fuckin’ embarrassing we can’t find him, but we’ve no leads to follow. He’s disappeared off the face of the earth.” He sounds legit in my view. It can’t be easy to admit to being a failure. But I can’t see his face, and he could be lying—hard to tell over a phone line.
“We’ll talk next week, Snatcher. And Lost? Keep me updated. You need any help from here? You got it. I fuckin’ hate child molesters and this comes under that heading. Grumbler? You take care of your ol’ lady.”
“She’s not my—”
But Lost ends the call before I can finish. Seeing the look on my face, he slaps me on my back. “You might want to think about that. Can’t recommend enough what it’s like to have an ol’ lady.”
I’ve seen enough of Mary to know if I was in the market for a woman as a permanent fixture in my life, she would do nicely, but there’s one obstacle I can’t get over—she’s too young for me. It’s not just a matter of the ten-year difference, she’s from a different generation.
She’s youthful, energetic, while my bones creak. I don’t want to burden someone with the pains of my old age which can only get worse, not better.
Lost’s already gone before I come back to myself.
What do I do now? No point going to talk to Token, Lost will already be updating him. I suppose I should go and update Mary with as much as I’m able to about what’s going on. Sift through what I can and can’t tell her and somehow persuade her to stay on the compound.
Dragging my hands down my face, I wonder how the fuck I can do that. Hopefully Patsy will have already persuaded her. I’d picked up on Mary’s discomfort as soon as we’d stepped into the clubhouse and read that she’d want to get away fast.
I can’t tell my brothers to mind their language and behave around her, this is their home. But hopefully they’ll have the sense to step carefully, especially after what happened to Alicia last night.
Leaving Lost’s office, I shut the door behind me.
“Where…” I start to ask about Mary, but Pennywise catches my eye.
“Kitchen,” he informs me, guessing the person I seek.
Raising my chin, I go in that direction, but come to an abrupt halt before I enter, hearing some of the conversation emanating from within.
“My first time was awful.”
Chapter Nineteen
Mary
The clubroom, as promised, is empty of men when I tentatively follow Patsy and Eva down the staircase. Both Alicia and I trail in their wake as they lead us to a kitchen. It’s big, almost industrial.
The name Tits is still going around my head, and I’m still wondering who and what gender the owner is. It seems I’m soon to find out.
Apart from the appliances, some of which look relatively new, and a table able to seat about ten people comfortably sat in the middle of the room, my attention is caught by three women who Eva immediately pushes away from the stove, leaning over as though to check what’s cooking.
“It’s for one of my casseroles. It’s going to be good.” A woman in her mid-twenties is frying up something on the stovetop. “Look, I’m doing it properly, browning off the meat first.” It’s not her cookery skills nor what she’s cooking that attracts my eyes. It’s her clothing, or lack of. Her top can only be described as a bra, and her shorts, well, they’re little more than panties.
Eva and Patsy exchange glances and then start to quiz the woman about what’s she’s actually got going on.
“Cindy knows what she’s doing.” Another scantily clad woman is peeling potatoes at the table. I can’t see what she’s wearing, or not, to cover her hips, but her top is a miniscule tank. She’s big boobed, too much so to go braless in my view, but she is.
“Thanks, Tits.” The woman I now know is Cindy, glares at the other women. “At least someone has faith in me.”
The third, who’s at least got her belly covered, if not her complete ass, as she’s wearing a clingy dress that appears to have trouble confining her breasts, also offers support. “Come on, Eva. It was only the once she gave us food poisoning.”
“How was I to know you had to cook chicken that long?” Cindy turns, waving a spatula. “I know now, alright? And anyway, tonight’s beef. Some people eat that raw, you know.” She ends with a dismissive sniff.
Patsy chuckles, and I swing around, wondering how the older woman can put up with half-naked women in the kitchen. For one thing, if that fat splashed out the pan, it
