“While we’re talking about old friends…” Salem’s voice is hard. “What about our dear friend, Stormy?”
If I thought Salem’s face had gone hard, Swift’s becomes even colder. “Dead, if he knows what’s good for him. But if you’re asking if we’ve heard anything of him, we have not.”
Salem’s not going to let it drop. “You’re here as fuckin’ experts in technology. What fuckin’ good are you, if you can’t find one of your own?”
It’s Bolt who answers this time. “Yes, we’re experts, but so is Stormy. He knows ways of disappearing, reinventing himself so he could never be found.” Both of his hands fist on the table in front of him. “Nothing concrete, but my gut feel is he’s gotten himself out of the country.”
“Fuckin’ coward,” Pennywise remarks.
Swift actually gives him a chin lift, but Bolt shakes his head. “He’ll come back and take his punishment. The way I see it, the man’s got issues. Maybe he’s putting those to bed first.”
I glance at Prez. So far, they’re saying nothing more than we knew from the reports he’s passed us from Snatcher. But do we believe them? I’m not sure. Could Stormy even now be hidden by the Utah club?
Token looks grim. “To be honest, this is one situation where I had hoped that Stormy could magically take over my PC and give me all the answers. So far, I’ve got shit, and I don’t like it one bit.”
He’s complaining about the time when he was trying to solve the mystery surrounding Lost’s old lady. Someone had planted pop-ups and messages direct to his monitor. At the time, he never knew who sent them and it annoyed him immensely. But truth be told, had Stormy not contacted him, we would never have known Patsy needed protecting.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Grumbler
I notice Swift doesn’t squirm or look embarrassed, she just acknowledges Token’s comment, and then looks down the table at the prez.
“We’ve found out some shit. Shit that you need to hear personally. That’s why we’re here.” She nods at Bolt who reaches into the bag he’d brought in with him.
As he does, all of us stiffen, and a few hands go to rest on guns in their holsters. Trust only goes so far with Utah. The last thing we want is for him to produce an AR-15.
Swift notices and grins. “Easy, he’s just getting our laptops. If we wanted to kill you, we wouldn’t need weapons.”
“Fighting talk,” Salem drawls lazily. He points at Swift. “Heard about you. How about you showing me what you got in the ring later?”
Bolt’s eyes go to the enforcer sharply, then he shakes his head. “If I were you, I’d take that back, Brother.”
Salem bristles. “I can take the both of you on.”
Lost bangs the gavel and glares at Salem. “What have you found?” he asks, directing his question to the end of the table, getting us back on track.
Swift grimaces. “Grumbler?” She knows I’m the sergeant-at-arms, so picks me out of the lineup. I raise my chin to show she’s got the right man. “What your girl got herself into is a whole heap of stinking dung. Devon Starr, or Ad Wilson or any of his other identities is small fry in a very large and very disgusting pool.”
Bolt, who now has his laptop open, takes over. “You all know about hard porn, hell, probably have watched some of that shit. Subscription only channels, but they’re there to find if you want in. But underneath that is another level of hell. Token?” Our own tech guy nods when he hears his name. “Your members educated on the deep and dark webs?”
In case we’re not, Token reminds us. “Websites on the internet are searchable by easily remembered website addresses. We see the names, the computer directs you to the IP address of the domains. Easily found if you know the right search terms. Underneath that is the deep web where no one can go without knowing the IP address first. That’s where your bank, or a company will store their customer or business details.” He pauses to make sure we’re all following along. “At the bottom is where nefarious activity takes place. It’s where contracts are put out which you only want interested parties to answer, or,” he nods toward Bolt, “if you want hard-core porn that goes beyond which any normal person would want to watch. It’s where the bottom feeders dwell.”
“Kink probably knows all about that.”
Kink’s eyes widen, and his face flushes as his hand hits the tabletop. “I’m kinky, not into that fuckin’ shit, Brother.” He rounds on Keeper. “Sex clubs of the type I frequent are aboveboard and of all things, consensual. I suspect what we’re hearing about is non-consensual shit, like Owen talked about.”
Bolt nods as if Kink’s answered correctly, but adds, “And non-consensual will include snuff movies.” He pauses for a beat to let that sink in. “You want to see a woman—or man—killed for your personal gratification, well you’ll find it on the dark web.”
“That’s sick,” Dart says, but he doesn’t attempt to deny it doesn’t exist. “And our photographer is into that shit?”
Swift opens her own laptop and stabs at a few keys. Then, she slides the device down the table. Brothers look at it, then a quizzical look comes onto their faces, then it’s passed on. When it reaches me, I do the same. On the screen is a page of pictures of young and pre-teens, both girls and boys. The only thing they have in common is their Hispanic features.
“What are we looking at, Swift?” Lost asks, when I pass it to him.
Swift’s lips press together. “We couldn’t get back to you earlier, I’m afraid, hence the delay. But in trying to locate your girl’s video, we stumbled across a porn site catering to the most deviant of bastards. Rape, mutilation, death. These were some of the victims.”
The laptop’s been passed on from me, but those images are seared on my brain. “One was
