Chapter Twenty
Three weeks later
The young teenagerled Chains and Scorpio to a rundown trailer down a dirt road behind the diner run by “Old Man” Bob. The eatery had been a part of the Alina landscape longer than most people could remember. Old Man Bob’s great-grandfather had opened the place up for the weary traveler long before freeways crisscrossed the state. At one time, the place was known for its food and ambience, but over the last three decades, its reputation had fallen by the wayside. Now most of the dishes Bob prepared had grease as the main ingredient, but the diner still had a loyal customer base, which kept it afloat all these years.
“Here it is,” the teen said, pointing to a mobile home with faded metal siding.
In front of the trailer was a rusty aluminum picnic table with four folding chairs, and to the left side, an outdoor fire pit and a muddy three-wheeler.
The teenager’s eyes darted from Chains to Scorpio, then back to Chains. “Uh… you said you were gonna pay me if I showed you where Benny lives.”
“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Scorpio said.
Chains pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and handed it to the moppy-haired teen. “Make sure you keep your fuckin’ mouth shut about where you got the dough.”
The boy crumpled it in his hand, then shoved the wadded up bill into his jeans pocket. “Of course.” He turned around and walked back down the road.
Benny was a low-level drug dealer—just a cog in the multi-billion-dollar drug industry. He had a full-time minimum wage job that barely paid child support for his two kids and the day-to-day bills. The Night Rebels paid him for information in regard to drug selling, gun smuggling, or whatever else he heard on the streets. As long as Benny didn’t fuck with them, they let him deal in dime bags to the locals. Chains and the other brothers understood the dealer’s plight: not enough money from honest work to live a somewhat decent life.
Benny had friends in Pueblo who worked in the lower rung of the drug ladder for Los Malos. The Night Rebels offered the dealer a good chunk of money to find out why the fuck Los Malos were in on the drug deal a few weeks before.
Chains opened the screen and knocked on the red-painted door. Strains of punk music filtered out from the trailer, so he pounded harder once more.
“Someone’s in there,” Scorpio said, jerking his head toward the window.
Chains stepped back and saw the curtains move as if someone was peeking out at them. “Open the fuckin’ door!” he yelled as he kicked at it, then stood off to the side just in case someone inside wanted to take a shot at him.
The music stopped, then hinges creaked as the door slowly opened and a dishwater-blonde-haired woman peered out.
“Whaddaya want?” she asked, her voice scratchy and hoarse. She pushed open the screen and stepped onto the small porch.
She wore skinny jeans and a crop top that hung loosely around her boney shoulders. It looked like too much meth and too many nights partying had stripped the flesh off her bones, making her into a breathing skeleton. She stood in the doorway staring at them while picking at scabs on her face.
“Where’s Benny?” Chains asked.
“And we’re not in the mood for any bullshit,” Scorpio added as he walked up to the steps.
“I don’t know.” She looked over them. “Maybe he’s having food. He’s always wanting food.” A large smile revealed blackened teeth.
Before they could question the woman further, the sound of tires sounded behind them. Chains went for the gun in his waistband, and Scorpio followed suit as they both crouched low and made their way to the picnic table.
“That’s him now,” the woman said.
The bikers waited until a black Honda Civic parked next to the mobile home. The door opened and Benny slid out.
“Hey, guys,” he said.
Chains lifted his chin and Scorpio tipped his head.
“Sorry, I’m late. I had to wait for someone to show up.” Benny glanced over at the woman. “Bring out three beers.” She nodded, then disappeared inside the trailer.
“You selling shit other than weed?” Chains asked, his gaze fixed on the smalltime dealer.
Benny shook his head vigorously. “No way, dude. I know that shit isn’t tolerated in the county.” He laughed nervously. “I don’t want to get on you guys’ bad side.”
“Where’s your woman getting the meth from?” Chains said.
“Uh… I… uh… make it.” Benny waved his arms toward the screen door. “Melinda’s been using for a long time. I’d rather she get shit I know is good and pure.” He glanced down at the dirt and then back at the porch, avoiding Chains’s intense stare.