I wait patiently while he uses his mobile to contact someone. Opening the gate, he waves me through with a slight smile. Now, he’s not said who I’ll be seeing, but it doesn’t matter as long as I show someone this man's face.
Jumping out of the truck, the front door of the clubhouse opens, and a man appears who I’m not sure I’ve met before. But if I’m honest, they all seem to look similar, tall, broad, and lethal looking.
“Hi, Cilla, come on through to Pres’ office. Do you need a drink or anything?”
“Um, no thank you,” I reply as I lean forward and read the patch on the front of his vest. Noticing my glance, he speaks again, “I’m Coin, the treasurer of the club. I know we’ve not met before, but it’s nice to meet you, Cilla.”
“Oh, thank you. Nice to meet you too.” Now, I don’t know why I can’t keep my mouth shut, but I blurt, “Your Uncle Sole said you have to be checked by the doctor. You have a hernia in your future if you don’t get it looked at now.”
Coin jerks to a halt and looks at me with so much shock that I struggle not to laugh. “How the hell do you know of my Uncle Sole? The man’s been dead for nigh on twenty years?”
“Well, he’s standing behind you laughing his ass off at you right now. He’s a handsome devil,” I state, and as I’m checkingout his Uncle Sole, I can see the asshole is preening at the attention. Shaking my head in disgust at myself for checking out a freaking dead guy, I step toward the door that has President on it.
After knocking and walking in when I hear my name, I glance back at Coin, who is still standing with such a look of shock on his face still that I giggle as I walk into Tracker’s office.
Tracker is leaning forward over his desk, elbows on the desk and hands steepled. But it’s the smirk on his face that catches my attention. “Are you messing with my men, Cilla?”
I don’t even try to hold back the smile. “No, but his Uncle Sole had a health message, so I passed it on. I hope he didn’t piss his pants?”
That is when I giggle at the even broader smirk Tracker has on his face and at what he shouts. “Coin, you piss your pants and you are going in the shed. Not having any weak-ass pussies on my officer team.”
“Fuck off, Pres. My pants are perfectly dry.” I giggle again as I hear Coin walking away but mumbling to himself about being in the sandbox, so why would a ghost make him piss his pants!
“So, what is it you came about, Cilla?” Tracker asks, turning our conversation from playful to serious.
I take out my phone, find the pictures I took, and hand my phone to Tracker. “I literally bumped into this man on Main Street. He was mumbling to himself, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Bono screamed in my mind that this is your bomber. This is the man who is going to set the bomb here at the clubhouse.”
Now, I’m not sure how to describe what happens, but the aura around this man changes from normal to ice-cold inseconds. His eyes are hard and show no sign of life in them. He stares at the picture, and then once more flicks through them before looking at me. “Are you sure about this, Cilla?”
*Tell him Operation Zombie*
“Bono said to tell you Operation Zombie.”
Tracker jumps to his feet and heads for the door. Right as he steps into the hallway he bellows, “OFFICERS TO CHURCH, NOW!”
I’m wondering what the heck Operation Zombie is, but I am not stupid enough to ask. I’m sure it’s something to do with their military careers. Nobody in their right mind wants to ask or know what happened to our military when under command. I pick up my phone, which Tracker had laid on the desk, but he reaches out and takes it from me. He doesn’t snatch it. He takes it gently enough not to shake me.
“I’m going to send these pictures to Keys, Cilla. He can run facial recognition and see if we get a hit on this guy. If you see him anywhere, you stay away from him. You hear me? He wouldn’t think twice about getting rid of you to keep his identity a secret.”
Nodding in response, I understand what he’s telling me. “I’ll do that. But if Bono finds out more, I’ll tell you. I have your contact in my phone and Finger’s too, so I’ll reach out.”
“Stay and have supper, Cilla. I’d like to speak with you again when I’ve spoken to my officers. Can I keep your phone until then?”
“Yes, of course.” I’m led through to the kitchen where an enormous table is being prepped ready for the meal.
Tracker places his hand on my lower back as we step into the middle of the room. “Jo, this is Cilla. She’s going to stayfor supper tonight. Can she stay with you until we eat? I’m just holding officers’ church, but we won’t take too long.”
“Okay, Pres, no problem,” Jo replies and gives me a friendly smile.
Tracker walks out of the kitchen, and I take a seat, feeling out of place. Another woman walks into the kitchen and gives me a smile. “Anna, this is Cilla. She’s staying with us for supper. Make sure the brothers don’t leave her a small plate when you hand out the meal.”
We get to talking about general things, and I tell them about Tracy and her lamb taco thing. When asked what was in it, I dig into my bra where I’ve kept the damn recipe. I used it in the grocery and butcher shop, but both times stuffed it back in the bra for safety. Jo and Anna both laugh at where I’ve tucked it but admit they have a habit of doing that too.
“Is the Fluff eating?” Anna asks Jo and I’m wondering what fluff they are talking about.
“Now, you know we don’t call them that anymore, Anna,” Jo shakes her head, but it’s easy to see she’s amused. Turning to me she explains, “Fluff is what the brothers used to call the club women. But it went when two of the Fluff of the time were found to not be so cute and sweet. Hence, they became club whores, but none of us in the kitchen and cleaning staff liked to hear that, so we petitioned Pres to call them club women, and that is what they are now.”
“How many kitchen and cleaning staff are there?” I gingerly brave the question.