the Dirty Dozen - Chapter 49

   Down in DC, a group within the group of all the DC city cops, were biting their fingernails. They felt fairly safe, because they hadn't been named in the big round up. Some of them even got to go on round up calls to pick the others up, which further strengthened the idea they were probably safe from the prosecution fallout coming soon. They were all nervous though, that a certain steak house waitress had somehow managed to live through what was supposed to be an easy hit. She had fled the city, and was now whereabouts unknown. These guys when they got together in a group would brainstorm conspiratorially, wracking their brains trying to come up with something.

   The only lead they had, was the idea a girl would almost certainly go home to dad and family. The problem there? Was that all they knew was… "Ohio". Without a town name, that was impossible. They combed social media, and got nowhere. They were all taking turns on the weekends going through high school reunion websites, and again nothing.

   Finally, meeting at a cop bar, the last guy to the group sitting alone in the corner booth? Came in with a big smile. When everyone asked him why he was so happy? He made them guess. He didn't get laid, he didn't get a promotion, and so in the end they had to beg him for the reason for his wide ear to ear grin. Truthfully, they more threatened him with friendly violence if he kept the grade-school game up. Finally? He spilled his secret happiness.

   "Found the bitch."

   "No!"

   "Yep."

   "Where is she?"

   "Up in Pennsylvania, in the fucking sticks."

   "Is that where the family's from?"

   "Nope."

   "Okay… how did you manage this?"

   "Well, I got to thinking. Family. Family. Family… now, what does our dear Bloody Mary do with her spare time?"

   "Fucks bikers."

   "Correct. We're all looking for her family… it just dawned on me outta nowhere? Bikers call themselves… family…"

   He had their rapt attention, and were looking around to make sure no one overheard any of this.

   "You… had a biker connection, huh?"

   "No. Fucking internet. Remember how our darling waitress didn't have any social media?"

   "Yeah…"

   "She does. The goddamn Pagans have their own fucking websites. There's a shitload of them. They got their own portal of them. Watch…"

   The guy pulled out a 9" tablet, and the city bar WiFi fed it beautifully…

   "First, you say I want bikers on any search engine… see? World Wide Biker Portal… you select outlaw, social, or both… I pick outlaw…you just go down to P… select Pagans… like magic, you go to the Pagan's Portal… do you want national websites, or, state by state?"

   "Well if you already found her, why do we have to play guessing games? Go on… you found the prize, you tell it…"

   "Okay. I started with Ohio. Jack shit. Went DC? Lotta stuff on her there, but, it's all old news. Now, what was her biker nickname? Anyone?"

   "Bloody Mary…"

   "No, you idiot, that's our name for her, that's what the cops call her… her biker name, is… Christmas.."

   "So, when I go national… like this… and type in 'find a biker' on the national Pagan's website… and type in 'Christmas'… see?"

   "Yeah. She's the official property of Pound. A national enforcer. How the fuck does that help… Pound's long gone…"

   "Yes. He is. So, I got her official biker name, and I start going state by state… now, I was getting nowhere fast… anyone know the home and patron state of… the Pagans? Hmm?"

   "Pennsylvania…"

   "Bingo."

   "She's in Philly? Outside Philly…"

   "No. Look… out in the fucking sticks…"

   "These assholes claim the Pennsylvania state game-lands as turf? Ballsy, even for them…"

   "No, you dipshit… look… there's little tiny towns here and there, all around the state game-lands. And, look-y here… you can find turf bars for your favorite outlaw biker gang. So, you know what bars to go to, and what bars to avoid… see?"

   "Every turf bar, has it's own website…"

   "Yep. Now this? Is Bloody Mary's social media… look… she posts all over it… the local club, that uses a bar as its turf and clubhouse? They're fucking bragging they got a national living with them…"

   "She's not a national. Just fucked one…"

   "No. But, she's official property of a national enforcer. That carries weight with these guys. They treat her like a princess. Not to mention? She's called a 'tank'…"

   "Because she's a big girl?"

   "No. I thought a tank was a tall fat biker chick, makes sense… but, no… a tank is a… girl that fights. Has a reputation for… TCB…"

   "TCB?"

   "Taking Care of Business…"

   "Oh, right… crazy bitch put three feeb wives in the emergency room. Split their heads open like coconuts…"

   "Yeah. She's the property of a national enforcer. Even with him gone, she still hangs out with all the other bikers in the DC club… she has their respect for putting cop's wives into the hospital three at a time…"

   "So, the little biker bar, out in the sticks… is bragging they got a national staying with them… a… tank with an actual rep of her own, let alone from being Pound's girl…"

   "Bingo. Look for yourself… like I said? She used this like most girls use regular social media…"

   "Jesus H. Christ… they're bragging… they got royalty living with them. Ha! It's definitely her, no doubt about it… little story about their… barmaid almost got shit-stomped by Christmas, would have served our little elf right, running her mouth to a… national tank…"

   "Okay, but… how the fuck are we supposed to get those guys to tell us where she's living at? If she was living under her driver's license up there, we'd already have an address… she lives in motel rooms…"

   "Nope. Easier than that… read all the posts, the last month…"

   "Christmas is staying with us, from outta DC… she… Jesus Christ, it says she's living at the biker bar!"

   "So… we stake out the bar… wait for her to go into town… problem solved."

   "Better. Look at the pictures… they fixed up a little shed for her, out back… read the story…"

   "Christmas is up on the hill behind the bar. Where she's safe… no one would have the balls to come and get her here, with us. Proud to serve the nationals like this… blah blah… dare anyone to try shit like down in DC up here…"

   "Ha. We got her…"

   "Holy shit…"

   "It gets better…"

   "How?"

   "Read. The bikers recently started getting into skeet shooting, behind the bar. Pictures. They got a field behind the bar, they use it for a little skeet range. Remember, this is a tiny hunting town, out in the sticks, right next to state game-lands."

   "What's good about that?"

   "Idiots… the locals were all complaining about the bikers were shooting every night… now? They're used to all the noise… Look! There's a goddamned skeet shooting schedule… Friday Saturday Sunday Monday… are quiet nights. Tuesday through Thursday? Skeet shooting night."

   The dirty DC cops all smiled…

   "The locals, are now used to all the shooting noise. Even after dark…"

   "No one will come running… not even the cops…"

   "We even get a schedule, what nights we can go and get her…"

   "She ain't in the bar, she's up in that shed up on the hill, out back…"

   "Christ. We don't even have to take off work, we go up on a weekend, and…"

   "Wait until around 4 in the morning…"

   "When the locals find her body? Probably pin it on the bikers did it. All we gotta figure out, is who's going up to take care of this little problem."

   "Well, we're not sending one guy again, that's for sure… we're all going up, for a little… hunting trip…"

   "That? Is what I figured. Am I good? Or am I good. Huh?"

   "Your a genius. You ain't buying a drink all weekend… next weekend? We all go on a little hunting trip. Christ, handguns will make less noise than all the shotguns the locals are already used to hearing… by the time anyone finds her? We'll be long gone and back home. This is perfect… and whatever biker she's banging up in that little fuck shed? He gets popped too. Boo hoo. Locals will just blame it on biker shit going down…"

   "Yeah. I always did wonder why she never had any social media presence… we were just looking in the wrong place…"

   "Man, this sure takes a load off. Without her testimony? It'll be a lot less publicity…"

   "Yeah. That… we gotta hurry though…"

   "Why?"

   "Look… under national 'scuttlebutt bucket'? Read it yourself… right… here we go… 'Christmas has national permission to roast the DC pigs'… see? Ballsy bitch got national permission to testify… we'd already all be sweating her testimony, if she'd didn't run after surviving the hit…"

   "Well… that ain't gonna be a problem soon, is it?"

   "No… it ain't…"

   "And by next weekend, when we get back? Smooth sailing starts…"

   "Oh yeah. Hey, how's things going on your end for that?"

   "Hey. Vice wants to turn up the heat on drugs. They want arrests, to take the heat off of this shit coming up soon… too easy to give them what they want… drop a few things in a few saddle bags of a few Harleys… pop 'em… pose for pictures… too easy."

   "Yeah, and while you and your crew is taking out the competition…"

   "All our snitches will pick up all the sales. Our retirement? Is gonna be sweet, boys…"

   "I propose a toast… to retirement !"

   "No… to great retirement…"

   They all toasted a profitable retirement.