Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 131888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Still chuckling, Rez said, “I say either The Peach Pit or their clubhouse.”
“If we head to The Pit first, it might give Fletch or Wilder time to respond to my texts,” Nox suggested.
“With the way Pizza Town and Hawg Wild both looked, if they were in the Uniontown clubhouse when this shit all went down, they might not be identified for a while.”
“Don’t fucking say that, asshole!” Nox whacked the passenger seat headrest with his hand so hard, it made Finn lurch forward.
Finn threw up his palms in surrender. “Hey, I’m only trying to be realistic. Why hasn’t anyone heard from either of them yet?”
“Maybe Crew did.” Nox hoped that was true.
“Check with Crew,” Rez urged, meeting Nox’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
Nox gave him a nod and called the DEA agent.
Crew picked up on the first ring. “Where’d you disappear to? Are you upstairs?”
“No, I had to run out. Any updates? Have you heard from Fletch yet?”
“No,” Crew answered. “Not yet. I got Deck out of bed to have him go over and check their apartment.”
Nox’s chest tightened. “I’m not liking this radio silence.”
“You and me both, brother,” Crew agreed.
“Okay, let me know if they check in.”
“Will do. You do the same.”
The call ended in typical Crew fashion. Abrupt and without any fanfare.
“Nothing?” Finn prodded Nox.
“No.”
“Fuck. This isn’t like Fletch.”
“Can we not think the worst?” Nox desperately urged Finn. “He’ll check in as soon as it’s safe to do so.”
Neither Finn nor Rez responded because nothing else needed to be said.
When they got to The Peach Pit, it was a flurry of activity between the coroner, Uniontown PD, state police, and a whole shitload of feds wearing windbreakers with big yellow letters identifying whether they were ATF, FBI or DEA.
Unlike Pizza Town or Hawg Wild, the strip club had not been burnt to the ground. It didn’t even look as though any attempt was made to raze it. In fact, if the place wasn’t swarming with law enforcement or surrounded with bright yellow tape, no one would expect a thing.
Rez found a spot to park outside of the taped-off area and the three of them climbed out of his Durango.
“Well, since these haven’t been confiscated yet, maybe they’ll get us inside.” Rez held up his federal ID.
“It’s a magic key.” Finn pulled his out of his wallet. “Let me do the talking.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Nox groaned.
“What? I know how to razzle dazzle.”
Rez choked. “Yeah right, maybe when you’re stripping on the stage as Flame.”
“You mean Flare,” Nox said next.
“It was Blaze!” Finn exclaimed. “Holy shit. Get it right.”
Rez chuckled. “Do you make Mel call you Blaze when you’re role playing in the bedroom?”
“We have a loft, not an actual bedroom. Oh, and… fuck off!”
Rez laughed way too loudly for being at a crime scene. Death and destruction was not a laughing matter.
Normally.
They approached one of the two Uniontown officers guarding the scene. They all flashed their IDs and told them they’d been on a task force investigating the Demons. They also name-dropped Ken Proctor, a Uniontown officer who had also worked on the task force.
No razzle dazzle needed. The cop lifted the tape and waved them inside the crime scene. “Just don’t screw up the scene or any evidence. Keep your hands to yourself and watch where you step.”
As if they didn’t know that shit already.
Nox gave him a crisp salute and they headed in through the propped-open front door.
The place swarmed with federal, state and local crime scene investigators and staff from the county medical examiner’s office. They were all so busy, nobody gave the three of them a second glance.
Finn elbowed Nox and pointed at two men lying in pools of blood in the lobby. One body was sprawled out with a gun still in his hand. The other, peppered with gunshot wounds, looked like he’d slid down the wall, leaving a streak of blood in his path. Once he hit the floor, he’d fallen to the side.
Both still wore their Demons cuts, only they had a few extra holes in the leather.
Finn squatted down by one body and said to the nearest federal agent, “If you haven’t identified these two upstanding gentlemen yet, this one is Chubs,” he jerked his chin toward the other corpse. “And that one is Popeye. Both prospects.”
Since those two, being prospects, hadn’t even been on the indictment list, that Nox was aware of, had the Russos done the world a service with their late-night massacre?
Maybe.
But he worried that too many innocent bystanders were involved. Especially in a business like The Peach Pit. The only positive he could come up with was that the strip club hardly had any customers anymore. And, from what Nox had witnessed with watching all the footage from inside, the few they did get usually didn’t stay after midnight.