Page 8 of Absolution

It’s been days since I stamped Hog’s ticket to hell, but here I am still at the Heaven’s Rejects clubhouse and no closer to finding Ricca. For a woman who has a trail of bad choices behind her, she sure knows how to cover her tracks. To be honest, I thought for sure that she’d leave me some kind of breadcrumb to track her down, but she has always played her cards close to her chest, when it comes to dishing out personal information. She was a constant fixture in my room for months, before she even told me her middle name or how old she was. It might have been an odd arrangement when you looked at it from the outside, but it made sense to me. She needed protection, and from the first time I saw her at Red’s, I knew she was like me.

Try as she did, I could see right through her well-practiced acting. She wasn’t happy in her life, even before those Twisted Tribe fuckers took their hands and bodies to her. When I saw her chained to that table in their basement, I sighed in relief. Twisted as fuck, right? I knew she’d been put through hell, but in that instant, I knew she was also still alive. Broken but still breathing. Feeling her weakened body as I carried her up out of the cesspool, I made a silent promise to myself to keep on protecting her, even if she didn’t want me around. She wasn’t the first person I’d had to extract from a bad situation, but the outcome for her would be different. She deserved a second chance that so many people never get, and it’s on me to make sure that happens.

“Earth to Ratchet,” Voodoo calls out. “Come in, Ratchet.”

I sneer at him before taking another swig of my now warm beer.

Jesus, how long was I lost in space that even my damn beer is warm.

Voodoo plops himself down next to me at the bar top and motions for Daisy. She smiles and bops her way over to the refrigerator, grabbing a beer and sliding it towards him. Voodoo twists the cap off and tosses it back towards Daisy who just giggles from his attention. While most of the guys here take up with the free in-house recreation, it was never my thing. Before Ricca, I had a few girls outside the club that would be there when I was in the mood, but she changed all that for me. From the moment she leaned into me during her rescue, I was fucked. I’m not saying that I haven’t looked at another woman since because let’s be honest I have, but none have peaked my interest enough to make a move.

“So,” he starts, dragging out his words knowing that it annoys me.

“Spit it out, dip shit. I don’t have all day for your theatrics,” I gruffly fire back.

“Well now, someone’s in a mood this morning, and to think I was going to share some good news with you,” Voodoo chides.

I turn to face him as he takes a hit of his beer with a smile on his face. Voodoo has never been one that’s good with keeping secrets so just by looking at him I know something is up. I just have to hope it’s good news and not bad.

“You know where she is, don’t you?” I intensely question, without breaking my stare.

The fucker casually takes another drink of his beer, before setting it back down on the bar top. His finger traces the lip of the bottle, stalling on his reply. I used to think his games were cute, but being on the receiving end of them, I’m not so sure that I like them anymore.

“You have about five more seconds to answer me fucker, before I punch that smile right off of your face,” I growl.

Voodoo flinches slightly, but just keeps on smiling like a god damn idiot.

“You know,” I say, “I used to like you. Hell, I even convinced the other guys to let your crazy ass into this club, but now I’m not so sure that I made the right call.”

“Ohhhh,” Voodoo teases. “Delayed blackmail for information. You must really want to know what I have to say.” He moves his hands to his face, cradling his chin like a child.

“Cut the bullshit Voodoo, and just fucking tell me.”

“Fine,” he sighs, with pretend exasperation. “I might have a lead on Ricca.”

“You might? How in the fuck is that helpful?” I spit back.

“Might is far closer than we’ve ever been in the last few months, so beggars can’t be choosers, Ratchet.”

I know he’s right, but I was hoping that he was going to be coming to me with more of a sure thing, than a maybe that could lead me nowhere.

“So, what’s the lead?” I question hopefully.

He fingers the lip of his beer again, before finally giving in.

“I know this will all sound like computer mumbo jumbo bullshit to you, but I’ll tell you anyway because I don’t think you appreciate my skills,” he says, while I impatiently look at him. He has a few seconds before I force the fucking information out of him, and my patience is about to run out.

“Anyway, I embedded a few illegal search alert notifications with her information into the system. It took hours of hard labor and beer, but I did it just for you, big boy.”

“Today, Voodoo. Just get to the part where you might have found something instead of giving me the play by play of what you do in your electronic device playroom. I don’t give a damn about that shit.”

“As I was saying,” he interjects with a growl. “I got a hit back, but it came from an unlikely source. An obituary dated several months back for a Deborah Delmont age 52 from a small town in Kentucky.”

“And some old broad’s obituary leads me to Ricca how exactly?”

“Well, that’s the interesting part. Ricca has had a few aliases in the past, and I’ve honestly not been able to track down which is her actual name until now. Listed under survivors for dear old Debbie was a daughter, Erica Delmont.”

Could it be her? Deep down, I had to have known that Ricca wasn’t using her real name, yet why should I have expected her to give me her real name, if she had planned to run all along. It’s not like I asked or expected her to be a fountain of truthfulness for fuck’s sake. She ran with a bad crowd and lies were second nature to her, before this club saved her ass.

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