Page 25 of Tank

“Oh nice one, girl,” Pops says, giving his granddaughter an appreciative nod.

“We need the details. On all of these actually. Because there is no way these all happened to you. Like over how long a period?” Blanche asks, pointing at the 19 bullet points of weird things that is my life.

“Um, since just before the first delivery, so maybe, 4 months?”

There’s a squawk and exclamations of “spill!”.

With the spotlight on me I try to explain to the best of my abilities. Which is harder than you think for an author. Where in my books I can tell the story in a linear fashion, lay out the characters, their motivations and deep dives into hot sexy times, in real life with real people, my story telling is not linear at all. These poor people, my prospective real life friends, sit in confused silence as I let them into the inner world of Mira. The good stuff like Mrs Crispin’s delicious pies that she makes me because I’m a “good girl”, right through to two weeks ago when I returned a lost kitten to a hoarder and accidentally bumped a stack of newspapers from 30 years ago and it caused a domino effect, knocking over four more piles. By the time I finish telling them I accidentally killed a chicken by jumping over it to escape the farm maze my boring date took me on, they all sit silently in shock.

“So, let me get this straight. This shit happens to you all the time?” Pops rasps.

“Um, yeah. But I’m pretty sure this stuff happens to everyone every so often.”

They all look at each other, as if to wonder what the heck is wrong with me.

“Whatever you say dear,” Mama Debs soothes.

“OK. So we have to track down some of these people. That’s easy work. The hard part is figuring out who these people are, if any of them has it out for you, if they would hate you enough to threaten you in any way and if any of them are fans of your work. Only fans would know about the liver stuff. We also need to cross reference some of these other weird things -” Chewy points to things I’ve found inside my house or garden that I know weren’t there before. “with your books and figure out if any of them could be coincidental.”

“Oh when you put it like that it’ll be easy,” I quip, rolling my eyes. “We may as well solve whoever’s trying to frame the MC while we’re at it.”

“Trust us, Writer Lady, we’ll figure this out.”

Chapter 7

Tank

Ifile into church behind my brothers, catching one last glimpse of Mira working at the whiteboard. I didn’t lie to Jules, I think we are friends. I mean, I’m not going to deny that she’s a beautiful woman. Tall, curves for days and a beautiful face, she’s exactly the type of woman I go for. But it’s more than that. She’s clever and funny and genuinely interested in people. Pretty much the opposite of my reserved, quiet self. Where most women would ditch me in favor of some of my more outgoing brothers, Mira looks at me as if I’m interesting. Or something. Shit I dont know anything other than my dick’s been hard every time she’s in the vicinity.

I’m snapped out of my confusing thoughts by the banging of Marx’s gavel. I shouldn’t be thinking about what type of relationship Mira and I have. I should be focusing on who the hell is messing with us.

“Wire, got anything for us?” Marx grunts.

“Between Chewy, Remy and myself we managed to ‘find a way’-,” He does comma fingers, “- to get into the RGPD files. Tank’s complainant was one Miss Kelly Maree Birkhead. Nitro’s complainant is Miss Clarisse Louise Welch.”

“Who the fuck are they?” Rider voices what everyone is thinking.

“You’d know them as our old bunnies, Whitney and Kelly.”

“Wait, Whitney’s real name is Clarisse?” Fox asks incredulously.

“Yup. Looks like our old bunnies are fucking with us.” Wire sits back, letting the information settle.

Marx looks less than pleased. In fact, he looks pissed. “So you’re telling me that Whitney and her little sidekick were so pissed at being kicked out of the club that they’re now wasting police time by making false claims against us?”

Wire nods. “All four of the ex-club girls live together in an apartment on Hillcrest Ave. They all four work at ‘Spinners’, the strip club in Roxburgh.”

“They’re commuting that far for work?” Flack asks, clearly shocked. Roxburgh is an hour and a half away from Rose Grove. A long ass commute after a long night.

“Seems that way.”

Dex and Savage share a look, one that doesn’t go unmissed by Marx.

“What do you know?”

“Spinners is owned by a nasty little fucker, David something or other. Big D. Was a pimp on the streets, built up a crew and pretty much bullied all the other lower street criminals until he was top dog. Rumor has it that if you want anything, drugs, girls, information, then Spinners is the place to go.” Savage says with a dark look on his face. “If these women don’t bat an eyelid accusing men of assaulting them, then they won’t bat an eyelid to sell information to anyone who wants it either.”

Marx runs a hand down his face and curses. “We need to neutralize the threat. They all signed confidentiality agreements when they signed up. That includes keeping their mouths shut after a contract has been terminated. Rhodie and Rider paythem a visit, reminding them of their obligations. Prospects, I want you on shifts to watch them, just so they know we have eyes everywhere.”

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