Page 36 of Tank

Pops lets out a low, impressed whistle, “Now THIS is what I’m talking about!” He takes his phone out of his pants pocket and starts taking photos of the layout and setup.

Looking around there are four people laying out on stainless steel tables waiting for whatever farewell their family has decided on. Moving toward the body closest to me, I take a peekunder the sheet, noticing immediately the silvery line down one side of his abdomen.

“Pops,” I whisper, breaking him out of his research or whatever the fuck he wants those pictures for, “Check this out,”

He comes to stand beside me, checking out the dead guy’s stomach. He runs his finger along the silvery line, then places his hands on either side, palms flat, and then moves them slowly in opposite directions, observing the skin the whole time. Once he’s satisfied he holds the sheet up higher, taking stock of everything on the body.

“Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“Not sure yet,” he answers, moving to hold the dearly deceased’s eyelid open and peering into the eyes of a dead man. “You get that shit set up and I’ll poke around.”

I nod in reply and head toward the shelves along the back wall. There are two rows of supplies on the shelf, so I set up our tiny spy camera on a tallish bottle at the back that looks like it isn’t used often. Our camera and mic will be able to sit there unnoticed for a good while.

Turning to Pops I see him still poking around the bodies, humming and hawing but not really saying anything. By the time he stands by the last body he looks like he has an inkling as to what’s going on, but before he can confirm the door handle jiggles. Pops dives back into his wheelchair and ends up spinning it, hitting a metal bookshelf and leaving him facing into a corner.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in here?” a male voice with a slight Russian accent demands.

“I’m so sorry! My family is on a tour with Svetlana and we lost my grandpa. I found him in here so I was just collecting him and heading back out.”

I grab the handles of the chair and spin Pops around. Pops, who has a suspicious wet patch and his junk out of the open zipper of his chinos. The mortician guys eyes grow huge as Pops yells about Vietnam and communism.

“I’m sorry, so sorry!” I apologize, through clenched teeth to hold my laughter in. “Come on grandpa, it’s probably time to get you home for supper.”

The Russian guy nods and waves us out, but not before slipping on something wet on the floor. I don’t want to know what that could possibly be so I power walk Pops out of there, running into our group in the hall. Pops still has his dick hanging out, pulling a yelp out of Svetlana.

“Get me outta here! These people are crazy! Blonde scary lady, help me!” Pops pleads with her as she shakes her head in horror, taking two steps back to escape the crazy old man. “I don’t want them to cremate me and grow a tree out of my ass!” He hollers, drawing the attention of a family group and three dodgy looking fucks in cheap suits.

Jules’ lip is starting to tremble and I know we’ve got about 30 seconds before my stoic brother loses it. I start grabbing pamphlets from a wall of information, shoving them onto Pops’ lap while my brothers apologize. I leave them in my dust because I cannot keep this shit in. I run out to the car, pushing Pops in front of me and explode into giggles at the back of the SUV.

“Aaaaaand end scene.”

Tank

“No offense brother, but this feels kinda weird.”

Nitro’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. Thoughts of Mira and our date last night up until I had to drop her home writhing in pain. I turn and take in Nitro’s profile before letting out a sigh. He’s not wrong. Being on a stakeout with him does feel weird. For as long as I’ve been in DRMC, I’ve always partnered with Judge for shit. Work, runs, stakeouts. He’s the same, Fox always has his six. To be sharing an SUV with each other does feel a little off.

“Yeah. I get it.” Pres has us placed as backup to the Tombs’ at Roman’s preferred place of disposal. I can see why Roman chose it. It’s out of the way and looks classy as hell.

“What do you think of Sergeant Davies?” Nitro asks after a beat.

He’s not the usual type of power hungry cop you get out there. The ones that hate MCs and all we stand for even though we keep our noses clean and help the Rose Grove community as much as we can.

“For a cop, he seems like a good guy. I didn’t have any issue with him,”

Nitro grunts in return. “Me neither. Pretty much told me straight up that it was a bullshit charge. Not even a charge, more a complaint that they have to follow through. Fucker even let me sit in the car when he pulled over some kids joy riding. What the fuck kind of cop does that?”

We both share a look. A snort escapes me and I shake my head. I can’t tell if Davies is fucking with us, or Rose Grove’s useless as horseshit sheriff. The sheriff who only cares about rubbing shoulders with the country club assholes.

“Heads up,” Nitro nudges me and points toward the funeral home Tav has just come running out of. “Wait, is Pops in a fucking wheelchair?”

We watch and Pops yells and shakes his fists, Tav shoving him around the back of the SUV and bending over.

“What the fuck?” I’m about to get out of the SUV when Gus and Jules come wandering out, pace slow and steady until they get further from the funeral home entrance when they bolt behind the SUV and join Tav in the same position.

“Are they fucking laughing?” Nitro asks, his voice high pitched, face scrunched in confusion.

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