Page 7 of Death's Deal

“Sure. Everyone wanted it and no one knows where it is. Why?” I ask.

Leaving the hangnail on her finger alone, Piper pulls free a heavily worn coffee table sized book, tucking it tight to her chest. “I’ve been reading it and I was able to decipher a great deal.” She peels back the cover, opening to a certain page. “The other day I saw something that may be important to you.”

What I find important is she has it.

Twisting a section of her thick black hair around her finger, toying with it and stretching its length, the curl bounces back up as she releases it. “I know I could’ve given it to you before, but I was afraid to hand it over, what with the cartel and the fight.” Pulling in a deep breath, Piper turns my way and stares deeply into my eyes. Her eyes speak of her fears, her strength, and her ability to persevere. The color is fragmented like water racing over granite, both dark and light. I can see what Cap found alluring about her, and frightening, all at the same time. There’s a hardness and a callousness that clouds her. She could just as easily kill someone as she could cry before them.

She points at a section. “This was about your old president, Mayhem, and a woman named Hylocereus.”

Piquing my interest from somewhat bored to fully involved, I attempt to school my reaction, as if it doesn’t alarm me to hear my dead mother’s name. “It called her by name?”

Uneasy, Piper takes a seat. “She was the Queen’s best friend. She came to the compound a great deal, though I didn’t know her personally. We knew of her as—”

“Cactus,” I state. My mother’s nickname. Quick to know more, I ask, “What did it say about Mayhem?”

“Mayhem wasn’t mentioned in the book lovingly. Though the days I saw them at the compound it seemed like the Queen had a great deal of respect for Cactus. Mayhem was more of an annoyance.”

“Why are you telling me this, Piper? Why now?” She’s been here for weeks, and she could’ve given this to me at any time.

“I know the agents are still watching Code and me. No matter where we go, there they are. It’s just a matter of time before they take it from us. Honestly, there’s too much intel about the clubs, the cartels, and other people of power for them to have control of it, and it needs to be cared for until all of its secrets are solved.”

“So, you want to hide the book here?”

“Yes.” With a heavy thud, the book closes. “I don’t think your family wants their dirty laundry aired.”

A dead woman shouldn’t care, I almost blurt out.

I stare at the worn leather-bound pages. “I don’t think it’s any safer with the Army than it is with you.”

When I don’t take it, Piper stands, tossing her bag across her shoulder. “Take it to the cops, keep it to yourself, or burn it. I honestly don’t care what happens to it, I just don’t want it anymore. I feel you should have a look at it before you do though.” Striding across the room, Piper stops short of opening the door to leave. With her hand on the handle, she states, “I’m really sorry, Death. I do hope it gives your family some peace.” Before I can answer her, she has turned the handle for the door and is rushing away down the hall.

Looking at its stained and curled edges, with the weathered strap lying loosely, I see it for what it is, Pandora’s box. I contemplate taking it straight to a burn barrel and lighting it up, but for some reason I think it needs further investigation on our part. If not for the club’s sake, for the sake of my family, like Piper said.

Claudine Cruz, or who we knew as the Queen, was a horrific woman who killed without remorse, tortured and kept human slaves—slaves like Piper—and who relished the power she held over the DEA, FBI, and various agencies, who knew she was a necessary evil, as well as various other cartels. With her husband at her side, she and Hector were able to almost destroy all of the LA MCs. If not for us all joining together, creating a brotherhood, Hades, SoCal, and the Bows would’ve been destroyed and all rotting in different jails across the U.S.

Lifting the stained cover, a series of unusual hieroglyphic symbols are strewn across the musty page. Flipping it a few pages, it’s easy to see this book has been a conglomeration of entries. Based on the look of it, the handwriting was from the same person, but the entries differ by age. A younger version of the writer had completed sections. Time and precision when they were learning their “code,” whereas the more mature designs show less concentration to the legend and more muscle memory to the input.

Pulling free the paper legend Piper supplied, I eye the page. There has to be at least fifty symbols to account for and possibly more. It’s daunting.

“I honestly don’t have patience for this shit.” Slamming it closed, and setting it in the safe, I lock it away. I have other, more pressing issues to contend with than my fucked-up family. Namely, another fucked-up family and a subpoena.

Crossing through the bar and passing Trigger, my SA, where he and his Rottweiler, Radish, are walking in, his happy gait is in high contrast to my own. “Hey, man. You okay?”

“Um. Yeah, I’m good. I’ll see you later.”

Hitting the pavement, absently saying the odd hello here and there to other boys from the club, I head for my bike. With the sunlight smacking me like a Mack truck in the eyes, I tossed on my shades as I straddle my Night Train. The feeling of it between my legs gives me a sense of peace. Kicking it down into gear and heading toward Long Beach, and the house I thought I’d only visit to set on fire, I’m on my way to a place I never wanted to see again.

Morriso's summer home.

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