Page 182 of Outlaws of Tulsa

“What is it?” I blurt out. “You’re onto something.”

“Pretty, pretty boy Caught,” Koyn grunts out. “That’s the code to enter their site. Now that I’m in, I can start scouring the videos. I’ll look for anything of use.”

While Koyn watches videos I would rather not, I go back to my land records searching. I come across an entity called Press House who bought a warehouse in Memphis nearly twelve years ago. It sold a few years later for a steal.

“Bermuda,” I grunt, motioning him over. “Find where this money went.”

Bermuda grabs his laptop and sits down beside me. He scans the information quickly before tapping away on his computer. He finds a copy of the cashier’s check to the entity’s bank and then pulls up the information from the now closed account.

Colin Press.

The name is too similar to Cypress Collins to ignore.

I know we’ve struck gold.

“Colin Press,” I bark at Koyn. “Have someone else watch those videos. Get the info you can on this guy. I think this is his real name. I’m calling Dan.”

Fucking finally.

This feels like progress.

I’m coming, baby. Just hold on.

Turns out, the name was a hit. Dan, who has the resources, put his men on it while we continue to dig on our end. While they search for Colin Press and start tying his involvement with the human trafficking case together, the rest of us are trying to find clues as to where Stormy and Dragon are at.

“There,” Bizzy says, pointing a meaty finger to Koyn’s screen. “I’ve seen that before.”

I squint at what he’s pointing at. A mural painted on the wall behind the cage. It’s grainy in the shadows, so I’m unsure what he sees.

“What is it?” Koyn demands.

“When I was a kid, I used to go visit my grandparents a lot. We passed a sign that looked just like this.” He grins my way like he’s hit the jackpot. “See, that there is the Pig Trail Scenic Byway.”

The picture is still too messy to make sense of.

“How can you tell?” I ask.

“That red pig there,” Bizzy replies, gesturing to the red blob on the wall. “This green bit here that’s crackled should say, ‘Arkansas.’”

“Arkansas?” Koyn growls. “How can you be for sure?”

Bizzy huffs, his big belly jiggling. “Aux Arcs. Grandpa told this story about how the French explorers named this bend around the river. It was later shortened to Ozarks.”

“So the sign you saw when traveling was a roadside sign?” I ask, rubbing at the tension on the back of my neck. “You didn’t actually see this sign in this building?”

“I saw it from the road, but if they’ve painted it on the wall, it means something to them. It might be close,” Bizzy says with a grin. “Might even be close to the Mulberry Mountain Loop.”

“I’m on it,” Bermuda calls out. “From the large size of that room, it appears to be some sort of events center or community center.”

“Try rest stops too,” Koyn orders. “Local museums and hotels. I’m calling Animal.”

The four-hour drive to Animal’s clubhouse in Little Rock was a painfully slow one. I’d wanted to tear down the Pig Trail Scenic Byway rather than heading to Little Rock, but as much as I wanted to storm in and save the day, I know we’re outnumbered.

Joining forces with the Little Rock Royal Bastards chapter is a necessary one. Those guys have helped us in a bind before and I know Koyn will pay them handsomely for it again this time. Koyn even got a call into the prez of the New Orleans National chapter. They sent Scorn, and a plane full of guns and ammo. Now we have men and weapons. It’s time to strike.

“They’re heavily fortified,” Koyn says, addressing the large group of pissed off bikers. When you mess with one, you mess with all. “That’s why we go in hard and we go in fast.”

Everyone grunts in agreement.

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