Page 86 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

“What we should be considering,” Swift says, “is Duke’s mindset. He’s lost his property. Is he going to take that lying down? Any influence he had over Saffie’s father is gone with her supposed death.”

Rascal sits forward. “I’ve been checking Winston Bartell’s bank accounts. There was a hefty sum going in regularly to Duke’s accounts, but that stopped a few months back.”

“Presumably as Duke’s no longer providing proof of life?”

“Huh,” Swift exclaims. “It’s probable that her parents were the first people he approached trying to find Saffie. Once he showed his hand, Bartell had no reason to continue the payments.”

“Was he paying much?” I ask, wondering what Saffie’s worth.

Their treasurer shrugs. “Approximately a million every three months.”

I whistle through my teeth. That’s enough to keep any club going. More than our auto-shop brings in, that’s for certain.

“Small change for Bartell.” Rascal shrugs.

Just how loaded are Saffie’s parents?

“What the fuck do they do with that money?” Snatcher snarls. “That clubhouse could have had gold-plated fittings with that type of dough coming in.”

“Hang on a minute.” Something’s playing on my mind. My brow creases and I tap my fingers on the table as it comes back to me. “Knife didn’t seem upset when he thought Saffie had died. That’s a chunk of money to lose.”

Stormy raises his chin. “You heard but you’re not listening. Most of the money was going to Duke, not directly to the club.” As my eyes fill with horror at the assets this man must have at his disposal, Stormy grins. “We have, of course, frozen any monies going out. All Duke will have is the cash he has with him, or what he can beg, borrow or steal from someone else.”

“That means he’ll be looking into who’s blocked his accounts.” Road’s frowning. “He’ll know he’s a wanted man.”

“He’ll know that anyway. Whether it’s the mafia, feds or another club who took the Wolves out, he’ll believe someone will want to tie up loose ends. Which he and Grit are, by being alive. It’s no surprise he doesn’t want to be found.” Rascal sits back and links his hands behind his head after making his pronouncement.

“What about the support clubs?” I ask. “Could they be giving Duke shelter?”

Snatcher’s phone pings at that precise moment. He looks down at the device, reads a text, then he looks at me with a broad smile. “Funny you should ask that.”

“Preacher successful?”

“Yeah.” Snatcher nods at his VP. “He, Piston, Grinch and Goofy got access to all the clubs. All bugs discreetly placed and…?” He tilts his head and looks straight at Stormy.

Stormy checks his laptop then gives a thumbs up. “All working and reporting back.”

“So,” Snatcher directs his words to me again, “we’ve got ears in all the support clubs. If they know about Duke, we’ll hear all about it.”

I’m impressed. “How the fuck did you do that?”

“Lone biker broken down on the road, near enough to each.” Snatcher consults the text again. “They only had one which was a bit dubious about giving sanctuary, but Preacher got around that. It involved a knife and some blood but got him access to the club.”

“He cut himself?” Swift’s shaking her head.

“Yeah, that man’s a raving lunatic. He even bleeds for the club.” Thor’s grinning widely, and no one seems surprised.

“Anyway, once they had access, it was a simple case of depositing the bugs. Unfortunately only in the clubhouse, but hopefully their members have loose mouths.”

Cowboy, quiet up to now, proves his use isn’t only in the kitchen. “Why don’t we bait them? Anonymously approach them and see if they’re willing to work for us. Now the Crazy Wolves have gone, they’ll be unprotected.”

“And spike their conversations?” Thor leans forward, giving Cowboy a sharp nod. “I like that idea.”

“I can get onto that,” Stormy states seriously. “Then we’ll wait and listen. If they’re in contact with Duke, they’ll run any approach by him.”

Snatcher holds up his hand. “Let’s see what they give us on their own first. Don’t want to waste manpower if they don’t know anything.”

There are general murmurs of agreement, while I sit frustrated. I’d rather be doing something than nothing.

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