Page 35 of Givin' Me Fitz!
“Has anybody talked to his old lady?” T-Roy stood and directed the question to all of us.
Ders, our road captain, lifted his hand. “I propose that the executive committee take a ride out there in the morning to see what she needs and if she’s heard from him.”
Spider seconded, and I banged the gavel. “Everyone, reach out to all the members of our club, along with the Rough Riders and the Stallions, to alert them of this development and ask them to stand by for news of a memorial ride to honor Boyd. Don’t wear your cuts when you’re not on club business until someone claims responsibility for the robbery and possibly Boyd’s death. I think it’s the Scorpions, but without them claiming responsibility, it’s just speculation on my part. Be safe and don’t ride alone.”
They all stood, but I banged the gavel again. “One more thing. We need to patch in Tim Walton as a full brother. If he’s one of us, he won’t turn on us.”
Hobie lifted his hand. “Seconded. I’ll take him under my wing and show him the ropes.” Leave it to my best friend to see there was a reason I’d brought it up. I couldn’t have asked for a better ride or die.
“Aye,” they all responded in unison.
“Ders, ask your mom how soon she can make another cut. We’ll have the ceremony when it’s finished.” He nodded.
“Now, let’s celebrate our newest member. Tomorrow, we’ll ride as Cowboys to check on Mrs. Townsend. When we return, we’ll have church to discuss the next steps we take to defend our turf.”Bang!I gaveled that the meeting was over.
I truly needed to wrap my head around the shit that was going on and not get wrapped around the axle because of Fitz Morgan. Too many irons in the fire were more important than following the whims of my dick.
Chapter Thirteen
Fitz
“Fitz, you got a second?” I glanced over my shoulder to see Hardy heading toward the swamp with a file folder and a laptop in his hands.
I was dragging ass that morning because I had slept for shit the previous night, stewing about what had happened with Sawyer. I couldn’t ride the roller coaster with him when it came to how he approached the idea of a relationship. I was starting a new life, and this time, I wasn’t going to let a guy jerk me around.
I was fifty-fucking-years old. Way too old for that drama.
I stood from my desk and followed Hardy into the conference room. “What’s up, Hardy?”
He wrangled the laptop for a moment before he sat down next to me. “Remember a few weeks ago when you asked me to get information on TJ Middleton, one of our clients?”
I’d forgotten about it, what with all the recent bullshit in my life. It seemed I’d fallen into the mindset of a hunter—once the prey is caught, move onto the next hunt.
“Oh, yeah. What did you find?”
Hardy took a deep breath, excitement oozing out of him. “So, I tapped into the street cams on Fremont that night.” He popped up a picture on the screen of the laptop and zoomed in.
It was definitely TJ Middleton on the video. He was talking to a tall man who was wearing a flashy black leather jacket with a studded collar outside the Blue Diamond Casino. “Who’s the guy he’s talking to, do you know?”
“His name is Jimmy Germaine. He’s a low-level fight promoter. Mostly underground stuff. He works out of Boxed In, a gym on East Ogden. Now watch.” Hardy zoomed out so we could see the action as it unfolded.
Germaine handed TJ something, and they spoke a few seconds before TJ went into the casino and Germaine walked over to an illegally parked SUV. The occupant rolled down the window and an envelope was handed to Germaine before the SUV sped away down North Las Vegas Boulevard.
“What do you think that was about?” Hardy stopped the video.
“Well, Sawyer Abbott mentioned TJ worked as a sparring partner at the gym where Germaine trains and promotes young fighters. Sawyer says TJ’s very good at it, too.” I wasn’t sure if he knew firsthand or if it was by word of mouth, and I didn’t want to know. The less I knew about Sawyer Abbott, the better. He took up far too much space in my head already.
“Okay, uh, let’s fast forward.” Hardy hit something on the laptop and the video sped up until bike police, an armored police van, and an ambulance pulled up outside the casino.
Hardy slowed it, and we watched as three uniforms rushed inside while two more tried to control the crowd. People gathered around to watch the spectacle, and the EMTs slid a gurney from the back of the ambulance and followed the police inside.
Hardy sped the video again and stopped it. “Here’s TJ in cuffs.” The cops escorted him to the armored van and put him inside just as the gurney was pushed out of the front entrance.
The video stopped, and Hardy zoomed in on the bloody man on the gurney. “That’s Romero Garza. He’s one of Jimmy Germaine’s fighters.”
“Okay, so Germaine set up something—a fight at the hotel? Why? If they host underground fights at that gym, why arrange something at the hotel. Didn’t the neighbors at the hotel call in a disturbance?”
I pulled my notebook out of my shirt pocket and flipped back through to see I had written it down. “Yeah, uh, the neighbors called in the disturbance and the cops labeled it a dispute over a sexual transaction gone wrong.”
