Page 7 of Givin' Me Fitz!
An EMT rushed over with a gurney, and Monty lifted the old woman onto it. “She was hit by the airbag and briefly lost consciousness, I think. She’s been babbling nonsense since she woke up, which makes me wonder if she is suffering a concussion or maybe she has dementia. She rammed my truck as we were parked here. I wonder if she was trying to do harm to herself. Maybe the doctors need to put her under a seventy-two-hour hold and run some tests? Her grandson is going to jail, so who will take care of her?”
Another EMT approached with a duffel, and she looked at me, but I had nothing to say except maybe Monty was being heavy-handed with the grandmother, but what did I know? I breathed a sigh of relief when the other EMT pulled his partner forward and the two of them began checking the woman’s vitals.
Monty stepped away from the gurney and glanced at me, winking as a patrol car pulled in front of the truck. Obviously, I didn’t want to piss the guy off, lest I findmyselfin a seventy-two-hour hold.
The local cops questioned us, finally demanding we go to the substation in North Las Vegas the next morning to give an official statement. We agreed, setting the time at eleven, which would be enough time for us to know if Russell Wycoff showed up to be formally charged.
My question? What kind of man would use his grandmother to distract us while he took off to avoid appearing in court? That wasn’t the kind of man I’d been raised to be—nor, did I think, had Monty.
After Monty and I left the scene, we went back to the office on South Rainbow. He drove around the strip mall and stopped behind the back door of number one, Sparks Bail Bonds.
We hopped out and I followed Monty to the back door. He pressed a button beside the door before he punched in a code and the door buzzed.
“What’s the button for?” I followed him inside.
“To be sure they don’t shoot us. We’ve had assholes break in before, so it’s better to be sure the guys know someone’s coming in and aren’t surprised.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Is that an issue I need to worry about?”
Monty chuckled. “Not really, but we don’t get too comfortable around here because there are always threats. It’s the business we’re in.”
I did a double take. “Seriously?” I survived the Navy and the Marshals Service with minimal injuries. I didn’t want to die picking up people dumb enough to break the law and try to leave town because they don’t want to pay for their crimes.
The big guy broke out in hysterical laughter as Sparky’s son rushed over to us. “Monty, we had a call from Clark County lockup. Everyone else is out on other jobs, so can you go to the jail to bail this guy out.”
Monty turned to Hardy. “Who is it?”
“A guy named TJ Middleton called Denise early this morning. He gave her Sawyer Abbott’s name to guarantee the bond. Middleton was arrested for assault on The Old Strip last night.”
“Shit. Sawyer Abbott is a Steel Cowboy. They own a few businesses in Pahrump, three of which are brothels, though I believe one burned down. This guy who works for Sawyer was picked up for assault? Is he in the club?” Monty frowned.
Hardy shrugged. “No idea. They didn’t tell Denise anything else.”
I had no idea who TJ Middleton was, and I’d heard there were brothels in Nevada, though not in Clark County. Then it struck me—Dallas St. Michael has mentioned a biker who had sacrificed himself and ended up being beaten to hell by the Corsican Cartel when I was in Vegas with the guys from GEA-A to look for Giuseppe and Teresa Torrente.
The Pahrump Steel Cowboys had been instrumental in distracting the cartel members while the Torrentes were being rescued and even assisted in the recovery of fifty kilos of uncut heroin and the arrest of key members of the cartel and most of the Mojave Scorpions.
The guys at Sparks Bail Bonds had come in with warrants to arrest several of the Scorpions at their clubhouse, and when Dallas showed up with a box truck filled with drugs that the Scorpions had stolen from the cartel, all hell had broken loose.
I’d been at Lake Mead with Zayn Reddy, Smokey Colson, and Dallas to assist with the recovery, and I’d had the opportunity to meet a few of the Steel Cowboys during the planning, but I didn’t get to meet their president. Sawyer Abbott had been key in helping rescue Chef Rafael Torrente’s parents.
The Cowboy’s president had been beaten within an inch of his life to distract the Mojave Scorpions and those motherfuckers from the Corsican Cartel. I hadn’t been there, but I remembered Dallas describing what had happened. It all sounded gruesome.
“I’ll go bail out TJ Middleton.” I was the new guy, and I knew I had to pay my dues.
Sparky stared at me. “You don’t have your license yet, so I’ll send Digs with you. Thanks for taking this on, Fitz. I don’t really want the kid in jail over the weekend.”
I nodded and went outside to my rental to wait for Jordan Digs. I hadn’t worked with him yet, but we’d already met and I’d seen him around the office. I was anxious to get to know all of the crew better. Digs seemed quiet and observant, which suited my personality just fine.
Chapter Three
Sawyer
Spider came into my office where I was talking to Mouse about upgrading the security around the perimeter of our properties, including the clubhouse. “You got this?”
Mouse nodded and left.
I turned to Spider. “What’s up?”
