Page 22 of Spooked
“Hound, my man.” Zane grins at me, walking forward with his hand held up. He clasps mine tightly and lifts his chin. “Fuckin’ good to see you again.”
“Brother.” Shooter greets me next, squeezing my shoulder as he walks around the desk to where Bullet has all my masterpieces printed and laid out. Then, remembering I was back in the hospital yesterday, he looks a little cowed and sends me a sheepish look. “Sorry, I should have asked how you are?”
“Fine and fuckin’ dandy,” I respond, then lie, “Just got my crutch caught on something, fell and banged my head on the ground. No damage done.” I stick to the story Drummer had told me.
“Damage was probably done when your mom dropped you on your head as a kid.”
I show him my finger but enjoy the banter. It’s normal, recognisable, understandable, and right at this moment, that’s exactly what I need.
“These the pics you took of the Sullivan House?” Zane steps forward, his head tilted toward me, so I nod. He responds with achin lift, then stands next to Shooter, and both peer at the photos Bullet has fanned out.
“You did a good job.” Shooter gives me a look that shows he’s impressed. “You went in every room?”
“Everywhere,” I confirm. “Except for the attic. I didn’t want to risk those stairs.”
Acknowledging my comment, he tilts his head to the side. “What was your overall impression?”
I’m no architect, designer or builder, but the experts are asking me my opinion. After my brow creases for a moment, trying to stop the words like, haunted, inhabited by ghosts, and fucking terrifying coming out of my mouth, I force myself to sound as casual as possible. “It’s been abandoned for a long time. I wouldn’t be able to say if it was structurally sound, but as you can see, there was mould and decay all around. Holes in the floors, walls, and ceilings.” As they give my words weight and treat me like I know more of what I’m talking about than I do, I continue, “The house must have been magnificent in its day. Easy to imagine high-society parties taking place. But, it’s way out in the middle of nowhere.” Even I feel I’m now making sense, so in a stronger voice, I give them more. “Some of the glass in the windows was broken, but that’s only where trees have overgrown and damaged the frame. What did strike me was the majority of windows were still intact, and the front door closed, no sign that anyone had been there—no kids, thieves, or anyone wanting shelter for the night.” As they give considered chin lifts showing their appreciation of my assessment, I give my summation. “Which makes me think a house that size, off the radar, wouldn’t be likely to have a market for it if it was restored, or not unless you wanted to live off the grid, and had a fuckload of servants to keep house.”
“Restoration would cost a fortune,” Zane states, picking up a few pictures to examine them more closely. “As would be tryingto convert it into apartments. Hound’s right, in that locality, who’d want to live there anyway? It’s way out of town, and the roads aren’t good.”
“I wonder why it’s never burned down,” Shooter muses. “There’s been wildfires in the area over the years, and there’s no firebreak I can see. The trees grow right up to the house.”
The Satan’s Devils are well acquainted with wildfires. Fortunately for us, one burned down the vacation resort that was to become our compound, allowing us to get the land cheap. Long before my time, but the story’s well-known. And then, years later, another burned in the same direction and threatened the compound itself. It had been touch-and-go for a time. That must have been frightening for the brothers in the club at the time. I recall Peg saying his old lady, Darcy, had been one of the front-line firefighters.
“There was evidence…” reaching forward, I shuffle through the pictures until I find the one I want, “that a fire was set inside at some point. It wasn’t successful, and only minor damage done.”
“Deliberate? Insurance job?”
Shrugging, I shake my head. “Couldn’t tell. There was no handy gas can left lying around, but I wouldn’t be surprised. As I said, even pristine, that place would be hard pushed to find a buyer.”
“Unless it was someone who wanted a place off-grid,” Bullet muses.
Shooter punches him lightly in his arm. “SD Construction is legit, Bro. If we take this job on, we’re not going to be courting criminals.”
We all snort. Sure, most of our businesses are above board nowadays, but it’s a fine line we walk, and not always the right side of the law. If we did, there would have been no need for Road’s track to have been extended as many times as it had.
Zane straightens, his hands going to the middle of his back. He arches as though he’s been leaning over a drafting bench for a while. “You’ll be dealing with the client, Bullet, but I think the only service we can offer is demolition. And I’ve fuck all idea what to do with the land.”
Shooter nods. “It’s easy to see why no one else wanted to take it on. I agree with Zane. Not worth restoring, so we raze it to the ground.”
I gather my crutches toward me. “It’s in your hands now. I’ll leave you to break the news to the owner.”
“Siobhan O’Reilly isn’t going to be happy.” Bullet sighs.
His words have me almost losing my balance and crashing back down. Zane notices my wobble and is there by my side, his hand supporting me until I get myself situated, and my crutches under me once more. I simply thank him and turn my back on the room before they can read the confusion and dismay that must be written all over my face.
Siobhan and Sian, daughters of Emerald,I didn’t know who owned the place until I had those conversations with Maeve.O’Reilly.That was the name of the man Maeve told me Siobhan had been forced to marry.
No, no, no, and no.Bullet or Shooter must have let it slip the last time I was here. I am not going to let my brain give credence to information from a ghost.
I’ve got to get out of here. Get back on my home turf and drink myself into a stupor. Alone, in my house, of course, where I can imbibe with no risk of falling down and not be tricked into becoming loose-lipped and giving any insight into what has to be my diseased mind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HOUND
It’s a miracle I don’t crash as I make the drive from downtown Tucson back to the compound. My mind might be fucked, but thankfully, it still seems to work on autopilot. As it is, I’m asking the question,how did I get here?while parking the SUV with the rest of the cages behind the auto shop.
