HARDCORE: Storm MC(128)
Hunter nodded. “Okay. I've got a funny feelin' you two might be good for each other. Hopefully, you'll get a chance to find out once all this shit is over.” He thought for a moment and added, “For now, though, I'm happy for you, sis. This is a good look for you.”
Missy hugged him. “Thank you,” she said again.
“Don't mention it,” Hunter answered, hugging her back.
They walked out of the room and Cain looked at them, his eyebrows raised. “Everything okay?”
“Sure, everything's great,” Hunter said. “You just take care of my sister, okay, Veep? Don't go breakin' her heart or nothin', or I'll break your other arm an' a couple legs too while I'm at it. Got it?”
Cain smiled. “Got it.”
“Now I'm gonna head back to the Knife,” Hunter said. “An' once I'm done pourin' bleach in my ears to wash the thought of you two doin' the nasty outta my brain, I'm gonna round up every Eagle we've got an' we'll come get you on the way to the Teepee. Shouldn't be more than a couple hours, tops.”
Cain and Missy nodded, and Hunter left, hopping on his bike and riding off.
Chapter 35
Hunter
Hunter couldn't wait to dish out some damage to Gaspar's guys. But if the Eagles were going to have a hope in hell of surviving this fight, then first, he had one more stop to make.
He pulled his bike up in front of the Dipper County Sheriff's Office and shut off the engine, dismounting it. He brushed some road dust from his jeans, straightened his cut, and walked in. A cluster of rusty bells jangled above the door as it opened.
Deputy Condell sat at the front desk, typing up a report on an old electric typewriter and fiddling with the carbon paper as he swore under his breath. Condell was a skinny, rat-faced man with a lazy eye and the thin wisp of a mustache.
“Stupid goddamn machine,” Condell hissed, ripping the sheet from the typewriter and crumpling it up. “Every other sheriff's office in this fuckin' state's got computers an' I still gotta screw around with this prehistoric lump of shit...”
“I guess your boss feels like spendin' all those bribes on somethin' else,” Hunter said, leaning against the desk. “Hookers for himself, maybe, since he can't get none without payin' for it.”
Condell scowled at Hunter. “What the fuck are you doin' here, peckerwood?”
“I've got business with the sheriff,” said Hunter.
“Oh yeah?” Condell sneered. “What kinda business?”
“I saw your sister bein' walked in public without a leash an' I'm filing a formal fuckin' complaint,” Hunter replied. “Now go get the sheriff for me before I yank that star off your chest an' jam it up yer hole sideways.”
Condell stood up quickly, his face turning bright red. “Just who the fuck do you think you are, punk, talkin' to the law like that?”
“You're no more 'the law' than I am, Condell” Hunter said menacingly. “You're just a thieving fuckin' lowlife in a uniform.”
“Ah, but what a smart-looking uniform it is,” Hemmick rumbled, stepping out of his office. “This is a surprise, Hunter. I don't think you've ever actually come to my office before. What's the occasion?”
“I'll tell you,” Hunter said, “but I'd like a little privacy.”
Hemmick raised his eyebrows and gestured for Hunter to step into his office. Once they were both inside, he shut the door and sank his massive frame into his chair, putting his feet up on the desk. “Take a seat, if you like.”
Hunter shook his head. “I'd prefer to stand, Sheriff, thank you.”
A grin spread across Hemmick's face, exposing the gaps between his teeth. “'Sheriff,' he says, and 'thank you,' at that. No insults this time, none of that 'Ham-Hock' jive. Whatever's on your mind, it must be pretty damn serious.”
Hunter gritted his teeth, hating how much Hemmick was loving this. Still, as far as he was concerned, he didn't have much choice. If he was going to lead his Eagles into a battle like this, he owed it to them to have this conversation first.
“Yeah, it is,” Hunter conceded. “It's like you said the other day at Cain's place—we've been dealing with each other a long time. It's worked out damn well for both of us, an' my club has always kept our business low-profile an' off your desk. We deal some weed to bored teens, we deal a few pills to guys with pain problems who can't afford 'em otherwise...”
“Sure, your Eagles are as harmless as a troop of Cub Scouts roasting marshmallows,” Hemmick chuckled. “When you're not popping off guns all over the place and doing hit-and-runs in shopping centers, why, you're a regular team of do-gooders.”