Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(16)
Harte grabbed his sleeve. “Hey. Are you trying to get yourself killed? Leo’s already steamed enough at you for sticking your nose into his business. You’d better get out of here.”
Sax snapped out of it, releasing Bee’s arms. “That’s the plan. Is Funkhauser around? Never mind. I’ll call him later. Can I get the key to the Winona warehouse off you?”
Although Harte seemed suspicious, he relinquished the key, and Sax was on his way. The entire ride, he went over and over the way Beatrix had last looked at him. With adoration. There was no f*cking mistaking that look. He had snared her interest. But what about the alleged Dom she thought she was collared to? Already Sax hated him. He wanted him as gone as Tony Tormenta was about to be.
What am I thinking? I’m not sticking around here. I’ve got gem shows to attend. If he took Beatrix away from her Dom, he’d damned well better treat her like more than just another in his harem of subs. One didn’t just ruin a sub’s prior relationship, then vanish into thin air. Well, one shouldn’t, anyway. Not that he hadn’t in the past.
The Winona warehouse was usually used for stashing big shipments of guns. Sax hadn’t wanted to tip Harte off about what he was looking for, so he hadn’t asked him the location of the trap door. He had to look around for half an hour or so during which he swiped a nice forty-five auto Glock, sticking it into the waistband of his pants. He didn’t normally pack a piece, of course, going to gem shows. Now, for safety’s sake, he took another Ruger semiauto, shoving that in there too. It felt strange, packing. He hadn’t really done this in ten years. He still went to the shooting range, of course, when at home in Kachina Village. But he certainly didn’t bring any of his irons on the road with him. Why would he?
He finally found the trap door Harte had spoken of. He chastised himself for not having noticed it was under the only pile of hay in the entire warehouse. Why would they have hay in a gun warehouse? They wouldn’t, so that should’ve been his first tip-off. The pit was dark, vile-smelling, and, as expected, empty, and he had to go to his saddlebags to get his flashlight to see what the f*ck was in there.
Disgusting. The stench of excrement wafted up at him, but there were other items in there he needed to investigate. “Holy Jesus on a stick,” he muttered. He couldn’t walk away without looking at those crumpled pieces of paper, those colorful, ah, things scattered around the floor of the dungeon.
He remembered a stick-looking thing he’d seen propped against a wall. It turned out to be a f*cking six foot long cattle prod of all things, giving credence to Harte’s story about humans in the pit. With the switch in the “off” position, Sax was able to poke some of the crumpled paper and slide it up the slimy wall. He didn’t want to ruin his leather gloves, so barehanded and gingerly as hell he took the pieces of paper, hoping they’d reveal something.
Most were notes scribbled in Spanish. Sax could make out a list reminding the shopper to get mangoes, pineapples, and soda. Another folded-up piece was an eerie photo of someone’s daughter in a frilly dress. That was almost more disturbing than the stench of human shit. Another was a business card for a nail salon in Pure and Easy, Carla Madrona, Owner.
The items Sax dragged up from the bottom of the pit seemed to be just bottle caps or pop-top tabs from that sugary soda Mexicans liked. When he pulled up some fake fingernails, some cracked and jagged, crusted with filth from having clawed the sides of the pit, he knew his next step.
“Funkhauser. I’m at the Winona warehouse. What the f*ck is going on with nail salons and Mexican women?” He was direct with his old friend. What did he have to lose?
But his old school brother wasn’t forthcoming. “What gives you the idea there’s anything going on with a nail salon? Listen, you shouldn’t even be in the warehouse. What’re you doing there?”
“That’s sort of beside the point, isn’t it? I’m a member of the club and this is club property. What do you know about smuggling Mexican women? You don’t need to cover up, Funkhauser. Harte told me he saw women in this smelly pit.”
Funkhauser sighed. “Yah, we’ve had women in there off and on, sure. But you don’t want to get involved in this, Sax.”
“I’m already involved. Just tell me. Does Tony Tormenta have anything to do with these women? Just a simple yes or no.”
The sergeant-at-arms paused for a long f*cking time. Sax knew he was still there, though, by his heavy breathing. Finally, one word. “Yes.”
Sax confirmed. “Yes Tormenta’s involved in the human smuggling? That’s all I need to know.”
Now the words tumbled from Funkhauser’s mouth. “Sax! There’ll be blowback if you get involved in this, I promise you! And I have no control over what happens once you begin poking your nose into shit that doesn’t concern you.”
“Yeah, well.” Sax wrinkled his nose. Speaking of shit. He’d have to pull in at that truck stop outside of Flag and take a thoroughly antiseptic shower before going to escort Beatrix into Pure and Easy. “I’m already in the shit, Funkhauser. Don’t worry. It won’t concern you.”
“I’m just worried about you, Sax. I don’t know your beef with Leo, but I saw you making out with that former nun through the window. You’re living on borrowed time, Sax. Since when are you such a shit disturber?”