Gods of Mischief Read Online Free Page B

those fuckers did David. We both know it.”
    â€œNo, George, we don’t. There’s no proof they did it, and no one’s talking. I haven’t come up with a single lead.”
    â€œWell, you’d better find one quick. Because if someone doesn’t stop these assholes, I guarantee more people will get hurt.”
    â€œAnd what do you expect me to do about it?”
    â€œYour job,” I said, snuffing out one cigarette and fishing for another.
    â€œMy job is homicide,” Kevin said sharply. “If you’re so concerned about the Vagos, maybe you should be doing something about it.”
    â€œI’ve told you what I know.”
    â€œThen find out more,” Kevin said. “You know most of those guys. Why don’t you talk to them?”
    I paused from lighting the cigarette. Kevin saw the look of disbelief wash across my face.
    â€œGeorge, I’m spinning my tires here,” he continued. “This investigation isn’t going anywhere until I get a lead.”
    â€œWhat the hell are you saying, Duff?”
    â€œI’m saying I could use a lead.”
    â€œWhat do you want me to do? Fuckin’ stroll into the Lady Luck and ask Roy if he’s killed anyone lately?”
    Kevin smiled at the sarcasm and stood to leave.
    â€œJust thought I’d put it out there.”
    He stopped at the door and turned before going out.
    â€œThanks for your time, George. Be a good boy.”
    Shooter’s Food and Brew in Hemet was a bar that a friend of mine had named in honor of himself. Shooter came to the San Jacinto Valley afterhis wife passed away and his entire world went upside down. To take his mind off his loss, the man had sunk everything he’d owned into the bar, and that’s where he’d first encountered the Vagos.
    There was something about the outlaw mystique, of renegades refusing to be tied down, riding fast and free on the open road, that appealed to some men. Shooter was one of those men, and it wasn’t long before he was badgering Big Roy to join the Hemet chapter. Instead Roy took advantage of Shooter’s man-crush, stringing him along while his boys played free pool and drank booze on the house.
    A few days after Detective Duffy’s visit, I was sitting in Shooter’s place and plying Big Todd with drinks at the bar. Guilt had gotten the best of me, and I’d decided the least I could do for my missing friend was ask a few questions that might jump-start Kevin’s investigation. Unfortunately the questions I asked put the Vagos vice president in a foul mood, and it wasn’t long before I ran that conversation straight into the ground.
    Started out well, though, with Todd and me reminiscing about the good old days working for Hemet Tree Service, back when he was a seventeen-year-old ground man clearing the debris I chopped down. On the stool to the left of Todd sat a bearded Vago from the Norco chapter, who I didn’t know by name.
    â€œThis motherfucker is crazy,” Todd was telling the outlaw, jerking a thumb in my direction. “Climbs trees like a fuckin’ monkey. It’s unbelievable.” Then he turned back to me. “Hey, remember that asshole who stole the chain saw?”
    It was the same tired story Todd brought up every time we bumped into each other.
    â€œYeah, I remember,” I told him. “I remember trying to warn you, but you had the chipper running.”
    Todd turned back to his buddy. “George is up in this fuckin’ palm tree, like sixty feet off the ground, and he spots this prick lifting a chain saw off the company truck. So he pulls a gun and starts shooting at him.”
    Todd was laughing now. “Believe this guy? He climbs trees with a fuckin’ Magnum strapped to his ankle.”
    â€œThree eighty,” I corrected him.
    â€œA three-fuckin’-eighty,” said Todd. “So the prick is running with the chain saw and George is blasting away