“Is that a lot?” I asked, my throat still on fire.
“Yeah, baby,” he said with a smile. “And I think it’s pronounced Ka-roon.”
“You think you know more than me about gin?” I rasped, trying my best to keep up the ruse.
“No, but it says right here on the bottle how to pronounce it. See?” He said, pointing to the label which read Caoronn. Just below it was printed {Ka-roon}.
“Good,” I replied. “I was testing you and you passed.”
“We should celebrate,” Scooby said. “How ’bout another round of this fine gin?”
“I think I’d rather shove a handful of flaming juniper berries straight into my mouth,” I said.
“So, you’re not a gin expert I take it?”
“Okay, I admit it, this bottle was a gift from Clarence. It’s been unopened in my cupboard for four years.”
Scooby laughed. “Alright then,” he said, his tone turning somber. “I’ll pour one for me and one for my brother.” He poured two drinks and raised his glass high. “To Scrappy. I miss you, brother,” he said before shooting back both drinks.
“What was he like?” I asked.
“He was funny. Smart as hell. Smarter than me, anyway. He was a fighter too. A real scrapper. That’s how he got his name. We started hanging around the Howlers when I was sixteen and my brother was fourteen. Needles kind of took us under his wing and started calling Otis Scrappy because he got into at least one fight a week. Since I was his older brother, Needles naturally started calling me Scooby and that was that. Soon, my brother and I were both club recruits and the names stuck.”
“Did the two of you fight a lot as kids?”
“All the time. Always together, side-by-side. Never with each other,” he said pouring another drink. “Except on the night he died.”
“What happened?”
“Wrath and Jeykll went on an unsanctioned run and my little brother decided to join them,” Scooby said, staring into his glass. “While they were out, Scrappy was murdered.”
“By whom and why?”
“Wrath, Jeykll and Scrappy were in the process of rescuing a group of kids from a Kings safehouse. Kids who were scheduled to be sold. Scrappy was outside standing guard when a member of the 719 Kings named Li’L Frisco snuck up on him and cut his throat.”
“Oh, my god,” I said, tears welling up. “He was trying to save kids from a gang?”
“They didn’t just try. They succeeded and I’m proud as hell of my brother for doing that, but those kids went home that night, and my brother didn’t.”
“And you blame Jeykll and Wrath for his death?”
“I blame myself for not being there,” he snapped. “For not having my brother’s back. But yes, I’m pissed at Wrath and Jekyll for bringing him along, and not telling Sundance what was going on. And I’m pissed at Scrappy for going without me. Hell, Twinkles, I’m angry at the whole fucking world for what happened to my brother. But when I find him, Li’L Frisco will be the one who’ll pay.”
“I know you don’t like the police, but if you know who killed your brother, why can’t you go to them? If you think they won’t listen, you could call in with an anonymous tip or something.”
“Remember I told you that Sherriff Sanders was dirty?”
I nodded.
“He’s in the Kings’ pocket.”
“He knew about the kids?”
“I don’t know for sure, but Sanders and others within Monument PD are definitely on the Kings’ payroll. Besides, even if they weren’t on the take, you think the cops would give two shits about a dead biker?”
“So, what’s your plan? Drink yourself into an anger-fueled oblivion until the day you cross paths with Li’L Frisco? Then what? A duel at high noon outside the saloon?”
“Something like that,” he replied.