Since the last time I saw him, Dutch had aged tremendously. He wasn’t that old, maybe in his mid-sixties, but the effects of his disease had withered his features. His hair was a lot longer now, hanging just below his collarbone, but I couldn’t tell because currently his hair was pulled back into a ponytail with an old, frayed hair tie. The color had faded from a once dark shade of brown to a white gray color that could be considered salt and pepper if the gray hadn’t taken over so much of his head. His beard was turning the same shade, but it was not as clipped and cleaned up as he used to keep it. He had gained some weight, especially in the gut—and he wore a dingy blue shirt instead of the familiar Armada cut he proudly wore for over twenty years. But it was his face that had aged the most. Weathered and troubled, his once bright eyes were dimmed with an unfamiliar confusion, like every face belonged to a stranger, and he had no idea when yesterday was or today began.
“I don’t remember,” Dutch whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Dutch. Maybe you will remember her tomorrow.”
Tank rose to a standing position and stared at me. “We need to talk, Specter. Now.” His eyes bore through me as he said my name with a fierce authority that had me almost cowering. I could see behind that narrowed glare—Tank knew who I was. He turned quickly to Dutch and patted him on the shoulder. “Alfie, I’m gonna walk Specter out and then come back for a second round of Gin. This time I won’t let you cheat.”
Dutch stared up at him blankly. Blinking a few times, he hesitated before speaking. “What is Gin?”
Tank frowned, patting him on the shoulder again. “I’ll teach you. I’ll be right back, Alfie.”
A look of life flashed back in Dutch’s eyes. He looked up at me and smiled. “Good seeing you again, JD. Don’t be such a stranger next time.”
It was strange how he couldn’t even recognize his own daughter, but Dutch looked at me like he could see right through my disguise. It wasn’t a disguise per se, more like a lifestyle change, but it had fooled almost everyone else. It was almost like Dutch could still see me as the three-hundred fifty-pound man who loved his daughter with every breath of his soul.
I didn’t know how to answer him, so I gave him a smile and reluctantly followed Tank into the hallway.
“Does she know?” Tank asked in a low whisper.
“Excuse me?” I asked, playing stupid.
“Faith. Does she know who you are?”
“I think you have me confused with someone else. Tank, was it?”
Tank scowled. “You may have everyone else fooled, Midas, but I know who you are. I never thought you died that day. There wasn’t enough evidence to back up the mystery behind your disappearance to prove that you were gone. The question is, why in the fuck are you back?”
I didn’t know how to answer him. If I revealed who I was, would he blow my cover? How would Faith react if she found out this soon?
I opened my mouth to answer him, but he silenced me.
“It’s obvious she doesn’t know, and I bet my dick that my son had something to do with your resurgence in the Armada. So, what’s your game plan here? Are you fucking around? Do I need to let Scythe know that there’s a snake in the grass?”
I glared at him. “I’m no snake. The only snake is the man who shot me, buried me in a shallow grave outside of town, and left me for dead.”
Tank’s glare softened. “It wasn’t the Saints, was it? Someone in the club tried to kill you, didn’t they?”
I nodded.
Tank whistled loudly. “Fuck. I knew I should’ve investigated in your disappearance more. I was so consumed with what was happening to Dutch and Heather that I never got around to following up what Switchblade and Guerrilla told us. It had to be one of them—maybe both.”
The thought of Switchblade having a hand in my death infuriated me, but I didn’t think he was capable of murder. He was too much of a pussy.
“It wasn’t Switchblade. I remember a few things from that night, specifically his build, hair color, and voice. Whoever shot me had dark hair and was short. Switchblade is tall, blonde, and built like a fucking freight-train.”
Tank frowned. “That definitely sounds like Guerrilla. I knew that Guerrilla was shady, but I never thought of him as the type of man who would murder a brother in cold blood.”
“I’m ninety-five percent sure it was him. When I met him the other day I was sent back in time and I remembered his voice very distinctly. I just don’t have the proof to back up my suspicions; which is why I’m staying undercover. Once I have my proof, I’m coming clean about who I am.” I told him, knowing that he’d keep my secret. “I mean I guess someone else could’ve worn our cut to throw me off if I saw them.”
Tank shook his head. “You weren’t here for the aftermath. Guerrilla volunteered himself and Switchblade to search for you. Somehow, they found your bike and your cut . . . that’s no coincidence, boy, that’s evidence.”
“But why drag Switchblade into it? What would be the reason behind that move or killing me at all for that matter?”
Tank thought out loud. “Guerrilla was the one who convinced Dutch to step down and Scythe to take over. Maybe he thought he would advance to VP if you were taken out of the equation. Everyone knew you two were next in line. As for Switchblade, either he knew about your murder and was in on it, or Guerrilla brought him in to cover his tracks.”
“I need more than circumstantial evidence. I can’t go off just suspicions alone, Tank. I need a confession. That’s what I’m here for. I came back to find my killer, get my revenge, and convince Faith to take me back after leaving her. That’s all.”
“And infiltrating the Armada again is all part of this master plan?”
“If it gets me closer to her, then yes.”
Tank nodded. “If Guerrilla finds out who you really are, he might try to kill you again.”
“I know.” I looked at Tank hopefully. “That’s why I gotta stay Specter for as long as possible. Will you keep my secret? At least until I can find out more about my murder?”
Tank stroked his goatee. “You know I’m no rat.”
I clapped him on the back. “I know. Thank you for not being a rat. I really need to try to stay undercover for as long as I can. Cipher told me that Faith is in a lot of trouble, and right now my only priority is keeping her safe.”
“Well, you better head on out after her then. Your window of opportunity is dwindling fast.”
I gave him a knowing smile and turned to run after Faith. I hadn’t even taken two steps before I abruptly stopped and whipped back around.
“Do you really think Dutch knew who I was?”
Tank shrugged. “There are days where Alfie remembers everything, and days where he can barely remember his own name. I had no clue who you were until he started calling you JD, and then, when I squinted my eyes, I could see it. Your posture, the way you carried yourself—that sense of pride in your eyes and the way you looked at Dutch with a hint of pain. I knew right then that you were Midas. You had to be. No stranger would stare at a man losing his memory with such sadness and admiration at the same time. You’ve always been a good, kind-hearted soul, Midas. The club lost a good man the day you disappeared. I’m glad you’re back. If you need anything, give me a call. It’s the least I can do after everything that happened to you.”