Chapter 12 - The Recording in the Saddlebag
The tinny, compressed audio playback echoed off the greasy walls of the diner, filling the silent room with the undeniable proof of a conspiracy that reached the highest levels of the state government.
"Twenty thousand cash on delivery, Councillor," the recorded voice of a younger Deputy Miller crackled through the intercom speaker. "The biker is still unconscious on life support at St. Jude's. Once the transfer papers are logged under the abandoned ward protocol, the kid belongs to the out-of-state buyer. No traces, no loose ends."
"Make sure the hospital records are scrubbed clean," the Councillor's voice replied smoothly from the antique audio tape. "If that biker ever wakes up, I want his entire history buried so deep he won't even remember his own name."
Jax clicked the stop button, plunging the diner back into absolute silence. The micro-cassette recorder felt small and insignificant in his massive, calloused palm, yet it held the weight of an atomic bomb.
On the other end of the open line, the Councillor’s voice was gone. The line had gone completely dead, the abrupt disconnect clicking loudly in the captain's ear before he pulled the receiver away from his face.
Deputy Miller let out a low, pathetic whimper, his knees finally buckling as he slid down the wall until he sat crumpled on the shattered glass. "You... you recorded it," Miller choked out, his arrogance completely shattered. "You weren't just a reckless biker... you were keeping logs the whole time."
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"You think a guy who lived on the asphalt doesn't keep receipts when someone tries to steal his life?" Jax asked coldly, tossing the small cassette recorder onto the counter right in front of the state police captain. He kept his eyes locked on the commander. "That's copy number on
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