AFTER SLAMMER LEFT a message for The Judge, we brought Misty back to the clubhouse with us to keep an eye on her. Fortunately, she gave us the directions to Mud’s new setup in Minnesota without hesitation. I could tell that she was cooperating only because she was frightened of what we were going to do with her when it was all said and done.
“We should let the rest of our crew know what’s going on,” said Tank, rubbing his eye. It was just us three standing by the bar. Misty had fallen asleep on one of the sofas nearby and was snoring softly. “Maybe they can help.”
“It’s after midnight. Let them sleep. Not a whole lot they can do, unless they’re willing to contribute financially,” replied Slammer, looking wearier than ever. “Which I wouldn’t expect them to do, anyway.”
“About that, I’ll
