Pearly-Dewdrops' Drops

Jax did nothing to conceal or obscure his return to Charming the next morning. He took the busiest roads and made sure that he drove by the police department - the latter not only so Unser could report Jax's arrival back to the club… like a good, little snitch but also to see if Hale was working. After checking in with SAMCRO to see if Piney had made any progress on his end, Jax planned on having a little chat with Charming PD's second in command.

So, consequently, as he expected when he pulled into the Teller-Morrow lot, there was a line of Sons waiting for him. Just as they all wore leather on their backs, their faces held similar expressions of wariness and curiosity. As Jax parked, turned off his bike, and took off his helmet, he found himself wondering - and guessing - who would be the first to actually say something to him. Given that he didn't see Gemma around… which was both a relief and worrisome, his money was on Bobby.

And he was right. "It's been a while, VP."

"Yeah, where have you been, Jackie-Boy?"

Stopping several yards in front of them, Jax spread his legs and crossed his arms over his chest. It felt like he was squaring off against five guys who, to varying degrees, wanted his head. Considering the fact that they all had at least one gun on them, the comparison to a duel - albeit a very lopsided one - didn't feel so off the mark. "With Juice around, I think you know where I've been."

"How'd you meet her, man," the hacker in question wanted to know.

But it was Tig who answered. Accused. Sneered. "He went after her on purpose. Targeted her."

"And why would I do that?" Although Jax was holding onto his temper, all it would take to set him off would be one self-righteous word from Tig. The fact that Tig felt like he had the right to play the victim, to act like he had been wronged, wasn't just laughable; it was downright disgusting. Taking several, stalking steps forward, Jax narrowed the distance between himself and Tig. "Why would I go after a woman I didn't even know?"

"Because I told you about Grace," Tig roared. "I told you about how much I loved her and about how she was too good for this life, so I let her go."

By the time Jax asked, "and why would I want to hurt you, Tiggy," mere inches separated the two men. Not giving the Sergeant-at-Arms a chance to answer for himself, it was Jax's turn to explode, his voice thundering over the nearly empty lot. "Because I wanted revenge - for Donna and Ope, and your sniveling gave me the perfect target! Only Grace was dead. But her daughter wasn't. It didn't even matter if she was yours or not, because knowing that I took the last living part of your beloved Grace from you would have been enough."

All around him, Jax could hear the other guys present - Bobby, Chibs, Juice, and Half Sack - murmuring their confusion and their conjecture - an added bonus to his visit, because even without proof, Jax was sick and tired of being the only Son with his goddamn eyes open to the truth. Despite the others' reaction, though, he never took his attention, his flinty gaze, his focus off of Tig. And Tig returned his stare, his ire. But Tig wasn't wrathful because of Jax's insinuations about Donna's murder; he was apoplectic about Tara. "She has nothing to do with that, with us, with this life!"

"Oh, do not even try to claim fatherly concern!" Despite the fact that everyone there now knew of Tara and were aware of her name, Jax refused to use it. He felt like Tig didn't even deserve that much of her. "You're not her dad, you don't know her, and she wants nothing to do with you!"

"Which is all the more reason for you to stay away from her!"

"Nah," Jax denied immediately, shaking his head as he finally backed away from Tig. "Because I'm not you. While you might have been too big of a pussy to fight for what you wanted, for the woman you loved, I'm not a coward." It might not have been an overt declaration, but it certainly got the point across that, while Jax might have initially gone after Tara for payback, it was a hell of a lot more than that now. And it also shut Tig right the fuck up for good, the older man not saying another word the entire time Jax was there.

Once the confrontation between Jax and Tig ended, Jax was able to hear more of what was being said by the rest of the present SAMCRO members. One question in particular stood out to Jax. "Do you think this has anything to do with Piney asking questions about the Irish?"

He turned to Juice with narrowed eyes and was gratified when he watched the other man shrink back slightly. While it wasn't Juice's fault necessarily that the club would have turned to him for information about Tara, Juice could have grown a fucking pair and said no for once in his life. For his inability to have and speak his own mind, Jax appreciated Juice's unease. "What was that about Piney?" After a beat of silence, Jax posed another question. "Where is the old man, anyway?"

"He hasn't been around much," Half Sack answered softly. "But when he has been, he's been asking Juice to get him in contact with some woman from Ireland."

Nervously, Juice excused, "you know Piney. He's probably just high from all that gas he huffs."

"It's oxygen, you moron," Jax snapped, not nitrous oxide." Juice just shrugged, refusing to meet Jax's gaze. "What's her name?"

"What?"

"What is the name of the woman Piney was asking about," Jax clarified for Juice.

But the hacker was either refusing to or couldn't give Jax a straight answer. "I don't know. I never really listen to the old man."

Lifting an agitated hand to the bridge of his nose, Jax pinched the cartilage, trying to relieve some of his frustration. He could feel a tension headache mounting, and he really just wanted to hit something. Someone. But that wasn't going to help matters at all. Instead of resolving anything by coming to the clubhouse that morning, things were now worse between him and the rest of SAMCRO. It was like all of the other guys had a mental block when it came to seeing what was right in front of them, blinking and flashing in neon lights. Even without proof - because, really, Jax didn't have any either, why was the truth so obvious to him but so imperceptible for Bobby and Chibs, for Juice and Half Sack?

"Fine," Jax spat out. "Just tell me when was the last time that any of you saw Piney?"

Again, it was only the prospect who ventured to give him actual and useful information. "He was here that morning when you left with Tig's…" At Jax's steely glare, Half Sack swallowed roughly and then amended what he was going to say. " … when you left with the lady doctor."

Before Kip had even finished talking, Jax was already circling around and heading towards his bike. Two days. It had been two days since anyone had seen Piney. While it wasn't strange for the old timer to head out to his cabin for drunken binges on his own for days - even a week or more, something about Piney's latest disappearance - not to mention the completely incongruous turn his part of their alliance had taken - put Jax on edge. So, not only did he need to talk to Hale before he could return to Tara, but, now, he needed to check up on Ope's old man as well.

Climbing onto his bike, Jax lifted the kickstand and started the engine all in one motion. As he strapped his helmet on once more, two thoughts flashed through his mind: it was going to be a long day, and what the hell was Piney up to now?!

/

His suddenly ringing burner made Jax tear his eyes away from the front doors of Charming's police department. For a second, he both hoped - he missed her - and feared it was Tara. But the display read as Hale's number, and Jax flipped it open to be immediately told, sans greeting, "he's not here. Just come inside."

Without responding, he snapped the cell closed and climbed off of his bike. With the Dyna already turned off and his helmet dangling from one of the handlebars, Jax strode confidently towards the precinct's entrance. Not wanting to deal with Unser, Jax had texted Hale to meet him outside. Without Unser there, it would make Jax's visit and his request go much smoother.

Hale was waiting for Jax outside of his office. After Jax walked into the private, enclosed space first, Hale shut the door behind them. Jax sat down in one of the visitor chairs while Hale rounded his desk, the two of them tacitly understanding that, even without the Chief's presence, it was in both of their interests to keep Jax's visit as lowkey as possible.

Hale started the conversation. "Word is that you've been busy ruffling SAMCRO feathers."

"You can't force a mayhem vote without cracking open a few confessions first."

Calmly folding his hands across his blotter, Hale leaned forward, appearing almost eager. "And how's that going for you?"

"Well, I'm here," Jax reminded him with a wry quirk of his brows, "about to ask you for a favor, so how do you think it's going?"

"That well, huh?" Sitting back with a snap, Hale's movements were emphasized by the squeaking of his shitty, outdated chair. "I take it you're hoping that I have some new information, some new evidence, about Donna's case for you?"

"Actually, I was hoping that you'd let me see the accident report from my dad's wreck."

"Oh," Hale voiced his surprise. "Yeah. Sure." Standing, he told Jax, "just wait here. I'll just go grab it from the file room. Be right back."

Although Jax didn't let his face react, he was shocked - and relieved - that David wasn't an asshole about Jax's request. He'd mentally prepared himself for some gloating - both about Jax actually agreeing that there was something to JT's death that merited a second look and also because, now with Jax seeing things differently, the Deputy Chief would feel like he had an inside man within SAMCRO. Neither conclusion was necessarily wrong, but Jax didn't need David Hale of all people rubbing his nose in club shit.

When several minutes bled into ten, then fifteen, Jax started to become restless. He was just about to ignore Hale's instructions and follow after the cop when Hale reappeared, shutting and locking his office door behind him upon reentry. The first thing Jax noticed was the annoyed expression upon the deputy chief's tan, hard face. And then his gaze dropped to Hale's empty hands. Hale must have noticed Jax's observation, because he gritted out, "it's gone."

Sitting up straight and scooting forward to the edge of his chair, Jax demanded to know, "what do you mean 'it's gone'?"

Retaking his seat, David explained further, "I mean that the entire file on your dad's case, including the accident report, is missing."

His first instinct was to assume that Hale was screwing him over. It was just Jax's natural reaction to not only working with the cops but also with a man he'd clashed with and against his entire life. But if it meant weakening Jax's devotion to the club even a fraction, Hale would want Jax to read that report, and, initially, it had been Hale who put the idea of JT's accident not being quite so accidental in Jax's mind in the first place. Why would he purposefully prevent Jax from looking at potential evidence that would support his, now their, suspicions?

He forced his initial thoughts away and was able to keep his temper, his frustration held at bay. Jax could say a lot of unflattering things about David Hale, but the other man wasn't an idiot, so he could only hope that his memory was on par with his intellect. "Will you tell me everything that you remember about it, then?"

Jax watched as a jolt of amazement flickered across the cop's features. Obviously, Hale had been expecting Jax to erupt in aggravation, too. There was also a smidgeon of regard in David's look as well, and Jax wasn't sure how to feel about that, so he just ignored it. "Well, first, there's the information that I'm sure you already know - the details about the weather, the road."

"I drove out to the site a few days ago just to refresh my memory, but let's go over everything anyway."

"Alright," Hale agreed. Using the digits of his left hand, the deputy chief started to tick his points off on his fingers. "It was partly sunny that day, no rain - enough cloud coverage to prevent terrible glares but not enough for any moisture. But the area wasn't dry either - it wasn't a drought year, so no dust to obscure sight. It was daytime. The old highway, 580, while not recently repaved at the time, was free of any major potholes. 580 has some curves, but they're not sharp, and it's relatively flat. And, as you know perfectly well for yourself, your father was an unparalleled rider, and he was on a road that he knew well."

"Okay, yeah," Jax nodded, taking everything Hale had said in and finding that it tracked with his own memories of that day and his own recent observation of the crash site. "Now, tell me what I don't know."

"JT's bike was never examined, because it was reportedly too damaged."

"That's bullshit," Jax declared, nearly coming to his feet. Instead, he grounded himself by holding onto the arms of his chair. His grip was so tight, he could feel his rings cutting into his fingers. "SAMCRO has his bike. It's been fucking enshrined in the clubhouse."

"And, more importantly, fixed up and any evidence of sabotage destroyed."

"Jesus christ," Jax swore underneath his breath.

Hale pressed forth. "Next, we have Lowell Harland, Sr. - the only mechanic JT allowed to work on his bike. Immediately after your dad's wreck, Lowell disappeared. Everybody said it was yet another of his benders, only, as you're already aware, he was dead - shot and buried with the enemy."

"Look, don't go getting all excited, because I have no proof, but Clay did in those Mayans… or he had Tig do his dirty work for him, which means Clay is responsible for Lowell Sr., too."

"I figured as much after the bodies were vandalized post-identification. We tried to get Jr. to roll on Clay, but that didn't go anywhere."

"Yeah, Clay and Lowell are pretty tight."

"Clay's good at manipulating people, especially the weak." Jax couldn't argue with that, so he remained quiet, waiting to hear what else Hale had to tell him. "Unbelievably, the report does not include a single witness statement."

"What are you talking about? 580's a busy highway. Always has been."

"Well, if we're to believe the accident report, then, apparently, it wasn't busy the day JT wrecked, because there isn't even a name of a potential witness, let alone any statements."

Jax was starting to have his suspicions about not only the so-called accident report but also the missing file, but he'd let David get through everything he had before voicing them. "What else?"

"Despite the fact that JT held on for two days after the wreck, he was never interviewed. The file didn't say if he was comatose, uncooperative, or if no one even attempted to speak with him. What's worse," Hale forewarned him, "is that there's nothing about the driver who hit JT either - no interview, no contact information, no description. Hell, the report doesn't even say why there's no information about the driver. It could have been a hit and run for all the file says… or doesn't say." Standing up, fisting his hands upon his desk, and leaning forward in emphasis, Hale finished with, "and here's the kicker: you'll never guess who the investigating… if that term can even be used here... officer was."

"Unser."

"Unser," Hale repeated, nodding his head in further confirmation.

It was just as Jax had thought. Now, he wondered if David had the same hunch about the missing file, too. "You think he took the report?"

"Or he destroyed it."

Joining Hale on his feet, Jax had one last question for him. "Who do you think the Chief's protecting: himself or Clay?"

Hale stared Jax squarely in the eyes. "Both."

"Yeah…." Rapping his knuckles against the wooden desk, Jax offered a sincere, "Thanks. I… I appreciate this."

But, when he reached the door, he couldn't open it. Instead, he just stood there - hand clasped around the handle, until Hale asked, "is there something else I can do for you, Jax?"

Breathing deeply through his nose, Jax marveled at himself and what he was about to do next. Spinning around on the heels of his sneakers, he queried, "you don't happen to have any contacts with San Francisco PD, do you?"

Hale's face scrunched up in bewilderment. "SFPD? I didn't think you guys had any charters in the city."

"This isn't about the club," Jax told him. "This is personal."

"Just because we're working together right now, that does not mean I'm going to take care of your traffic tickets for…"

"There's this woman," Jax cut him off.

Nonplussed, the deputy chief collapsed back down into his chair with a heavy plop. "Of course there is. So, who's the lucky cro-eater? That is what you guys call your groupies, isn't it?"

"Fuck you, Hale. She's not like that."

"Oh, so we're not talking baby mama here; we're discussing the future Mrs. Jackson Teller."

Strolling back across the small office, Jax insulted the cop. "You know, you can be a real prick." Before Hale could fire back his own smartass remark, Jax continued, "for your information, Tara's a surgeon."

"No shit?" Smirking, Hale asked, "are they her parking tickets?"

Ignoring him, Jax said, "look, when Tara went to med school in Chicago, there was this guy - a Fed - who stalked her. Violently. She moved back here and got a restraining order. But I'm talking three years ago - long before she knew me."

Any amusement gone from both the tone of his voice and his expression, David leaned back so as to better look up at Jax. "Go on."

"Well, apparently, he's gone missing, and the San Francisco PD have been harassing Tara about it. Now, they want to come after me. Tara, knowing about the club and my past, covered for me, refused to give them my information, but I don't want her getting into any trouble over it."

"And the Fed," Hale wanted to know.

"If I knew some sick fuck was after my old lady - ATF Agent or no ATF Agent, then he wouldn't be missing." Hale still didn't look convinced, so Jax decided to appeal to his own interests. "Look, I'd talk to SFPD, because I have nothing to hide, and I actually wouldn't mind giving them a piece of my mind for how they've treated Tara, the victim, throughout this entire mess. But the last thing we need is for SAMCRO to get word that I'm talking to the cops about some ATF Agent… even if it is as a bullshit suspect, not a witness. Plus, no matter what else happens, Tara doesn't deserve this continued harassment."

Shocked, Hale realized, "you're serious about this woman." Jax didn't feel like the statement needed corroboration. "Is she the reason behind you being here, why you're willing to work with me on Donna's case, and why you believe me about your dad's accident?"

"In part," he admitted. "Why?"

"Just curious," David shrugged, already reaching for his office phone. "But consider SFPD handled, though I admit that I'd be interested in meeting this surgeon of yours."

"You help me get rid of Clay, and we'll invite you to the wedding."

"Holy shit, I was just joking earlier about you getting married," Hale admitted, sounding absolutely flabbergasted.

Stopping long enough to throw a smirk over his shoulder at the stunned cop, Jax flummoxed Hale further with a confident, "I'm not."

Any amused diversion Jax felt, however, disintegrated as soon as he stepped foot outside of Hale's office and remembered where he was going next and who he was going to confront. The Chief owed Jax some fucking answers.

/

Jax literally found Unser asleep on the job. After specifically checking Floyd's and the hospital for the Chief's cruiser, Jax rode down the entirety of Main Street, but never spotted the old cop. Figuring he was at the clubhouse, Jax decided to visit Piney first, and then he'd check again for Unser in all his usual haunts. But on the way to Piney's cabin, Jax spotted a police car tucked into an obscure turn-around. If the road was used more, it would have been a great spot for a speed trap, but Jax was pretty sure only SAMCRO members traveled that far out on a regular basis. When he pulled over and climbed off his bike without garnering a greeting, there was a small part of him that worried he'd find Unser dead inside, his cancer finally getting the Chief. But Unser was fine, catching some shuteye with the air conditioning cranked up and his police radio turned way down.

With the back of his hand, Jax rapped his knuckles against the driver's side window three times, making Unser startle awake. After flailing for several seconds in his startlement, Unser turned towards Jax who was already gesturing for him to roll the window down. The Chief complied, a scowl on his face and an excuse on his lips. "I was, uh, just… thinking about a case, really focusing on the…."

"Yeah, I don't care," Jax cut Unser off. Getting straight to the point, he demanded to know, "where is it? Where's the file on my dad's accident?"

"You're the one who put that particular bee in Hale's bonnet? Thanks for that, by the way."

"The file, Chief," Jax impatiently reiterated.

But Unser just ignored him, focusing instead on his own concerns. "Why that self-righteous prick! After all these years of ridiculing me for working with the club, he turns around and does the exact goddamn thing."

"He's not working with the club," Jax corrected the Chief. "He's helping me. And we're not trying to cover up a crime; we're trying to solve one."

Looking Jax square in the eye, Unser told him, "there was no crime, so there's nothing to solve."

"Prove it. Let me see the file for myself."

Disregarding Jax's challenge, Unser argued, "no, what you're doing is unnecessarily dredging up ancient history that's better left alone."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jax cynically asked, "better for who, Clay?"

"If you won't drop it for yourself, then do it for your mom."

Jax wasn't surprised that Unser refused to show any regret for either his initial investigation into JT's death all those years ago or his recent misplacement of the file, and it came as no shock that the cop would protect Clay at all cost - even going so far as to claim that he had nothing to do with anything. But Jax had not been expecting Unser to bring his mom into the mix, and the twist threw him slightly. "If anyone should want the truth about JT and Clay, it's the woman who married both of them."

"Back when all that stuff happened with your dad, it was a difficult time for Gemma… because of Thomas."

Annoyed with the Chief's excuses, Jax tossed his hands up in frustration, yelling, "Thomas died years before JT, and one had nothing to do with the other."

"You were just a kid yourself then," Unser said, rolling his eyes and further pissing off Jax. "So, there were things you didn't notice… like JT being gone all of the time, the tension between him and your mom, and how that eventually led to tension between him and the club, too." Before Jax could respond, Unser kept talking, not realizing that, instead of helping, he was just digging the hole deeper and deeper. "When your mom lost Thomas, she essentially lost JT, too. So, when he really did die, it was like losing Tommy all over again. Now, you're dragging up all of that hurt once more, and Gemma doesn't deserve that. Everything she has ever done has been for the club - your club… and you."

Leaning down to get in the Chief's face, Jax rested his hands against the edge of the partially opened window. He leveled his tone, eradicating any emotion from it when he calmly yet pointedly said, "a club JT wanted to drastically change - or even leave entirely - before he was murdered."

"Now, just wait a goddamn second," Unser started to protest, but Jax was already striding away from the old cop and his cruiser, quickly getting to and then climbing on his bike before Unser could even untangle himself from his seatbelt. As Jax roared off down the road, once more heading towards Piney and hopefully some answers, he heard the Chief yell after him, but he didn't even spare a glance over his shoulder.

Their conversation might have been short, but it was obvious from the start that Unser was hoping to get Jax to back down from his questions about JT's accident entirely. What Unser had actually succeeded in doing was convincing Jax that, much to his horror, maybe his mother was somehow involved in JT's death. Less than 48 hours earlier, he had emphatically denied the same idea when Tara had posed it to him, but talking with Unser had completely shaken Jax's faith in his mother's innocence.

Her role could have been an unwitting one - Unser's cooperation in covering up Clay's sins inspired by his devotion to Gemma more so than even to the club. But Jax's gut was telling him that there was more to it than that. If Unser would have just stuck to how much it would hurt Gemma if she was forced to relive her first husband's death, Jax's wouldn't be as suspicious. But Unser took it a step further than that - his explanations of what Jax's family history had meant to Gemma and how she had reacted to it reading as more justification for JT's murder than proof of her innocence or even a reason for Jax to let go of his questions.

Quite frankly, Jax didn't know what to think - his own recollections of the events and his emotions towards them clouding his ability to sort fact from fiction, proof from supposition. What he needed was to talk to someone else who was around back then for Thomas's illness and death, his parents' marriage, and JT's accident - not someone unbiased, because Jax was pretty sure such a person did not exist; everyone seemed to have some skin in this deadly game. So, he'd add this matter to the rapidly growing list of things he needed to discuss with Piney and just hope that the old man could stay sober and coherent long enough to be of some help to Jax.

/

It was one of those days that made Jax tempted to ride without his kutte - not just because the black leather felt extra heavy and burdensome after what he had learned and intuited from his conversations with Hale and Unser, respectively, but also because the early afternoon was oppressively warm and arid. Without a cloud in the sky, the normally blue expanse appeared a pale yet blinding yellow, the view more glare than anything else. And it wasn't just dry - no sign or hope of rain in sight; it was also completely still, the only breeze to alleviate Jax's discomfort created by the speed of his bike. But, even when going down the old, back road at sixty or more, the heat from the sun baked his shoulders, his back, his arms. Returning to the Bay later wouldn't just be a balm because he'd see Tara; the cooling winds and moisture off of the ocean would also be a relief.

By the time Jax parked his bike at the cabin and climbed off of it, he could feel the sweat running and then pooling all along his body. Although he was now in the habit of keeping spare clothes in his saddlebags, the discomfort was a reminder that he needed to stop by his house and restock before heading back into the city. Maybe he'd even pack a duffel, keeping a few things at Tara's place - not too much, because he didn't want to give her the idea that she shouldn't be naked at all times when they were together, but enough so that he wouldn't be forced to do laundry before every return trip to Charming… as he had been the night before.

Jax didn't even make it to the front porch before noticing that there was something off. Something wrong. Without a breeze, he could hear more of the sounds that were usually masked by weather, particularly the drone of insects. The cabin was surrounded by woods on three sides, so it would have made sense for Jax to pick up on the whine of a mosquito, the near constant chirps of a cricket, bees buzzing, and the rattling vibrations of a cicada. But that's not what Jax heard. Instead, he was hit with a wall of noise - this heavy, dense, tireless humming, and, with every step closer he took, it just became louder and louder.

And then the smell hit him. It was a gag-inducing combination of shit, piss, rotten eggs, putrefaction, and an unidentifiable, underlying sweetness; it was death. No longer caring about the heat of the day… besides how it made what awaited him inside of the cabin just that much worse... and no longer worried about avoiding Piney's bitching ridicule if he wasn't wearing his kutte, Jax quickly returned to his bike, stripped off the leather, and pulled on the sweatshirt he had stripped off earlier. Tucking as much of his face into the neck of the hoodie as he could, Jax retraced his previous steps, opened the door, and then stepped into a nightmare.

Through a swarming cloud of blowflies, Jax unmistakably saw what remained of his best friend's father, but any actual resemblance to Piney was long gone. His skin was a marbled green, gray, and brown with draining blisters and places where the dermis seemed to be peeling away from the tissue beneath. His hair was starting to fall out, and his eyes and tongue were bulging so much that they were protruding from his face. Always a large man, Piney now appeared bloated, visibly swelling even as the fluid from his rapidly decomposing body oozed out of his every orifice.

The stench was so bad that Jax couldn't move any further into the cabin than just the open doorway, and he was forced to turn around, run back into the yard, and throw up mere seconds later. As he fought against the acidic bile burning its way up from his gut and into his throat and mouth, Jax also struggled for control over his emotions. It was too soon after Donna and Opie. He wasn't ready to mourn yet someone else he cared about, someone else he loved. Yet, Piney was dead whether Jax was prepared to grieve for him or not. It also felt like he was the only person who knew Piney who would care that he was gone, the club and its so-called guiding principles of family and brotherhood a humorless joke once again. Jax couldn't even ignore his pain in favor of his anger, because, after he finished at the cabin, he would have to walk back onto the Teller-Morrow lot without anyone realizing he was upset… or that there was even something going on that might have upset him.

So, Jax forced himself to focus on tasks - the steps he would need to take, the things he would need to get through, before he could ride away from Charming as fast as he could and find solace, once more, with Tara. Only once Jax was alone with her again would he allow himself the luxury, the indulgence, of his emotions. Until then, he needed to be detached.

Stripping off his sweatshirt once again, Jax simply left it where he stood and then moved back towards his bike. If he could, he would have removed all of his clothing, burning every article, because that was the only way he'd ever be able to destroy the lingering scent of death. As he swung his right leg over his Dyna, Jax reached for his cell, hitting redial on a number, six months ago, he never could have imagined even having saved onto his phone. As he waited for Hale to pick up, he quickly went over what else he had observed inside of the cabin besides Piney's corpse.

Piney had been shot in the temple, the gun still held securely in his hand… a little too securely in Jax's estimation. There were bottles of booze everywhere - some completely empty, some with lingering dregs, and others mostly full, while family pictures, particularly of Opie, Donna, and their kids, and several different kinds of prescription pills littered the expanse of the coffee table. The cabin had obviously been staged to make it look like Piney had killed himself, but there wasn't a single cell inside of Jax's body that believed the old man to have been suicidal. Even after losing his entire family - whether to death or circumstances, Piney had still been fighting: fighting for the club, fighting for his best friend's legacy, fighting for the memory of his son and the honor of his daughter-in-law.

No, Piney's search for and questions about someone in Ireland must have struck a nerve. Jax was convinced that's why Piney was dead. What's more, the staged nature and underhandedness of the death - no, murder - scene reeked of Clay. The only question was whether or not Clay finally handled a non-club sanctioned kill himself or if he had sent his sycophantic flunky yet again.

"Jax," Hale greeted him evenly when he finally picked up after several rings. "I didn't think I'd hear back from you again so soon. Did you try to track down Unser to see if…."

Cutting off the deputy chief, Jax stated coldly, "Piney's dead."

"Jesus christ," Hale exhaled in shock.

"I just found his body up at the cabin. It's… bad."

"It's been warm, especially for this early in the spring," David said… almost to himself as he seemed to be sorting through what Jax was telling him.

"And the last time anyone saw him alive was more than 48 hours ago. I think he's been dead that whole time." As he talked, Jax put a few pieces of the puzzle together for himself. After realizing just how much Jax knew and was sharing with the people closest to him, Clay must have followed Piney up to the cabin as soon as Jax and Tara left Teller-Morrow two days earlier. Given the state that Tig had been in after not only realizing that he had a daughter with the only woman he had ever truly loved but also that she knew and was with Jax, he didn't think Tig capable of Piney's murder… at least, not at the time. "At first glance, it looks like a suicide, but…."

"But I don't need a kutte to know that Piermont Winston would never kill himself, especially not after Opie," Hale finished for Jax, eerily mirroring his own thoughts on the matter.

Lifting his kickstand, Jax balanced his bike beneath him as he instructed, "check for gun powder residue on his hand, because there won't be any there."

"I know how to do my job, Teller."

"Well, do you know this: make sure you take the back roads up here, because Unser's favorite nap spot is that turnoff a mile or so past the old quarry."

"Shit, are you kidding me," Hale swore. The cop didn't exactly seem surprised, just appalled at the Chief's lack of professionalism, and vexed. He kind of sounded like an exasperated parent.

Not wanting to be there even a moment longer - not even to finish his conversation, Jax started his bike while advising, "I think it goes without saying, but try to hold off as long as you can before reporting Piney's death to the club."

"You read my mind," Hale agreed, ending their call.

Jax was already pulling away from the cabin before he'd even snapped his phone shut.