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Daphne sat duct-taped to a dining room chair. A piece of thick silver tape covered her mouth, and she stared at him, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. Suicide Mike stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder.
“Pull out your gun—carefully—and kick it over here,” the tall thin man in the corner said. He was impeccably dressed. He wore a black club shirt, olive drab slacks, and expensive-looking loafers. His dark hair was cut short on the sides but remained thick on the top.
Slowly, Brody removed his gun from the back of his pants. He laid the pistol on the ground and kicked it over to the impeccably dressed man. When he stood upright, he took a step toward the end table where the ceramic rhinoceros proudly stood.
“Been a long time, brother,” Mike said.
The big man shook his head. “We’re not brothers.”
“We’re brothers until the council says we’re not.”
Brody knew better than to argue further. Once a Dawg in the club, the only way out was death or ex-communication. Death was an easier way. If he returned to the club, the ex-communication ceremony was an ugly and painful process. It was that way, so members would never consider leaving.
The tall man began to whistle softly.
“You must be the Fixer,” Brody said.
“And you must be the rat.”
Suicide Mike chuckled.
“What do we do now?” Brody asked, his eyes focused on Daphne’s.
“We wait,” Mike said, his hand absently twirling Daphne’s hair.
“Wait?” Brody asked.
“The Dawgs are on the way.”
Brody’s heart began to race. “Which Dawgs?”
Mike’s grin was malicious. “The entire club, man. There’s never been a rat like you, Beau. The whole crew has some pent-up aggression. They’re going to love tearing this place apart.”
“They don’t need to come here. This is a nice town.”
Mike sneered at him. “This place has made you soft, Beau. I can’t believe you chose to live here.”
“I didn’t choose it.”
“Yeah? Who did?”
Brody didn’t answer.
“The marshals picked it for you, didn’t they?”
The Fixer pointed his gun at Brody. “Answer him.”
“Yeah, they picked it.”
Suicide Mike leaned down to Daphne’s ear. “See? I told you he was a rat.”
Daphne stared at Brody with tears in her eyes.
“This man was a stone-cold killer, princess. Then he rolled on us to save his own skin.” Suicide Mike kissed Daphne’s cheek. “You love a rat. It sounds like a Disney movie.”
Brody eyed the two gunmen. The first thing he needed to do was get Daphne safe, but he only had a few cards to play. Now was the time to begin laying them on the table.
“I’ve alerted the FBI and the U.S. Marshals about you being here, Mike.”
The biker raised his eyebrows and looked to the Fixer, who shrugged in return.
“State patrol is on the way, too,” Brody said.
That got a laugh from both men.
“The staties?” Mike said. “What about the boy scouts? You call them, too?”
“There’s a cop out back.”
Their laughing stopped.
“There better not be,” Mike said.
“He’s the local constable.”
“Constable?” Mike uttered.
Daphne muttered something into the tape covering her mouth.
Suicide Mike bent down to Daphne’s ear. “You know this cop?”
She nodded.
The Fixer said, “I’ll take a look,” and moved toward the back of the house.
Mike and Brody stared at each other.
“Thanks for bringing my bike,” Brody said.
“You ain’t getting it back, Beau.”
“Oh, she’s coming back to me.”
“There is a cop outside,” the Fixer yelled.
When Mike turned his head to respond, Brody took another half step toward the end table.
“Deal with him,” the biker yelled.
“You deal with him,” the Fixer called back.
Mike turned and eyed Brody for a moment. Then he moved away from Daphne to look down the hallway. “What’s he doing?” Mike asked.
Brody bent slightly at his knees and picked up the ceramic rhinoceros. He cupped it in his hand, hiding the weighty statue behind his arm.
Daphne’s eyes widened, and Brody winked at her.
“He’s talking to someone on his cell phone,” the Fixer hollered.
Mike turned back to Brody. “Who’s he talking to?”
“The state patrol,” he said. “I already told you.”
The biker turned his attention toward the hall and yelled, “He’s talking to the state—”
Brody threw the ceramic statue then.
Suicide Mike noticed the motion in his peripheral vision and ducked out of the way. Unfortunately for him, he moved right into the path of the flying rhinoceros. The heavy knickknack hit him squarely in the temple, and its ceramic horn pierced his skull.
The biker’s knees buckled, and his eyes fluttered in surprise. He opened his mouth in a silent squeal, and his gun fired into the floor.
Brody ran across the room and tackled Mike into the wall, knocking pictures to the floor. The gun fired again, this time into the ceiling. Brody grabbed the pistol with both hands and pointed it down the hall.
The Fixer appeared now, his gun at the ready.
Brody’s hands covered Mike’s hand, which still held his gun. Brody pulled the trigger, firing the weapon at the Fixer. A round hit the tall man in the shoulder, spinning him and throwing him to the ground.
The big man then yanked the gun back and forth out of Suicide Mike’s hand, breaking his index finger with several sickening cracks. When he stood, he pointed the pistol down the hall at the Fixer, but the man was gone. The backdoor swung slowly closed.
From outside, Constable Emery Farnsworth hollered, “Freeze, police!”
Several gunshots fired.
“I said freeze!” Farnsworth yelled in the distance.
Brody thought about pulling the trigger and shooting Suicide Mike, but Daphne watched him with eyes wide. Instead, he only pointed the gun at the biker.
He moved toward Daphne. “This is going to hurt,” he said before yanking the duct tape from her mouth.
She howled in discomfort.
Brody then stepped back to Suicide Mike, who lay writhing on the floor in pain. Several times he tried to remove the knife from the biker’s belt. Each time he reached for it, Mike moved and screamed in pain. The body of the white rhino lay next to him while its horn was still in the biker’s skull.
He tucked his gun into his waistband and picked up the heavy knickknack. He then viciously clubbed Mike with the butt of the rhino. The man cried out, louder than before. Brody had to apply a second dose of pressure before the biker fell unconscious.
When Suicide Mike Eslick finally lay silent, Brody was able to remove the knife from his belt. He also pulled the keys to his motorcycle from the man’s pocket. He then tossed the rhino to the floor and opened the knife. He began cutting the duct tape away from Daphne.
“What’s going on, Brody? Who are these men?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“I have a right to know!”
Brody stopped for a moment and met her gaze. Then he returned to cutting and pulling on the silver tape. “My name is Beau Smith. I’m not a naval officer, and I don’t own a bookstore.”
Daphne stared at him.
“Then what are you?”
“I’m a... well, I used to be a bookkeeper.”