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Rage filled Saks as he walked out of the diner. Luke’s own face was twisted in pure disgust, mirroring exactly the way Saks felt. In silence they walked to Luke’s truck, and climbed in under a tense silence.
“That was bullshit,” Luke grumbled as he started up the truck.
“Agreed.”
Luke put the truck into gear and didn’t say another word, obviously fuming about Okie’s lack of support. Saks’ gut soured, too, but he wouldn’t let one obstacle impede his goal.
“Fucking Okie,” Luke grumbled. “Maybe it’s about time he retires as president.”
“What? Luke, he put together this club.”
“I don’t need a fucking history lesson, Saks. Everything was fine until Okie went to prison.”
“That wasn’t his fault, man.”
“I know whose fault it was, Saks. That’s not the fucking issue. The deal is Okie hasn’t acted right since he returned. He should give the reins to someone else.”
“Who? You?”
“No. I’m too busy.”
“Well, Spider, as good a guy as he is, isn’t president material and you know it. You say you don’t want it, and hell, I don’t either.”
“You’d make a great president.”
“Sure. If I wasn’t a Rocco and carried the weight of one hundred years of crime history on my back.”
“A hundred years? Really?”
“Yeah. We got in on the ground floor. It was the Serafini who were the latecomers.”
“But you have almost nothing to do with them.”
“They’re still my family, Luke, where I spend Thanksgiving and Christmas. Whatever happens to them makes its way to me, as we recently found out.”
Luke pulled in to the shop property and parked his truck behind the garage, but didn’t get out. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his face twisted in concentration.
“I’ll go with you,” he said finally.
“What? That will screw you with the police.”
“Fuck the police. When have they helped me? You’ve been the one who had my back every turn of the way. When Okie tossed me out you walked away from the club, too. When those Rojos kidnapped Emily you kept me sane, and you handled the phone calls from the kidnappers.”
“You saved me from the Rojos,” Saks returned.
“It was my shit that got you kidnapped,” Luke retorted. “It was my own fucking uncle. It wouldn't surprise me if he was behind the hit on you.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Doesn’t it? What if he thought that, if he destroyed my business, I would be more willing to follow down his happy trail? And what better way than to take down my best and most irreplaceable employee?”
Saks admitted it made a twisted kind of logic, one that fit the mind of Raymundo Icherra, Luke's uncle. But it didn’t feel like the right answer. No. Something else was going on.
Rob Gibson rumbled in on his Harley and parked next to the truck. He gave them a wave as he walked to the back door.
Luke grunted. “Well, time to make the coffee.”
“What’s going on?” Rob asked cheerfully as they came to the door.
“Saks and I are going to take off for a while.”
“Oh?” Rob responded. He arched an eyebrow, which reminded Saks of Rob’s brother Gibs. Saks never could get over how much Rob looked like their deceased workmate and club brother. Only when Rob smiled and revealed his chipped front tooth did the illusion fade. Gibs was the best Harley mechanic Saks had ever met, Luke included. Rob was decent, too, but not as much fun to have around as Gibs.
Plus, there was the specter of Rob still working undercover for the FBI. He’d revealed this the day Chrissy left with Pearson.
Luke shrugged. “I’ll call Emily and ask her to watch the desk.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” Rob offered.
“No. This isn’t your thing. Saks, go get the jobs ready for the day. Sort out immediate jobs first, and we’ll push the rest for tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, Luke.”
The shop was always chilly when he entered. The cinder block building stood on a concrete slab which captured the cold of the ground in winter and stored the cold of the air conditioning during the summer. Saks shivered as he sorted through the plastic envelopes on the desk with keys and work orders. He picked four for Rob to work on, then hung them on the pegboard.
Rob stood at the coffee machine, getting it fired up.
“There you go,” Saks said.
Luke came in from the back garage.
“Em will be here in a few minutes.”
“You sure everything is okay?” Rob asked Luke.
“Yeah. Fine. Let’s go, Saks.”
“See you in a few, Rob,” Saks told him.
Rob stared after them as they left, and Saks felt the tension stretch from the undercover agent to them. But Luke, if he noticed, ignored it.
“We’ll take the truck.”
“I can ride,” Saks said stubbornly.
“No. Besides, a truck is more cover in a firefight.”
Saks' chest tightened as he remembered the weapons the Rojos had. Back then they’d lived in a trailer. Now the group lived in a farmhouse on the edge of Westfield.
Luke swung the truck onto the highway, his jaw set.
“We don’t have to do this now.”
“Hell, yes, we do. Those assholes will be still asleep and hungover. I want to strike them at their weakest.”
Within fifteen minutes they drove up the gravel drive of the Rojos’ unkempt farmhouse. The dirtied white paint was peeling off the building, and the grass had grown in thick and untamed. Luke did a three-point turn to make sure the truck was pointing toward the road.
“Come on.” Luke moved to the back of the truck and rummaged through the capped bed until Saks heard the sound of chains. The shop owner pulled out lengths of it and handed one to him.
“Not a gun, but can do damage.”
“Do you really think they’re going to let us in holding these?”
“Hell, no.”
Luke opened the driver’s side door of the truck and leaned on the horn, blasting it repeatedly until there was movement at the window of the farmhouse. The front door creaked open. Pez stood in the doorway, blinking, his long hair an unruly mess on his bare shoulders. He wore no shirt, showing an array of tattoos spread on his chest and arms.
“What the fuck you want, pendajo?” Pez growled.
“I’m wondering what design you want for your next prison tat,” Luke taunted.
Pez scoffed and made a dismissive wave of his hand. “Get your ugly ass off my property.”
Saks stepped forward, swinging the chain lightly from his hand. “Who the fuck hired those guys who shot me and Hawk?”
“How the hell do I know, cabrón? Look, I already talked to your buddy there, what’s his name?”
“Louis Anglotti?
“Yeah. I’ve got nothing more to say.”
Luke jumped over the railing of the porch and swung the chain in his hand. “I ain’t the police, and I have plenty of scores to settle with you pieces of crap. Spit out what you have, or you’ll be spitting your teeth out on the porch.”
Pez cocked an eyebrow at him. “Really, esé. After all, we’ve meant to each other?”
Saks had to admit it. Pez was one cocky mother, but that’s why he was the head of the Rojos in the state. “Hey, Pez. Eyes over here,” Saks called. “He’s just here backing me up. Your problem is with me.”
“I don’t think so, cabrón. The Rojos and the Hombres didn’t have anything to do with that clusterfuck. Do you think we’d pass up the chance to beat some gringo ass, especially you jotos, eh? Plus, we wouldn’t screw it up, either.”
“Pez, your language grows more colorful by the day,” Luke said. He spoke Spanish, so he understood the insult. Saks couldn’t care less. He was here for a purpose.
“Pez,” Saks allowed, “if what you say is true, why have you been hanging around wherever I am and giving me shit?”
The gang leader’s lips curled up. “Just to yank your chains. And look, you brought them.”
“Asshole,” Luke snarled.
“He has a point, Luke. Plus, these bastards are too cheap to hire help.”
The door behind Pez swung open on creaky hinges as other Rojos members shook the sleep from their eyes. Things were beginning to swing against Saks’ favor, and sticking around didn’t seem a good idea.
“Now, you pendajos,” Pez instructed, “get off my property before there’s a real beat-down. And I’m only letting you go because I owe you, pendajo, for helping us with winterizing our bikes. But I think we’re even now.”
“Luke,” Saks said, “we got what we came for.”
Luke snarled then hurled himself off the porch.
“You can call it even,” Luke spit, “for that. But you still owe for what you did to Saks and doing business with my uncle. Keep out of my way, because I’m not always this nice.”
“Yeah, I know, pendajo. You’re a real hard ass.” Pez snorted through his nose derisively. “Next time you decide to visit, call ahead.”
Pez jiggled his fingers, curled in the universal “call me” sign by his head, making his men laugh.
Luke and Saks jumped into the truck and rolled down the hill. “Fuckers,” Luke grumbled.
“I agree. But that’s one jelly packet down.”
“What?” Luke said.
“What Okie did in the diner—never mind. But for once, the asshole told the truth.”
