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I walked into the common room more confused than when I had left.
Viking was behind the bar and handed me a Scotch. His grin was big and wicked. "You done good."
"Thanks." I looked around for the women, but they weren't in sight – except for Dragon.
Slicer came up to me. I noticed for the first time that he was wearing a prospect vest. He said, "What's all the secrecy?"
I clapped a hand down on his shoulder. "I can't say. Don't take it personally. I was left out of a lot when I was a prospect, too. But we're getting ready to do the right thing."
"I thought so."
Gunner appeared, walking towards the front door. He held a satchel under one arm and a long case in the other.
I said, "That a rifle?"
The chaplain nodded.
"You know how to shoot those, too?"
Another nod, and a gritty grin. He set the case and satchel down on the sofa. He popped the clasps and opened the case. Inside was a long military-looking rifle with a scope.
I said, "Wow."
Slicer's eyes were wide.
Gunner grunted, "Noreen BN36. A little touchy, but great long range. Takes 30-06. Don't touch, I got 'em all polished." He indicated the several loaded mags set in foam around the gun. He snapped the case shut. "Gotta find a good spot. See ya tomorrow."
I blinked at him as he headed out the door.
Slicer blew out a breath. "Uh, don't ask?"
My words came out slow. "Yeah... don't ask. I'm not sure I know." I gulped at my Scotch.
Donna came over to us and looked after Gunner. She was also wearing her prospect vest. "Interesting times."
Kristy joined us, looking worried. She hugged me and I hugged her back. She said, "You're okay?"
"It went fine."
She breathed against me. "Are you sure about tomorrow?"
Donna glanced at her, eyes holding strength to do what had to be done.
I squeezed. "Dealer is, right? That's what counts."
Slicer swore. "Wish I was a part of this."
Still holding my wife, I said to him, "Don't wish it too soon, or you might not be able to handle it. Trust me."
He nodded.
Grannie came out from the right hall. "Slicer."
"Yes?"
"Come here. You're going to help tomorrow."
His face lit up.
I shook my head. Is he ready? Even if he just drives for cleanup?
~ ~ ~
Sunday wasn't sunny; it was windy. Breakfast was fruit – bananas and apples. Coffee was the only familiar smell in the cafeteria.
Dealer threw a peel into the trash. "We're riding today to deliver a blow to the Surenos. You all know that."
Silence fell over the room. Only the coffee machine made any noise – the drip-drip-drip of the hot liquid into the glass pots punctuated the president's point.
Sonar was sipping coffee, watching.
Dealer's voice became stone. "Some of us might not come back today. Go out and give your best. And know that your brothers and sisters are with you. You've all been briefed by Twenty on your functions. Work fast, both in taking them down, and what comes after. Sheriff Jefferson will be waiting with the deputies."
I wasn't sure what all that was about, but I wasn't slow. We were going to ambush the ambush. Or something like that. Gunner must have gone to find a suitable spot for sniping. Twenty had only told me that I was to bodyguard Dealer unarmed and that I could pick up and use whatever they dropped. He also told me to carry a shop rag from the stack on the helmet table.
I didn't know what anyone else's function was as I wasn't in on Twenty's briefing of them. I just knew I and the others with Dealer, including Dealer, were bait.
The president brushed his hands. "Time to move."
Kristy had told me she would be driving the Suburban, and had been prepped to provide body removal. She hadn't said whether they were to be theirs or ours.
I followed Dealer out. Only a couple of days in colors? Am I to die today? I looked back at the battered-looking brothel. Something in me said I wouldn't be seeing it again. A lump formed in my throat but I climbed onto my Harley anyway.
A moment later, Dealer twirled his finger in the air. Harleys coughed and rumbled to life. He gave a motion and pulled out. Big Pizza immediately followed after, then Gripper, Viking, and me. Behind us, the rest of the club scrambled for their bikes and vehicles. We had an hour to get there and it was only a half hour ride. I wondered if Dealer was feeling what I was: let's get this over with.
The enormity of what we were doing seemed insurmountable. Insane. We passed a sheriff's SUV sitting near the onramp. I saw a wave, but not who it was. It was a black hand, so either the sheriff or Deputy Davies. The other deputies, the rotating six or seven I'd seen, were all white.
Was the county sheriff enough to cover for us? Were we riding like pawns into a game bigger than we should be playing? It was one thing to earn my colors and the pride was strong, but was our brotherhood strong enough to face a gang? The rest seemed to think so.
We were on the highway heading northwest only until the next exit. While the highway led down into the city, we needed to be headed towards the interstate. Exit 89 was a long road winding north through the upper foothills. We would eventually meet the East Frontage intersection where the road went west down into the city.
A few ranches dotted the way to our left while the treeline wound above us to our right. Ahead, the interstate could be seen in the deep distance. A ranch was ahead with fallow fields and broken fences. The house was boarded up and the barn looked open and empty. It was on the corner of East Frontage.
We turned left. Dealer was looking at the old ranch. Then he made a motion: tighten up. At the same time, he accelerated. We twisted our throttles and produced a staccato roar of road thunder. I tightened up to the left behind them all. Ahead was the gas station.
A large pylon that had once held the Conoco sign stood like a finger pointing to the sky – the sign long since removed and sent somewhere. Heaven or hell for signs, I did not know. The pumping machines were gone, the pavement to the side all dirt where the tanks had been dug up and removed. The building was a large minimart type that had featured a large store, restrooms, and a small café. Plywood covered all the gaping holes of what had once been the building's windows. The front door was padlocked with a heavy chain.
The single realty sign hung at an angle, one of the nails having come off or been removed. No one was going to buy the place. To our right in the distance, the new gas station right off the interstate could be seen. Big diesels swarmed around it.
We turned into the former gas station.
Dealer pointed. A glimpse of something Red was around back.
The Surenos were already here.
We rode slowly to the left of the building and passed it. Behind the building, to our right, was a parked car, cherry red and shining. Doors opened.
Dealer made a motion to turn around. We swung the bikes around and parked, the building just shielding our bikes.
I knew what he was doing – he was using the building to block gunfire from hitting our rides. A sick and heavy feeling coursed through my bones, turning them all to water. I almost stumbled setting the kickstand. Off came my helmet.
The cool wind that washed over the top of my head did nothing to settle my sudden jump of nerves.
Dealer and the others were off, walking around the corner.
I followed quickly, taking my spot to the left of Dealer.
He glanced at me quickly. "Which one?"
Do' was easy to see. Short and squat and old. I said, "The short one with the gray beard."
Big Pizza chuckled and stroked his belly length beard. "He calls that a beard?"
Dealer moved so he was directly in line with the Surenos leader. He held out his hands as he approached and so did we.
The Mexicans, for their part, watched us with all the disdain of Dobermans considering Dacshunds.
Gripper muttered, "Fat one has a long gun. In his jacket."
Dealer said, "Play it cool."
We were twenty feet from them.
Time seemed to slow.
Dealer spread his vest and turned, showing he was unarmed. We did also.
I heard, "Gringos estupidos."
One of the four behind Do' raised a phone.
Gripper said, "Here it comes..."
All hell broke loose.