“We’ll take that back to him,” Devlin said.
Matson stood. “Thank you, gentlemen. I will keep this in confidence. Let me know if you need search warrants, I will get them. Everything comes through me. If your department or my office is compromised, we need to keep this information with as few people as possible. I’d like daily reports from you, Chief—in person if possible. If not, these are my private numbers here and at home.”
Chapter Thirty
Friday, Early Afternoon
Pickens walked across the parking lot to the Dell Café. He didn’t have time for this. He had a lot to do before he met the cops later. If he were lucky, Keaton’s meeting would be short. The president hadn’t said what it was about, only that Pickens needed to get to the café now.
Inside the café, Pickens spotted Keaton in a back booth with Wolfman and Hammer. Pickens slid into the empty spot next to Hammer.
Keaton leaned forward. “Order lunch, then we’ll talk.”
Pickens ordered the lunch special, cheeseburger and fries. When the waitress left to fill their orders, Keaton leaned forward again. “I wanted to meet with the three of you. There’s some stuff the others don’t need to know. I’m pissed the cops were watching us and getting info about us. The cops need to know they can’t fuck with us. I should’ve let you guys take care of them sooner. We have an opportunity now. The Soldiers did us a big favor by blowing up that house. Except it didn’t kill enough cops.”
“There are a few cops that won’t be working for a long time,” Hammer said.
“Sure, but we’ve still got the two clowns who’ve made us their special project,” Keaton said. “Anything happens to them now, and the Soldiers get blamed.”
“Let me take care of them, boss,” Wolfman said. “I’ll take my time. Find out what they know. Then slowly kill them. The cops won’t mess with us when I’m done.”
Pickens glared at Wolfe. The big moron was practically drooling. “You torture and kill two cops and the police chief will throw everything at solving the murders. Right now, they’re busy with the Soldiers. More cops get killed and they’ll come after both clubs. None of us will survive.”
“Fuck you, Pickens,” Wolfman spat. “Man up for a change. Grab a pair. We send a message and the cops back down.”
“That’s stupid,” Pickens said.
Wolfman rose and reached across the table for Pickens’ throat. Keaton grabbed Wolfman by the collar and yanked him back into his seat. “You two get it under control. I don’t need this shit now. We’ll deal with the cops. But no murders. I want them scared and backing off.” Keaton tilted his head to the side. “They don’t get the message, then Wolfman can have at them. Give me some other ideas.”
The waitress brought their lunches. They ate and threw out several ideas. Finally, they came up with two plans that Keaton liked.
Keaton munched his last french fry. “I hear a couple of cops came by looking for the broad.” Keaton glared at Wolfman.
“Not my problem now,” Wolfman said. “Talk to Pickens.”
“Right.” Keaton smirked at Wolfman. “Pickens won her.”
Wolfman turned a dark red, then purple, like he’d explode. Pickens liked that look.
“Pickens,” Keaton said. “If the cops are a problem, that girl needs to go away—permanently. You get my meaning?”
“I don’t think they’ll be back. There’s no reason. Except maybe to kick Wolfman’s ass. He kinda pissed them off.”
“Fuck you, Pickens,” Wolfman said. “They come back again I’ll deal with the blond cop. My kind of broad.”
“Enough,” Keaton said. “We don’t need the attention. We need the cops looking hard at the Soldiers. Make sure the finger points to the Soldiers, not us.”
Keaton slipped out of the booth. “Pickens, take care of the bill.”
Annie and Alf sat at the kitchen table, playing Battleship. Sissy was curled up in a chair. A couple of bikers sat close, watching.
“B 3,” Alf said.
“Nope,” Annie replied. “E 7.”
“Dang, it’s a hit.”
“Sissy, do you want to play?” Annie asked. “Sissy.”
“Leave me alone.” She hugged her arms tighter around her chest. Annie saw tears.
“Sissy, talk to me.”
“Leave me alone. This is your fault.”
“What’s my fault?”
Sissy turned to Annie. “Really, you don’t know?”
Annie walked over to Sissy and knelt. “If I did something wrong, tell me.”
Sissy glanced at the bikers, then leaned forward. “What the fuck did you think would happen when Pickens won you? Where did you think Wolfman would go with his anger and perversions?”
Annie gasped. “I … I didn’t think of that. I was glad to be away from him. I’m so sorry.”
“Just leave me alone.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Invite Wolfman to your room.”
“I … don’t know—"
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Of course I’m fucking hurt,” Sissy yelled.
One of the bikers stood. “You two keep it down or it’s back to your rooms.”
“I’ll talk to Pickens, maybe —”
“Great. You think your new boyfriend will care about me? That’s bullshit and you know it. Go play your fuckin’ game.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Friday Late Afternoon
Brad and Devlin met with Pickens in the late afternoon. They used a passenger van with tinted windows. Pickens was walking through the underground parking lot as Brad pulled up. Devlin opened the side door, and Pickens climbed in. Brad exited the parking lot and weaved his way through downtown traffic.
“We met with the prosecutor,” Devlin said. “He’s willing to deal, but there are a few conditions. You sign an agreement that the crimes in your past don’t include murder or rape.”
“I can do that,” Pickens said.
“We need something big right away,” Brad said. “If the information is good, really good, you get ten thousand dollars for each tip. If the information is shit, if you screw us over even once, we’ll come down on you so hard you won’t see the outside of a prison in your lifetime.”
“That’s some threat. Why don’t you tell the clubs I’m the informant? That would save you a trial and prison costs. Why don’t you threaten my mother and her cats?” He leaned close to Brad. “I don’t give a fuck about your threats. I can give you all you’ll need to take down the Jokers and the Soldiers. I’ll play your game. I’ll give you the first tip now. Next week, late Tuesday night, early Wednesday morning, the Soldiers are getting a shipment of marijuana and cocaine. It’ll be dropped off at the Soldiers’ sergeant at arm’s house.”
“Roddy White,” Devlin said.
“That’s the guy.” Pickens handed a slip of paper to Devlin with the address.
“I have a question,” Brad said.
“Fire away.”
“The night Russ and Denise were murdered, a sixteen-year-old girl went missing. Since it’s likely the Jokers killed them, I think you know about the girl.”
“Not everything’s on the table. I won’t comment on the murders. As for the girl, I can’t help you.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
After the meeting with Pickens, Brad rushed home to prepare dinner for Sarah. While the potatoes baked on the BBQ, he did a quick circuit around his house, making sure everything was cleaned up. While he liked things neat, lately he’d let stuff slip. He decided to clean the rooms of the house Sarah would see. Entrance, kitchen, dining room, living room—bedroom? Wishful thinking, he concluded. Just in case, the bedroom got a once-over.
Dinner was almost ready, a salad prepared, steaks marinating, and potatoes ready for the final bake, when he checked the clock—1850. He filled Lobo’s bowl with kibble and sprinkled on some cheese. That would keep him busy for about thirty seconds.
&nbs
p; He was heading upstairs to change clothes when Lobo raced to the front door and barked. Brad turned back down the stairs.
Lobo paced at the door. Brad grabbed his collar, told him to sit, and opened the door.
Sarah stared, eyes wide, at Lobo. “Oh my, he is big. What’s his name?”
Brad smiled. “This is Lobo.”
Lobo sniffed her hand.
“Can we be friends?”
He growled.
She jerked her hand back.
Brad was surprised. Lobo liked everyone. “Uh, sometimes he takes a while to warm up to new people. Come in. You look great.”
“Thank you.” Sarah checked him out. “Faded U of C sweatshirt and shorts. I see you’re trying to impress.”
“I was cleaning, feeding Lobo, and getting dinner ready, so I didn’t get a chance to change. I thought I had ten minutes. Give me a minute.”
“Sorry, I’m early.”
“Make friends with Lobo. I’ll be right back.” Brad raced up the steps two at a time to his bedroom and changed. When he came back down, he found them in the living room, Sarah perched on the edge of the couch and Lobo in front of her, staring. “He’s watching me pretty closely.”
“He protects the house and me. He thinks he’s tough. Lobo, down.”
Lobo lowered his head to his paws.
Brad took Sarah’s hand. “Come with me. I have to finish dinner.” He led her to the kitchen.
“Something smells good,” she said.
“You must like garlic because it’s either the Caesar salad or the garlic bread.”
“Garlic is okay—as long as we both have it.”
Brad liked the twinkle in her eyes. “I have to put the potatoes back on the barbeque for about ten minutes. I’ll put the steaks on, too. Is medium rare okay?”
“Sounds great.”
“Wine?”
“I’d love some.”
“I have some white.” Brad said. “I hope that’s okay. Even though I’m cooking red meat.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows. “White wine with red meat? My mom would have a fit. Where’s the wine? You keep working on dinner.”
“Chilling in the fridge. Glasses are in the freezer. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I’m starving.” Sarah poured the wine and handed a glass to Brad. “I’m glad I called you. I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me again. I thought you were getting rid of me when you said you had to go to work.”
“To second chances,” Brad said. They clinked glasses.
“Second chances,” she replied.
Brad lit candles on the dining table and took Sarah to her seat. “Give me a minute and I’ll get the first course. Caesar salad.”
Brad placed the salads on the table and took a seat.
She took a bite. “This is amazing. Maybe you should quit being a cop and be a chef.”
“There are days.”
After the salad, Brad was back with steak, baked potato, baby peas, and garlic toast. “I hope this is okay. Not quite a five-course meal, but I can stretch it out to three. I bought dessert on my way home.”
Brad cleared the table, filled their wine glasses, and led Sarah to the living room. He told Lobo to stay by the front door. Lobo was not happy with that and whined occasionally.
Brad put Neil Diamond’s Hot August Night on the turntable and joined Sarah on the couch. A single lamp glowed in the corner. Sarah tucked her legs under her and snuggled next to Brad. He slipped an arm over her shoulder and pulled her close.
“This is a nice night,” Sarah said. “Even better than the restaurant and dancing. You should have started with this.”
“Good tip for next time.”
Sarah pushed away. “Next time? Next time you ask me out or next time you get a new girl?”
Brad put his finger to his lips and exaggerated that he was pondering the idea.
Sarah punched him on the arm and snuggled back in. They drank wine and sang to Sweet Caroline.
Lobo snored at the front door.
They’d finished the wine and started on a second bottle. A kiss led to another, then several. Brad kissed her neck and was lost in the fruity smell of her hair. Sarah lay on top of him, her hands holding his face as they kissed. Brad’s hands roamed over her shoulders and back and along her soft legs. Sarah straightened and straddled Brad. He was vaguely aware of Lobo whimpering and pacing at the front entrance. He helped her slip off her T-shirt, then she dropped her bra onto his chest. He knocked it to the floor. He slid his hands up her stomach and over her breasts. A soft moan escaped Sarah’s lips and she ever so slightly moved her hips. He moved in rhythm with her. Her hands found his belt, and loosened the buckle. She took her time with his pants. He needed her to get this done faster. Finally, she unzipped and pulled down his pants.
Then an explosion shook the house. The room filled with light, then plunged into darkness. Glass peppered them. Sarah screamed.
Brad rolled onto the floor and pulled Sarah with him. He pulled his hand away from Sarah’s back—it was wet with blood. He peered out the shattered front window. A bright plume of flames lit the street. Smoke billowed in.
Lobo barked and scratched at the front door while Sarah’s screams grew louder.
“Sarah. Where are you hurt?” Brad asked.
“My back … pain.”
“Stay here.” Brad ordered. “I’ll be right back.”
He yanked on his pants then ran to the front closet, grabbed his pistol from the top shelf, loaded the magazine, and chambered a round. He opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Lobo bolted past into the yard and over the fence.
Brad’s car was ablaze. Flames and smoke spiraled to the sky. The heat was intense, even on the porch. He ran across the lawn to the street, scanning for threats. Neighbors rushed out of their homes. He shouted to his neighbor, Dick.“Can you call 911? We need the fire department and EMS. I have someone injured inside.”
“Sure thing.”
Brad ran into the house. He flicked a light switch in the living room—nothing happened.
Sarah was curled up on the couch, leaning forward, arms across her chest. She sat motionless, crying. “My back. Feels like needles sticking in.”
Brad grabbed a blanket from the couch to put over her shoulders, then thought better of that. “I’m getting a flashlight and first aid kit. EMS is on the way.”
He grabbed a flashlight from the front closet and the first aid kit from the bathroom.
He knelt in front of Sarah, asked her to turn, and shone the flashlight on her back.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Sarah cried louder. “What? What’s wrong?”
She was hurt. It was different when it was someone you knew. “You have some glass and wood pieces in your back. They’re not deep.”
“What the hell happened?” Sarah’s sobs became gasps. “What’s going on?”
Brad hesitated, not sure what to say. Sirens sounded in the distance. “My car blew up.”
“What? It just blew up?”
“No, it didn’t happen on its own.”
“Someone blew up your car?” Her voice rising, nearing a shriek. “Who the hell are you?”
“Sarah, I—”
“Get away from me,” she screamed. She grabbed her bra and T-shirt off the floor, stuffed the bra in her purse, and held her T-shirt over her chest. She slid away to the corner of the couch, sobbing.
The sirens stopped. Footsteps pounded on the steps and porch.
A voice called from the front door, “EMS.”
“To your left,” Brad said.
Flashlights shone into the room. “Brad, what the hell?” Dixon asked.
“Someone blew up my car. The front window exploded. Sarah has glass and wood in her back.”
“Okay, we got this.” Dixon squatted. “Sarah. I’m a paramedic. I’m gonna help you.”
“Okay.” Sarah’s voice was barely audible between sobs.
Dixon glanced up at Brad. “Give us a few minut
es.”
Brad watched from the porch as firefighters extinguished the flames. His Camaro, his dream car, was a charred, smoldering hulk. He could replace the car, but the relationship with Sarah had gone up in smoke.
It had taken him more than a year to get over the breakup with Maggie. Over the next year there were a few casual dates, but he never let them go anywhere. As soon as it started getting serious, he ended it. It seemed different with Sarah. He hardly knew her, but there’d been something there. Not anymore. Not now.
The front door opened and the paramedics wheeled Sarah out on a stretcher. Brad followed.
Sarah was on her stomach, a thin white sheet over her back.
“How is she?”
“Lots of cuts to her back,” Dixon said. “We took out some glass shards, but the deeper ones will need to come out at the hospital—mostly minor stuff. A few might need a stitch or two. I gave her some morphine, so she’s not in any pain.”
“Sarah,” Brad whispered.
Sarah didn’t reply.
“Can she hear me?” Brad glanced at Dixon.
Dixon nodded.
Brad’s stomach twisted. As he stepped away from the stretcher Dick wandered over.
“Thanks for your help,” Brad said.
“No problem. I saw what happened.”
“Really?”
“I’d just finished walking Brutus.” Dick pointed to the street. “This car races up and stops by your Camaro. The passenger gets out and smashes the driver’s side window. Then he lit something and threw it into your car. He dove into his car and they raced off. The explosion rocked the ground and flames streaked into the sky.”
“Sounds like dynamite. Bastard.”
Outlaw MC Page 14
