Sarah headed toward the back door. Ahead, three men stared at a bulletin board. One was big, with long hair and a scraggly beard. The other two were skinny. They turned toward her smiling. They wore leather vests, jeans, and boots. They looked like bikers. She wanted to turn back, but the big biker stepped toward her.
“Afternoon ma’am.” He moved closer. The other two stood at his side.
“School’s closed.” Sarah’s heart raced. “You have to leave.”
“Just showing my friends here where I went to school.” He spread his arms.
“Come back another day.”
The leader stared down at her. “Why? Because no one else is here? Because we’re all alone?”
“The … the janitor is here.”
He looked up and down the hallway. “I don’t see him. Do you boys see him?”
“Nope, sure don’t,” one skinny biker said.
The leader turned back to Sarah. “Not right for a pretty lady to be alone in a big place like this. Who knows what could happen?”
“I’m fine.” Sarah stepped to the side, but they blocked her path. Her eyes moved from one man to another—the way they leered sent chills down her spine.
“Leave me alone,” Sarah pleaded.
“Let us help you,” the leader said. “I’ll carry that bag for you.”
“No.” Sarah stepped to the right.
Again, they blocked her path.
“Just trying to be helpful.” The leader tore the carry bag from her hands.
Sarah clutched her purse tight to her chest.
“I’ll take that, too.” The leader reached for her purse, she backed away, but he grabbed her arm and dragged her to the drama room. A biker opened the door and he shoved her in. Then he wrenched the purse out of her hands. Sarah fought, but a skinny biker wrapped his arms around her and held tight.
The leader opened the purse and emptied it onto a desk. He rummaged through the contents until he found her wallet. He slid out her driver’s license. “Sarah Anne Park. The picture doesn’t do you justice. You’re a right purdy girl. Got your address right here—I’ll hang on to this.”
Sarah struggled to get away, but the biker held her tighter. Waves of pain stabbed into her back. Panic overwhelmed her. She had to get away. “Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”
The skinny biker clamped a hand over her mouth and nose. She couldn’t breathe.
The big biker moved close. “You’re a fighter. I like that. How about you and me use your energy right here? Maybe you can teach me some things.” He wrenched her away from the skinny biker, pushed her onto a desk, grabbed her throat and squeezed. With his other hand, he ripped open her blouse and squeezed her breast. Then he slid his hand lower and lifted her skirt. She crossed her legs and tried to wiggle away. He roughly wrenched her leg to the side and pushed between her legs. With his free hand, he rubbed her groin. “Oh, you’re mighty fine. Gonna fuck me some teacher. Oh yeah. I wanted to do that in high school. What do you say, boys? You ever wanted a teacher? Here’s your chance.”
The classroom burst door opened. “Miss Park, are you okay?”
It was the janitor. “Help me!” Sarah screamed, squirming to get free.
The big biker shouted, “Fuck off.”
The janitor grabbed a walkie-talkie from his belt and keyed the mic. “Got some guys assaulting a teacher. Call the cops and get to the drama room quick.”
He pulled a broom from his caretaker’s cart and wielded it like a spear. “Leave!” He stabbed the broom into the gut of the closest biker, then smacked him on the side of the head. He used the broom to herd them away from Sarah, toward the door.
The big biker grinned. “Okay, we’re gonna leave now.” He turned to Sarah, pointed his finger like a gun and fired. “Next time there won’t be any clothes between you and me, girlie. We got a bunch of boys who’d like a shot at some young teacher ass. Maybe you got a hot momma, too.”
He waved Sarah’s driver’s license. “Tell your boyfriend, Coulter, to back off. Have a nice day.” He headed out the door, the other bikers following.
Sarah’s breath came in gasps. She slid to the floor, shaking and crying uncontrollably. She curled up beside the desk until the sound of footsteps were gone.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Suburban had barely stopped when Brad jumped out. Steele was close on his heels. Brad raced through the front door of the school. An officer pointed down the hall. He pushed past another officer at the drama room door and stormed in.
Sarah, her clothes torn, jumped up and flung herself at Brad, beating her fists into his chest. “You brought this into my life. How could you?”
“Sarah, I’m sorry.” Brad tried to wrap his arms around her to console her.
Sobbing, she kept hitting. Brad let her get out her anger.
Finally, she stopped hitting and stepped back. “They, they told me … they were going to rape me… all of them. One guy ripped my clothes and groped me. He threatened my mom, too. How do they know about me? I teach English. I won’t put Mom through this. They have my driver’s license—my address.”
“I’ll handle this,” Brad said.
“How? Like you handled your car? Like you handled this? They gave me a message for you. He said to back off. But you won’t, will you?”
“I’ll arrange protection until this is over.”
“When will that be?” Sarah’s chest heaved. “Once this is over, then what’s the next crisis? Who will come after me next?”
“We can protect you.” Brad reached for her. “We’ll—”
Sarah slapped his face and stepped to the desk. She picked up the contents of her purse. “School’s almost over. I’ll take time off. I’m getting out of here.”
“Sarah, give me a chance—”
“No,” Sarah interrupted. “No. Leave me alone. Get out!” Sarah pointed to the door.
Brad hesitated.
“Go. Now.”
Steele stayed behind. “Sarah, can you look at a few pictures? It’s important.”
Brad was leaning against their truck when Steele came out.
“Did she identify anyone?” Brad asked.
Steele nodded. “I showed her pictures. She picked the leader, Lou LeBeau.”
“She pressing charges?” Brad asked.
“Nope.”
“That’s what I figured.”
Steele hesitated. “She’s scared, real scared. She thinks they’ll be waiting for her. Or her mom. She’s not gonna lay any charges and she’s leaving town.”
“I’m going back in to talk to her.”
Steele grabbed Brad’s arm. “No. Let it go.”
“I have to —”
Steele shook his head. “She won’t talk to you. She … Trust me, there’s nothing you can do. Not about the assault and not about repairing the relationship. It’s over, buddy. I got a crew taking her home. She’ll be safe—for now.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Later that night Brad wandered into the St. Louis bar. Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he spotted his team. Before he reached the table, Devlin intercepted him. “We gotta talk.” He pulled Brad to an empty table.
“Did you get your arm checked?”
Brad nodded. “Worse than I thought. They pulled a half-dozen pellets out of my left arm. None were deep.”
“How’s Sarah?” Devlin asked.
“Terrified and furious.” Brad shook his head. “Can’t blame her.”
“I said this would happen.”
“That’s fucking helpful.” Brad glared at Devlin. “Great, give me an ‘I told you so.’ I already feel like shit. She was so scared and vulnerable. She won’t talk to me. She was pissed after the explosion at my place. Now she’s hysterical. Steele calmed her down and got an ID on one of the bikers. The janitor confirmed it. Lou LeBeau.”
“He’s at the bottom of the food chain,” Devlin said.
“Yeah, well, we locked up a bunch of Soldiers in the drug bust. Who
else is Perrault going to use? He’s not going to do it himself.”
“You’re right,” Devlin said. “What did LeBeau say when you arrested him?”
“We didn’t arrest him,” Brad said.
“What the fuck?”
“Sarah won’t press charges for the assault,” Brad said.
Devlin stared, eyes wide. “He’s free?”
“Yup.”
“Get the school to charge him with trespassing.”
“That’s weak,” Brad said. “Without the assault evidence it would get thrown out. The prosecutor wouldn’t take it to court. Sarah’s heading out of town. She’ll be safe.” Brad glared at Devlin. “Who’ll be next? My parents? Steele’s wife? Knight’s kids? We need to take care of this, send our own message. We need to hit them hard.”
“We can’t take this down to their level,” Devlin said.
“Fuckin’ rights we can. I’ll do it with or without you. We did it by the book. We nailed the Soldiers and took a hundred pounds of marijuana and a kilo of cocaine off the street. Most of them didn’t spend a night in jail. Perrault sent his thugs to rape my girl—a friend. If the janitor hadn’t been there, it would have been worse. Fuck this shit.” Brad pushed away from the table, bought a tray of beer and joined his team. He’d barely sipped his beer when talk about Sarah’s attack came up.
“We need to nail those fuckers, especially Lou LeBeau and his pals,” Steele said. “Sarah was terrified. It could be any of our friends or family next.”
“Who’s Lou LeBeau?” Nichols asked.
“The fucker who tried to rape Sarah,” Steele said. “Member of the Soldiers.”
“Bring him in,” Ames said. “I’m sure we can be creative and get him to talk. He says Perrault sent him to assault Sarah, then we arrest Perrault.”
“Great idea,” Steele said.
“Not exactly legal,” Brad said.
“You’re okay with your girlfriend getting assaulted?” Nichols asked.
“She’s not my girlfriend—forget it.” Not now, never was.
“Sure, whatever.” Nichols tossed some cash on the table. “I’d fuckin’ kill the guy. You got no balls, Coulter. I’m out of here.”
Brad watched Nichols leave.
“Let the asshole go,” Ames said. “Not worth getting upset about.”
“He’s got a point.”
Zerr swirled his bottle on the table. “In Special Forces, we did a lot of covert missions. You know, dark ops. The only evidence we were there were the bodies. That’s if you could find them.”
“I’m in,” Steele said.
“Me, too,” Ames said.
“In and out, no Satan’s Soldiers alive,” Zerr smiled. “Just my thoughts.”
“There won’t be any in and out,” Brad said. “We won’t be doing anything covert.”
“What won’t you be doing covert?” Roger Kearse asked as he pulled up a chair, snatched a beer off the tray, and took a gulp.
“Nothing,” Brad said. How did Kearse always find them?
“Come on. I hear you nailed the Soldiers with hundreds in grass. Cocaine too. Then one of the Soldiers, what’s his name, Lou LeBeau, harassed your girlfriend.”
“Where the hell did you hear that, Kearse?” Brad asked.
“So, I’m right.” Kearse smiled. “I got my sources. Be a perfect time for TSU to make a statement.”
“Kearse, this is a private get-together,” Brad said. “There’s some traffic guys over there who’d love to tell you stories about speed traps and checkstops.”
“Come on, Coulter. I’m on your side.” Kearse took another drink. “You guys should send a message. If that was my girlfriend —”
“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s … none of your fucking business.”
Brad slammed the back door as he exited the bar. He crossed the parking lot toward his car. Usually, he was slow to reach a boiling point but tonight Roger Kearse and that shithead Nichols had pushed him to the line—and over.
Kearse. Brad got along with most people, but Kearse got under his skin almost all the time. Kearse knew the buttons to push. Tonight, he hit them all. Most nights Brad would brush Kearse off and only be a little pissed. Just ignore him. Tonight was different. Tonight, Kearse hit a home run. Kearse was right. So was Nichols.
He put his elbows on the car’s roof, set his chin on his hands, and stared across the parking lot. What was the hell wrong with him? He’d never backed down before.
He slid into the car and started the engine. With the accelerator to the floor, he laid rubber for twenty feet. Instead of heading down Sixth Avenue toward home, he drove south on Third Street.
He could have crossed the zoo bridge to head back west, but he didn’t.
The thing that bugged him the most was that Kearse was right—TSU needed to make a statement. He was doing the right things and working hard. He and Devlin worked well together. But they were getting their asses handed to them.
Turning left would take him north on Deerfoot Trail where he could take Memorial Drive or Sixteenth Avenue west toward home.
He accelerated across Deerfoot onto Seventeenth Avenue Southeast. It wasn’t so much a plan as a decision—one of those hold-my-beer-and-watch-this decisions.
He already felt better—energized. He sped through a couple of yellow lights and continued east until he swung into the Town and Country parking lot.
He pulled his CZ 9mm from his ankle holster—loaded and ready, and put it back in the holster. He clipped a folding knife to his belt. He put his wallet in the glove box but kept his badge case in his right hip pocket. He grabbed a ball cap from the backseat and headed to the bar.
His eyes adjusted to the low light and smoke. Four bikers in Satan’s Soldiers colors stood at a pool table on the far side of the bar. Brad squeezed onto a stool and ordered a beer.
He recognized the bikers from their photos. Three low-ranking members. The fourth, was the guy he was looking for—Lou LeBeau. Brad sipped his beer and watched. LeBeau appeared to be the leader. While they all joked, it was clear they laughed louder when he spoke.
Brad downed his beer. His eyes seldom strayed from the bikers. His resolve was clear. However this turned out, he was ready.
He slid off the stool, snaked across the room, grabbed a pool cue from a wall rack and approached the bikers.
“Lou LeBeau.” Brad stood, feet wide apart, leaning forward on the pool cue.
LeBeau glanced up from the table. “Who the fuck wants to know?”
“The guy who’s gonna kick your fat ass,” Brad said.
LeBeau spread his arms wide. “Really?” LeBeau looked to the biker on his left and the one on his right. “He’s gonna kick my ass, boys. Who’re you betting on?”
One said, “Money’s on you.”
LeBeau sneered. “See, the money is on me. Now, why don’t you get the fuck out of my face? I’ve got a shot to make.” LeBeau leaned over the table.
Brad reached out with his pool cue and knocked the white ball to the side. “Oops.”
LeBeau straightened. “Look, shithead. I didn’t have a beef with you before. Now you’re pissing me off. Fuck off. You don’t belong here.”
Brad placed the pool cue on the table and stroked all the balls to the side. “Oops again. I guess this game is over.”
LeBeau stepped toward Brad. “You got some fuckin’ death wish? Walk away.”
“I got a big problem with you, fat ass.”
LeBeau pointed his cue at Brad. “What’s your problem, pretty boy?”
“You don’t know?”
“I already said that.”
“Let me refresh your memory. You blew up my car. I was pissed. Then you threatened my girlfriend, you fat fucking pig. That got me furious.”
LeBeau shook his head. “I don’t know nothin’ about no car. I don’t know who the fuck you are. I didn’t threaten your girl unless she’s a nice piece of ass. If she was, me and the boys would have a party. Right boys?”
The
bikers laughed and moved beside LeBeau.
Brad relaxed his shoulders and legs, transferring his weight to the balls of his feet. “See, that’s the kind of talk that gets your ass kicked, LeBeau. That, and going to a school and telling a sweet schoolteacher that you and your maggot friends were going to gang-rape her.” Brad tapped his pool cue on LeBeau’s cheek.
LeBeau flinched.
It was funny watching LeBeau’s brain connect the dots.
LeBeau smiled. “You’re Coulter.”
The bikers stepped forward to the side of Brad.
“Don’t know nothin’ about the car,” LeBeau said. “Your lady friend’s the teacher? I remember. I’d be pounding that all night. Remember her, boys? We’d all be getting off.”
Four bikers. One cop. The odds weren’t in his favor. Brad never believed in odds, though. Someone always beat the odds of winning a lottery. Game on.
He leaned close to LeBeau and spoke just loud enough for the bikers to hear. “The problem is that your fat gut would get in the way. The only ass you’re fucking is your young biker boyfriend behind you. Or is it the other way? He’s giving it to you from behind?”
The bikers snickered, then quieted.
LeBeau’s eyes blazed as he swung his pool cue.
Brad anticipated either the pool cue to the head or a kick to the nuts. He raised his pool cue and deflected the strike. With his weight on his left foot, he stepped back with his right, then brought it forward like he was kicking a fifty-yard field goal. He connected, right between LeBeau’s legs. LeBeau crumpled forward. Brad swung the thick end of the cue into LeBeau’s back. Brad’s left leg swung out and swept LeBeau’s feet out from under him. LeBeau hit the floor hard.
“That’s for Sarah,” Brad said.
The other bikers’ mouths dropped as their leader went down. In their split second of indecision, Brad stepped left and swung the pool cue under the chin of the closest biker. The cue broke as it connected with the biker’s jaw. He dropped to the floor.
“That’s for my car.”
The biker to the right swung his pool cue. Brad stepped back as the stick whizzed past his ear. The biker stepped forward and swung again. Brad’s momentum was stopped as his heel hit LeBeau’s body. Brad fell back, his head in the path of a pool cue. The pool cue broke across his temple. His vision blurred and waves of pain shot to the back of his head. Then a new pain blazed across his back as the fourth biker used a home run swing with his pool cue.
Outlaw MC Page 16
