Brad dropped to his knees, knowing he needed to get up, but unable to.
Biker three stared down at him. “This one’s for Lou.” His boot crashed into Brad’s jaw.
Brad wasn’t completely unconscious, but it felt like he was in a dream. His head hit the floor, bounced once, and stopped. He faced LeBeau, whose eyes stared blankly off into the distance. At least that fucker was out cold.
He sensed movement around him.
“Back off,” a raspy voice yelled.
“He started it,” one of the bikers said.
“I don’t give a fuck,” the raspy voice said. “We’ll take care of him.”
“I want him charged,” the biker said.
Hands roughly grabbed Brad’s arms and lifted him off the floor. “I said, we’ll take care of him.”
Through foggy eyes, dull light, and smoky haze, Brad realized the bouncers were dragging him to the back of the bar. Out the back door to finish what the bikers started. He gave a weak attempt to wiggle loose—no luck.
Then a voice boomed. “Police. What’s going on?”
The hands released their grip and Brad thumped to the floor.
“Just throwing him out, Officer,” the raspy voice said. “He started a fight.”
“Throwing him out, my ass,” the cop said.
“Hey, he’s yours,” the raspy voice said. “Get him outta here. We don’t allow no fighting here.”
Brad saw blurred shapes around him. Then a dark form blocked the light. A polished black boot slipped under his arm and flipped him onto his stomach. A knee pressed onto his neck, his arms were yanked behind his back, and he was handcuffed.
“Let’s go, shithead.” The cop dragged him out of the bar. The fresh night air felt good. He was pushed against a cruiser. His eyes refused to focus. His face was roughly slammed onto the car trunk. Hands patted down his arms, over his stomach, along his back and continued down his legs.
“Gun!”
Brad’s head slammed back into the trunk. His vision blurred again and pain blazed through his brain.
He felt his badge wallet slide out of his pocket. “Ah shit, he’s a cop,” the loud cop said. “I’ll call the sergeant. You put him in the cruiser. I’ll go inside and find out what the hell happened.”
Brad leaned back in the seat. Mistake. His back pushed against his wrists, which pushed against the seat, which tightened the handcuffs.
Now I know how it feels to be arrested. He leaned forward and rested his head against the front seat. Challenging LeBeau was stupid, but he felt more alive than he had in years. Despite the awkward quarters, he faded into that place between fully awake and asleep—aware of things happening around him, and not caring. He was vaguely aware of voices, then shouting.
“I want him charged.”
The first cop replied, “I got your story. Now get back in the bar or I’ll arrest you.”
“Can we do that?” another voice replied. “We can’t, can we?”
“Shut up, rookie.”
A vehicle stopped beside the cruiser. Brad kept his head down and listened to the conversation outside.
“Hey, Sarge. Sorry you had to drive all the way out here. Figured you’d want to know.”
“Once your rookie, always your rookie,” the voice said.
“Don’t I know it,” the first cop said.
Rookie? The fog cleared with a jolt. Oh hell. If the beating was bad, things were about to get worse. He leaned toward the window and heard fragments of conversation.
“There are two stories. The bikers say Coulter taunted them and that he took the first swing. Others say it looked like a friendly conversation. Coulter was smiling and then the biker took a swing. That information came from —” Brad strained to hear more. “… so I believe them. Some fat ass biker wants him charged.”
“They can shove their pool cues up their ass, for all I care. Open the door.”
Fresh air rushed in. Brad didn’t move.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, rookie. Get out.”
Brad slid out and peered into the blazing eyes of Briscoe. “Oh, hey, Sarge. What’re you doing here?”
Briscoe shook his head. “Don’t be a smartass. What the hell were you thinking? Wait, you weren’t thinking. That’s the problem. I thought I’d beaten the stupidity out of you years ago.”
The rookie cop spun Brad around, unlocked the handcuffs, and slid them off.
Brad rubbed his wrists. “Thanks, boys. It’s been a pleasure.”
“You still don’t know when to shut up,” Briscoe said. “You’re lucky these guys were close to the bar. The bouncers were taking you out back to finish the job the bikers started.”
“Come on, Sarge, this is Forest Lawn. There’s always a cruiser close.”
Briscoe glared. A little of Brad’s bluster dropped. “Thanks, guys, I owe you one.”
The older cop said, “Glad we could help. Did you really think you could take out all four bikers?”
“I was kinda hoping I’d get three and the fourth would run.”
“Didn’t work out that way. You only got two, and nobody ran.”
“How’d you know to call Briscoe?” Brad asked.
“You’re kinda famous in the department.” The older cop smiled. “And I worked with Briscoe for years when I was his rookie. A couple of years ago, he told me about this rookie that was a bigger pain than me. When I saw your badge, I recognized the name. Lucky for you he’s working tonight.”
Brad glanced at Briscoe, not sure he was gonna be that lucky by the end of the night. “Thanks.”
Brad started toward his car.
“Get in my van,” Briscoe ordered.
“I’m good,” Brad said. “I’ll drive home.”
“The hell you will. Give your keys to the rookie. He’ll drive your car.”
“But —”
Briscoe’s eyes narrowed.
Chapter Forty
Nichols’ House
Jimmy Nichols could barely concentrate. His breath came in gasps. Teri kissed his hips, his thigh. Her tongue flickered over his stomach. He sucked it in. She dragged her tongue up to his chest, then higher to nibble on his ear.
“Thanks, babe. That was awesome,” he said, in between pecks on her face and neck. “You sure know how to satisfy me.” He hugged her, then slipped out of bed and headed to the kitchen.
Nichols carried two beers back to bed. He slid in beside Teri and passed her one.
“I don’t like it when you come here late,” Teri said, pouting. “It doesn’t leave us enough time to—you know, do it more than once.”
“Oh, I know.” He brushed a hand over her cheek, down her throat, and then played with her breast. “Don’t think for a minute I wouldn’t rather be here.”
“Why so late?” Teri asked.
“The team was having a beer. My stupid boss Coulter was mad. It was fun watching him act like a baby.”
“Mad about what?”
“His girlfriend was hassled by some bikers.”
Teri sat up. “What’d they do?”
“They pushed her into a classroom at her school to gang-rape her.”
Terri’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my. What’d Coulter do?”
“Nothing,” Nichols said. “His girlfriend got threatened. He’s got no balls. If someone threatened you, I’d kill them.”
“For me?” Teri snuggled close.
“Damn right. Everyone thinks Coulter is some tough hero.” Nichols drained the beer and tossed it on the floor. “He can’t even stick up for his girlfriend. How’re we supposed to follow that weak piece of shit?”
“Do they know who did it?”
“Oh yeah. Some biker named Lou LeBeau. A minor player with the Soldiers.”
“What’s gonna happen?”
“Nothing. Some of my guys want to get LeBeau and make him talk. Totally off the books. You know, torture him a little until he gives up his boss.”
“Coulter didn’t agree?”
�
�Coulter’s an idiot. He shut that down. Screw him.”
“Hey baby,” she snuggled close. “Forget Coulter—screw me instead.”
Chapter Forty-One
Friday Morning
Brad’s alarm buzzed at 0615 hours. He slapped around the night table and knocked the clock radio onto the floor. Lobo opened one eye and went back to sleep. Brad sat up. The room spun. He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, then remembered Briscoe’s last words: “Archer wants you in his office at 0730.” Shit. He opened his eyes. Lobo stood and stretched.
“Hey, buddy.”
Brad slid his legs over the side of the bed. Lobo placed his head on the bed and Brad scratched his ears. “Just like old times, huh, boy? I’m beat up and you’re by my side protecting me. I should take you to work with me. I needed you at the bar.”
Lobo stretched, his front legs bending to the floor, his nose touching his outstretched paws, then he barked. Time for his breakfast.
They hurried through their morning routine. Brad put Lobo outside and hit the shower. The steady warm stream felt good on his aching muscles.
Shaving was a challenge. His face was bruised and swollen. A black ring circled one eye. He didn’t remember that shot. Bruises had formed on the left side of his jaw, ribs, and left shoulder. His back was stiff. He tossed back two Tylenol.
He stood in front of the closet—uniform or suit? A good chance he was going to be suspended—suit it was.
As he drove to headquarters, he flipped on the radio. About the time Brad was at the T & C, a semi on Bow Trail had collided with members of the Gypsy Jokers. The report said that the bikers had just left the Westgate bar when they were hit by the semi, killing two and putting four others in the hospital. He shut off the radio.
Every day, it got worse. As he parked his car, he replayed the previous night. Would he be suspended or fired? He didn’t need the job. Money wasn’t an issue. But he loved being a cop. Last night he’d got the edge back. Funny how an ass-kicking can do that. He felt great.
He took the stairs to the second-floor executive offices two at a time and entered Archer’s office. The deputy rose from his desk, red-faced, and strode forward, slamming the door. He stood inches from Brad.
Their eyes locked.
“I just got off the phone with Deputy Chief Collins,” Archer hissed. “He wants you fired. I agree. There are cops I expect to do stupid shit, but you weren’t one of them—until last night. You go to a bar and start a fight with four bikers. The shitheads we’re trying to shut down. It’s your investigation, for Christ’s sake.”
“He swung first, sir.” Brad’s eyes didn’t move.
“I don’t care if they all swung first. You had no business in that bar, let alone talking to them.”
“I was off duty, sir.”
“Shut up! Another goddamned word and I’ll bounce you down to constable writing parking tickets.”
Spittle splattered Brad’s face. He didn’t move.
“The biker’s lawyer already filed a formal complaint. I should suspend you. What I don’t need is you giving Collins something to hold over us. Hell, Collins would have you charged for assault. But we’ve got a problem with the bikers and I need you. You meet with Internal Affairs at 0900. After that, go home and get your shit together. Tomorrow get to work. Anything like this happens again, anything, no matter how small, and you’re done. Understand, Mister?”
Brad swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
“Now piss off.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Gypsy Jokers’ Clubhouse
Monday Evening
Annie and Sissy cooked hamburgers on the barbeque while a couple of prospects leered at them. Things with Sissy weren’t back to normal, but at least they were talking again.
“Don’t you ever get tired of always being watched?” Annie flipped the burgers.
“I ignore it,” Sissy said. “The prospects think they’re gonna be important. They’re little boys playing a man’s game. They have no idea what it means to be a biker. The first time it gets rough, they’ll be gone. Then some other wannabe takes their place.”
“It’s not just the prospects, all the bikers. Like we’re a piece of meat they want to pounce on.”
“We are a piece of meat. You belong to Pickens now, no one is going to touch you.”
“Pickens never touches me, either. I don’t want him to, but it’s weird he doesn’t. My body is almost healed.”
“Good for you.” Sissy looked down. “I was kinda glad when you showed up. It meant Wolfman left me alone.”
“I’m sorry, Sissy. I don’t know what to do.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to be done. I’ll be a biker whore for my life, however short it is.”
Annie slid some burgers onto a plate. “What about your family?”
“Don’t know who my dad is. Mom’s a drunk. She’d bring men home. When she passed out they’d come to my room. Not much different from this place, except here I have a room and get fed. We never had food in the house. What about your family?”
“Not sure who my dad is, either. Mom was trying to get her shit together. Well, as together as it gets for her. She shacked up with a biker. Things were okay, I guess. At least she got me out of foster care. She had a baby and wanted a babysitter more than a daughter. But it was okay. I was at a new school. I liked it. Then —” Annie shuddered as she remembered waking up to shouting and then the gunshots. “It wasn’t great, but I’d give anything to have it all back. But they’re dead.”
“So, there’s nothing for you to go back to.” Sissy said.
“I need to find my little brother,” Annie said. “I don’t know if he’s dead, too. I need to get out of here. I’ll take you with me.” She looked at the eight-foot cement fence that surrounded the backyard. A big padlock secured the back gate. “Don’t you think about getting away?”
“For a while that’s all I thought of,” Sissy said. “Now, I don’t know. Where would I go?”
Annie rested her hand on Sissy’s shoulder. Sissy’s eyes looked dead, she’d already given up. Annie would never give up. She’d find a way out of this hell.
Chapter Forty-Three
Monday Evening
Perrault closed the door to the back room at the Shamrock Hotel and joined Morales, White, and Hehn.
He reached across the table and punched White on the shoulder. “Good to have you back, brother. I hope the nights in jail weren’t too bad.”
“Nothin’ I can’t handle. Tuned up a few fuckers who thought they owned the place.”
“We dealt with the Jokers while you were locked up.”
“Fuck,” White said. “That would have been fun. I like driving semis.”
“We had a job we gave to LeBeau that didn’t go well. On top of the cops raiding our drugs, LeBeau has that fucker Coulter declaring war with us. I hear Coulter’s team want to grab LeBeau and question him, off the books. He’s good with bikes but now he’s a liability. If LeBeau dies, Coulter might back off. Take care of that, White.”
“Sure boss. I got the perfect solution.”
“We need better information on the cops,” Perrault said. “That’s on you, Hehn.”
“It’s not easy to get people inside.”
“Information on raids isn’t something a records clerk is gonna have,” Perrault said. “The cops are getting good information on what we’re doing. Knowing that we were bringing in drugs that night at that location is pretty specific. Either their surveillance is fantastic, or we got a rat. Hehn, you need to figure out who that is and get us someone inside the cops.”
Tuesday Afternoon
Lou LeBeau hated to leave the bike shop. He’d work all night if they let him, but tonight was the club’s regular Tuesday night meeting. The Satan’s Soldiers called him Lazy Lou, but when it came to working on Harleys, he was a genius. All the Soldiers wanted him working on their hogs. He loved tuning them like a rare violin. Not that a Harley sounded like a violin. To him, that
tell-tale whump, whump that only Harleys had was a sweet tune.
Last week wasn’t his best as a biker. They’d trusted him to take care of that teacher while White was in jail. He’d failed. Not his fault the janitor showed up. Perrault would chew him out tonight. That teacher was a looker, though. Maybe he’d get another chance at her. He’d like that. Beating the shit out of that cop was fun, too. At least that’s the way he and his boys told the story.
He cleaned up and grabbed his vest from his locker. The leather vest with the Soldiers colors was a prized possession. His hog was in the shop—he was overhauling the engine—so he headed to his jeep. Not as good as the bike, but tonight it would do. He turned the ignition key.
The explosion blew out windows for more than a block. Car windshields shattered. Bus shelter glass exploded. Alarms blared. Pieces of metal and glass rained on the street. Dry grass and garbage caught fire. Teenagers waiting for a bus stared, mouths open, frozen to the spot. Others dropped to the ground, bleeding. A mother grabbed her three small children and ran through the raining debris.
Chapter Forty-Four
Brad was deep in thought as Zerr drove. Steele had taken the day off for a family event. Working with Zerr was a lot different from Steele. Where Steele was positive, Zerr was cynical with a dark side and he never talked about ‘Nam. Steele and Zerr were the guys you wanted with you in battle.
Going home for a run with Lobo might clear his head. He leaned against the passenger window.
Outlaw MC Page 17
