Maggie looked at Brad then back to Briscoe.
“A few more things to burn into your brain,” Briscoe said. “When you draw the gun, it’s to protect yourself or others. Second, you shoot to kill—no warning shots, no shots at an arm or a leg. Aim for the biggest mass—the chest. If there is more than one shithead, shoot the leader first.”
Maggie swallowed hard. She held her shaking hands across her chest. “I liked it better when we had secrets.” She glanced at the gun. “I’m supposed to carry this gun all the time?”
“Probably a good idea, although not legal,” Briscoe said. “Between Brad and your dad, I’m sure it won’t be an issue. Keep it close, but out of sight. You never know when shit might happen. That’s where my present comes in.” He handed her a wrapped box.
Maggie tore off the paper and pulled out a belt holster.
Brad put the holster on her belt and showed her how to release the gun. “Best you don’t wear this at work. Maybe in a jacket or a gym bag. Any other time, use the holster.”
“So, Annie Oakley,” Briscoe said, “all you need is a cowboy hat and boots.”
Maggie’s eyes were fixed on the gun. She didn’t say a word.
Brad figured he’d made a terrible mistake.
Then Maggie slid the gun into the holster and said, “I’ve got the boots.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Gypsy Jokers’ Clubhouse
Tuesday Night
Slim Pickens lay on his back, along for the ride. The headboard pounded rhythmically against the wall. Lost in her own rhythm, she was giving him the fuck of his life. He gazed at the bouncing breasts and thrust upward until they were in rhythm. She started a low growl that built to short gasps. She cried out, grabbed the headboard, and rocked the bed, finally collapsing onto his chest.
“Mmmm, Slim, that was wild.”
“It was,” he gasped.
She smothered him with kisses. “I hope you enjoyed that.”
“I always enjoy banging your sweet ass.”
She pinched his nose. “I banged your ass. When do I get to move in with you? I’m tired of him.”
“Soon, baby,” Pickens said. “We’re almost there. Anything new?”
“They don’t tell him much. He finds out what they’re doing right before they go. Sometimes he calls me, but most of the time he can’t.”
“He needs to get more info.”
“I know,” Terri said. “But I can’t push too hard, he’ll get suspicious.”
“He’s not that smart.”
“His sergeant is very smart,” she said. “He watches when someone asks a question or says something they shouldn’t. He catches it right away and turns the conversation to something else.”
Pickens leaned on his elbow. “Maybe you should go after Coulter?”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t buy it.”
“What better way to find out than bed him,” Pickens said. “He’d tell you everything.”
“He is kinda good looking.” Terri grinned at Pickens. “I’d fuck his brains out. He’d never know what hit him.”
“But?”
“It wouldn’t work. He’s with some paramedic chick.”
“That’s good to know.” Pickens smiled.
“I’d rather bang Coulter than him. He’s fat and disgusting and his information is shit.”
“We gotta put some pressure on him,” Pickens said. “If he doesn’t have good info, then we’ll give him an incentive. I’ll send the parcel in the morning.” Pickens stared at the wall. “You don’t have to spend nights with him anymore. Move your stuff here tomorrow.”
Terri straddled Pickens and smothered him in kisses. Then she slid off the bed and sauntered to the bathroom. “I gotta pee pee.”
Pickens watched the long blond hair cascade down her back to the gorgeous ass with the butterfly tattoo that moved like it had wings.
Annie stomped around her room, tossing anything she could. “Those cocksuckers,” she shouted. Slim had told her Alf was dead. “He was just a dumb, sweet boy. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
Sissy stepped toward Annie.
“No. Enough. I don’t need your hugs. I don’t need you sucking up to them. Shit, I don’t need anything.” She sat on the bed. “You should stay away. Anyone I care about dies.” She flopped back on the bed. The anger subsided, then the tears flowed. She curled up, rocking back and forth. “Oh, Alf. Oh, sweet boy.”
She cried until she ran out of tears and then clutched her pillow. At some point, she fell asleep. When she woke up, she was covered in a blanket. She sat up. The room was dark. “Sissy. Sissy. I’m sorry.”
Annie turned on the table lamp. She was alone. Alone in the room, alone in life. She flopped back onto the bed. She had two choices. Give in like Sissy or find a way out. A way to escape. She was smart, she could do that. Being trapped here was like a big puzzle. She just had to figure it out. If not, there was the way Alf got out. Tears flowed again.
Annie tossed and turned in bed. Finally, she gave up on sleep and switched on the table lamp. It was a perk Pickens allowed her. That and some books. She tried reading but couldn’t get into The Holcroft Covenant by Robert Ludlum. She needed to plan her escape.
She got out of bed and paced around the small room. Since Pickens won her from Wolfman, she hadn’t been assaulted. When she served drinks after meetings, some of the guys grabbed her ass or tried to feel a boob, but they knew she was off limits. Pickens didn’t show any interest in her. He was hooked up with some big-boobed blond. She wasn’t around that much, but she’d stayed with Pickens tonight. The headboard banging and the cries of delight let everyone in the clubhouse know she was with Pickens.
During the day, Annie helped Pickens with the accounting and at night served drinks. After the big parties, she and Sissy cleaned. She’d been treated worse in foster homes. As she passed her bedroom door, she grabbed the door knob. It turned. She slowly opened the door. The hallway was dark. She listened. Silence. She tiptoed down the hall to the front door. It had two locks. She snuck through the meeting room. The house was in darkness.
Annie crept to Pickens’ office, opened the door and slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. She sat in the chair and spun around, the only illumination from the streetlight. Heavy bars on the window prevented any hope of escape. Being out of the bedroom was great. It was nice to have some freedom, even if she was stuck in this place.
The chair stopped spinning facing the desk. Weird, no phone here. She opened the top drawer. It contained the usual office stuff—pens, paper clips, scraps of paper, and change. From the back of the drawer, she pulled out a box and opened it. Her eyes widened. Keys. She scrutinized each set. One ring had about a dozen keys. She examined them. There were three or four different types—some outside and inside door keys, others for file cabinets or desks, and a couple for padlocks.
Annie tried another desk drawer. It was locked. She tried several keys before she found one that worked. The drawer held dozens of hanging files. Some had the names of bikers on the labels, others a sequence of numbers. She quietly closed and locked the drawer.
The sound of bare footsteps passed the door. She slid to the floor and ducked under the desk. She held her breath, her heart pounding, and placed a hand over her mouth and waited. A toilet flushed, and someone walked back past the door.
When it was quiet, she gasped for air and crawled out from under the desk with the key ring. She made sure all the drawers were closed and tiptoed to the door. She opened the door slowly and, hearing no sounds, stepped into the hall. She closed the office door and turned toward the front door.
Pickens’ voice carried down the hallway, then a door opened. She rushed to her bedroom and closed her door. Her breath came in gasps. She listened for the sound of someone coming for her. Was she seen? What would her punishment be? After what seemed like an eternity, she found the right key, locked the door, and then lay on her bed. Her heart still pounded heavily. A few deep breaths
calmed her. She stared at the key ring, a chance for freedom.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Brad’s House
Tuesday Night
Light from the full moon shone through the bedroom window. Lobo snored at the foot of the bed. Brad lay on top of tangled sheets, eyes open, brain spinning. The smell of perfume and sex lingered in the room. Maggie looked like an angel in the moonlight, with her tousled golden hair and shining smooth skin.
Maggie opened her eyes and propped herself on one elbow. “What’re you thinking?”
“How do you know I’m thinking?” Brad asked.
“It’s like a weird vibration in the room. Maybe it’s your breathing, but I can tell.”
“Really?”
“I’ve always been able to tell.”
Brad kissed her forehead. “Is that your paramedic superpower?”
“One of many. Does it worry you I know what you think?”
“You said you knew when I was thinking, not what I was thinking.”
“Okay, maybe I don’t know.” She rolled onto him and put her hands on his shoulders. “A little while ago, I knew what you were thinking.”
“No argument there,” he said.
“So, what of a million things is bugging you tonight?”
“How does a sixteen-year-old girl just disappear?”
“I’d guess that wherever she is, and whoever has her, is making sure you don’t find her.”
“I agree. So, it comes down to the same two options, she’s dead and buried where we’ll never find her. Or, she’s alive and hidden. I have no probable cause to get a warrant to search the Jokers clubhouse. She might be there, or in some drug house whoring for drugs. Every cop in the city has her picture. Narcotics and sex crimes have asked all their snitches and not a single lead.”
“So, there’s nothing more you can do.”
“There has to be.”
“But what if there isn’t?”
“Then she’s better off dead.”
“You can’t solve that one tonight. What else is bugging you?”
“I can’t figure out where the leak is. The bikers seem to get information about different operations, but nothing that leads back to one person.”
“So, maybe they have more than one person?”
“Possibly. It’s the TSU stuff they know that bugs me. I can’t see any of my guys giving info to the bikers.”
“Who knows what you’re doing?”
“Devlin, me, Steele, Zerr and Ames. Well, Archer too.”
“That’s a big list.” Maggie slid beside him. “Knight is still off work. You didn’t mention Nichols.”
“He’s messed up. I don’t tell him any more than I have to.”
“Could anyone make a phone call before you leave?” Maggie asked.
“I suppose.” Brad thought for a moment. “We usually brief, then head to the trucks. They don’t get the information in advance.”
“Do any of them use the restroom or have some other excuse for delaying?”
“We all pee before we go out. Never know when you’ll be able to pee again.”
“Thanks for sharing that,” Maggie said. “Do they have your phones bugged? Office bugged?”
Brad was quiet for a minute. “We had the office and phones checked. No bugs there. We checked the trucks, too. We don’t use the records section now and don’t use radios for sensitive stuff. But the bikers still know what we’re doing.”
“Anyone asking too many questions or trying to get information from you?”
Brad was quiet.
“You’ve got someone in mind.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I get a feeling someone is watching, listening.”
Maggie shivered. “When does this happen?”
“Usually when we’re in a group. Sometimes at The Cuff, so I think cop. Then other times in the St. Louis and I decide it’s Kearse. Then in the office—this cold chill. I turn around and it’s my guys.”
“The same guy or guys?”
“I don’t know.” Brad sat up on the bed, faced Maggie and took her hand in his. “A few years ago, when we were dating, I stopped talking about my work. The guys from Los Angeles SWAT said we had to keep everything we did secret. That included girlfriends and wives. When I did that, it split us apart. Maggie, that was wrong. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
Maggie pulled him close and kissed him. “I’m sorry, too. But that’s in the past. Let’s leave it there.”
“Okay. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned about talking about this with you. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I’m scared for you—for knowing too much.”
“I don’t think we resolved anything.”
“Not tonight, but it will come.” Brad rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Nichols’ House
Wednesday, Late Morning
Nichols ambled through his house in his shorts with a towel over his shoulders. The shower woke him up. It was after 0300 when he arrived home. The worst part was he’d finished work too late to call Teri or go to her place. He hadn’t seen or talked to her since Sunday. A little coke and a lot of sex about now would be great.
Nichols had set his alarm for ten—way too early. He had errands to do before work at 1300—another fun-filled day with that prick Coulter. He fantasized about putting a car bomb under Coulter’s car. An explosion worth seeing. Not that he would do it, but the thought made him feel better.
He opened the front door. A package the size of a small book stuck out of the mailbox.
He took the package into the kitchen and set it on the table. It was addressed to him with no return address. He grabbed a knife and carefully slit the paper. He didn’t see anything suspicious and removed the wrapping. The box was taped shut. He carefully slit the tape, checking for wires—nothing. Bomb training did that to you. He opened the box slowly, searching for trigger mechanisms—nothing.
He took out a stack of photos held together by an elastic. A note attached to the top read, “You need to see this.”
What the hell? Nichols sat on the couch, slipped the elastic off and flipped through the photos. The first dozen photos were of Teri and him together in her apartment. The next batch showed them in bed, each one showing wilder and wilder sex. He continued through the stack. The last few showed him doing cocaine.
His breathing caught. His heart raced. Oh, fuck! Faster and faster he flipped through the photos. No question what they were doing in the photos. On the last picture was a note. “We’ll be in touch.”
Nichols put his head in his hands. His mind raced. Who? Why? How?
Did Teri know? Was it a joke? Some kinky perversion on her part? She’d never do this to him, would she?
He dialed her home number—no answer. Of course not, she’s at work. He tried her at work and was told she’d taken the week off. What? Sunday night she hadn’t mentioned taking any time off.
He picked up the photos again, staring at each one, then he threw them against the wall. He paced the room. I’m in deep shit.
He pulled a beer from the fridge and popped the cap. He drank thirstily, and opened another beer.
Work. Shit. He called the office and told the receptionist he was sick. He’d caught some bug. Probably be back tomorrow. He got another beer. He was fucked—thoroughly fucked.
Nichols pounded back a half dozen beers that afternoon and crashed on the couch. It took a moment for him to process the ringing phone.
He grabbed the phone off the end table. “Yeah.”
“Is this Constable Nichols?” The deep voice was calm.
“Yeah, who the hell is this?” Nichols rolled onto his back.
“That’s not important.”
“The fuck it isn’t.”
“Now, Mr. Nichols, I’d expect you to be little more cooperative. I suppose you’ve received our package. Very good.”
Nichols’ eyes widened. He bolted up. “What the fuck do you want?
”
“A man of action. Right to the point. Good. We want to know everything your TSU team is doing. We want to know when they’ll be doing a raid. Who they’re watching.”
“Fuck you.”
“That attitude won’t do. We have several copies of those photos. You may have a future outside the police department in adult movies. Your partner is inventive. You two put on quite a show.”
“Leave her out of this.” Nichols was standing now, pacing around the living room. He almost dropped the phone when he reached the end of the cord.
“Oh, she’s involved in this. I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”
That hit Nichols hard. Earlier in the day, several beers ago, he’d suspected that Teri was part of this. But no matter how obvious, he’d argued against the thought. This guy confirmed it. She’d played him.
“From your silence, I gather you have put the pieces together.”
“What do you want?” Nichols’ voice was soft and faltering. He fell back onto the couch.
“First, I need the personnel files of everyone on your TSU team. Family members, addresses, places of employment. Get them for the detective, too.”
“Fuck you.”
“If we don’t get the information, those photos will go to your chief, the news stations, the newspapers, and your family two days from now.”
Nichols couldn’t betray TSU. But this guy wasn’t giving him an option. He tried to figure a way out. Nothing came to mind. Shit. “I’ll do my best.”
“I need more than your best. You need to deliver. I need to know every move TSU makes. Every move. Don’t let us down. The last thing, don’t contact Teri—she’s tired of you.”
Nichols slumped deep into the couch, still holding the receiver. The beeping tone broke his thoughts, and he hung up the phone. He sat there, not knowing what to do. Do what they asked—that was a death sentence for the team. Tell them to go to hell—his career was finished. Talk to someone on the force—his career would be over. He placed his head in his hands. Oh fuck.
Outlaw MC Page 22
