Coyote Lee

by Jessie Cooke

  “That’s just your solution to everything, isn’t it?” she said, snidely. Yes, Coyote had used the money he had earned over the years to pay off more than one person. But if Colleen knew what he had to do if the money didn’t work in some cases, she might not protest it so much. Colleen went on, “Money makes everything better. It makes everything bad go away. I hate to break it to you, Xander, but that’s not how life works. I will tell you this, though, you are one fucking lucky man. You’ve been getting lucky your whole life, starting with the day the fire killed your parents…and ending now with finding out your mistress had your baby, finding out on the same day that your old lady found out she was dying. You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

  14

  September 29th, 1994 was a day that Coyote would never forget.

  In the seven years that Coyote was on the ranch, and a part of the Southside Skulls, he had done quite a few things that ate away at his conscience. He did whatever Doc told him to do, without question, even if he had to force himself to do it, and even if he had to drink a little more to assuage the guilt that manifested afterwards. Doc often cashed in on that photographic memory of Coyote’s as well as his ability to use his fists, because contrary to what people thought…what they saw in the movies…motorcycle clubs didn’t run around killing people on a daily basis. Most of their problems were handled without any kind of violence at all, but when violence was called for, lives were more often spared than they were taken. In seven years, Coyote only witnessed a few killings and both of those had been brought on by the man that died, himself. Neither time was he the man that took the life either, so most of the time a few stiff drinks and a nightmare or two was all it took for him to get past it.

  The night that changed all that started with a call about nine o’clock that evening. He had been waiting for the call and as soon as it came, he kissed Colleen and told her not to wait up, said goodnight to his son, who was playing a video game, got on his bike and made the short ride from their house to the Skulls mechanics’ shop. Coyote saw the man as soon as he walked in. It was impossible to miss him. His hands and feet were both restrained and a strap around his chest held him into the chair he was sitting on. He had a bloody, swollen lip, two black eyes, and a gash on the back of his head. Coyote had told the guys to bring him back alive…but he didn’t blame them for roughing him up a bit. Two men they all loved and respected were dead…because of this piece of shit.

  “Matt Bolden,” Coyote said as he got close enough. He purposely didn’t call the man by his road name, which was “Captain.” He had lost that right the second Bolden betrayed his brothers.

  “Coyote,” Matt said in a voice that sounded strained. “Please…”

  “Please? Tell me, Matt, do you think Pretty Boy said please before they killed him?”

  “Boss, I didn’t kill him…” Coyote backhanded him across the face. He screamed like a little girl and tears rolled down his face.

  “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear ‘I didn’t.’ You didn’t pull the trigger on the gun that killed Pretty Boy and Shank, but you killed them both just the same as if you slit their throats and watched them bleed. I want to know why. Why would you do it? I took you in off the street, gave you a place to live, a job, a family. We were your fucking family. Why? How much did they pay you?”

  “Coyote, you don’t understand. I loved those men, the same as I love you…” Coyote hit him again. He was using the back of his hand. He wanted to use his fist, but he wanted the asshole awake…for now. He needed to know why. He was like a parent that had a child who suddenly rejected everything he’d ever given them, or done for them, and he needed to know where he went wrong.

  “Don’t talk to me about love. You don’t know the first thing about it. Love is about respect and loyalty. You gave them up. You might have just been trying to cash in on giving up Chavez and Soto, but you fucked us all over in the process…and those men are dead because of you.” Chavez was the leader of a hardcore street gang from the LA area. Soto was the leader of a gang from up north around the Sacramento area. They both had a contract with the Westside Skulls, to transport through their territory. Coyote made sure they had safe passage and they paid a lot of money to make sure the Skulls kept their mouth shut about anything they saw or heard while it was happening. The night before, the two gang leaders had a meeting with each other. Since neither of them trusted the other in their territory, they had decided to meet on “neutral” territory…aka the Westside Skulls territory. The Skulls were providing extra security for that meeting and that’s what Captain, Pretty Boy, and Shank had been doing there.

  “No…” The grown-ass biker was sobbing. Snot and tears were running down his face, and blood. It was hard to understand what he was saying, but Coyote let him talk. “Everything was going good. Chavez and Soto showed up, each of them had about five guys with them. Their guys waited outside with us, staring each other down the whole time, guns ready. Then the fucking cops showed up and it was chaos. Those morons started firing on the cops and the cops were firing back. I took off, yes, because we were all about to get killed. I didn’t even know where Pretty Boy and Shank went. The cops caught me at the end of the driveway and hooked me up…”

  “Bullshit. You were the only one taken in. Seven men are dead…and their blood is on your hands. And now the most lucrative contract this club had is gone and we’ll all suffer for it. Chavez and Soto made it out of there, but they’ll be back and they’ll be gunning for all of us…unless I hand them the rat myself.”

  “Fuck, Coyote…you know what they’ll fucking do to me.”

  “You knew what they’d do to you before you handed them over to the cops. So, fuck you.”

  “Please…please…it wasn’t me, I swear.”

  Coyote wanted to kill the lying piece of shit, but he could see that he wasn’t going to get the truth out of Bolden this way. He grabbed a stool and pulled it up next to the other man. He sat on it and in a calm tone he said, “Tell you what…all I really want is the truth, Captain.” Calling him by his road name was part of Coyote’s strategy, but it tasted sour in his mouth. He fucking hated a rat worse than anything. He took a deep breath and said, “Just tell me the truth, Captain. Start at the beginning and tell me what happened. If you do that, I’ll get you out of here. I’ll have the guys take you to a safe place.” Coyote heard what sounded like a growl coming from Crow’s throat. Crow had a hard time keeping his mouth shut sometimes, but Coyote generally tolerated it, because he was the most loyal motherfucker he’d ever met. He was also as tough as nails and didn’t bat an eyelash at having to do things that other men might find distasteful. That was why he was one of Coyote’s most trusted enforcers. The other one went by the name of Python. The guys called him that because they said he had the ability to slither up next to his enemies and choke them out, before they even knew he was in the room. He stood silently, which wasn’t surprising because silence was his deadly weapon.

  “I told you the truth, Coyote. The cops picked me up, took me in, interrogated me, and let me go because I didn’t know nothing.”

  “You were there all night.” He had been picked up by the cops almost twenty-four hours ago. Python and Crow picked him up as soon as the police cut him loose only an hour before.

  “They kept me in the interrogation room for hours. I don’t even know how long. I was so tired. Then, I guess when they figured out I wasn’t gonna say nothing, they threw me in the drunk tank. I was there for about six hours and they just cut me loose. That was it, I swear.”

  “You swear that on your old lady’s life?” Coyote asked, quietly, as he lit a cigarette.

  “You wouldn’t hurt Hannah and the kids…?” He said it both like a question, and a statement. Coyote wouldn’t hurt his old lady and kids…but the motherfucker didn’t need to know that.

  “Two of my best men, two men who have been with this club since I started it, are dead. Five of Chavez and Soto’s men are dead. They’re going to want pay
back and they’re going to be in a take-no-prisoners kind of mood when they do.”

  “Hannah’s innocent, you know that. Her and the girls, they don’t have anything to do with this. Coyote…please don’t let nobody hurt them, please.”

  “You got one more chance to tell me the truth, Captain. Tell me what really happened, and I’ll make sure your family is safe.”

  Bolden licked blood off his bottom lip and he looked like he was thinking that over. After a long pause he said, “You wouldn’t lie to me, Coyote? You wouldn’t be trying to trick me?”

  “The way I see it, Captain, you got two choices. You can tell me nothing, and I can straight up turn you over to Chavez and Soto tonight and wipe my hands of this whole thing. Or, you can tell me the truth, and trust me. Whatever happens is happening tonight, because as soon as Soto or Chavez find out you’re out of jail, they’ll be kicking down our doors, and they won’t care who they have to kill to get to you. I’m not about to let that happen. So, think about which way you want to go before you open your mouth again, Captain…this is your last chance and then I make the decision for you.”

  Even restrained, he was shaking so hard that the chair he was sitting in was moving. He was still crying and somehow that pissed Coyote off more than anything. He was a fucking coward. He thought he was going to walk away, responsible for seven deaths, with no consequences. Coyote desperately wanted to know what the other man expected to get out of it, but he meant what he said—he wasn’t risking his own family and the rest of the club for this piece of shit.

  “I went AWOL from the army when I was twenty-one.” Coyote wasn’t even sure exactly how old Captain was, but he’d put him around forty-five, which would mean when he went AWOL, the country was at war.

  “You were in Nam?”

  “I was supposed to be. I panicked the night before we were shipping out and I ran away.”

  “Okay, so what does you being a pussy back then have to do with now?”

  “There’s a detective, a young guy…he’s got a lot of interest in gang activity in the area. His name is Meeks. He showed up at my house the other night. He wanted dirt on you, Coyote. I wasn’t gonna give it to him…but he said if I didn’t give him something, he’d turn me over to the army. I’d go to Leavenworth for twenty years if they got their hands on me. I’d miss the girls growing up and Hannah would be left out here as a single mom…you know how much I love my family.” Bolden and his old lady had been together for about fifteen years. They had a set of twins who were eleven years old. Coyote did know the man loved his family…but he also knew that he had his own family to think about, as well as the rest of the club. When he didn’t go on Coyote said:

  “So, you gave him the leaders of the two biggest gangs in California, or you tried.”

  Bolden was sobbing again. It was grating on Coyote’s nerves. He wanted to knock him out so he’d shut up. He wanted a drink. “Meeks promised me that no one would know it was me…and that he’d leave you alone. But when they showed up, Chavez and Soto’s men opened fire on them. Fuckers just opened fire…the police didn’t have a choice but to shoot back…It was a fucking slaughterhouse after that. I’m surprised anyone lived through that…”

  “If you hadn’t talked to that detective, they would all still be alive.”

  “I feel so bad about that, Coyote, I really do. I swear, I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I swear. I was just scared. I didn’t want to lose my family.”

  Coyote stared at him for a long time, finally getting up and leaving him sitting there to go in the office to use the phone. He dialed a number and when it was answered he said, “It’s Coyote.”

  “You got him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bring him to me.”

  “No. I’ll make sure he’s dead, and I’ll send you proof of that.”

  “That’s not the fucking agreement. This piece of shit got five of my homies dead. I want him, breathing, so I can fucking be the one that makes him stop.” Coyote was talking to Chavez, who was already back in LA.

  “Soto wants him too. I can’t give him to you both, alive, so I’ll kill him, take a pass on payment for the next job, add security…and we call it even.”

  “Maybe we come back up there and take out your whole fucking club and call it even?”

  “Sure,” Coyote said, calmly. “You can do that. As soon as we hang up, I’ll make sure to call Boston and let Doc Marshall know where he can find you if we all turn up dead.” It didn’t matter where you were in the US, if you were gang affiliated, there were two names that everyone knew, and many feared. Sonny Barger of the Hell’s Angels was one, and Doc Marshall was the other.

  “I want proof the rat-fucker is dead!”

  “You’ll have it.”

  “I want one of his fucking body parts!”

  “Fine.”

  “This happens again, I’ll cut your old lady’s heart out.”

  “Threaten my old lady again and I’ll cut yours out, and fucking eat it.” Coyote hung up the phone, walked back out of the office and over to where Captain still sat. He pulled his gun out of his waistband and Captain started screaming.

  “You promised! You lying motherfucker!” He was saying something else as his brains splattered across Coyote’s face. He looked at Crow and Python and said:

  “Y’all might not want to be here for what comes next.” Crow folded his arms and said,

  “I ain’t leaving until this is done, boss.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Okay then, one of you grab me the circular saw.”

  15

  Coyote didn’t go home after he finished with Captain. Crow found one of the boxes they shipped parts in and packaged up the “parts” that Coyote had taken off Captain, to be shipped off to Chavez and Soto. While the guys were doing that, Coyote went into the paint room and stepped into the shower. He stood underneath the scalding hot water and scrubbed his body with the harsh grease-and-paint remover that the painters used. It felt like his skin was coming off with it, but he kept at it, standing there until the water began to turn tepid. He still felt like he had blood and brains on him when he got out and dried off, but he needed a drink too fucking badly to do it all over again. He walked through the shop in nothing but his shorts without even so much as a curious glance from Crow and Python, who were still cleaning up the mess. He had an extra pair of jeans and t-shirt in his saddlebags. Once he was dressed and had his boots back on, he got on the 99 freeway and headed north.

  Coyote drove until he was almost to the Fresno/Madera county line. Off to the right was a big bar with a sign out front that said “live music.” The parking lot was packed, and it was calling his name. Some time in a place packed with strangers who didn’t want anything from him, and didn’t know that he’d just killed and dismembered a body, was just what the doctor ordered.

  He parked his bike up near the entrance and went inside. The room was huge. A loud metal band was playing and the large dance floor in front of it was standing room only. Couples were grinding against each other, practically having sex on the dance floor. The security officers standing around looked bored and most everyone in the room looked drunk. Coyote searched the room and found the long, wooden bar up against one wall. There was a mirror that took up most of the wall behind it with glass shelves filled with colorful liquor. Sixteen stools sat along in front of the bar and they were all as full as the tables in the room. Coyote walked over to the bar and stood at the end. Two bartenders, a male and a female, worked frantically behind the bar, trying to fill all the orders. Coyote waited until the male bartender finally made eye contact with him and he said, “Jack, straight…keep it coming.” He laid his credit card down and the bartender swooped it up with one hand while pouring whiskey with the other. As soon as he finished pouring, Coyote downed it and motioned at him again. He did that two more times when he heard a woman’s voice say:

  “Wow, somebody’s in a hurry to catch up.” Coyote looked to his right. The woman wa
s blonde. Her eyes were somewhere between green and blue, kind of like the color of the ocean. She was smiling and her red lips surrounded a set of beautiful, white teeth. Her skirt was almost to her knees, but she had her legs crossed and dangling off the stool and they looked about four feet long…and they ended in a pair of sexy red shoes. He ran his eyes all the way down to her toes and back up to her face…slowly. Something about her was familiar, but even in the shadows, he was sure he hadn’t seen her before. When his eyes landed back on her face she smirked and said, “Get a good look?”

  “Yup,” he said. Looking back at the bartender he said, “Another over here.”

  “I hope you came in a cab.”

  “Why are you worried about it?” he snapped. She was hot, but he didn’t cheat on his old lady and he wasn’t in the mood for a new friend.

  “Sorry. I was just making conversation.”

  “Not in the mood,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said, sliding off the stool. When she stood up, he could see her a little better, underneath the light from the bar. It suddenly dawned on him why she looked so familiar. She looked like Dallas…so much so that they could have been related. For a second he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He tried not to think about Dallas. Even all these years later, when he did, his chest hurt. He let her walk away and motioned for another drink. He slid up onto her stool before someone else took it and this time as he sipped his drink more slowly, he spun the stool around and looked at the crowd. After a few minutes his eyes landed on the soft blonde hair of the woman that had been talking to him. She was near the door, like she was leaving, but it looked like her way was being blocked by a man she didn’t look happy to be talking to. It was way too noisy in the bar for Coyote to hear what they were saying, but when he saw the man grab her wrist and pull her out the door he told the bartender: