Fugitives MC

by Daphne Loveling

  Gonzo’s expression turned hard. “There was a fire at the Horse. Looks like arson.”

  Brenna sat up weakly. “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No,” Gonzo shook his head. “Everyone got out in time. But the damage was major. Someone threw C4 or something in through the back window of the clubhouse. There was an explosion, and that started the fire.”

  “It was my father,” Brenna whispered, her eyes wide. “He did this.”

  Gonzo nodded grimly. “Probably had someone do it for him.”

  “Jesus… What do we do, Gonzo?”

  “I have no idea,” he admitted. “I doubt your dad would get his hands dirty, so he has to be paying someone off to do this. Question is, what’s next? He’s proved he’s willing to go pretty far.”

  “Yeah…” Brenna said, her voice trailing off. “How’s the club taking it?”

  Gonzo’s face was grim. “They’re pretty pissed. I think Chig’s been talking to people behind the scenes. A lot of them are pointing fingers at you. At us.”

  “Gonzo, this isn’t going to get any better, is it?”

  “I don’t think so, babe. A couple of the guys accused you of staging getting shot with the Crystal P.D. And they accused me of being in on it.” He looked out the window. “I don’t think things are looking too good for us in the club.”

  “Jesus, Gonzo. I’m so sorry.” She reached her left hand out to him, and he took it.

  “Don’t be,” he smiled at her bitterly. “I thought these guys were my brothers. I guess I was wrong.”

  “How far do you think they would go?” she asked in a hushed voice. When he didn’t answer, she drew her breath in sharply, then let it out. “Okay. My dad on one side, the club on the other. Which way do we go?”

  “Out,” Gonzo said simply.

  * * *

  When Gonzo got back to the clubhouse, Jimmy, Spider, the prospect, and a few others were there, surveying the damage. The building was almost certainly a total loss; whoever had started the fire had known what they were doing. They watched Gonzo approach in silence that seemed far from friendly. “How’s Chig?” Gonzo asked Jimmy, ignoring the gazes of the others.

  “Dunno,” Jimmy responded, his expression hard. “Maybe you should go ask your friend the mayor.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Gonzo muttered under his breath. “You seriously think I was part of this?” he demanded, looking around at the destroyed clubhouse and bar.

  “I don’t know what you’re a part of anymore, brother,” Jimmy retorted. His eyes blazed with fury. “But I sure as hell regret my vote to accept you into this club, I can tell you that.”

  Gonzo stood silently, facing the man who was his vice-president. He looked around at the others. His eyes fell on Spider, who didn’t move or speak. Then he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I can see that.” Turning, he walked stiffly out of the bar and to his bike. He slipped on his helmet and turned right out of the parking lot toward downtown.

  Chief Rubensen looked up from his paperwork to find Gonzo Hendricks standing in his doorway. “He didn’t do it,” Gonzo said without preamble. “You know that, right? Chig had that crack planted on him.”

  “You got evidence to prove that?” Rube said drily.

  “No. But you know it’s true. The club doesn’t deal or mule crack.”

  “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t using,” Rube responded.

  “Come on,” Gonzo laughed. “A quarter kilo? You and I both know that’s ridiculous.” Gonzo walked in and shut the door behind him. Sitting down in one of the chairs across the desk from Rube, he said: “You hear about the fire at the Horse?”

  “I did,” Rube answered. His tone conveyed nothing.

  “So, the mayor’s gonna get what he wants. The club’s a total loss. You let Chig off in exchange for his promise that he’ll sell the land to Bear Connor’s partner and use the money from that and the insurance to rebuild somewhere else.”

  “Now why would I do that?” Rube asked.

  “Because your conscience is bothering you,” Gonzo said. “You seem like a good man, Chief Rubensen. I’m not sure why you’re mixed up in helping the mayor screw the club, except maybe because you’re afraid for your job if you don’t. But Brenna heard you and her dad talking about this in her dad’s home office a few weeks ago. She knows you’re working for him on this. And she’s more than willing to testify if it ever goes to court.”

  Rube blanched. His first instinct was to scoff at Gonzo’s revelation, but he had to admit it was very possible Brenna had heard something. Working to keep his face neutral, he tried to turn the conversation back onto the younger man. “You attempting to threaten me, son?”

  “Not threaten,” Gonzo said. “Just point out that we have mutually beneficial objectives. Convince Chig to build somewhere else, and your problem with him goes away.”

  “What do you get out of it?” Rube asked skeptically.

  “I want out,” Gonzo said.

  “Out?”

  “Out of the club. Out of Crystal Spring. For good. And you’re the one who’s gonna help me do that.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Spider and Chig pulled up to the burned-out shell of the Iron Horse in the white van. Jimmy, Bullet, and the others crowded around as the two men got out. Jimmy approached Chig and clapped him on the back. “Glad to have you back, brother!”

  “Good to be back,” Chig grinned.

  “Why’d they spring you?” Bullet asked. “We were just working on coming up with bail money when we heard they’d released you.”

  “Guess they realized they’d made a mistake,” Chig shrugged. Changing the subject, he scanned what remained of the Iron Horse. “Jesus, this is a hell of a thing.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Bullet. “What do we do?”

  “We cash out,” said Chig flatly. “We’ll sell the land. Rebuild. Fuck this noise. That warehouse on the other side of town’s been for sale forever. It’s got twice as much square footage as this place had. With the sale money and what we’ll get from insurance, this might end up being a blessing in disguise.”

  Jimmy nodded pensively. “What about payback? For whoever did this?”

  “You think this is about that land development?” Bullet asked.

  “Maybe,” Chig said. “Maybe not.”

  Bullet frowned. “That don’t make no sense. Who else is gonna set fire to our club?”

  But Chig only shrugged in response. Jimmy and Bullet looked at one another but said nothing. Chig had never been one to let an opportunity for revenge go untaken.

  Later that evening, the Fugitives met for church. Given that the fire had destroyed the clubhouse, the club met at Chig’s place instead. The mood was somber as the men discussed the fire and Chig’s arrest. Chig, however, was resigned to the destruction of the building. He brought up to the group what he had already discussed with Jimmy and Bullet.

  “It’s the best thing for the club,” Chig said to the men. “I been thinking, with the extra space we’d have in the warehouse, we could expand the bar, move into a new profit stream.”

  “What’s that?” Spider asked.

  “Pussy,” Chig replied with a feral grin. “Strip club. We’d be the only one for miles around. We even got some of the club whores who used to strip. Give ‘em something to do when they ain’t otherwise ‘occupied’.”

  There were chuckles and murmurs of assent around the table, and a couple minutes of discussion. “Let’s vote it,” Chig finally announced. “Yea.”

  “Yea,” Jimmy said.

  “Yea,” Bullet nodded. The rest of the men followed suit.

  “The vote is unanimous,” Chig said, banging the gavel. “Okay, last order of business: we got a quick run we gotta make to the Vipers. Seguro says one of his guys got injured by one of our guns. Says it was faulty. The Vipers are pissed, but I smoothed things over by telling Seguro we’d replace the gun and give him a couple others to make up for the inconvenience.”

  “I’
ll go,” Gonzo said. All eyes turned to him. He felt the hostility of their gazes, and knew they wished him gone. Well, you’re gonna get your wish soon enough, he said to them in his mind.

  Chig stared at Gonzo for a moment. A look passed between them. “Okay,” Chig said finally. “You go alone. Take the van.”

  “You want someone to go with him?” Larry asked.

  “Nah. He’ll be fine. It’s only a peace offering.” Chig looked around the table. “Anything else? Motion to adjourn?”

  “So moved,” said Jimmy.

  “Second,” echoed Larry.

  Chig banged the gavel. “Next meeting here, one week from tonight.”

  Spider caught up with Gonzo as they walked out. “You want me to come with you?”

  Gonzo looked at his friend. “Nah,” he said, “don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine, it’s just a quick run.”

  “Okay.” Spider nodded. As he turned to leave, Gonzo called to him: “Spider.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Take care, brother.”

  “You too.” Spider’s gaze followed Gonzo as he walked to his bike, strapped on his helmet, and started the engine, pulling out of the parking lot and driving away into the early evening. And unsettled feeling came over him, which he shrugged off as he mounted his own Harley and drove away.

  Later that night, the call went out to the Fugitives that the van Gonzo had driven to the Vipers run had been ambushed, and that Gonzo was gone. The amount of blood found in and around the van was so copious that the only conclusion left to draw was that Gonzo had been shot to death on the way back from the run and his body disposed of. The Vipers swore they had nothing to do with it.

  Gonzo’s body was never recovered. The funeral was small; at the request of the Hendricks family, only Spider Daniels attended from the club.

  Chig went to see Seguro with Jimmy and Bullet, and the three of them came back convinced that the Vipers had had nothing to do with the attack. At first, there was talk of revenge, but as the weeks went on and no new information came to light, Gonzo’s death eventually receded into the background.

  Three weeks after Gonzo’s funeral service, Brenna Connor closed out her bank account one day and left Crystal Spring. She skipped town without leaving a forwarding address for her father. His only sign that she had disappeared of her own accord was a note she placed on the desk of his home office before she disappeared. It said: “You know why I left. Being your daughter costs too much of my soul. Good luck with your election.” Her car was found in the parking lot outside the bus station in Chico a few days later. No one who worked at the terminal remembered a girl with her description buying a ticket.

  The only time Spider ever spoke of Gonzo’s death with his father was about two months after the bloody and abandoned van was discovered. The two men were out at the warehouse site, the club having just signed the papers for purchase.

  Without preamble, Spider spoke. “You know it wasn’t him, Dad,” he said. “He was loyal to the club. I know it.”

  “Yeah,” Chig nodded soberly. “I know.”

  “I fucked up,” Spider said gruffly. “I misjudged my best friend and my brother. There was no rat. But it’s too late now.” Spider turned away and mounted his bike. Chig listened to the familiar sound of the Harley’s engine as it drove away. Then, sighing, he pulled out his key ring and ambled over to the door to examine the new space.

  Eight months after Gonzo Hendricks’ tragic death, Jesse Porter was inducted into the Fugitives as a full-patch member.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brenna Connor was seated on the hood of her car in front of the bus station. Her hand shielding her eyes from the mid-afternoon sun, she scanned the traffic as it passed by her. About twenty minutes after she arrived, a motorcycle she didn’t recognize pulled into the parking lot, driven by someone she did recognize. Gonzo pulled off his helmet as she stepped up to the bike. He leaned it over on the kickstand and swung his leg over the bike, standing up just as Brenna threw her arms around him.

  Gonzo laughed and kissed her deeply, their tongues exploring, tasting. When they finally pulled away from each other, they were both breathless.

  “We did it,” she whispered. “We’re free.”

  “Not quite yet,” he murmured. “But we will be, once they find your car here. Good thinking, by the way. If your dad tries to find you, they’ll be looking along these bus routes for quite a while.” He nodded toward her car. “You got everything you need?”

  “Yeah,” she said, patting a small satchel slung around her shoulder. “This is all I’m taking. The rest we can worry about later.”

  “Okay, then, let’s get going.” He turned and grabbed her helmet for her from its latch on the side of the seat.

  “Nice bike, by the way,” she smiled, looking it over.

  “It’s not the Dyna, but it’ll do,” Gonzo grinned. “Where to, darlin’?”

  “I don’t know… New Mexico? Arizona? Someplace warm and dry. And not on a bus line,” she laughed.

  He fired up the Harley and waited for her to wrap her arms around his waist. The bike pulled out of the bus station lot and Gonzo Hendricks, AKA Kyle, and Brenna Connor sped off into the unknown. Together.

  Part III

  Chapter One

  Brenna frowned at the strange envelope as she stood next to her mailbox in the blinding noonday sun. She pulled back her long tresses to get a better look at the unfamiliar scrawling on the front. The letter she had just pulled from the box had no return address, but the postmark indicated it had been mailed from California. Awkward, uneven handwriting spelled out “Gonzo Hendricks” above their street address. Brenna noticed that the mailman had written a large question mark by the name, and she understood why. Kyle hadn’t gone by his road name in almost fifteen years. Not since the day he had “died,” in Crystal Spring.

  As far as Brenna and Kyle knew, no one from their old life had any idea of their whereabouts. In all the time they had spent on the road since fleeing Crystal, and all the time since they had stopped and settled here in Mesa, Arizona, neither one of them had ever received a single personal letter. In their travels, whenever they left a place, they had been careful to cut all ties -- to make sure that if anyone ever came looking for them, the people they left behind wouldn’t have any information to give out. Now, in Mesa, all of the people they knew lived close by, and none of them knew that Brenna and Kyle’s last name wasn’t really Conrad. This envelope, written in shaky handwriting Brenna didn’t recognize – this envelope was proof that someone from their old life knew where they were. Not only that, but whoever it was knew that Kyle wasn’t dead, and clearly also knew about his past with the Fugitives.

  And that couldn’t be good.

  That afternoon, Kyle arrived home from his shift at the garage, greasy and exhausted. He found Brenna perched ramrod straight on their old, overstuffed couch. The white envelope was lying on the cushion beside her, in the place where Kyle usually sat when the two of them watched TV together. Brenna was staring straight ahead, her auburn hair piled up in a distracted bun. Her wide, worried eyes flicked up to meet his as he walked through the door.

  “What’s that?” he asked, nodding at the envelope.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, her voice strained. “It’s addressed to you.”

  Kyle bent down and leaned forward to kiss her, then reached for the envelope. Straightening, he held it up to read the writing on the front. His brow furrowed, and he looked at her, suddenly understanding. “Gonzo,” he said, reading the name tonelessly, as if it belonged to someone else. Which, in a way, it did. Finally, taking in a large breath of air, he blew it out noisily and sat down beside her. “Well,” he murmured, “let’s see what it says.”

  Later that night, Brenna lay awake in bed, listening to Kyle’s even breathing as he slept. She marveled now, as she had marveled many times before, how he could always fall asleep in thirty seconds flat, in any conditions and under any kind of emotional stress. Br
enna, herself, had long been a bit of an insomniac. She knew, with a resignation born of habit, that she would get very little sleep that night.

  Moving carefully so as not to wake her husband, Brenna slid out of bed and reached for her robe. She eased the bedroom door closed silently behind her and padded to the kitchen, turning on the ceiling light before she sat down at the table. The unfolded letter, with its torn-open envelope, was sitting on the laminate top. Its handwriting, now familiar to Brenna, beckoned her eye, and she stared at it expressionlessly. She had read through the letter many times in the hours since Kyle’s return from work – so many times that she practically had it memorized by now. And still, her nervous fingers snatched up the sheet of yellow legal pad paper once again. Brenna’s dark eyes automatically went again to the salutation that was a voice from the past. From another lifetime.

  Dear Gonzo:

  I don’t imagine you’ll be very happy to see this letter from me. I’m sure you thought you left us all behind when you left Crystal Spring. I know I didn’t plan to contact you. It took me awhile to track you down, but lucky I got some friends in high places, haha.

  It’s been a long time, brother. Fourteen years, if I remember. Time for a lot of lies to be told. A lot has changed since you were here last.

  The reason I’m writing you is to ask you to come back, Gonzo. You probably haven’t heard, but I’ve got cancer again. The doctors were able to keep it back for awhile, but now they say I ain’t got much time. Spider’s VP of the club now, but he’ll be taking over as president soon, I hope. That is, if there’s a club left. There’s trouble brewing inside the Fugitives, and Spider needs someone to help him control it. I can’t do it, sick like I am. But you could.

  Even if you don’t want to come back and help the club get right again, I’d appreciate it if you’d come back to Crystal so I could see you one more time before I go. I want to apologize in person, Gonz. Pushing you out like I did, letting the club think you were a traitor, that’s one of the biggest regrets of my life. I’d like to make it right with you, somehow.