by Domino Finn
The Yavapai swung the empty rifle down in a graceful motion and slammed it against Diego's gun as it discharged. The biker's hand erupted in pain, and he couldn't hold on to his weapon. It fell to the dirt at his feet. Diego dropped down to recover it. As his fingers brushed against the metal, the butt of Doka's rifle swung upwards and met him square in the face.
The sound of Diego landing on his back was muffled. Something in his head spun and he struggled to remember where he was. His mind was whirling.
Through his blurry vision, he could see Doka standing tall before him. Diego blinked back the blood that trickled past his eyes and could barely make out the Yavapai throwing his rifle to the floor and stepping over him.
The gun. It was in his hand. Diego had managed to pick it up before getting knocked back. He lifted his heavy arm and fired. Again, and again.
Then he was empty.
Diego de la Torre lay quietly on the ground. Nothing was happening. He wiped his face with his hand and his head stopped spinning. He was sprawled in the dirt, next to the metal barrier, alone.
Then Doka, with a victorious smile on his pockmarked face, slowly came around the corner again. He was holding his left arm where it was bleeding above the elbow. Diego had hit him twice but didn't inflict any fatal wounds.
In the distance, Maxim's weapon rang out and they both heard a stifling yell. The lumbering man turned his head to the sound.
"Doka!" yelled the other Native American in a gurgled voice.
Doka's eyebrows scrunched over his eyes.
"Doka!"
A single pistol shot echoed in the air, and the man didn't scream anymore.
Dried leaves fell past Doka's hardened face and settled on the ground. The man burned with determination and focused on the biker. And then Doka's head spasmed.
Diego sat up on his elbows. His right hand hurt, more than his head did. It looked like it was swelling. He wiggled his fingers as pain seared up his arm.
The man in front of him fell to the dirt, catching himself with his hands. Doka let out a gruff bellow from deep in his gut.
It was time. Diego crawled backwards through the dirt. He was stuck by the occasional rock but he ignored it. He needed to get distance while he had the chance.
The biker peeked under the rusted train car. He didn't see Maxim anywhere. They were alone.
The transformation was almost instantaneous. A dark brown wolf with a wide chest lumbered before him, staring ahead with cold gray eyes. A deep growl rumbled as Doka bared his teeth. This was it.
The animal covered all the ground in between them in a single pounce and was on top of the biker in a flash. The weight of the beast almost knocked the air from his lungs. Diego felt the teeth scrape his left arm as he frantically protected his face.
But Doka whimpered and jumped up over his head, off of him.
Diego spun around in the dirt, rolling onto his stomach and picking himself up on his injured forearm. Grains of dirt scraped into his open wound, but the biker trained his eyes on his target.
In the distance ahead, the large brown wolf scampered away, limping, favoring his left front leg. In his left side, Diego's long silver knife was lodged in the animal's rib cage. He had missed the heart, but with all that silver, that had to be a kill shot.
Doka ran ahead until his escape was covered by the other train cars. Diego put his head down and thought he heard scurrying.
vii.
"Are you okay?" Maxim kneeled down and clasped Diego's arm. "We've got to get out of here."
The detective pulled Diego to his feet. The biker felt dizzy as the blood rushed from his head. His mind swam again for a moment. "No, we need to find Angelica."
Maxim wrapped his arm around his shoulders as he forced him ahead. "She's not here anymore. She's gone."
"No. We need to check."
"It's too dangerous. The wolves are out there and I spent all my ammo."
Maxim pulled Diego back to his unmarked sedan, ignoring the biker's protests, but something wasn't right. Diego saw movement behind the dirty car windows. He wiped more blood from his eyes.
When they approached, a brown and white wolf revealed itself from behind the car. It jumped up on top of it, standing and growling menacingly. Its large eyes burned bright orange.
Diego immediately knew who he was looking at. "Mom."
The biker instinctively reached for his wrist but remembered that his knife wasn't there anymore. It was somewhere lost in the woods, likely resting in the corpse of a man.
The three of them stared at one another in a standoff until another wolf's scratchy howl interrupted them. Mom pricked her ears up and faced the source of the challenge. At the tree line on the side of the road, they all saw a heavy wolf with a dark gray coat.
Deborah growled at it. The other wolf returned the sentiment with raised hackles. Mom's sharp teeth snapped ahead as a threat.
The dark wolf broke into a gallop toward Maxim's car. Mom braced herself against the larger animal. They collided in a blistering crash and the momentum pushed them into the grass. Deborah rolled away and scrambled to her feet in a blink.
The two wolves bit at each other with a fierce intensity. They locked down on each other's necks and pulled and tore. Rarely had Diego heard such horrible growling and gurgling, and he knew the two animals were not merely asserting dominance. They were hungry for blood.
The beasts tumbled some more but eventually broke away and resumed growling and gnashing. Deborah moved to flank her opponent, and Diego noticed she had a slight limp. As the two continued to circle each other, they saw the big gray wolf breathing heavily. He turned and revealed a vicious gash across his face that cut across a bloody eye. He was badly wounded.
Mom slowly advanced on the other wolf and it backed away, but then she suddenly stopped and looked behind her. The two animals sniffed at the air in confusion.
Diego looked back and saw a different wolf with a light brown coat sprinting towards them. It was smaller than the others, but it still squared up against Mom aggressively.
Deborah was outnumbered.
The brown and white wolf turned her head back and forth between her enemies and suddenly spun around and ran off. The other animals did not give chase.
The two men relaxed as they stood together, exchanging relieved glances. The big gray wolf was shaking its head and trying to swipe at its closed eye with its paw. He was a mighty specimen with a guttural bark, but he was in pain.
The sound of blaring sirens slowly got louder and the injured wolf lumbered away. Maxim leaned Diego against his car and walked toward the road.
Diego just stared at the little brown wolf, standing motionless and looking at him curiously. It couldn't be, could it?
Several vehicles kicked up dirt as they skidded around a bend, flashing red and blue lights. Two cars were speeding towards them with a Fire Rescue truck in tow. It looked like Maxim's backup did answer his call, after all.
Diego turned to the last remaining wolf again. Maybe it was the beating he'd taken, but it seemed as if he had to fight away a tear. The animal cocked its head.
"Go," he said, softly. "Get out of here."
The wolf raised its expressive eyebrows and darted into the forest.
Part 8 - The Hunt
i.
The door to Maxim's green sedan closed with a clunk. He hated this car. It was faded and old and wasn't nearly as flashy as the Expeditions issued to the sheriff's office, but Sanctuary had a smaller department with significantly less resources. As the detective strolled past the two shiny white trucks, he waved to the Coconino County deputies inside.
It was an overcast day, the beginning of fall, and just one day after the shootout at the train yard. Nithya and Angelica were both missing, Doka was presumed dead, and Deborah had propelled herself to public enemy number one.
Nithya needed to answer for her crimes, and the CDC was looking for her, but Maxim had the sense that her involvement was being marginalized. A federal c
onspiracy, after all, wasn't a favorable headline. Especially not when an outlaw biker gang could have been running the show.
Maxim Dwyer crunched over dried leaves as he made his way to the doorstep of the club in question. County reported the Seventh Sons to be holed up in their clubhouse, trying to sit out the fallout.
Good, the detective thought, that made things easier for everybody. Not that he expected Deborah to be waiting for him inside. That would have made things too easy.
The front door rumbled as Maxim pounded it with his fist. It opened quickly, as if he were expected, and he was greeted by the spiky-haired brute who just might have been able to help him.
"Gaston."
The towering man rested his muscled arm on the top of the door and scoffed. He had a tight-fitting black shirt on and a bracelet and belt studded with spikes. He also had spikes in each earlobe and a slew of rings running up his left ear. "Have you come for round two?"
Maxim smiled dryly. "I thought it was Deborah who took your title belt."
The man ran his tongue under his lips in disgust and grunted. "If that's what you want," he said simply, "she's not here."
The detective nodded knowingly and raised his upturned palm, pointing inside. "May I?"
Gaston turned and walked inside, leaving the door open. Maxim entered the wolves' hallowed ground and followed the big man into the next room over. Gaston sat down on a leather couch and raised his feet to the coffee table.
The adjoining room was connected by a large archway where two bikers had been shooting pool. They had noted his interruption, however, and were looking on intently. A bearded man with a red jacket was standing upright, holding a pool cue across his outstretched shoulders like a cross. The other one, a younger boy, was sitting against the table with his arms folded over his chest. Maxim remained standing.
"How's Coconino treating you?" he asked.
"They've got no warrant," said Gaston, stretching his right arm over the back of the sofa, "but we've shown them around a couple times. Ever since your office put the APB out on Mom and Doka, they've been watching this house."
Maxim glanced at the white trucks stationed outside through the window. "Which means you don't know where either of them are?"
"Don't know and don't wanna know. I hope it stays that way."
"A club needs a president," said Maxim nonchalantly.
"They've got one."
The detective turned around and noticed Gaston holding his chin up proudly. He was talking about himself. The kid with the black hair was laughing and the bearded man was nodding his support.
The detective narrowed his eyes. "Deborah's out?"
"She's old news," he answered. "The MC needs protecting, and I can do that better than she ever could. I got all my guys inside here, laying low, staying out of trouble. We don't want any part of these headlines."
Now it was Maxim's turn to chuckle. "You've got to be kidding me if you think you can still walk away from this."
"The Seventh Sons didn't have anything to do with those abductions. The Yavapai mercenaries were the heartless bastards who did this."
"Led by Deborah."
"An outcast."
Maxim paced towards the new president. "Varela and Makarova knew."
"Only partly," Gaston said. "They helped Doka with a thing or two—Nicola said as much—but they can't be punished any more than they already have been." The big man dropped his boots back to the floor and leaned forward. "It's water under the bridge, Maxim. I know this thing can tear the club apart, so I'm willing to leave it alone if you are. It wasn't Diego who killed Steve or you who helped kill Nicola. This was that CDC bitch and Mom and the Yavapai. If we keep them out, then you shouldn't have any business with us."
The detective just looked at the three men solemnly. "Doka might be dead."
"Humph. I've heard that before."
"Nithya too."
"Now that wouldn't surprise me," said the big man. "It takes balls and brains to get the best of Mom, and Nithya didn't have either."
There was more chuckling from the pool table. Gaston lifted himself up and walked over to a small refrigerator in the back of that room. He grabbed two bottles of beer and returned, holding one out to the detective.
"I'll be straight with you," said Gaston. "The deaths, attacking the police, that shit should never have happened. As the new boss, I won't let any of that slide."
"Mmm hmm," intoned Maxim, eyeing the beer carefully. "So no more muling contraband through the truckers?"
Gaston's face remained blank. "Let's have that conversation another day."
Maxim ignored the point and waved his hand at the offer of beer. "I'd better not. There's a lot to get done."
The man shrugged and placed the extra bottle on the coffee table. As he resumed his seat, his face softened. "Mom, Doka, the CDC bitch—you've told me what happened to everyone except for Angie."
A crease formed on Maxim's hard brow as he took a moment. "She's a wolf, I think."
"No shit?" asked Gaston. "I bet she'll be pushing for membership then." The man became thoughtful all of a sudden. "Between us, I don't know if I want women in this club. They don't respect guy code."
Maxim nodded absently at the remark. Gaston still had Melody left to deal with, at least. But thinking of Angie as the little brown wolf brought to mind other concerns.
"Speaking of which," said Maxim, looking over the three men, "who's the large, dark gray wolf that was out there with us?"
Gaston exchanged looks with his men but shook his head. "It wasn't any of us."
"Come on, guys. I'm not going to arrest you for fighting Deborah."
Gaston appeared nonplussed. "What wolf?" Maxim made a living reading people and the big man's ignorance was convincing. "You don't think we're the only ones in Sanctuary, do you? Trust me, if I had a go at Mom, she wouldn't have gotten away."
Interesting, thought Maxim. He had assumed it was Gaston who had helped him, although he hadn't been able to figure out why. It made sense now, knowing that he took over the club, but why would he deny it?
Maxim gritted his teeth as he tried to go through all the angles. "Well, maybe you can help the marshal's office in another way then."
The president sighed. Working with police officers must have been new to him. "What do you need?"
"Where does Deborah live, for one?"
"You're looking at it," he answered.
That was strange. "This lot is registered to the club."
The big man nodded. "She doesn't keep anything under her real name, something to do with trouble in Alabama." Gaston scratched at his tall hair. "She almost always slept here, but you can bet she has a place to hide. Most of us do. It's in our nature to disappear for days or weeks at a time."
"That's not overly helpful," said Maxim. "We're going to need to track her down and arrest her somehow."
"We?" he asked incredulously. "Have you seen the police staking me out? We have too many eyes on us. Think of the publicity our actions will stir up."
"Not good enough." Maxim walked to the back of a recliner and put both hands down on it to lean towards the man seated opposite. "You can't stand on the sidelines for this one, Gaston. The Seventh Sons are involved, like it or not. You want to protect them? You need to work at it."
Gaston clenched his jaw several times. "We can't make any moves until the police outside get reassigned. If you do that for us, then we'll have room to work."
The detective shook his head emphatically. "I have no pull with County, and I'm not going to put my job on the line for somebody I don't know if I can trust."
The big man shrugged. "That sounds like a 'you' problem."
Maxim rocked the recliner away from his hands and chuckled. He looked to the ceiling as he scratched the back of his head. "You misunderstand me, Gaston. The years of this club doing whatever they please in Sanctuary are done. You need to think about this long term. The fact that I don't trust you is a big problem for you, and I inten
d to make it a worse one if I need to. You want to convince me that you had nothing to do with the abductions, that the club is innocent in all this? Then you need to prove that to me. You need to do something to claw your way out of this." Maxim stared at Gaston's darkened face. "It's time to make a choice."
Gaston rested his elbows on his legs as his hands met his forehead. This was hard for him, but there was something he was holding back. He'd lived by a code that prohibited talking to police, but he also knew that he needed to protect his club above his own life. What happened when those two ideals contradicted each other?
Maxim pressed him. "Gaston, it's time to put your money where your mouth is."
The man pulled his head back up. "What about Deborah's money?"
The detective fired off an inquisitive look. The president snapped his fingers and directed the boy to bring something to him. When he returned, the kid placed a metal briefcase on the table in front of Gaston. Maxim walked around the recliner to take a look inside.
The big man kept his strong hand firmly on the top of the case, holding it shut. "When she allowed Nicola to be killed to protect her secrets," he said solemnly, "she turned her back on all of us."
Maxim waited with sympathetic patience.
Gaston clicked the latch and unfolded the case. Stacks of bills, mostly hundreds, took up the majority of the space. "This is her 'go' money. There's some cash in there, and also some passports and credit cards and other things she might need in case of an emergency."
"Like right now." Maxim tried to quickly ballpark the cash amount, but he had never been involved in anything like this before. Sanctuary was a small town with small problems. At least, it had been. "She hasn't come around for this yet?"
"Not with the police sitting outside, but she will, eventually, as she gets more desperate." Gaston stood up and walked to the window. "I'd rather not have that play out on my doorstep right in front of law enforcement."
"How much is this?"
The biker president smiled as he turned back to the detective. "I can't say. It's uncounted. I wouldn't be able to give anyone an accurate number, assuming they asked."
