Killers, Bikers & Freaks: A Walt Asher Florida Thriller (The Walt Asher Thriller Series Book 1)

by Andrew Allan

  Several hours passed. My eyes started to blur and my butt was numb. I got up to stretch and go grab a drink. But, the corner of a folder caught my eye. It had been placed with the Business/Investment folders. The label read “Capital Punishment.” A quick glance inside and it became obvious Ken was not a fan of the practice. I tossed it on top of the activism files.

  Ilsa walked in rubbing sleep dust from her eyes.

  “Good snooze?” I said.

  She nodded. “I needed it. But, I needed you to snuggle with even more.”

  “I would have been restless.”

  “Find anything?” She pointed to the stack of files.

  I shook my head. “Ken was a very busy guy and it appears he did everything he could to muck things up for a bunch of people. I just don’t see what he would have done to get himself killed. Not to take away from his efforts, but I’m really not sure how much he succeeded.”

  “He built a following. He mobilized people around the state and made it harder, no?” She leaned against the desk waiting for an answer.

  “Yeah. I’m sure eventually it would have reached critical mass and gotten real results. But, I don’t think he was there yet. Not from what I can tell.”

  Ilsa took my arm and nuzzled against me. Her soft warmth thawed my bones. I leaned my head against hers.

  She sighed and said, “We’re in a lot of trouble, lover.” It wasn’t panic or a plea. Just matter-of-fact. And, she was right.”

  “Well, the good news is we’re not idiots. So, we might be able to figure this out.”

  She looked about to argue that point, but didn’t. “How ‘bout some food?” she said.

  I nodded.

  She led me out of the room.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DG SEEMED TO always have some kind of gathering in progress – a party, biker meeting, tribal council, redneck rodeo, what have you. Today it was a party for a friend just released from prison. Biker mamas were cooking in the kitchen. The boys were outside barbecuing and boozing. A spectacular array of food had been laid out in the parolee’s honor. He had arrived while I was in back reading Ken’s files.

  We picked our way along the food spread across the dining room table. It all looked delicious and my plate filled up fast. DG stumbled into the dining room with his arm around ‘Oater,’ of the newly emancipated Oaters. I wondered if his handle was a nod to western movies. Both he and DG were elated, laughing and smiling with red, cherubic cheeks.

  DG pawed my shoulder and turned me their direction. “Walt, this is my main man most, Oater Dicks, formerly of Raiford State Prison. Oater, this is my good buddy and neighbor, Walt, and his hot as hell girlfriend, Ilsa.”

  Oater smiled at me then devoured Ilsa with his eyes.

  “Hey man, keep your appetite on the food not the females,” DG said with a fist thump against Oater’s chest.

  Oater laughed, held out his hands and said, “Can you blame me? I ain’t seen a slice like that in three years. I thought about breaking out, but hell, have you seen the women in Union County? Bunch a homely nags!”

  They howled and DG grabbed a chicken wing off the table and shoved it in Oater’s mouth.

  Ilsa smirked and said, “Thank you for the very nice compliment, Mr. Oater.” I smiled politely, but DG was already dragging Oater out of the room. The fun was just getting started.

  I grabbed the rest of my food, a napkin, a fork, and poured a soda. With no hands free I bit the lip of the cup and carried the soda in my mouth. Ilsa was amused. I almost spilled the drink smiling back at her.

  We sat on DG’s back deck, which looks out towards the river. What I’d do for a swim right now.

  “You should get in,” she said.

  Ilsa seemed to be reading my mind.

  “I could use it. Just not so sure I should be showing my face around here.”

  “You think they’re watching for you?”

  “If I was a cop or one of the killers, I would.”

  I looked around at the dense woods surrounding us and started to feel uneasy. Anyone could be watching right now. If they could get close enough. Which was possible if they knew the woods. And, if they know how to avoid DG’s traps. Maybe I shouldn’t even have been out on the deck. But, I needed the fresh air. Especially after that moldy motel room. And, DG’s place was pretty remote. I figured it would be okay, at least for a little while.

  “I guess I shouldn’t go either,” she said.

  “I’m sure DG’s ladies have some fresh rags around here. You could change your appearance and swim looking like a biker mama. No one would suspect.” I smiled.

  “You know I swim naked.”

  I did indeed.

  The first time I witnessed her sleek, busty body dripping with fresh spring water still ranks as one of the greatest sights of my life. She just stood there, water up to her knees. Droplets glistening in the sun as they slid down her hips and hung from her nipples. My eyes were still thanking me for it. I’d been with plenty of women. But, then and there I knew I’d never be with a better one.

  A pair of motorcycles rumbled onto the property. Their loud, choking engines slaughtered the serene vibe of the wooded area. It was DG’s boys, Bannon and the other guy, back from Citrus County. Their chains hung from the handlebars.

  And, they were bloody.

  They parked the bikes and walked into the house. A moment later DG led Bannon onto the deck and over to me.

  “We beat the piss outta that boy and he took it,” said Bannon. “Chain whipped him hard.”

  He meant the Gaunt Man.

  “Takes a special kind to suffer that sort of beating without yapping. Only words he said were some I didn’t even understand.”

  “Where is he now?” I said.

  “We left him. Chain choked him purple and he fell right over. Couldn’t tell if he was dead or just passed out. But, couldn’t stick around. Traffic was starting to pick up.”

  DG spoke. “You get a wallet or anything?”

  “Just this,” he held out a small, torn out piece of newspaper. “We scoured his truck, couldn’t find nothin’. Nice truck, too. We’d a stole it if we coulda gotten our bikes loaded in the back. So, we just crashed it into the swamp along the side of the road. Should slow the boy up a while if he’s still breathing.”

  The torn out piece of newspaper featured a brief write up about how the police were looking for me next to my driver’s license photo. It was chilling to see my face next to those words.

  Me. A wanted man.

  I started to wonder what my clients would think, if they’d ever call to hire me again. And, if not would I have to go back to the dreaded nine-to-five life. Fuck it, I’d just tend bar. I didn't need that corporate pressure. I could get by with less.

  “All right, thanks brother,” DG said to Bannon as they shook hands. “Go eat.”

  “Gladly. Inflicting chain pain always builds a mean hunger.” Bannon laughed and walked back inside the house.

  DG looked to me. “Sorry we couldn’t do more.”

  “You saved our lives. That’s plenty,” I said.

  “I’ll keep my ear to the vine, see if anything turns up. Meanwhile, stay here long as you like.”

  He moseyed back into the house.

  Ilsa took the newspaper out of my hand and studied it.

  “This is surreal,” she said.

  “Beyond belief.”

  “It says we’re wanted for questioning. That sounds better than wanted for murder.”

  “We saw what kind of questions they were ready to ask us. That article was published to flush us out so we’d be easier to find.”

  She let out a long, agitated breath and leaned against the wood backing of the bench. She flipped over the newspaper to read the back side.

  “Dante’s For Men is having a sale in Lake Butler.”

  I looked at her like huh? She handed me the newspaper.

  “Two-for-one men’s suits, this weekend only. Are there even occasions formal enough to d
ress up for in Lake Butler?”

  “Church and funerals,” she said.

  I nodded, conceding the point.

  “And executions at the state prison,” she added.

  I nodded, but stopped and caught my breath. Thoughts connected in my brain.

  “Wait a minute—“

  DG’s house exploded.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MY SKIN TINGLED and my hands shook.

  Smoke filled my nostrils.

  My ears rang.

  Muffled voices were inarticulate.

  I sensed panic and anger.

  I blinked my eyes open to tiny shafts of sunlight beaming through gaps in the darkness. At first, I couldn’t move. I tried again, with extra effort, and it was enough to force a pile of wooden planks to slide off me, unveiling the world. A crooked house nail sticking out a plank caught against my head and scratched it deep until I could shake it off.

  DG’s house was gone. What remained was a disaster zone, landscaped with smoking, burning rubble. Chunks of wood and concrete were scattered in every direction. Trees five deep and surrounding the house had been whacked in half by the blast. The air smelled burnt and gas tinged.

  I used my hands to pull my legs out from under more wood. It was part of the deck I had been sitting on moments before...

  Now, I remembered.

  I was talking to Ilsa when everything exploded to hell.

  Ilsa!

  I looked behind me, under me, all over for her.

  “Ilsa!” I yelled.

  No sound.

  I stood up and had to pause as pain rippled through my body from the inside out. I felt bruised from head to toe as I scanned the ground for Ilsa.

  “Ilsa!” My voice echoed across the river.

  A classic mid-afternoon Florida rain started to fall making every surface slick. I reached down and hoisted away deck planks. I was careful putting them down because I didn’t want to accidentally throw them on top of Ilsa or anyone else who might be buried in the debris. I avoided nails jutting out at odd angles, metal braces with twisted sharp corners, and roof tacks scattered across the ground.

  I pulled up a sheet of plywood that had been torn in half. Underneath, I found a dead biker with half his head missing. The metal top of the barbecue grill that had smashed his skull lay next to him. His lower teeth were sticking out of his mouth at odd directions towards the sky. I pushed the plywood to the side and moved on.

  I recognized Ilsa’s shoe first. Her leg was sticking out through a window frame. Fear chilled me as I wondered what terrible condition I might find her in.

  Bannon walked past me, still stunned from the explosion. He had splinters sticking out the back of his neck.

  “Help me get this off her,” I said.

  He looked at me, perhaps still incoherent, but started helping anyway. He wedged up some wood while I pulled the window frame off her leg. Ilsa was flat on the ground and she looked bad. Real bad.

  I knelt down and touched her. Please don’t be dead.

  “Ilsa. It’s Walt. Are you okay?”

  I stroked hair away from her face and kissed her cheek. I wiped globs of soggy pink insulation fibers off her neck and chest as I sat down on the dirty ground and carefully pulled her into my arms.

  Her eyes fluttered.

  “What...hap...?” She winced with pain.

  “It’s okay. Hang in there. You’re alive and I’m going to get you taken care of,” I said.

  I picked her up and carried her over to a tree stump. It had been a tall, majestic pine tree a few minutes ago. I leaned her against the stump. She was coming to. She looked around, bewildered.

  “Oh, my god, Walt. The house is gone.”

  “Yes.”

  I gave her a moment to pull it together. She straightened one leg then looked to me with worried eyes.

  “I can’t move my leg,” she said.

  I looked down at her left leg. No gashes or punctures. But, it was bruised from calf to upper thigh. It appeared bad enough to make me think her bones were cracked underneath. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  And, that was a problem. No clue yet as to why the house exploded. But, anything coincidental wasn’t believable. People were out to kill me and I think they just took a shot. That meant a couple of things - If the guys gunning for me just bombed DG’s they might presume we were dead. That could be good cover. Or, they could be in the woods right now, waiting to see who climbs out of the rubble, ready to finish the job.

  Fear jolted me and I squatted down and glanced around for any sign of snipers. Nothing.

  DG’s crowd – those who had survived – were staggering around, many of them bloody. I was relieved to see DG himself marching through the mess like a defiant general surveying his losses. Blood trickled from his temple down his neck. His swagger was still intact, as he helped people out of the rubble.

  I turned to Ilsa. “Bit of a problem. We need to get you medical attention fast. But, I don’t know that we can go to any hospital without getting arrested.”

  “And, we don’t have much time, do we?” She paired it with an expression I was familiar with. The one where she puts guilt on herself.

  “True. Stay here until I can see what our options are.”

  “Obviously. I’m not going anywhere with this mangled leg,” she said.

  Her sarcasm was more than encouraging. She still had fighting spirit. I kissed the top of her head and hustled over to DG, keeping low and keeping an eye on the property’s perimeter.

  DG had command of the situation, pointing bikers in various directions.

  “You all right?” I said.

  He looked at me with a furious scowl, like he was ready to kill Satan himself. “I’m fine and I’m pissed,” he said. “How ‘bout you?”

  “Sore but good. Ilsa’s propped against what used to be a tree. Her leg is shot. I need to get her to a doctor, but...”

  “I getcha.” He pointed to a van on the far side of the rubble, facing away towards the entrance. A biker and a mama were helping another injured biker up into it. “These boys never go to doctors or hospitals. That van is loading up to go to our...private practitioner.”

  “Like a real doctor?”

  His facial expression and matter of fact delivery made it clear he didn’t want to debate it. “There are plenty of doctors who owe us favors. First class medical service. They do whatever we tell them.”

  “Got it,” I said. “Let’s get her in that van.”

  She was in the van in less than ten minutes. DG reassured her she would be safe and underground. He said he’d let me know where she ended up.

  “Don’t leave me, Walt,” said Ilsa.

  The move from the stump to the van had been painful, and the shock was wearing off. The pain in her leg was intense and made her eyes water. She was scared.

  “I have to do something about this,” I said.

  “No. Please. Just stay with me.” She winced and clutched her leg. The van started up.

  “No more running, Ilsa. You’ll be safe. And, so will I.”

  I leaned in to kiss her. She’d couldn’t move her head away so she settled for closing her eyes, tolerating the kiss, not happy with me. I shut the van doors and gazed at her for a long moment through the back window.

  A minute later the van drove off and I had the terrible feeling this could be the last time I would ever see her. I sure hoped not. It’d be a rotten farewell.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I TURNED TO find DG giving me a skeptical look.

  “What?” I said.

  He started to say something else but settled on, “Now, what to do with you?”

  “What do you think caused the explosion?” I took in the surrounding debris as I said it. “Think this is my fault?”

  “Sure would be a strange coincidence if it wasn’t,” he said. “But, don’t get too cocky. You’re not the only one with enemies around here. The Devil’s Destroyers have been trying to get at us for years.”

/>   “Could they get close enough to plant a bomb?”

  “Wasn’t no bomb.”

  He walked over to a part of the concrete foundation, still in place. A jagged piece of scorched white metal sat on it. “We found this.” He held up the metal and pointed to a hole near the middle of it.

  A bullet hole.

  It gave me the willies, thinking that whoever fired that shot was still watching me from the woods, their rifle sight set on my head.

  “This was part of the big propane tank that ran under the deck.”

  “I was right there.”

  DG smirked briefly, then looked worried.

  I got the message. I scanned the woods again, more alert than ever.

  Fire engine sirens cried in the distance.

  “If I’m not hiding you, you better split,” DG said.

  “How?”

  DG used his big, meaty hand to stop Bannon from rushing past.

  “Flamers and pigs are closin’ in. We gotta hide this shit,” Bannon said gesturing to the battered, but not broken, wooden box in his hand.

  “Take the four-wheeler, and you and Walt boogie out Black Path. Now.”

  Bannon nodded and looked to me, “Come on!”

  We ran around the rubble to a small shack that was still standing near the river. Bannon opened the wooden door and inside sat a high-end, all terrain four-wheeler, keys in the ignition. He threw the box on the back of it and strapped it down.

  “Hop on,” he said.

  We both did. He started it up. Three revs of the engine later we were out of there, and riding over house debris. We almost jostled off, but he put some body English over the handlebars and we kept rolling towards a part of the woods where no driving trail appeared to exist.

  As we reached the trees, we slammed through wide palm fronds and found ourselves on Black Path, its name clearly coming from the dark, rich color of the soil and the density of the trees. There was little sunlight to guide the way. That didn’t slow Bannon down.

  I had no clue where we were headed. But, I trusted DG and, therefore, Bannon. They hadn’t steered me wrong so far.