Breaking Cover (Tony Wolf/Tim Buckthorn)

by J. D. Rhoades

  “More than you might think,” a familiar voice said.

  Nathan felt the blood drain from his face. He couldn’t speak for a moment.

  “Stoney’s fine, by the way,” Tony Wolf said. “Good of you to ask.”

  Nathan got himself under control. “So I guess you’re the one I need to talk to about the club. And the clubhouse.”

  “And a couple of labs I found out in the woods. Oh, and your car.”

  “My car? My car’s right—”

  There was a loud whump from the street. All heads turned at once. Nathan’s Suburban was on fire, burning brightly. As the group watched, dumbfounded, a pair of motorcycles nearby went up, one after the other.

  “Holy shit!” Tiny yelled. “He’s here!”

  A couple of the bikers went for pistols concealed in their jackets or waistbands, but the sudden eruption of gunfire from behind the fence across the street sent them diving for cover. When they finally dared raise their heads, two more bikes were burning. There was no sign of Wolf.

  “What the fuck was he firing at us?” Chop asked.

  “Sounded like a goddamn cannon,” someone said.

  Nathan got slowly to his feet. His face was nearly purple with rage. He snapped his phone open and hit speed dial. “Johnny,” he said. “Wolf ’s here. He’s got Stoney’s phone. You still have that number?” A pause. “Good. Do whatever you have to do. Whatever.” He shut the phone.

  SO, STONEY,” Wolf said, “where’s Johnny these days?” “Fuck you,” Stoney snapped back. He was handcuffed to a pipe running from floor to ceiling in the garage of the Spelling house. Wolf had taken the gag out of his mouth when he’d pulled his truck back into the garage after paying his visit to the clubhouse. The garage door was shut.

  Wolf shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He took a box out of the back of the truck. Several bottlenecks showed above the edges of the box. Each bottle had a rag stuck in it. Stoney licked his lips nervously.

  Wolf took one of the bottles out of the box. He produced a cigarette lighter from his back pocket.

  Stoney’s eyes zeroed in on the lighter as Wolf flicked it on. “What the fuck, man?” he said, his voice quavering.

  Wolf touched the flame to the rag in the bottle. It caught quickly.

  “Man, you’re crazy. You’ll burn, too.”

  Wolf ignored him. He walked into the house through the open door from the garage. Stoney pulled desperately at the pipe, trying to dislodge it. The pipe didn’t budge. He heard the smashing of glass, then a dull thump, followed by the crackling of flames.

  Wolf came back into the garage, humming to himself. He took a couple more of the homemade firebombs and set them a few feet away from Stoney on the concrete floor of the garage. “Okay,” he said cheerfully. “It’s been nice seeing you again, Stoney.” He started to get into the truck.

  “Wait!” Stoney yelped.

  Wolf stopped, half in and half out of the truck. “What?”

  “Man, you can’t leave me here like this. Not with the house on fire.”

  “Stoney,” Wolf said patiently. “I am leaving you like this. With the house on fire.”

  “I’ll burn!”

  “Probably. But look on the bright side. Maybe smoke inhalation will get you before the fire reaches those bottles.” Wolf shook his head. “Don’t look so amazed, Stoney. I mean, let’s be honest. You’d do the same thing for me, right?” Stoney didn’t answer. He was starting to cry. “Right?” Wolf yelled.

  “Look, McCabe. Or Tony. Or whatever. Come on, man. Please. Please?”

  Wolf ’s voice was calm again. “It’s nothing personal, brother. It’s business.”

  “I can tell you where Johnny is!”

  Wolf took the handcuff key out of his pocket. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Just . . . just let me go, man.” The sound of flames was louder now. Smoke was beginning to waft into the garage.

  “Where?”

  “Let me go!”

  “I haven’t got time to argue. You may have noticed the house is on fire.” Wolf got into the truck and started it. He hit a button, and the garage door began to rattle upward. The smoke was getting thicker.

  “He’s in Pine Lake!” Stoney shrieked. “That town you were hiding in! He’s looking for you!”

  Wolf leaned out the window. He tossed the handcuff key at Stoney’s feet. “See?” he called out as he started backing up. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Oh, and good luck explaining things to the fire department.” As Stoney dropped to his knees, scrabbling for the key, Wolf backed the truck out of the garage and was gone.

  THOSE GUYS you were investigating? The Brotherhood? They’re—”

  “Here,” Steadman said. “Yes, Deputy Buckthorn, we know.”

  “I need to know if I can count on the FBI. Those guys are here in force.”

  “Yes, sir,” Blauner said. “We’re aware of that as well.”

  Buckthorn looked at the faces around the rickety conference table. The room was barely big enough to hold the table, much less the bodies around it. Sheriff Stark sat at the head, looking uncomfortable. Buckthorn was at his right. The FBI contingent— Steadman, Blauner, Ross, the blond woman who Buckthorn had been told was Wolf ’s wife, Kendra, and some kid who barely looked old enough to shave—were crammed elbow to elbow around the table. “Well?” Buckthorn demanded.

  “Well, what?” Steadman said, his face bland.

  “Look, I—” He shot a glance at the sheriff. “We could use some help.”

  “That’s being taken under advisement—” Steadman began.

  Buckthorn cut him off. “And just what the hell does that—”

  “Tim,” Stark broke in.

  Great, Buckthorn thought. Now he speaks.

  “The kidnapping investigation is closed,” Steadman said. “We’ve pretty much gotten everything we’re going to get here on our missing agent. And there’s not a current operation pending against the Brotherhood. It was shut down after Agent Wolf ’s”— he glanced at Kendra—“disappearance.”

  “Well, reopen it!” Buckthorn said.

  “We’re looking into the possibility of doing just that, Deputy Buckthorn,” Steadman said. He leaned on the word “Deputy” just a little and glanced at the sheriff. Stark reddened slightly. “But these things have to be approved. We’ve got to figure out whose budget—” “For God’s sake,” Buckthorn exploded, “my county’s being invaded by the goddamn Mongols, and you’re talking budgets!”

  “Not the Mongols,” the kid spoke up.

  Buckthorn turned to him. “What?”

  “The Mongols,” the kid said. “They’re a different gang. They work out of California.”

  Steadman was massaging the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed in apparent pain. “Thank you, Agent Harper,” he said.

  “Look,” Buckthorn said, trying to keep his voice level. “I think these punks sexually assaulted a teenaged girl last night.”

  “What?” Stark said, sitting up straight. “Why didn’t you—” “She won’t talk,” Buckthorn said. “She’s terrified. Near hysterical. They threatened her somehow.”

  “That’s . . . unfortunate,” Steadman said, his face once again expressionless. “But we don’t have any jurisdiction. Sexual assault isn’t a federal matter. It’s a local one.”

  “He’s right, Tim,” Stark broke in. “I think we can handle a bunch of roughnecks.”

  Buckthorn just stared at him. The punch line of the old Lone Ranger and Tonto joke ran through his mind: What’s this “we” shit, white man? He stood up. “Yes, sir,” he said. He walked out.

  Duane Willis was waiting in the hallway, fussing around at the water cooler. He straightened up as Buckthorn approached. “What’s the word, boss man?”

  “For right now,” Buckthorn said, “we’re on our own.”

  “Shit.”

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself. I want someone on those bikers 24/7, Duane. At least two-man teams. Constant surveillance. And don’t be sneaky ab
out it. I want them to know we’re watching.”

  Willis’s brow furrowed. “That’s gonna run into some overtime.”

  “I don’t care. We are on those bastards like white on rice from now on. I don’t want them feeling comfortable doing so much as taking a piss without turning around to see if we’re watching.”

  “How long we going to keep that up?”

  “Until they get tired and leave.”

  “Or till one of ’em gets pissed and decides to do somethin’ about it.”

  “They do that,” Buckthorn said, “and we land on them with both feet.”

  “Roger that, sir!” Willis barked out. Then he looked sheepish. “Sorry, sir,” he said, “I wasn’t tryin’ to be a smart-ass.”

  “No problem, Duane.” Buckthorn smiled. “You keep in that wildass marine frame of mind. Something tells me we’re going to need it.” Willis grinned. “Yes, sir.” He looked as if he were about to salute, then chuckled and walked away.

  Buckthorn turned to see Kendra Wolf leaning against the wall. She had her arms crossed across her chest and the merest ghost of a smile on her lips.

  “What?” Buckthorn barked.

  The ghost vanished. “Why do you do it?” she said.

  “Do what?”

  She jerked her chin back toward the now empty conference room. “You’re ten times the cop your boss is.” Her lip curled. “He’s more like the head of the chamber of commerce. Why aren’t you in charge?”

  Buckthorn shrugged. “He’s good at what he does.”

  “Which is what, exactly?”

  “Winning elections.”

  She thought about that, then nodded. “And you’d suck at that.”

  Buckthorn laughed out loud. “Yeah,” he said. “I don’t seem to have what they call the gift of gab.”

  “Me, either. I’m staying, by the way.”

  “Staying where?”

  “Here. I’m going to be keeping an eye on things here while

  Agent Steadman does what he’s good at.”

  “Which is what, exactly?”

  “Working the bureaucracy.”

  “So he’s really trying to get something going. He’s wasn’t just blowing me off.”

  “Pat Steadman is a lot of things, Deputy Buckthorn, but he’s not a liar. And he wants these bastards as much as you do. He’s just a little more calm about it.”

  Buckthorn grimaced. “I blew it in there, didn’t I?

  “Like you said.” The slight smile was back. “Don’t worry,” she said, “you’re good at what you do. And we’ll give you what help we can until Steadman can do the Bureau voodoo dance.”

  “We?”

  “Agent Blauner’s staying, too. He worked some on the original investigation. He knows the players within the Brotherhood. We’re staying at the motor court, just outside town. I’m in room seven. Blauner’s in eight.”

  “Okay. Good. I’ll take what help I can get till the cavalry arrives.”

  “Well,” she said, “it may not be the cavalry you expect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She hesitated. “I think my . . . I think Agent Wolf may be coming back here. Once he figures out where Clay and Johnny Trent are.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He’s devoted a lot of his life to destroying this organization. Then he had to hide from them for four years.” She smiled sadly. “Tony Wolf is not the kind of man that would enjoy hiding. I don’t think he’ll go back to it. He doesn’t trust us. Which leaves him with one choice.”

  “To go after them.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Look, Agent Wolf—”

  “Kendra.”

  “Look, Kendra. I don’t mean your husband any disrespect, but the last thing I need is some crazed vigilante rolling through, shooting everything up.”

  “If I see him, I’ll let him know.”

  “You still don’t have any way of contacting him?”

  She shook her head. “I wish I did.”

  “Well, if he gets in touch with you, tell him to stay away. We’ll handle this.”

  “I hope you can.”

  “Yeah,” Buckthorn said. “Me, too.”

  COME ON, dude,” the long-haired man whined. He knelt on the cheap carpet of the single-wide trailer. Sweat ran down his face and soaked his T-shirt. “I ain’t done nothin’ to you.”

  “Didn’t say you had . . . what was your name again?” The man didn’t answer. Clay pushed the 9 mm pistol a little harder against his ear. “Bobby Lee Sessoms!” the man blurted out.

  “Well, Bobby Lee Sessoms,” Clay said in a voice that was an oily parody of an infomercial host’s, “we’re not here because we’re mad at you. We’re here, Bobby Lee Sessoms, to offer you, and your lovely lady over there on the couch . . . what’s her name, by the way?”

  Bobby Lee shot a despairing glance over to where his girlfriend, a short-haired blonde, sat between two grinning bikers. One had an arm draped casually around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide with terror. “Barbara,” he whispered.

  “Bobby Lee and Barbara. That’s so cute I can’t hardly stand it. Well, Bobby Lee and Barbara,” Clay said, “we’re here to offer you an exciting business opportunity. A chance to be part of a nationwide organization, not just a small-time meth cooker in a dipshit town.”

  Bobby Lee swallowed. “I ain’t got no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Now, now, Bobby Lee, this isn’t a good way to start a business relationship.” He shook his head. “Your dealers gave you up, bro. Pete over there didn’t even have to break anybody’s fingers for them to do it. He was kind of disappointed. Right, Pete?”

  Pete nodded, his face sorrowful. Clay went on: “See, that’s one of the things we need to change. You’d been running things right, your dealers would’ve been so afraid of you that Pete would’ve had to do some serious damage to get them to talk. But I tell you what, Pete.” His voice hardened. “This little redneck fucker lies to me again, you and Florida Bob can take little Miss Barbara and her perky tits into the bedroom and do a lot more than break a couple of fingers. How’s that sound?”

  Pete nodded. “Sounds fair.”

  Bob nodded as well. “I can live with that.”

  “Please, man,” Bobby Lee said, “don’t hurt her.”

  “That all depends on you,” Clay said. “Now listen up, Bobby Lee. This is the way it’s going to be from now on. Your output next month is going to double.”

  “I can’t do that,” Bobby Lee protested. “I ain’t got the makin’s—”

  “Don’t worry,” Clay said. “We’ll get you the ingredients. And we can get ’em in bulk. Just think, no more running around to drugstores and shit buying cold tablets. All you have to do is cook. Bob over there will be running your dealers. The good news is that if you do what you’re supposed to, you’ll be making a lot more money. The bad news is that if you don’t make your quota, your ol’ lady over there works it off in a motel room out on the interstate. You hear me?” Bobby Lee didn’t answer. Tears were running down his face, mixing with the sweat. Clay sighed. “Pete, Bob. Looks like it’s time to put Babs to work.”

  “Okay! Okay!” Bobby Lee cried out.

  “There you go, then,” Clay said. He straightened up. “Now we best leave and let Bobby Lee get to work. He’s got some catching up to do.”

  Pete leered at Barbara. “I guess this means a blowjob is out of the question.” She shrank away from him with a small whimper.

  “Deal’s a deal, Pete,” Clay said. “Let Babs alone. She’s a little old for you anyway. But cheer up, maybe your little friend from last night will come back.”

  “See you soon, Bobby Lee,” Florida Bob said cheerfully. “It’s gonna be great working with you. And Babs. You’ll see.”

  MR. TRENT,” Buckthorn said. “I’d like a word with you.”

  Johnny looked up from his wheelchair, a bored half-smile on his face. “What, Sheriff,” he said, “we’re not on a first-na
me basis no more?”

  Buckthorn looked out over the campground. Tents were coming down, and bikers were securing packs and bedrolls to the backs of their motorcycles. “You fellows packing up to leave?”

  “No. Just got a little tired of camping out.”

  “Where you planning on staying?”

  “We had our eyes on a little place outside of town. An old farmhouse. I hear the previous occupant skipped out on his lease. There was some kind of shootout. Sound familiar?”

  Buckthorn turned to look at him. “You wouldn’t be talking about the old Jacobs place?”

  “That what it’s called? I’m not from around here. But maybe that’s it. I have one of my associates talking to the nice real estate lady right now.”

  Buckthorn kept his voice flat. “So you’re staying.”

  Johnny smiled insolently. “No law against it, is there?”

  “You don’t want to wear out your welcome.”

  “You know, Sheriff, I didn’t know better, I’d think you were threatening me. And the way you and your officers’ve been breathing down our necks, handing out tickets for crap like littering for flicking a cigarette butt . . .”

  Buckthorn smiled tightly. “It’s been a dry season,” he said. “High risk of forest fire.”

  “See, it’s that kind of attitude that makes me feel like there’s some harassment going on. I’ve even had a talk with our lawyer about whether our civil rights might be bein’ violated.”

  “Your civil . . .”

  “See, Sheriff, all these years of people treating us like secondclass citizens, just ’cause we dress different and live different from them, we get a little touchy when people treat us like criminals.”

  Buckthorn gestured at the van. “I guess if I searched that van,”

  he said, “I wouldn’t find any guns. Or drugs.”

  “Now, I’d be pretty stupid to carry that sort of thing around, wouldn’t I, Sheriff? Not like we’ve given anyone any kind of probable cause to do any kind of search.”

  Buckthorn stared at him, teeth clenched. He could almost feel the enamel grinding away.

  Johnny smiled. “Calm down, Sheriff,” he said. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke if you don’t learn to relax. Besides, not all of us are staying. I’ve got business back home. Me and some of the boys’ll be staying at the motel.”