Reprise

by C. D. Breadner

  “Fucking hell,” Jayce muttered.

  “Jesus Christ,” Tiny said at the exact same time.

  More gunfire erupted somewhere behind the truck. Tiny and Spaz circled back to the passenger side, leaving Buck and Jayce opposite. They crouched low, guns drawn and pointed downward, moving slowly as there was shouting.

  Rounds tore into the asphalt, one hit the overhead door of the truck and ripped a hole in the metal siding just behind them, but they still kept moving. At the sound of scuffling feet on concrete a body came wheeling around the corner of the truck, and the only pause Tiny gave was long enough to ascertain he didn’t recognize the man nor was he wearing Red Rebels colors. He fired twice, one round hitting the side of the ass clown’s head. The man dropped and all was quiet again.

  Too quiet for such a busy road. Traffic had stopped upstream, and as he tucked his firearm into the small of his back again he heard the sirens.

  “Fuck,” Spaz muttered.

  “It’s okay. Get your weapon back in its compartment and get the fuck out of here.”

  At the back of the truck he found Knuckles, grabbing a man by the ankles and starting to drag him off.

  “Get on your bike,” Tiny instructed. “I got this.”

  “No way.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I have a permit to carry this weapon, the truck is clearly torn up by these guys. I was attacked, I defended myself.”

  Knuckles set his jaw, but he paused just long enough that Tiny shoved his shoulder back to his scarred bike. “Go, get the fuck out of here.” He grabbed Knuckles’ piece from his back. “This have a number?”

  “Nah.”

  “Good. I’ll wipe it. Get the hell out of here.”

  “Tiny—”

  “Go,” he snapped, louder. His breath caught and another fucking coughing fit took over, doubling him up for a moment.

  “Shit man, you hit?”

  “No,” Tiny croaked, the effort bringing another round. Rather than talk he outright shoved Knuckles towards his bike then pulled his shirt out of his waistband to rub any prints from the grip and barrel of Knuckles’ Glock, then dropped it next to the man his pal had been moving out of the way.

  The bikes may have been loud, but they were indistinguishable over the sirens and traffic by the time highway patrol arrived. This was San Francisco County, and he wasn’t wearing his kutte, so he wasn’t expecting a hard time right away, but when they ran his name they’d see not only his time served but his “known associates” on his record. So he’d be agreeable but intentionally dim.

  Simple story. He was returning the truck to the rental place, favour for a friend. No other Red Rebels in the vicinity. And if anyone remarked on seeing bikers, there were five dead ones on the road, their bikes scattered in the ditch. You mean those bikers, officer?

  And the tire was blown, that was no lie. Maybe they were angry about the road hazard he’d thrown at them?

  “Hands where we can see them!” a sharp, no-nonsense voice snapped behind him. Definitely the law.

  Tiny raised both arms, cleared his throat, then shouted “I have a Ruger in my waistband, small of my back. Licensed to me. I have a permit to carry. I’m a truck driver.”

  There was a pause, then “On your knees. Hands behind your head.”

  He complied, letting the cop move his arms where he wanted them, the handcuffs snapping on at a polite tightness. The Luger was pulled from his pants, handed off to somewhere he couldn’t see. He’d made sure to bring his permit, so he was ready to hand that over.

  A cop stepped in front of Tiny, pulling off, honest to God, mirrored sunglasses. “You care to tell us what happened?”

  Tiny nodded. “Yeah. I was taking this truck back to the rental place, tire blew out. I nearly lost it, ended up here perpendicular to the shoulder. I got out to see if the ass end was hanging out in the lane, wondering how I could get the thing back turned around. It’s the front tire, as you can see. But anyways, these guys on their bikes just opened up on me. I had to get my firearm to defend myself—it was in the glovebox. I think one of them might shot one of their own men, I’m not sure. I fired off a few rounds, hit that guy at the end for sure. I think one or two might have fled after that. I honestly couldn’t tell how many of them there were.”

  The cop was chewing the inside of one cheek, nodding along with his exposition. Then he looked back over his shoulder at the truck, turned back to Tiny, mouth moving in a way that might have meant he was thinking. “We have your permission to check the truck?”

  Tiny nodded. “Of course. The door’s not even locked, just latched.”

  The hinges squealed as two other patrolmen opened the doors, then the one asking all the questions turned back to Tiny. “It’s empty.”

  No shit. Instead of speaking that aloud he replied, “Yeah, like I said. I was taking it back to the rental place in Bakersfield.”

  “You a commercial driver?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “What’s with the moving truck?”

  “Returning it for a friend. Moved his woman to San Francisco. He’s staying the weekend. I think they’re gonna break up.”

  “He got a name?”

  “Yes, sir. Gerard Phillips.” He stifled the laugh that wanted to bubble up. Spaz having a woman he cared about enough to help her move was a laugh.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Claire Robinson.” A bullshit name, but it was on the rental papers in the cab.

  “We’re going to need you to come back to the depot with us. Just while we confirm all this.”

  “Of course, sir.” All about being user-friendly.

  “Officer McCabe will take you in his cruiser.” A hand was put under his elbow to help him stand, and he shuffled after a highway patrolman with the start of a little Clark Gable mustache.

  “Watch your head,” McCabe said, nice enough to cup the back of his head while Tiny stooped to slide into the back seat.

  “Thanks.” The door was slammed shut. As he was sitting alone he felt the cell phone in his pocket vibrate once, twice, then stop.

  It was done. Delivery had been made. Now he just had to avoid being remanded.

  -oOo-

  A violent coughing hack brought him out of his shallow sleep. Tiny swung his feet down to the cold concrete floor of the holding cell as his vision lit up with thousands of stars and he struggled just to breathe.

  Fuck, this hurt. It felt like his lungs were trying to jump out his throat, and it seemed like his stomach wanted to come along for the ride. At the back of his throat he could taste blood.

  It was now a more regular occurrence. After that morning, waking up with Mal, he had attacks like this a few times every day. He’d gone so long without any evidence of being sick he found himself scared now for the first time since receiving his diagnosis. Now it was real. Now he could feel what was different.

  So far he hadn’t noticed his energy lagging at all. But that would probably come too.

  Shouting and making Mal feel like shit was a pussy move, but he had to get her out of the house. In the bathroom he’d coughed until he was sure he should be spitting blood, his throat on fire and his chest throbbing. No one could know about this, and especially not Mal.

  Definitely not Mal.

  Best she hated him and stayed away. The first time he’d left had been bad enough. At least this way she—sort of—left him. That had to feel better. Didn’t it?

  He had no clue. Usually when they parted ways he ended up an asshole. But no contact since that morning, and he was relieved by that.

  “That sounds like it hurts.”

  Tiny looked up at the squealing iron hinges that were sliding, the cell door opening. Officer McCabe was standing in the open doorway, hand on his belt, the other on the door.

  “It’s not that bad,” Tiny grumbled, wiping at his chin. At least there was no bloody drool.

  “Well, I don’t know what kind of friend you got but you’re being released.”

&
nbsp; Tiny frowned. “What?”

  “Your lawyer’s here. And the DA is calling for you to be released. Self-defense. Open and shut. After all, you shot some bad guy bikers.”

  He hadn’t said a word when they shut him up in the little cinderblock room. He’d lawyered up immediately, and after thirty minutes they’d led him down to the holding cell. In that thirty minutes he’d discovered that, while the dead bikers had worn no visible colors, they had, in fact, been Dirty Rats. And the highway patrol had in turn discovered that Tiny’s record only held one incident that didn’t involve criminal organizations. He did, however, have some questionable entries under “known associates.”

  No surprises there.

  He’d fallen asleep while waiting for the lawyer. He had no idea what time it was, but he was disconcerted about how deep that nap was.

  Okay, so maybe his energy was flagging a little.

  Without a fuss or any swagger he followed McCabe up the concrete stairs, down a hallway past a few offices, then to the reception area of the depot. Thomas Clark, the Red Rebels’ lawyer on retainer, was waiting in a pleather arm chair. He stood and smiled, offering Tiny his hand.

  “They treat you okay, Harlon?”

  “Great, Tom. Perfect gentlemen.”

  “I’ll be returning Mister Gray to his home county. If you need anything else from him you can contact me directly.”

  McCabe just nodded, barely sparing any energy into a glance Tiny’s way before he turned and meandered back through the beige cluster of cubicles behind the receiving desk.

  Clark held the glass door for him and Tiny stepped out into the clear night. It was cold already, biting to the bone, and he’d set out that day in only a T-shirt. It was definitely winter now.

  “What’d you pull to spring me?”

  Clark shrugged and unlocked the doors to his Infinity with a key fob. “Not much. When the guys got clear they stopped and got hold of Sachetti.”

  Tiny’s eyebrow went up as he slung into the car. Shit, this thing rode low. “They went right to the top.”

  “From what I hear, it was a set up. I’ll let Jayce explain it, but the set up wasn’t from Sachetti. He was surprised about the change in plans, so you know the truck wasn’t his idea. Someone’s pulling the strings without him knowing. And I think he’s pissed.”

  Tiny let that stew the whole way back to Markham. It was just under an hour’s drive and Clark kept up the inane chatter to make it seem longer. The guy was perfectly suited for his career. He had no fucking off switch, but Tiny was fine to let him prattle. Clark was likely uncomfortable with silence, and Tiny was used to Fritter or Knuckles jawing his ear off.

  The clubhouse was surrounded by bikes and vehicles, but the music wasn’t loud enough to be heard from outside. So a party, but not a big one. That sounded pretty good.

  Inside the cloud of pot smoke hit him first, then the cheering of his road name, followed by Fritter coming forward to slap him on the back, a cigar wedged in the corner of his mouth. “Tiny! How was lock up? How’s your asshole?”

  Tiny grinned and returned the back slap, about twice as hard. “Your boyfriend says hi. He misses you.”

  “Aww. That’s sweet. Let’s get a drink.”

  He let the kid shove him towards the bar and took the offered double of Jack. By then Knuckles and Buck were at his side as well, welcoming him back.

  “Everyone is whole, it’s still a win,” Buck declared, tapping his beer bottle to Tiny’s glass. “Thanks, man.”

  Tiny nodded, then tapped his glass to Knuckles’ can of Pepsi. “Saved our asses again, Knuck.”

  “You got one, too. Then you got us out of there. Calm and cool, my friend.”

  “Not as cool as Sachetti, from what I hear. What happened?”

  Knuckles went up on his toes to survey the room. “Let’s find Jayce. He’ll debrief us all together.”

  The Prez was somewhat distracted by a new girl, blonde and probably only about twenty, not at all uncomfortable being pushed against a hallway wall with a man’s hand up her skirt. They interrupted just as it was apparently just getting good, and at her pout Jayce just grinned and rubbed her lower lip with the thumb that had been between her legs. “I’ll be back, honey. Just hold that thought.”

  The conference room lights buzzed and flickered before catching as they filed inside. The doors closing brought the music and voices outside down to a rolling rumble. They all took their designated seats and Tiny leaned forward on both elbows. “So. What the fuck happened?”

  “We got hold of Sachetti shortly after you were taken in. We explained the weirdness at the dock, the truck change, all that. Then we told him about switching the load to your truck, sending your relief driver into the port with it. He was a bit nervous about that but he believes us that Mark has no idea what was in that truck. He thanked us for completing the delivery. Actually, he tipped us.”

  Tiny frowned at his president. “Tipped us?”

  “Extra twenty grand. He really wanted that shipment to go through.”

  “Where’s it headed?”

  His brothers shifted around the table. That was interesting, but eventually Jayce spoke up. “British Columbia.”

  “Canada?” Well that was weird. Usually shit could be driven into Canada. It must be some really expensive cargo. “What was it? Do we know?”

  “Yeah. It was packaged in baby powder bottles, but it’s definitely Thebaine.”

  His heart actually caught. “You’re kidding. Sachetti is in on the Sunshine trade?”

  “He is now. Which explains why the Dirty Rats wanted our Thebaine so bad.”

  Knuckles had been tapping his fingers on the table, now he stopped. “We think this is linked to Mickey?”

  Tiny and Jayce shared a look but Jayce spoke. “Dirty Rats want to set up their own game in any town they’re in. They want to sell here, they need to take out what’s here already.”

  “Or sabotage it.” Now everyone was looking at Tiny. He cleared his throat, feeling the irritating catch but there was no coughing fit to go with it. “Sunshine caught on fast. It’s still getting into Markham on a very small trickle, but we know it’s here. If they sabotage the supply it makes their own product more attractive.”

  “What are the Rats into?” Buck asked. “Other than everything I mean.”

  “Crystal,” Tiny mumbled almost immediately, the entire picture coming clear. “I mean, we took out a huge meth lab a few months ago. It’s easy to produce, as long as you can get the ingredients. You don’t need to ship the actual product too far.”

  “So our Rat infestation is in bed with the Mazaris in Markham.” Jayce nodded slowly. “That makes sense. Otherwise, why all the interest in this county? We have more crime syndicates than schools in Markham.”

  “This is one of the few counties in the state with its own understaffed Sheriff’s department.” Fritter rubbed his chin. “I mean, look at everything we get away with.”

  “Do we think this explains the Dirty Rats in Montrose?” Knuckles was frowning. “Wanting to buddy up with us, get close to Sachetti?”

  “It’s a possibility, but I doubt it.” Jayce waved a hand as he spoke. “Those guys wear that patch but they’re totally antonymous. One chapter has nothing to do the next. I’m sure there are plenty of clubs that get so spread out there’s just not enough to do. That is, if they’re actually outlaw.”

  “So what about Sachetti then?” Tiny covered his mouth as he had to cough. Again. “He’s gonna see if he’s got a leak or a rogue somewhere?”

  “Yeah. I kept our suspicion of Guidinger to ourselves. This guy didn’t become what he was by being stupid.”

  Tiny nodded, totally in agreement with the president. Naming names sounds like they might have been out to get that grease ball. Letting Sachetti find out the problem himself showed that they were at arm’s length. They did as told. Couldn’t be implicated.

  “What about my driver?” Tiny asked. “Did he get home okay?”

&
nbsp; At that Knuckles started cackling, then his brothers chuckled along with him. “You didn’t see him out there?” Jayce asked, grinning. “I think he’s got a brunette and a redhead taking care of him. I don’t think he’s gonna want to leave. We might have a new prospect in a couple years.”

  Tiny had to chuckle, too. “Damn you guys. I can’t make any nice, ordinary friends if you keep flipping them to the dark side.”

  “We gave him five grand for the trip,” Jayce added. “As a thank you for working on such short notice.”

  “That came out of the tip,” Fritter was quick to add. “Our cut stays the same.”

  “Thanks for clearing that up.” Tiny frowned. “Where’s Tank?”

  “You kidding?” Buck laughed as the rest of the table grinned. “His woman can’t be left alone for longer than a few hours in her condition. Tank went home.”

  “Talk about whipped.” This from Rusty, his new patch still really fucking bright on his leather.

  “Just wait until you end up with a worthy woman carrying your kid,” Jayce shot back. “It wasn’t Rose’s idea, I assure you.”

  Rusty’s smile faded and he looked away first.

  Then Jayce grinned. “Busting your balls, man. But keep in mind that’s his old lady, not some random warm body. Have a bit of respect.”

  “If we’re done here, I could use another drink,” Tiny spoke up, changing the subject.

  “Great idea!” Knuckles shouted, springing to his feet. “Let’s celebrate Tiny getting out of the joint.”

  “Wasn’t even charged, man.” Tiny chuckled as Knuckles bounced behind him and grabbed his shoulders.

  “Details, details. Let’s go!”

  The music was louder when they left. Two drunk townies thought they’d take a turn at the pole, and considering the Rebels owned a strip club, Tiny felt he had enough expertise to call their efforts sad. Entertaining, but sad.

  When he sank his weary bones into an armchair with a beer in hand, Wendy found him. She perched herself on his knee, leaning into him with her chest, playing with the front of his shirt. After a while he took her to his room.