Bonded Couple

by Laran Mithras

  I mounted as they did and followed them out of the yard. I briefly wondered why we couldn't just combine the clubs and ride in, blowing them all away, but I knew we couldn't work that way. A lot of people would die and more would go to prison. We had to work quieter. Unseen.

  Even having lived here within the last year, I recognized only one street in passing. It's amazing what I didn't know was down side streets less traveled.

  I saw the first Surenos on a corner – white t-shirt, blue bandana, and bad attitude. He flashed gang sign at us: his middle finger on one hand and three fingers from his other. Then he pulled his phone.

  It was like that on the next block, too. By the third block, a parked car on the side pulled out and followed us. Inside were four men, sitting low.

  Bigfoot pulled to a stop and pointed to us, then motioned down a street. He raised his voice, "Left side."

  Gripper raised his hand and pulled away. I followed.

  The Bandidos behind us turned about and rode back the way they had come. The car followed us.

  Gripper motioned to the left and pointed at an empty parking space. I stopped, letting him park first. A few doors up, Mexicans were pouring out of a building. I backed in after his rear tire came to a rest against the curb. He remained sitting on his bike.

  A group of six Surenos came towards us. The car blocked us in.

  I got off my Harley and held out my hands, low to the side. I even made peace signs.

  A wide Mexican with bandana low over his eyes and tattoos crawling up his neck and face said, "You're in the wrong neighborhood, gringos." His fists tightened.

  I said, "I've come to talk to your Shot Caller. Your leader. Our president wants to arrange a meet. A truce."

  They were converging on me the whole time. But tattoo stopped. He looked me over as if ready to spit in my face. His eyes were intelligent and very sharp. He just stood there and breathed for a moment.

  I'm not a small guy, but I did not pose back at him. I stood there, chin down slightly, kept eye contact, and waited.

  Several of the Mexicans looked to him to see what they should do.

  He finally pursed his lips and pulled up his phone. He spoke rapid Spanish, then waited for a few seconds. He put the phone away. "Andale, gringo, you got your meeting."

  Gripper waved at me with a grin. "Have fun." He hadn't moved or said anything. Just sat there with his hands crossed over his knee. Relaxed like it was no big deal.

  Tattoo said, "Let's go."

  Someone behind me pushed.

  I tensed, but didn't think getting into a fight in the street was a good idea. I followed.

  CHAPTER 12

  It looked like an old two-story bar. The stench of marijuana made me gag as I stepped inside. Mexicans were lying around on sofas, chairs – leaning against walls. Not many, but more than I could handle, even counting the ones so doped out they couldn't get up. This is what they have in store for little Tyler.

  I was spun suddenly and pushed to the wall. Hands expertly frisked me all the way down.

  "Turn around, bitch." I was yanked.

  I turned as best I could.

  Another tattooed Mexican with ink up over his bald head ran a knife-hand down my chest. Then he ran his hands down my side and behind my belt. My cards and keys were pulled from my pants and tossed aside. The map was lifted from my inner vest pocket.

  My keys were tossed around amidst laughter. "Anyone want a motorcycle?"

  Tattoo Number Two turned. He said something short in Spanish.

  An old Mexican came from the gloom by the stairs in the back. The gray in his scraggly beard said it all. He was bald, like me. He had close-set beady eyes that saw everything.

  A switchblade flicked open.

  His eyes didn't move.

  Neither did mine.

  His lips pursed and he looked me up and down. "What do you know?" It was said with derision.

  I figured that was invitation enough. "Our president wants to meet. Arrange a truce."

  His eyes sharpened and his face hardened.

  I waited.

  It looked like he was waiting, too.

  I didn't know what he was waiting for. I broke my silence and pointed. "That map there has a time and place marked. Out of the way, neutral ground. Tomorrow at ten in the morning."

  His one word was an accusation. "Why?"

  "Because people are beginning to die. We can come to an arrangement and avoid it."

  He thrust his chin at me. "Seems like we're winning."

  "Sure, maybe. Until the DEA and FBI start hammering everything to shit. Our president doesn't want it and he doesn't think you do, either."

  His sneer wasn't friendly. "What does he know of me?"

  I shrugged in honesty. "Nothing. That's why he wants to meet. He wants to know who he's dealing with." I was guessing; I didn't know shit.

  Five very tattooed and very hard looking Mexicans were behind him. One of them, who looked like he was afraid of nothing, said, "Do'."

  Short for Domingo? Nickname?

  The old one in front of me answered. "Si." He turned his back to me and all six of them walked to the back. I heard a muted conversation in Spanish. Hands moved, gesticulating points. One raised his voice but was silenced. The old one was talking, pointing his finger at each. Heads began to nod. Eyes darted my way.

  This was it. I felt my knees go weak. This was the crux of the whole encounter. Would they accept? Or would they reject? Even worse, were they going to kill the messenger as a message? That was why I was sent. Not as an insult to my patch, but because I was the lowest on the rung. If the brothers had to lose one, even if reluctantly, it was going to be me.

  The six approached. All of them wore suspicion on their faces. I saw murder in their eyes. I clenched my jaw and swallowed, hard.

  Do' said, "Tell your president we will meet."

  I nodded, letting out a long quiet breath. "His name is Dealer. He offers to meet unarmed with four bodyguards each."

  The five behind him shifted their eyes amongst themselves.

  The old one said, "Sure." The truth didn't reach his eyes. He snapped his fingers. "Dame el mapa."

  A younger Mexican snatched up the map and handed it to Do'.

  The old man opened it and saw the circle. The post-it note showed time and place. "What is this place?"

  "A gas station. It's closed. Abandoned when a bigger one opened on the interstate."

  He passed the map back to one of the hard tattoos. "Tell your boss we have a meet." He looked around the room. "Give this gringo back his shit."

  Mexicans came forward. My cards were tossed in my direction. Someone threw my keys; they hit my chest and dropped at my feet.

  Do' said, "Now get the fuck out."

  I stooped and picked up my cards and keys under very hard eyes. I pocketed them and was shoved by a younger Mexican. I stumbled on my stiff leg, but turned and got the fuck out of there.

  Outside, Mexicans were standing, waiting. The younger ones appeared surprised to see me. Lips were pursed instantly. Gang sign flashed.

  I didn't have to be told: I was in their territory. Well, I didn't want to be there, either. I walked quickly to where we had parked our bikes. Gripper still sat in what appeared to be a position of ease but I could see the tension in his form. I knew him well enough now that it was obvious. He gave me a curious look.

  I said, "We have a meet."

  The Mexicans surrounding the bikes backed away enough for us to get by.

  We started our bikes and affixed our helmets. Gripper gave the signal and pulled out. I followed, feeling as if my life had ended and was now some different person. The morning had a surreal quality to it that only left when we hit the end of the street.

  Gripper stopped and took out his phone. "They agreed." He put it away and nodded to me. Gripper gunned the throttle and took off in a staccato roar. I did the same.

  I did it. I somehow survived. I felt chilled and shook because of it, but I knew
it wasn't cold.

  ~ ~ ~

  Doubts plagued me on the way back to Keystone. What the fuck is Dealer doing? He can't negotiate with them. I felt as if the Iron Crows were getting way in over their heads. Sure, we had tough guys, but these Surenos were out and out criminals. The old man's lieutenants were tatted up like prison gang members, and likely were. Those in their leadership weren't some ignorant younger gangbangers cruising around in a Chevy. They weren't bouncing their heads trying to look hard; they were hard.

  We climbed back up towards the mountain valley that was home. Could we really keep them out? Were we arrogant enough to think so? Or naïve?

  When we got off onto A Street, I felt as if the town couldn't possibly withstand the invasion. What were three sheriff's deputies on duty at any one time going to do to stop the promise of destruction? The peaceful people of Keystone were ripe for plucking.

  We parked in front of the old brothel. Jonesy's ears were up behind the gate to the side, watching us. Big Pizza and Slicer were leaning up against the wall out front.

  I saw the captain smile.

  I had barely laid my helmet on the table when Sonar summoned me from the back. "Stiff, office."

  I hustled back under the eyes of the rest of the club sitting and lounging around. Kristy and I looked longingly at each other, but I had no time to talk. Dealer's door was open and I went in.

  The president was at his desk, phone at the ready. "Twenty, leave the door open, but make sure we don't have unnecessary ears."

  The sergeant nodded and stood outside.

  Dealer looked at me. "Give me your impressions."

  I wasn't sure where to start, but blurted out, "I don't think they're coming unarmed. It's going to be a trap."

  His smile was devious. "Of course. Anything else? Who was the leader?"

  "I'm pretty sure his name is Do' and he's older. Bald, gray scraggly beard. His lieutenants all look like prison gang members, tatted all—"

  "They probably are."

  "He seemed to think a meet was beneath them, but one of his guys pulled him and the rest back for a huddle."

  "Do you think this other one was the real leader?"

  I shook my head. "No, but definitely high up in their leadership."

  "You're going to be with me so you can identify him for me."

  "You have to know they're going to bring way more than him and four guys."

  "We're counting on it."

  Someone came into the office wearing regular clothes I didn't recognize. Bald and clean shaven, he squinted at me. Even his eyebrows were shaved off.

  Dealer said, "You're ready."

  "Fuck yes, I'm ready." Gunner's voice came out of that man. "Every bullet wiped down. 'Ought six laser-scoped and ready to go."

  I blinked twice. "Gunner?"

  He growled at me. "Shut the fuck up, Stiff. And don't take any pictures, either."

  I marveled that the removal of gray hair and beard could have such an effect on appearance.

  Dealer said, "Send Grannie in."

  Gunner grunted and shouldered past me.

  Sonar checked his phone. "That's all of them. Full club."

  Dealer nodded. "Nine millimeter and three fifty-seven only. If they don't have it, they don't bring it."

  "Right." He started tapping on his phone.

  I said, "So we're not going for a real meet, either, are we?"

  The president said, "Not with this type, Stiff. Not in a million years."

  Grannie came in.

  He said, "Organize the women for driving. Vans and trucks, SUVs."

  She was nodding. "Line 'em with plastic?"

  "Yep. The usual body carry. But we need every vehicle possible for it. Including Kristy, four won't do it. Do you trust Celia?"

  "No." Grannie's voice was plain.

  "Scratch her then. Donna?"

  "Sure."

  "Get her than, and tell your sister we need her."

  She blew out a breath.

  "We'll have to do with six. It should be enough. All right, all of you out, except Sonar. Go get yourselves some drinks. And well done, Stiff. Very well done."

  CHAPTER 13

  I walked into the common room more confused than when I had left.

  Viking was behind the bar and handed me a Scotch. His grin was big and wicked. "You done good."

  "Thanks." I looked around for the women, but they weren't in sight – except for Dragon.

  Slicer came up to me. I noticed for the first time that he was wearing a prospect vest. He said, "What's all the secrecy?"

  I clapped a hand down on his shoulder. "I can't say. Don't take it personally. I was left out of a lot when I was a prospect, too. But we're getting ready to do the right thing."

  "I thought so."

  Gunner appeared, walking towards the front door. He held a satchel under one arm and a long case in the other.

  I said, "That a rifle?"

  The chaplain nodded.

  "You know how to shoot those, too?"

  Another nod, and a gritty grin. He set the case and satchel down on the sofa. He popped the clasps and opened the case. Inside was a long military-looking rifle with a scope.

  I said, "Wow."

  Slicer's eyes were wide.

  Gunner grunted, "Noreen BN36. A little touchy, but great long range. Takes 30-06. Don't touch, I got 'em all polished." He indicated the several loaded mags set in foam around the gun. He snapped the case shut. "Gotta find a good spot. See ya tomorrow."

  I blinked at him as he headed out the door.

  Slicer blew out a breath. "Uh, don't ask?"

  My words came out slow. "Yeah... don't ask. I'm not sure I know." I gulped at my Scotch.

  Donna came over to us and looked after Gunner. She was also wearing her prospect vest. "Interesting times."

  Kristy joined us, looking worried. She hugged me and I hugged her back. She said, "You're okay?"

  "It went fine."

  She breathed against me. "Are you sure about tomorrow?"

  Donna glanced at her, eyes holding strength to do what had to be done.

  I squeezed. "Dealer is, right? That's what counts."

  Slicer swore. "Wish I was a part of this."

  Still holding my wife, I said to him, "Don't wish it too soon, or you might not be able to handle it. Trust me."

  He nodded.

  Grannie came out from the right hall. "Slicer."

  "Yes?"

  "Come here. You're going to help tomorrow."

  His face lit up.

  I shook my head. Is he ready? Even if he just drives for cleanup?

  ~ ~ ~

  Sunday wasn't sunny; it was windy. Breakfast was fruit – bananas and apples. Coffee was the only familiar smell in the cafeteria.

  Dealer threw a peel into the trash. "We're riding today to deliver a blow to the Surenos. You all know that."

  Silence fell over the room. Only the coffee machine made any noise – the drip-drip-drip of the hot liquid into the glass pots punctuated the president's point.

  Sonar was sipping coffee, watching.

  Dealer's voice became stone. "Some of us might not come back today. Go out and give your best. And know that your brothers and sisters are with you. You've all been briefed by Twenty on your functions. Work fast, both in taking them down, and what comes after. Sheriff Jefferson will be waiting with the deputies."

  I wasn't sure what all that was about, but I wasn't slow. We were going to ambush the ambush. Or something like that. Gunner must have gone to find a suitable spot for sniping. Twenty had only told me that I was to bodyguard Dealer unarmed and that I could pick up and use whatever they dropped. He also told me to carry a shop rag from the stack on the helmet table.

  I didn't know what anyone else's function was as I wasn't in on Twenty's briefing of them. I just knew I and the others with Dealer, including Dealer, were bait.

  The president brushed his hands. "Time to move."

  Kristy had told me she would be drivin
g the Suburban, and had been prepped to provide body removal. She hadn't said whether they were to be theirs or ours.

  I followed Dealer out. Only a couple of days in colors? Am I to die today? I looked back at the battered-looking brothel. Something in me said I wouldn't be seeing it again. A lump formed in my throat but I climbed onto my Harley anyway.

  A moment later, Dealer twirled his finger in the air. Harleys coughed and rumbled to life. He gave a motion and pulled out. Big Pizza immediately followed after, then Gripper, Viking, and me. Behind us, the rest of the club scrambled for their bikes and vehicles. We had an hour to get there and it was only a half hour ride. I wondered if Dealer was feeling what I was: let's get this over with.

  The enormity of what we were doing seemed insurmountable. Insane. We passed a sheriff's SUV sitting near the onramp. I saw a wave, but not who it was. It was a black hand, so either the sheriff or Deputy Davies. The other deputies, the rotating six or seven I'd seen, were all white.

  Was the county sheriff enough to cover for us? Were we riding like pawns into a game bigger than we should be playing? It was one thing to earn my colors and the pride was strong, but was our brotherhood strong enough to face a gang? The rest seemed to think so.

  We were on the highway heading northwest only until the next exit. While the highway led down into the city, we needed to be headed towards the interstate. Exit 89 was a long road winding north through the upper foothills. We would eventually meet the East Frontage intersection where the road went west down into the city.

  A few ranches dotted the way to our left while the treeline wound above us to our right. Ahead, the interstate could be seen in the deep distance. A ranch was ahead with fallow fields and broken fences. The house was boarded up and the barn looked open and empty. It was on the corner of East Frontage.

  We turned left. Dealer was looking at the old ranch. Then he made a motion: tighten up. At the same time, he accelerated. We twisted our throttles and produced a staccato roar of road thunder. I tightened up to the left behind them all. Ahead was the gas station.