A large pylon that had once held the Conoco sign stood like a finger pointing to the sky – the sign long since removed and sent somewhere. Heaven or hell for signs, I did not know. The pumping machines were gone, the pavement to the side all dirt where the tanks had been dug up and removed. The building was a large minimart type that had featured a large store, restrooms, and a small café. Plywood covered all the gaping holes of what had once been the building's windows. The front door was padlocked with a heavy chain.
The single realty sign hung at an angle, one of the nails having come off or been removed. No one was going to buy the place. To our right in the distance, the new gas station right off the interstate could be seen. Big diesels swarmed around it.
We turned into the former gas station.
Dealer pointed. A glimpse of something Red was around back.
The Surenos were already here.
We rode slowly to the left of the building and passed it. Behind the building, to our right, was a parked car, cherry red and shining. Doors opened.
Dealer made a motion to turn around. We swung the bikes around and parked, the building just shielding our bikes.
I knew what he was doing – he was using the building to block gunfire from hitting our rides. A sick and heavy feeling coursed through my bones, turning them all to water. I almost stumbled setting the kickstand. Off came my helmet.
The cool wind that washed over the top of my head did nothing to settle my sudden jump of nerves.
Dealer and the others were off, walking around the corner.
I followed quickly, taking my spot to the left of Dealer.
He glanced at me quickly. "Which one?"
Do' was easy to see. Short and squat and old. I said, "The short one with the gray beard."
Big Pizza chuckled and stroked his belly length beard. "He calls that a beard?"
Dealer moved so he was directly in line with the Surenos leader. He held out his hands as he approached and so did we.
The Mexicans, for their part, watched us with all the disdain of Dobermans considering Dacshunds.
Gripper muttered, "Fat one has a long gun. In his jacket."
Dealer said, "Play it cool."
We were twenty feet from them.
Time seemed to slow.
Dealer spread his vest and turned, showing he was unarmed. We did also.
I heard, "Gringos estupidos."
One of the four behind Do' raised a phone.
Gripper said, "Here it comes..."
All hell broke loose.
CHAPTER 14
Several things happened all at once. Dust rose further down East Frontage. I heard the roar of engines.
Do' dodged behind the cherry red classic Chevy.
Big Jacket was pulling out a shotgun.
Dealer and Gripper lunged ahead to use our side of the car as a shield.
Big Jacket racked the shotgun and his upper chest blossomed with blood and gore. The report of a gun followed just after. The shotgun went flying forward and slid spinning on the cracked pavement.
I dove for it. Not a good idea. I felt my elbows impact painfully and the knees of my jeans tear. I grabbed it and came up kneeling.
A bad-ass tattoo was aiming a gun at my head from less than fifteen feet away. He was holding it sideways, fist over like thugs like to do. I flinched and jerked over just as the gunshot went off.
A burning numbness ripped across my head. I don't know if I was dead or not, but I jerked the shotgun up and blew a hole in his stomach.
Squealing tires tore into the gas station.
A distant and growing thunder told me the rest of the Iron Crows were coming.
But the Mexicans were already here.
I rolled towards the car and scrambled to the other side.
Behind us, a rollup door at the back of the gas station went flying up. Bandidos poured out.
Surenos began running from the front to the back of the gas station.
I put the car between me and them.
Big Pizza dove for the handgun that had shot me.
A gunshot sounded and he flopped down.
I racked the shotgun and rounded the car.
One of Do's lieutenants was aiming a pistol at me. His side erupted in blood and he flew against the car.
Huddled beneath him and holding a shiny revolver was Do'. He looked at me and his eyes widened in shock.
I bought the barrel up to his face and pulled the trigger. What had been a surprised old man turned into an explosion of flesh, bone, and brain.
The thunder had stopped.
But the gunshots hadn't.
Dealer scooped up Do's gun beside me and began firing.
I saw Sixgun, holding two revolvers, firing at anything in the clear.
Bandidos were mixing it up with double their number of Surenos until I saw Iron Crows wade in from behind.
Pain lanced my head and then began pulsing heavily. I lifted my hand and touched the area. It was slick with blood. I leaned against the back of the car and tried to get some air in my lungs.
From around the other side, where our Harleys were parked, came our chase vehicles. Trucks and vans stopped. I saw our SUV.
The fight was a melee of screaming, cursing men. What few that had brought guns were down or dead. I saw Jacks in a frenzy with a crowbar, his teeth showing and blood flying wherever he hit. Dragon was bleeding from a wound on her left arm but was swinging her chain with the right. Ghost and Sonar swung lead pipes overhand and down into heads.
What had taken an eternity to round the car and find Do' had turned into an instant.
I fell to my knees as all the sound of fighting died away.
Not a single Surenos escaped.
Dealer shouted, "Let's move! Clean up! Grannie, here! We have two down!"
Women were rushing with plastic. The Iron Crows, wounded or not, began lifting bodies onto the plastic and carrying them to the vehicles.
Dealer leaned over Big Pizza and froze. "Shit..." He moved over to Viking who looked like he was resting on his side. The president's fists clenched.
Gripper appeared in front of me, grabbing my chin and turning my head. "Fuck, head wounds always look so bad."
I felt chills all through me and I was shaking. "Am I going to live? Are my brains okay?"
He shook his head. "Lucky son of a bitch. Grazed you to the bone." He sighed. "Give me your gun."
I handed him the shotgun.
He said, "Use your rag on your head." He sighed and yanked the rag from my back pocket. He placed it in my hand and pressed it to my wound. "Hold that there."
He wiped down the shotgun and then pressed Fat Jacket's dead hands all over it.
Bodies were being moved, arranged. Most were being wrapped in plastic and carried to the vehicles.
A few times I saw Sonar raise his pipe and bash someone's head in that was still alive.
A cop SUV pulled around the front of the gas station in view of the car and stopped.
I wanted to shout warning, but I couldn't seem to muster the energy.
The cop that got out was Sheriff Jefferson.
I was knocked over. Kristy was all over me. "Oh my god, are you okay? Are you..." Tears were in her eyes.
Donna called, "Kristy, Gripper said he'll make it. We need you."
She touched my face as if afraid to break it. Then she backed away hesitantly and ran to help.
Sixgun faced Dealer and I heard them both sigh. The Bandido said, "Well done. But it's hard to lose brothers."
They hugged, patting each other's backs.
Dealer said, "Yours came out okay?"
Sixgun nodded, looking ashamed. "I'm sorry about your losses."
"I'm glad you lost none, brother."
Sheriff Jefferson looked over the scene.
I blinked and blinked again. There were four bodies near the front of the car, including Do'. There were four more bodies arranged near the gas station where the Bandidos had crashed into the reinforc
ements.
The sheriff said, "Outstanding job."
Doors on vans and trucks were shutting.
Gripper came to me and squatted down. "Stiff, can you hear me?"
I nodded.
"Can you stand?"
"I... don't know."
Gripper stood. "Grannie! Truck up Stiff's Harley."
Jefferson said, "You'll handle the rest of the bodies?"
Dealer said, "Yep."
"I won't ask. All right then, looks like there was an intergang rivalry that went bad." He thumbed the mic attached to his epaulet and walked towards his vehicle. "Three-four and three-six, come on in. Dispatch, I need the coroner at..."
Gripper hauled me up.
Trotting in from the west was a shaggy creature from the swamp bog. A rifle was slung over its back. It swept back its head and revealed Gunner's face. He was looking me over. "I hope that wasn't one of my shots." He cackled. Then he was running past towards the vehicles.
I dimly thought, ghillie suit.
Gripper led me to my SUV. I was stuffed into the passenger seat.
Kristy was looking at me with horror in her eyes.
I said, "I think we did it." I saw four Iron Crows hustle my Harley up into the back of Smoke's pick-up. Then I closed my eyes.
THE AFTERMATH
I was roused from dozing in a cool place. I saw sunlight through slat and broken boards. I was in a barn.
Grannie was looking at me. "Good, you're awake. I'm going to stitch you up. If you don't like the job you can go get plastic surgery later; they're pretty good at removing scars or making them very faint. Here, take a big swig of this."
It was a bottle of Whiskey.
Her eyebrows drew down. "I have to start. Now, drink."
I nodded and pulled the bottle up to my lips. I chugged back as much as I could and coughed at the end.
She gave a nod of approval and said, "Lay over on your side. Kristy, hold the flashlight right here. At this angle."
Light moved around me. I noticed others in the barn. Gunner was stripping out of his suit. Sonar was talking to him.
A wash of cold liquid poured onto my head – into the hurt that was so numb.
I saw Donna rush by, carrying another bottle of alcohol. Going the other way was Slicer and Smiley, carrying a wounded Flats.
Fire erupted along a wide swath of the side of my head. I growled out and scrunched my eyes shut.
Grannie muttered, "Just to disinfect everything." A thin stabbing seared my skin. Then again, and again. I felt something odd and tugging.
Kristy said, "Oh god, I think I'm going to be sick."
Grannie said angrily, "None of that now. I need you to hold the light. These are stitches and stitches are good. These mean your husband isn't wrapped in plastic to be delivered to the coroner."
I heard my wife gulp sickly. Her word was breathy, "Okay."
"That's a good girl." She made an appreciative noise. "Stiff here is going to have quite the scar. He might want to let his hair grow."
The strange tugging and stinging pain settled down to a throbbing numbness. My skin was being stitched closed.
I heard Dragon hiss and groan.
Grannie called, still stitching my head, "She about ready?"
Donna said, "Yes."
"I'm almost done here."
It seemed to take forever.
She sighed. "Thirty-five stitches." She raised her voice. "Here I come."
Dealer squatted down by me. "You all right, Stiff?"
I felt like I needed to answer. I slowly moved, leveraging myself up. I was on a bale of hay. "I think so."
His hand clamped down on my knee. "You did fine today."
"We lost two? Did I hear that..."
He nodded. "Big Pizza and Viking."
I felt tears in my eyes. "We're not going to bury them in some grave are we?"
His mouth firmed. "No. The coroner is my uncle. He'll prep the bodies and they'll have a normal funeral." His eyes grew distant in memory. "And we'll be there for them."
~ ~ ~
We were on the road out from the abandoned ranch within an hour. Kristy informed me on the way back how the plan had been to make it all look like eight Surenos got together and things went bad. That way, the media had nothing to report except that gangbangers shot each other – probably over a drug feud, or money.
I felt the rightness of what she said. The media didn't care if gangbangers shot each other; they did all the time. But if the news was that a biker gang and the Surenos clashed, the media would hype racism, warfare, vigilante murder and all sorts of hysterical claims to make good ratings.
But eight dead gang members? Who cared? No one, not even the media. The media only cared when the public fought back. Then it was bad. We carried several plastic wrapped bodies away from the gas station. There had been seven vehicles driven by the Surenos. Who would question that? Their families, surely, but again, who cared about gang members? They died and disappeared all the time.
By the time we reached Keystone, I felt a lot better, if stiff could be called better. My head hurt like a son of a bitch, but the pain was merely a reminder that I was alive. It was a double shock when we turned onto our clubhouse street and got out.
Tequila's face was awash with mascara. And our clubhouse was ringed with fire trucks and personnel.
I hugged Tequila to me as she rushed into my arms, sobbing heavily. But she wasn't crying for the clubhouse, I knew. Kristy hugged her with me.
I stared at the blackened hull of what had been the clubhouse. Fire-fighters held hoses, spraying down what remained. But really, nothing remained.
Jonesy occasionally could be heard barking forlornly beyond the cordon.
Dealer was near, shaking his head. "Must have been a second gang group."
Gripper said, "For sure. We didn't face all of them today. But we took out their leaders."
They saw me standing, holding Tequila, and both came over.
I said, "What are we going to do?"
Dealer sighed. "Rebuild. We had insurance. We'll rebuild bigger. And better."
The smoke rose like the remains of so many dreams, twisting upward as if all the life of the club was passing upwards before our eyes. Somewhere in there, I hoped to see my brothers. I hoped to see an indication of their new journey. Anything. But all I saw was smoke. All I felt were Tequila's tears.
EPILOGUE
I stabbed the pick down, loosening the ground in the bottom of the grave. Donna stood above, keeping a watch out and carefully arranging the dirt onto the existing mound dug earlier in the day. Behind me, Jacks shoveled dirt.
Donna said, "What if the guy wakes up?"
I said, "Billy Nickles drinks himself to sleep every night."
"This is morbid."
"Would you rather we wrapped them in chicken wire and burned them? Like they did Firehose?"
Her voice quieted, lowering in determination. "No."
Jacks cursed behind me. "Fuck, there's already a body down here."
I lurched sideways, panic knocking me over. "What?"
He began laughing. "Just kidding."
I heaved in breaths, shaking so suddenly that it left me speechless for a few seconds. Finally I said, "You asshole."
He laughed harder.
I shook my head. "Come on, get back to work. We have two bodies to put down here."
In the dim light of the Coleman lantern, we scooped out a deep enough hollow. Shovels tossed up on the side, we hauled the two plastic-covered bodies down into our depression.
Jacks said, "You sorry sons of bitches. I hope you rot in Hell."
I coughed. "What are you doing?"
His expression was innocent. "Saying something for the dead."
The rest of the work was silent as we covered over the evidence of our efforts for the town. The next morning, some pour soul would be laid to rest, the coffin lowered down to forever cover bad men gone missing. Keystone wouldn't know the sacrifices we made on its be
half. But maybe for a while, the people could sleep. Safe.
Even as safe as the dead.
Thank you for reading Bonded Couple. All reviews are greatly appreciated.
A list of books by Laran Mithras can be found on GoodReads.
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