by Naomi West
“Anything?” Tanner asked.
He shook his head. “When the weather's like this, clerk said all the junkies disappear from the block. Said it seems like they got some other place they go.”
“Like a flophouse, maybe?” Cam piped up from in back.
“Yup,” Blade said. “Maybe some place they can all shoot up?”
Tanner chewed away, nodding. “Okay. So, what next? Go up to the campus?”
Blade shook his head. “Didn't you say you and your ol' lady – sorry, Star – swung by some house out here? Got some kind of information from there?”
Tanner nodded, realizing where he might have been going with this. “You think they might know?”
Blade shrugged. “Maybe. You got any better ideas?”
Tanner and Cam both shook their heads. “Wish I did,” Tanner replied.
“Well, let's go then,” Blade said, starting the pickup. “Weather ain't getting any better just sitting parked here.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tanner
They pulled up in front of Quentin's place ten minutes later. There was another car sitting out front, an old Ford Focus. But, other than that, the street looked empty.
“How you wanna play this?” Blade asked.
“I'll handle it,” Tanner said.
“You sure? Cam could go as backup.”
Tanner shook his head. He needed to do something, needed to work off his frustration. Between just sitting around, the rain, and the swirl of emotions he felt about Star, he needed to get up and move. In the truck, with his ass parked in the passenger seat, he was just chewing his fingers down to worried nubs.
“Nah,” Tanner said, “you guys stay here as backup, in case he tries to run or some shit.”
“Probably a good idea,” Blade agreed. “Dealers are shifty.”
“Don't worry. I got an offer he'd be stupid to refuse.”
Tanner climbed out of the pickup truck and ran up the walkway to the front door. He resisted the urge to pound out his frustration on the front door, and instead did the same as Star had done the first time.
After a little while, he heard movement on the other side of the door. “Yeah?” called a voice.
“Quentin, right?” Tanner called back. “Me and Star Bentley, we came by the other day looking for a guy? I was the one on the bike.”
“I recall,” the voice said. “Don't hear her with you this time, though. Whatchu need now?”
“Need some help finding one of your rivals.”
“I'm listening.”
“Open the door up, man. I'm getting drenched out here, and I bet you don't want the neighbors seeing me on your front porch for too long.”
“Fine, fine, man. Hold on.” Quentin unlocked the deadbolts and pulled the door open. He was wearing just a pair of loose cotton pajamas, with no shirt to cover his scrawny body. “Come on in, man.”
The filthy smell hit Tanner like a city bus, almost sending him staggering as he stepped into the crackhouse. He still couldn't believe that Star knew this guy, or was aware that this place even existed. The whole thing just didn't jive with his view of her as little Miss Prim and Proper.
There was an old, filthy couch that reminded him of one he and Brendon had found out in the countryside when they were just kids, playing in the woods. Only difference was that this one had a half-naked, strung out looking girl that couldn't be more than seventeen passed out on the soiled cushions.
“Ignore my junkie,” Quentin said as he shut the front door behind Tanner, “and step into my office.”
The drug dealer led him over to the small kitchen table that was set off in the corner, and each took one of the folding chairs arrayed there.
“I'm looking for some people,” Tanner said as he sat down.
“Yeah, your girl Star, she asked me about a guy. You ain't found him yet?”
Tanner shook his head. “Found him the first time, but he's not around anymore cause of the weather. Guy at the hardware store told my buddy that there's an apartment over there where they go to shoot up. You know the place?”
“Might.” Quentin crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. “Why would I tell a guy like you something like that, though? Those guys up in that place, they're all bikers and shit. Don't you motorcycle guys stick together? Why don't you find out from them?”
“Bikers, huh? What club?”
“Club? This some girl scout bullshit?”
“Their vest?” Tanner asked, tugging at his own to illustrate. “What was the picture on the back of their vest?”
“I dunno, some kinda dog. What were those things in Lion King? Laughed all the time and shit. You know, Whoopie played one?”
“A Hyena?”
“Nah, not that.”
“A Wolf?” Tanner asked, the urgency and excitement clear in his voice. “The Roaming Wolves?”
“Yeah, yeah, that,” he said, waving his words off. “Gotta fucking jackal on their vest.”
“Wolves weren't in the fucking Lion King.”
“Whatever, man. That's what they call themselves.”
“Well, why don't you give me the address? And me and my buddies will go over and pay them a visit? Can't imagine you like the added competition.”
“How do I know you ain't gonna try and fuck me over on this?”
“How could I screw with you on this?” Tanner asked. “Seriously?”
Quentin shrugged. “I dunno. You could.”
“Just give me the goddamn address,” Tanner said in a painfully even voice, his eyes narrowed, “and I'll be on my way.”
Quentin's eyes narrowed in return.
Tanner had no qualms about beating the shit out of this guy. What was he going to do? Call the cops? That was a laugh, right there. Guys like this and the Blood Warriors had at least one thing in common: they understood not to get the cops involved. That was just opening the door to a whole mess of trouble no one wanted to deal with.
“Fine,” Quentin said after a few tense seconds. He spat out the address of the rival flophouse, apartment number and all. “Don't tell 'em where you got that, ya feel me? Don't want no more bikers knocking at my door if they ain't customers.”
Tanner waved him off. “Believe me, we ain't going there to talk.”
That got Quentin, the weasel-faced little bastard, to smile.
Tanner stood up from the table and headed for the front door, satisfied that they had what they needed. At the very least, the skeezy drug dealer's tip was a start. If they couldn't find Brendon there, they'd just have to try something different.
“Hey,” Quentin said from behind him, “you tell Star for me that it was good seeing her the other day.”
“Uh,” Tanner said back over his shoulder, stopping in his tracks as he opened the front door. “What?”
“She's hotter than her momma ever was, and that lady was fucking fine,” he said, drawing out the last word to an excruciating length
Tanner's world went crimson at his words. He slowly turned back around to face the skeezy dealer. “What did you just say?” he asked as he dropped his hand from the door knob and let it swing open a little.
“Bet she fucks like crazy, too. Her hot momma always did when her pocket book was empty.” He glanced towards the girl on the couch and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “All them junkie girls are like that.”
Tanner's world turn into one of blood-soaked rage at the mention of Star's name. He was across the living room in three steps, the front door swinging ajar behind him. Quentin didn't have time to squeak before Tanner's forearm was across his throat and pushing him back to him against the wall.
“You keep her name out of your fucking mouth, motherfucker,” Tanner roared as he pressed down on his windpipe.
Quentin squealed like a pig as he tried to get away.
Tanner brought up his knee twice, getting him in the stomach and groin. He threw a punch in the same spot, knocking the wind out of him.
The dealer slid down th
e wall to the floor, fell over on his side and tried to shield his face. Tanner wasn't done, though.
He bent down and rolled him over, settled on top of him so his knees pinned Quentin's arms to the ground. He set to, wailing on him with his fists. “Never, ever, ever,” he continued, each word punctuated with a strike to the face, “say her fucking name again.”
“Tanner!” yelled Blade from behind him as he and Cam came running through the living room and wrapped him up in a full nelson. “What the fuck, man?”
“I'll fucking kill you,” Tanner roared, flailing one last time as Blade and Cam yanked him bodily from the drug dealer's chest and pulled him to his feet. Blade's arms were locked up in his, immobilizing him. So, he kicked out, clipping Quentin in the side with a big biker boot and sending him flinching away.
“Mention her again, Quentin. I'll fucking kill you!” They dragged him out of the shithole of a flophouse, his legs flailing as he continued to threaten the dealer.
“What in the fuck was that shit?” Blade bellowed as they pulled Tanner out into the rain.
The falling precipitation struck his body, its arrhythmic beat seeming to drag him out of whatever craze he'd been in. He shook his head, clearing the rage. “Sorry, Blade. Sorry.”
“We wanted to get the fucking address, not beat him to fucking death!” They each grabbed him by an arm and led him back to the pickup. They opened the cab and tossed him inside, with Blade going around to the driver side.
“I know!” Tanner yelled, “I'm fucking sorry!”
“Did you at least get it?” Blade yelled as he climbed in.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Sorry, man. I just lost my shit in there.”
“What was that, anyways?”
“Nothing. Motherfucker just started popping off at me. Running his fucking mouth about Star.”
“Well, you gotta learn to control that temper of yours,” Blade grunted as he started up the truck. “Your daddy had the same goddamn problem, and it always got him into trouble, too.”
“I know,” Tanner said, rubbing the back of his bruised and bloody knuckles, “I know.”
“'Sides,” Blade said with a wry grin. “thought Star wasn't your ol' lady.”
“Just . . . lay off, Blade. Let's get over there and find Brendon.”
# # #
This apartment was almost as big of a shithole as Quentin's place. Trash littered the ground, cars that were little more than junk heaps filled the parking lot, and paint was peeling off the siding on all the buildings. The complex looked like the kind of place that got two to three 911 calls on a slow night, and five or six on the weekends. Seven, probably, around the holidays when money got tight and husbands started to get punchy with their wives over Christmas spending.
They'd settled on a plan while the three of them were still packed in Blade's pickup truck. Cam would knock on the door and get them to open up for business. Blade and Tanner would be around the corner and out of sight, waiting for their opportunity. The plan might have been simple, but that just meant it didn't have as many chances to fail.
At least, the weather had finally cooperated, and the rain had slowed to a dull trickle.
“I don't like leaving him out in the wind like this,” Blade growled to Tanner.
“Well,” Tanner said as he peaked around the corner to watch Cam at the apartment's front door, “we all gotta grow up sometime, old man. Besides, you wanted me to take charge, didn't you?”
Cam was doing his best impression of a nervous college kid looking to score. At least, that's what Tanner hoped the display was. Whether it was an act, or not, Tanner thought he was doing a good job pulling it off. He knocked on the door, giving it a good rap-rap-rap.
A minute or so later, the door opened, bouncing back against its chain. Cam said something to whoever was just inside, then glanced back towards Tanner and Blade and gave a little nod after it closed.
“He's in -” Tanner started to say, but was cut off by the front door flying open and two Roaming Wolves bruisers barreling out into the drizzle. “Shit! Cam!”
Cam spun back around, a wide-eyed look of surprise on his face. He backpedaled as fast as he could, but one of the Wolves swung a wild haymaker and clipped his chin with a fat ham of a fist. The young recruit went down in a jumble on the front walkway as Blade went rushing around the corner with a roar.
With his own bellowing war cry, Tanner followed after Blade, fists balled as his feet pounded across the wet grass and concrete.
Blade clashed with the closest biker, taking him down in a football style tackle that sent both men down in a rumble-tumble of fists, leather, and yells.
Tanner veered towards the other guy, the bigger of the two who was standing over Cam still.
The Roaming Wolf was a little surprised by the two rival bikers' sudden appearance, it seemed, and had left an unprotected leg outstretched in front of him. His shaggy, bearded head swung in Tanner's direction as the Blood Warriors biker came bounding towards him.
Tanner kicked out with his heavy boot at the man's unprotected leg, roaring in satisfaction as he felt the man's leg give way.
The Wolf went down, screaming in agony, and Tanner slashed him to the ground with one, two, three quick strikes to the face. He splayed out in a mess next to Cam's groaning form, his jaw slack and his eyes closed.
Tanner reached down and offered Cam a hand up. “You okay, buddy?”
“Yeah,” Cam said, groggily, as Tanner pulled him to his feet. “Fuckers must've seen me coming from a mile away.”
“Or, they got tipped off we were coming,” Tanner offered. He swung his head towards Blade, but the old man was already extricating himself from the scrabble on the ground. His Roaming Wolf was subdued, too. “Come on,” Tanner called and went rushing ahead of his MC brothers into the apartment.
He slammed into the apartment door, throwing it wide, and surveyed the room.
The place wasn't too different from Quentin's. There was little furniture, no decorations on the walls, and a stench of human body odor and soul-deep depression that hung heavy in the air. A door that seemingly led off to a back bedroom was partially cracked open on one side, and the entryway to the kitchen stood open.
A familiar looking form lay crumpled on a dirty mattress near the partially opened door. The carpet around him was stained with spilled drinks and pocked with burn marks. Used needles littered the floor.
“Brendon?” Tanner asked, taking a step closer.
The figure rolled over. Even beneath the ragged hair and untrimmed beard, the unwashed clothing and wrecked body, that was his brother. He'd deteriorated since the last time Tanner had seen him in the alley by the hardware store. But, still, he'd know Brendon anywhere.
“Tanner?” his brother croaked through dry, cracked lips. “That you?”
“It's me, bro,” Tanner said, his voice full of anguish as he crossed over to him. He kicked aside the dirty needles and knelt down beside his brother. He looked behind him, to see if Blade and Cam were coming, but they must have been tied up outside still. “You okay? We're here to take you home.”
“To see Mom?”
“Yeah,” Brendon agreed, “to see Mom.”
The door beside them creaked. He'd thought the place was empty!
Tanner scrambled up, careful of the needles, and whirled around.
Standing in the door was a big mountain man of a biker. His eyes were steely, unflinching, and cold with rage. Before Tanner had a chance to react, he swung down with a wooden baseball bat clenched in his hand, hitting him in the shoulder.
Tanner reeled away, back against the wall, bellowing in shock. Nothing was broken as far as he could tell, so that was good. But still, baseball bats hurt!
The man bore down on him, swinging for his side.
Tanner swung up his arm to take the main force of the blow, but was only able to partially block the bat from hitting him in the ribs.
As Blade and Cam yelled from the front entryway, the Roaming Wolf swung
a last time, clipping Tanner near the temple. Lights exploded behind Tanner's eyes and a crushing pain flooded his head.
Tanner's world went black, and he tumbled into the darkness.
What felt like moments later, he came to, the world fading back into existence like a cheap movie special effect.
Cam was hovering over him, slapping his face lightly. “Tanner, buddy? You okay, chief?”
