by Zoey Parker
She'd just been some lady on her way home from a job, with no reason to expect anything bad to happen to her. And because Jester and his nimrods couldn't be bothered to do their business somewhere quiet, Jewel had been forced to watch something most civilians never wanted to see, and since then she'd been hunted like some kind of fucking animal.
The Reapers were far from saints, and I'd done plenty of nasty things when I rode with them. But we always did everything we could to keep the shady stuff we were into away from regular folks. We had no desire to fuck with innocent people's lives—it's not what we were about.
But Jester and his kind of gangster had always felt like they ruled Chicago from top to bottom, and it made them brutal and sloppy. They were nothing but a pack of swaggering pimps who pushed people around, killed anyone who got in their way, and didn't give a fuck. They liked to puff themselves up, dressing in slick suits and talking about honor and respect.
But the truth was, they were parasites, and they had neither.
Also, I knew my plan was every bit as flimsy as Jewel had pointed out earlier, and I was pretty pissed at myself for not being able to come up with a better one. Even if I could take down the Chayner brothers and searched them for what they'd ripped off from The Flytrap, how would I know what I was looking for? It probably wouldn't be in an envelope marked “Top Secret Shit Jester Wanted Us To Grab.”
Still, it was all I had to go on. And a big part of me wanted to make those Chayner pricks pay for what they'd done to Snoops and the other Madison Reapers. Since I was the reason they were staking out that clusterfuck, avenging them felt like the least I could do.
I drove to an area of I-94 that was just across the Illinois/Wisconsin border, then took the exit and looped around so we'd be on the side of the road the Chayners were headed down. When I used to do interstate runs with the Reapers, this had generally been a fairly quiet stretch of highway in the late mornings and early afternoons. After seven years, I hoped it still was. I needed a place where the risk of engaging the Chayners around civilians was minimal.
I pulled the Saab over to the emergency lane again and turned to Jewel, cutting the engine. “Okay, here's the plan. The Chayners should come riding through here in about twenty minutes. I want you to open the hood of the car and then hang out in the driver's seat. That way, we'll look like our car broke down and we're waiting for a tow truck or something. I'm gonna hunker down in the back with the AK.”
“The what?” Jewel asked.
“The thing in the duffel bag,” I said. “When I tell you the Chayners are coming, I want you to twist these two wires together as fast as you can.” I pointed out the right wires to get the car started again. “I'm hoping I can take them down with the first burst, but if I can't, we may have to ride them down. That means you'll be behind the wheel while I shoot. How good are you at defensive driving?”
“Um, not great,” Jewel said. “I usually just obey the traffic laws and try to stay out of everyone's way.”
“Well, now's as good a time as any to learn,” I replied. “When the bullets start flying, you'll probably find daredevil moves you didn't even know you had.”
Jewel tried to force a laugh, but she was shaking and tears were starting to stream down her cheeks. I put a hand on her shoulder and tried to sound as gentle and encouraging as I could, given how little practice I'd had at that sort of thing.
“Hey,” I said, “you've got this. You're a lot tougher than you think. You just drive like our lives depend on it, leave the shooting to me, and we'll get through this in one piece. I guarantee it.”
“Okay,” Jewel said, nodding and wiping the tears away. She took a deep breath and got out of the car, lifting the hood.
I climbed into the back seat and carefully removed the AK-47 from the duffel bag. Then I stretched out on the back seat with the rifle cradled on my chest and covered it with the duffel again like some kind of half-assed blanket. I positioned my head carefully so it would look like I was napping if any passing motorists peeked in, but I kept my eyelids open just a sliver and kept watching the road behind us. I knew I'd almost certainly hear their bikes coming before I'd see them, but I couldn't afford to take chances.
Five minutes went by, then ten. I heard Jewel in the front seat, trying to keep her breathing calm and even, but every exhale sounded shakier than the one before.
Suddenly, a state police cruiser pulled up behind us.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I thought. Not now. You can't do this now.
The driver's side door opened and a huge state trooper pulled himself out, straightening the front of his uniform.
“Shit,” Jewel murmured, trying to stay casual-looking. “What do we do?”
“I can't move without him seeing the AK,” I mumbled. “I need to keep pretending I'm asleep. You just stay cool, pretend everything's fine, and do what you can to get rid of him fast. If he's still here when they show up...”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Jewel said. She quickly tucked the exposed wires back behind the dashboard panel. Then she opened the driver's side door and got out.
Through my squinted eyes, I watched her walk up to the trooper before he could get too close to the car. “Everything okay, officer?” she asked.
“Well, ma'am, I was about to ask you that, actually,” the man answered with a deep, gravelly voice. “I saw you were stopped and figured I'd see if there was anything I could do to assist. Are you having engine trouble?”
“Something like that, yeah,” Jewel said. She was doing a good job of keeping her voice level and her body language calm. “The truth is, my husband and I don't really know that much about cars. I mean, I took a look under the hood and I couldn't make heads or tails of it, so we called the repair service to come out and take a look. They should be here any minute, so my husband's taking a little nap in the back until they show up. He hasn't been sleeping too well.”
The lies rolled off her tongue effortlessly. I was impressed.
Jesus, I hope no one's reported her missing or anything in case this cop asks to see her ID, I thought. I had no idea what I'd do if that happened. I couldn't open fire on a cop for obvious reasons. I wouldn't be able to close the hood, twist the wires, and make a getaway without him stopping me, either. And I certainly wasn't about to go back to prison, especially knowing that Jester was still out there drawing breath.
“Maybe I can help you get to where you're going and save you a little money, too,” the trooper offered. “I'm pretty handy with old cars myself, actually.”
“Oh, we couldn't ask you to go to all that trouble,” Jewel insisted.
I heard the roar of a motorcycle engine coming down the highway toward us. My hands tightened on the rifle helplessly. I prepared to watch the Chayner brothers ride right past us.
Instead, a woman in her late forties sped by, wearing head to toe Harley Davidson merchandise to match her bike. I breathed a sigh of relief and allowed my hands to relax. Still, if Jewel couldn't get rid of the cop soon, we'd be screwed.
“No trouble at all, ma'am,” the Trooper replied easily. I could see that he was already starting to roll up his sleeves and my heart sank.
“But R-R-Ralph! My husband!” Jewel blurted out. She'd almost said my real name, then stopped herself at the last minute. I was glad she had, but I mentally added the whole “Ralph” thing to the list of items I sincerely hoped the other Reapers would never find out about.
“He's a very light sleeper, and he gets cranky when people wake him up,” Jewel continued. “It'd probably be best if we just waited for the service people, so he won't have to wake up twice.”
Shit, this is getting kind of thin, I thought. For most cops, this would be the exact moment when they'd start to get suspicious and demand to see a license and registration, or go back to their cruisers to run the plate number and vehicle against any recent thefts.
Before the trooper could respond, the radio clipped to his uniform crackled loudly and a voice droned from it. “All units, all un
its, perpetrators from the attack in Milwaukee have been spotted heading south on I-94. Two males on motorcycles wearing helmets, considered heavily armed and extremely dangerous. All available officers are requested to join the roadblock currently being established near the Gurnee exit. Please respond, over.”
“Holy hell!” the cop exclaimed. “Looks like I need to be going after all, ma'am. I'm very sorry. I hope your service truck gets here soon. As soon as it does, I'd advise you and your husband to get off the highway as soon as possible. There could be some serious trouble up ahead.”
“I understand,” Jewel said. “Thank you very much, officer. You've been very kind.”
The Trooper tipped his hat and got back into his cruiser, hitting the sirens and lights. He got back on the highway and zoomed off ahead of us.
“Good job,” I said. “Now shut the hood, hop back into the car, and get ready to roll if we need to. They should be here any minute.”
As if on cue, I heard the hornet-whine of a pair of sports bikes bearing down behind us.
Jewel raced to the front of the car, slammed the hood, and ducked into the driver's seat, shutting the door behind her. She reached behind the dashboard panel and delicately brought out the wires, rubbing her fingertips next to them expectantly. Her shoulders were hunched, as though she was preparing to scoot down when the shooting started.
I pulled the duffel bag away and thumbed the switch on the side of the rifle, setting it for full auto. As I did, I reminded myself to stick to short, controlled bursts, or else I'd run out of ammo in a hurry.
I glanced out the back window and saw the two bikes coming toward us in a cloud of dust. One look at them and I could see that Boomer hadn't been kidding about the Chayners' look. One was decked out entirely in red, the other in black. Both of them wore stunt-riding overalls embroidered to look like reptilian scales, and the face-plates of their helmets were painted with the faces of snarling dragons. Their bikes were decorated to match, with detailed paintings of coiled scales, claws, and flames.
As soon as I saw them, I couldn't wait to shoot them, if only for wearing corny-ass circus outfits and giving bikers everywhere a bad name.
“Get ready,” I said, bringing the butt of the rifle to my shoulder and sitting up. “This is gonna be loud.” Jewel covered her ears.
I squeezed the trigger and pumped quick bursts of automatic gunfire through the back window of the Saab, directly at the Chayners. I went from left to right and back again, trying to get them both as quickly as possible.
But that's the problem with machine guns. What they give in terms of being loud and intimidating, they take back in accuracy. Even with two hands, controlling them and managing to hit anything can be a real bitch. I mostly tried to hit the road in front of them, hoping to at least take out their front tires.
Instead of skidding to one side in the face of danger or obstacles as most bikers would reflexively do, the Chayners kept coming head-on. Smart. They knew that pulling to one side would present a larger target. Rather than do that, they both reared up on their back wheels, popping wheelies so synchronized I'd swear they really were in the circus after all.
I let off another burst and managed to clip the rear wheel of Red Chayner. His bike spun out and flipped backward. I saw Red use his whole body to kick the bike away from himself so he landed on the pavement on his back as his chopper smashed into the highway next to him instead of on top of him.
As a stunt rider myself, I had to admit that was extremely badass.
Red was already on his feet and pulling out his compact Uzi as Black sped past us and skidded to a stop. I knew that even with an AK, trying to fight two men with Uzis would be a guaranteed loser move. I'd have to handle them one at a time, and quickly.
Instead of fighting in the open, Red opted to dart over to his fallen bike. It was a foreign make and model—a lightweight crotch-rocket, and Red had no problem lifting it up and crouching behind it to use it as a shield.
I thumbed the switch on the side of the rifle to semi-auto, and hoped I hadn't already spit out too many bullets to finish this properly.
“Get down as low as you can,” I said to Jewel. She scuttled down in the space between the dashboard and the seats.
Red was firing his Uzi at me and the rounds were burying themselves in the Saab's trunk and bumper. He was using the gun expertly, going from side to side to spray as much of the target as possible since he couldn't stop and aim.
But I could.
I sighted Red down the barrel of the AK as well as I could, but it was hard to keep focus and not flinch with the hail of bullets coming toward me. Red was also moving the bike up and down in front of him whenever he could to make it harder to avoid hitting it. Worst of all, I knew Black was on his way with an Uzi of his own.
I squeezed off a shot and it buried itself in the red fiberglass of the bike's protective shielding.
Fuck.
Another shot hit the front wheel, leaving a dent in the frame and making it spin around.
Fuck.
The third shot connected with the side of Red's helmet, shattering half the visor in a spray of tinted plastic. I heard him yell in pain as he fell backward, clutching his face.
Goose.
I turned toward Black just in time to see him walking towards us as he opened fire on the front of the Saab. The bullets riddled the hood mercilessly. Jewel screamed from under the front seats, but from the look of it, the shots were getting caught up in the guts of the car instead of going through and hitting her.
I pointed the rifle at Black and squeezed the trigger four more times without taking the time to aim. The first two missed, while the third got him in the left shoulder. He cursed, but held onto his Uzi and kept advancing.
But on my fourth trigger pull, I heard a click.
I'd run out of ammo after all. And I had no time to reload before Black got here and finished the job. I reached for the Glock, fumbled it, and dropped it on the floor of the back seat.
Sure enough, Black strolled up to me, pointing his Uzi with his good arm. His face was hidden behind the dragon mask, but he was nodding to himself slightly, and I was willing to be he was smiling under there. He walked straight up and leaned through the open window, pressing the barrel of the Uzi between my eyes.
This is it, I thought. It's over. Seven years thinking about nothing but revenge, and it all ends here with my brains blown out all over a sunny stretch of highway. At least I didn't die in prison. At least I got a couple days to be free first. At least I got to spend some time with a good-looking woman.
“I don't know who the fuck you are or what the fuck you thought you were doing here,” Black said, his voice muffled under the helmet, “but when you get to the Pearly Gates, you can give them a message from me. The Chayner brothers won't be joining them any time soon, and when we do, it damn sure won't be the work of a bottle-blonde dude wearing khakis.”
Black pulled the trigger and my eyes squeezed shut.
Nothing happened.
I opened my eyes again. Black was holding his Uzi in front of his face and looking at it quizzically, his head tilted to one side.
“Looks like you jammed up,” I said. “Uzis will do that. Know what won't, though?”
I reversed the AK and smashed the wooden stock of it into Black's stomach as hard as I could. He doubled over, dropping his machine gun. I opened the rear door of the car and scooted out of the back seat, prepared to take the fight to him.
But Black was a quick bastard, and a tough one, and he'd already recovered. He attacked me with hands so fast they were almost a blur, punching me twice in the stomach and once in the jaw before I even knew what was happening.
Clearly, he'd had some kind of martial arts training, whereas all I had was years of experience street fighting and surviving prison brawls. I kept telling my right arm to hit him back, but it felt oddly heavy and it wouldn't obey my commands.
Another moment and Black had swept the legs out from under me with a
swift kick, sending me to the ground.
“I don't need a gun to end you,” Black sneered. He reached into a pocket of his stunt suit and pulled out a large, curved knife.
A shot rang out and I winced, figuring Red had somehow recovered and decided to save his brother from getting his blade dirty. But a small, round red hole had appeared on the chest of Black's overalls and he was looking down at it.
I looked over my shoulder and saw that Jewel was leaning out the driver's side window with her .22 aimed at Black. Smoke was drifting up from the barrel. Jewel's eyes were filled with tears.
Black reached up slowly and undid the chin-straps on his helmet, taking it off. I wasn't sure what I'd expected but the face behind the visor was boyish and clean-shaven. This hardboiled killer looked like he was barely old enough to buy beer. His blue eyes watered as he stared down at the bullet hole in disbelief.
