Sure, like it was that simple. “I'm okay.” She hardly had the strength to open her eyes. “It's just a cold.”
Zoon crawled inside and put his hand on her forehead. “You're burning up. I think you've got the flu. The pigs are stopping anyone from bringing food or drink in—kinda got a bit of a siege going on, but I'm sure some people have got bottles of water. I'll see if I can snag a couple.” He pulled off his jacket and laid it over the sleeping bag. “I'll be back in a bit.”
She closed her eyes again. “'s just a cold, 'm okay.” Her voice sounded far away and slurred. And she wasn't sure whether the shouts she could hear were imaginary or not. In fact she couldn't really remember why she was there. Or exactly where she was. She was starting to feel kind of scared, and she kinda wished that she had someone to hold her hand.
“Hey! Leave her alone! She's sick!”
Mouse felt herself being dragged by her feet out of the tent and onto the wet grass. Instinctively, she tried to curl into a tight ball as someone grabbed her arm and tried to pull her to her feet.
“Up. Now!”
She didn't know what was happening. People were shouting... screaming, and her arms were being pulled behind her back. Mouse tried to find her feet, but her legs felt like jelly. Everything felt unreal... out of focus. She was being dragged along the ground, and then she was in the back of a van, but she couldn't remember how she got there. Unable to process what was happening, she closed her eyes. At least it was dry and the shouting seemed to have stopped.
~oOo~
“Okay, you're free to go.”
Mouse didn't have to open her eyes to know she was in a police cell; her nose had told her that a while ago. What was really baffling her was how she'd got there. Carefully, she sat up and blinked at the custody sergeant who was standing in the doorway. “Am I being charged with anything?”
“No, although the state you were in yesterday, I was tempted to charge you with being drunk and disorderly.” He kicked her boots towards her. “Now, put these on and bugger off.”
For a moment she thought about explaining that she hadn't been drunk, and that she was sick, but quickly thought better of it. She needed to get out of there, although she wasn't entirely sure her legs would carry her. “I don't suppose I could have a cup of tea and an aspirin?”
“No, you can't. I've got better things to do than wait on you.”
Her legs felt rubbery, and she was struggling to focus, but Mouse somehow managed to get outside. It was raining, and she seemed to have lost her coat. Unsure where she was, and having no means of getting home, she made for a bus shelter on the opposite side of the road. The world felt fuzzy around the edges, her head and chest were hurting, and for the first time in a long while, Mouse felt scared and totally alone. Ignoring the queue of people at the stop, she slid down the shelter wall and, hugging her knees, began to cry.
When she looked up again, she was alone. She couldn't remember hearing a bus, and wasn't sure how long she'd been there, but Mouse knew she had to move. She was cold—colder than she'd ever been in her life, and every breath she took hurt. She forced herself to her feet and, swaying a little, waited for the nausea to pass, before stepping out into the rain.
How long had she been walking? And where was she? Was she tripping? Had she taken some bad acid that had in some way poisoned her? The sounds around her were muffled, and the buildings seemed to be swaying in the wind. At least she wasn't cold anymore and the shivering had stopped. In fact she was hot, really fucking hot. Mouse pulled off her hoodie and let it fall to the floor. She looked around, trying to find a landmark, but she didn't recognise anything, so she kept on walking.
“Are you okay? Can you open your eyes?” Someone was patting her cheek. “It's okay, love. The ambulance is on its way.”
She was in a bed, and she was warm. For a wonderful, fleeting moment Mouse felt safe. Then realisation hit.
She was in a hospital.
Oh fuck. She forced open her eyes and looked wildly around as panic gripped her. She had to get out of there right now.
23
There could be no doubt that Long John was a bachelor; his was a home that lacked a woman's touch. It also lacked any cleaning products, as far as Nitro could tell. After locating the dining table under piles of newspapers, magazines, engine parts, and unrecognisable crap, he cleared a space and, somewhat apprehensively, sat down on the grubby dining chair to examine the plans and photographs that Tank had given him.
He knew why Tank had given him the opportunity to look at the plans first. Unlike the big nomad, this was one area where Nitro never rushed in. Tank may have taken the 'use as much C4 as you can get your hands on and blow the fuckers to Kingdom Come' approach, but he liked to plan meticulously. And Tank and, he assumed, Long John didn't give a shit where their target was.
After only a few minutes, he'd decided that Tacoma was his preferred target. The clubhouse stood alone with no adjoining buildings, and according to Mac's research, the bike shop next door also belonged to the Rats, as did a strip club, two blocks down. Maybe with a lot of forward planning, and a little help, he could hit the club where it hurt. In their pockets.
His cell buzzed. Without looking at who the caller was, Nitro switched it off, grabbed a sheet of paper, and began to make some calculations. By the time Tank and Long John showed up, he had a plan. It wasn't perfect, and he still needed some more information, but with luck, it might just work.
Tank pushed a pile of clothes onto the floor and sat down, “Tacoma?”
“Yeah.” Nitro passed him the notes he'd made. “I'll head up to Seattle with the rest of the chapter, and tweak this once I'm there, but I reckon it's doable.”
“Ambitious.” Long John looked over Tank's shoulder. “How are you gonna get around the cameras? I'm betting the back of the building is covered as well.”
Nitro grinned. “And I'm betting they don't record. Trust me, brother, they won’t be looking at the cameras when I hit the clubhouse.” He tapped an image of the adjacent building, courtesy of Google Earth. “My only issue is how I get from there to the clubhouse roof.”
Tank frowned. “How wide d'ya think that alleyway is? I'm guessing it ain't more'n three feet. You could jump it.”
“Amputee, man.” Nitro shook his head. “Pretty hard to jump when one of your legs ends halfway down your calf. That's a hell of a drop if I get it wrong.” He leaned back. “Kinda like the idea of using the skylights, though.”
“Couldn't you just pack a van full of C4 an' park it outside?”
Again, Nitro shook his head. “Too much collateral damage. That's a residential street. Gotta get incendiary devices inside.”
Long John looked at the notes again. “If they catch you...”
“I know, but I'm good, bro. This will work.” He sounded a lot more confident than he felt.
Tank grinned. “If you pull this off, it will finish the Rats in Tacoma.”
“It could start a war.”
“Nah. They'll lose their bikes, their clubhouse and their business. The Freaks have got support from every other club in the area. Those cowardly shits will go away quietly. An' if they don't, we'll shut them up.” Tank leaned back. “I'll take Salt Lake City. That clubhouse used to belong to the Freaks, till the chapter there folded. Reckon if we can't have it, no one should.”
Long John disappeared into the kitchen and re-emerged a few seconds later with a bottle of Jack and three glasses that looked almost clean. “Think we should have a drink for Tiny.”
Tank raised his glass. “To Tiny. You will be avenged.”
Long John downed the shot and slammed the glass on the table. “Sleep well, brother.”
Nitro drank in silence as he tried to push thoughts of Beth and the kids from his head.
~oOo~
The chapel was too small to accommodate all the visiting Freaks, and as he and Tiny weren't close, Nitro had opted to stay outside during the short service. He hadn't visited his brother's body, and
had only stayed for one drink at the wake the night before. He couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness. Tiny wasn't so stupid that he'd go alone into Rat territory. His cut had been left in his truck a few blocks away, so how had they known he was a Freak? None of this made any sense. Neither did the absence of a few significant nomads. The Twins were nowhere to be seen, and he'd expected Fox to be around. Samson was keeping a low profile as well. Nitro understood that he was spending time with Beth—they were obviously close—but Tiny was his closest brother. Surely he'd want to have a few drinks for him with his brothers.
Nitro was the joker—a party animal—and as everyone gathered back at the clubhouse, he wasn't sure what it was he was supposed to do. He didn't want to drink and reminisce, and although it was good to catch up with his old friends, all he really wanted to do was leave. Tiny wasn't the first of his brothers to die, and he sure as shit wouldn't be the last, and Nitro wasn't the first to be asked to kill for the club, but this wasn't who he was, and it wasn't who he wanted to be.
Most of the activity was taking place in a field next to the clubhouse. There was a bar and plenty of food, and he expected things would continue late into the night. Freak funerals were never sombre affairs, and he wondered how Beth was feeling about the shouts and laughter, or the loud rock music coming from inside. He had to admire the way she'd carried herself. Even now, as she sat on a picnic bench with Samson's ol' lady, she looked calm and in control.
As he watched, the two women hugged, then Beth stood and walked away, leaving Samson's ol' lady alone. He could see Samson close by, and he knew he was watching his woman, but despite the fact that she looked completely bereft, he didn't join her or indicate that she should join him. Nitro had never spoken to her before, in fact he could only think of two occasions when he'd seen her. The first had been in Seattle, when Bugs had taken the gavel, and Samson had patched into the chapter. He'd been making out with one of the girls, when she and Tiny—well, Tiny at least—had kicked them off the sofa. The second time had been just after he'd patched into Bay View and was at a party at Tiny's place, when again, she'd been with Tiny. He hadn't thought about it much at the time, but looking back, she'd seemed really comfortable in the big guy's company and not in the slightest bit intimidated by him. She'd obviously been very fond of him, and was clearly feeling his loss a great deal.
Without thinking, he dropped his bottle into the trash can and wandered over to where she was sitting. “Mind if I sit down?”
She shrugged but didn't look up.
Taking that as consent, he sat. “You okay?”
She nodded but remained silent.
“I'm Nitro. Your ol' man used to beat the crap out of me in the ring when I was a prospect.”
She looked up to where Samson was standing and gave a tiny smile. “By the look on his face, he's about to do it again.”
Nitro would take that chance; no one that sad should be alone. “Meh, I've learned some moves since then.” And it wasn't Nitro who Samson was watching.
She looked down at the ground again and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand.
Nitro knew that to touch his brother's ol' lady would be a step too far, but he really wanted to give her a hug. “Were you an' Tiny close?”
“Yeah.” Her voice cracked. “He was a good friend.” She blinked and took a deep breath. “If you don't mind, I'd really like to be on my own right now.”
“Sure.” And this has nothing to do with the fact that your ol' man—the same ol' man who was fine with you cosying up to Tiny—is watching you like a hawk. “Sorry to intrude.” He stood and walked back towards the bar, making a point to walk past Samson. As he got close, their eyes met and Nitro smiled. “Wasn't making a move, brother.”
“I know.” Samson's eyes fell, once again on his ol' lady. “I'd make you swallow your balls if you were.”
He shouldn't say anything; this was none of his business, and Samson wasn't a man you wanted to piss off. But that girl back there was in a bad place, a blind man could see that. And while he didn't doubt that Samson loved the woman he’d given up the road for, Nitro couldn't help but get the feeling that his brother was angry with her. “Samson, your ol' lady...”
“My ol' lady has nothing to do with you.” Samson pulled himself up to his full height. “Your biggest failing, from the day you first walked into that clubhouse, has been your mouth. Obviously my attempts to knock that out of you failed.”
Nitro wasn't going to deny it. “Maybe you shoulda hit me harder, brother.”
As he turned to walk away, Samson placed his huge paw on his shoulder. “I hear that you will be riding back to Seattle.”
“Yeah.”
“An' I've been told that the Rats have taken responsibility for killing Tiny.” Samson guided him away from the crowd to the edge of the field. “An' that you will be seeing to it that they pay.”
“Yeah.”
The big nomad narrowed his eyes. “You okay with that?”
“Not especially.” Nitro swallowed; sometimes honesty was the best policy. “I ain't a killer, Samson.”
“You could refuse. Go back to England.”
“No I couldn't, not if I wanted to keep my patch.”
“An' keeping your patch is the most important thing, right?” Samson looked over to where his woman was sitting.
What the fuck was he missing? Ever since he'd heard about Tiny's death, it seemed like he'd been surrounded by half truths and secrets. Nothing felt right, but Nitro couldn't pin down what it was that was wrong. “You think it was the Rats?”
“Nope.” Samson gave a half smile. “But don't ask me why I think that. Ain't gonna make no difference, though. They claimed responsibility, so they'll have to deal with the fallout. An' remember, you're good at what you do. I reckon you can satisfy Vince's need for retribution without any innocent lives being lost. Better you than someone like Tank, who'll just blow them an' anyone else into oblivion.”
“Yeah, that's what I figured.” Nitro wasn't sure why Samson was telling him this.
“But after you're done, son, I suggest you get on the first plane an' get your ass out. Find yourself a good girl, an' walk away. cus all this,” he waved an arm in the direction of his brothers. “All this brotherhood.” He spat the word. “Don't mean shit anymore.”
Nitro didn't need a beer anymore. He walked back to his bike and, ignoring the buzzing of his cell, mounted up, and headed back to his B&B.
~oOo~
“You have been extremely ill, if you hadn't been admitted when you were, you would have died.” The doctor shook her head. “If you wish to discharge yourself, I can't stop you. But I strongly recommend that you take my advice and stay in hospital for at least a couple more days.”
Mouse shook her head. “I have to go.”
“You were brought in with hypothermia, and you have a nasty chest infection. You have no coat, and no money. You won’t even give us your name. How will you get home? Do you even have a home to go to? At least give me the number of someone we can call.”
“I need to go, now.” Mouse sat up. “Just get this thing out of my arm and give me my clothes.”
The doctor sighed. “Very well. I'll send a nurse in, and arrange for the release forms, but I want it noted that I think you're making a mistake.”
Mouse leaned back against the pillows as the room tilted slightly. “I... I can give you a number to call, but I can't stay here.”
The doctor smiled and handed her the clipboard and a pen. “Scribble it on the bottom.” She smiled again and touched Mouse's arm. “How about I give you something to calm you down until someone comes to collect you? Your clothes are damp, and it's still raining.” She laughed. “So much for summer.”
She was too weak to argue. Mouse wrote down Maggie's number and handed the clipboard back to the doctor. “You must think I'm pathetic.”
“I think you have a strong aversion to hospitals. I'll write a prescription for a sedative. You can sleep until...” she glance
d at the clipboard, “Maggie arrives.”
Mouse nodded and closed her eyes. There was nothing she wanted more than to get out of there, but in truth, she doubted she'd even make it as far as the door. She opened her eyes again. “Can you ask Mags to call Nitro?”
“Nitro.” The doctor wrote it down.
“Thanks. If he stayed with me, I... I might be able to stay.”
“Then we must get him here as quickly as possible, mustn't we.”
Mouse nodded and closed her eyes again. There was a chance, of course, that he was still in the States, but he'd said he was leaving straight after the funeral, and, according to the doctor she'd been in hospital for three days, and she figured that she'd been wandering the streets for at least a day, so he'd been away for five days. He must be at least on his way back home by now.
“Oh, Mouse. What am I to do with you?”
Mouse opened her eyes and blinked blearily at Maggie, who was sitting next to the bed, holding her hand. “How long have you been here?”
“Not long. You've been out for the count. The nurse said you were freaking out, so they gave you something to calm you down.”
“Can we get out of here?” Mouse struggled to sit up. “I really need to go home, Mags.”
“I know. There are clean clothes in that bag, and they've already removed the IV. The doctor isn't happy, though. She says you're not responding to the antibiotics, and she's worried that your chest infection will get worse. You really should stay here, Mouse.”
“You're a doctor. You can take care of me.”
“Not as well as those here, lover.” Maggie helped her out of bed. “I'll not argue with you. I know how you are about hospitals. But I do expect you to do as you're told when we get home. It's bad enough trying to keep Digger from bumming fags off everyone, without having you trying to run out on me at the first opportunity.”
“I'll be the perfect patient.” Mouse laugh was overtaken by a coughing fit. “I promise.” She leaned against the bed. “Did you call Nitro?”
“Yeah, a couple of times, but he's not picking up. He's probably not home yet. I left a message, and no doubt he'll be at your bedside bitching at you more than me as soon as he can.” Maggie grinned and handed Mouse a thick, ugly as fuck, jumper. “Put this on. You need to keep warm.”
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