“Make sure nothing happens to the horses,” he growled in accented English, his pronunciation of nothing confirming he was Mexican.
The other riders lowered themselves from their horses as the one-eyed man hastened to tie the lead rider’s animal to the hitching post, and then hurried to do the same for the others before addressing the lead rider.
“Got to leave your guns outside. Bar rules,” he growled.
The Mexican laughed harshly. “Maybe for you. Not for us.”
The one-eyed man swallowed hard. “I can’t let you inside with them.”
The Mexican took a step toward him, his hand now on the stock of his submachine gun. “You don’t recognize us, do you? We don’t follow your rules. You work for us. If we say strip naked and dance, you ask for how long. Now get out of the way before I lose my patience.”
The man hesitated. “They’ll have my hide if I let you in.”
“You’ll be answering to us within five minutes, so step aside.”
The bouncer’s eyebrows rose and he did as ordered, his double-barreled twelve-gauge no match for the Mexicans’ firepower. The rest of the men grinned at each other and followed the leader into the bar, their swaggers those of thugs accustomed to power.
The band dropped a beat before resuming, and all heads swiveled toward the newcomers. A tall, muscular man with a shaved head, his bronze pecs straining beneath a leather vest, rounded the bar and barred the Mexicans’ way. A shorter, hirsute bouncer with a livid scar on his forehead joined the taller man with a length of iron pipe in his fist. The tall man glared at the Mexicans.
“No guns allowed,” he said.
“New rules, amigo,” the Mexican leader said. “Let’s go in the back. We need to talk.”
“Not with you bunch armed to the teeth. We got nothing to talk about like that.”
The leader’s eyes compressed to slits. “In the back. Not here. We got business to go over.”
The bald man glanced around and shook his head. “We got no business. You get your cut every week. That’s all there is.”
The Mexican nodded as though agreeing. “We need a bigger piece. Ninety percent. You can keep ten. Starting now.”
The bald man’s face flushed and he laughed harshly. “We got a deal. Fifty-fifty. Now get out of here. You must be jacked up on cactus juice or something.”
The Mexican didn’t blink as he squeezed the trigger of his submachine gun. The ugly weapon’s snout barked death, and a row of scarlet blossoms spread across the bald man’s chest. He stumbled backward and collapsed against the bouncer, who fell to the floor from his weight. The Mexican stepped forward and fired another burst into the shorter man’s face, and his head liquefied as the slugs tore through bone and tissue.
The exchange was over in a blink, leaving the bar customers stunned at the sudden violence. The band had frozen at the first of the gunshots, and the musicians gaped at the two dead men as the Mexicans brandished their weapons.
“Everybody take it easy,” the lead Mexican said with a gold-toothed grin. “Just clearing up a little business disagreement. Next round of drinks is on me.” He looked over at the band and motioned with his gun. “You’d best start playing like it’s your daddy’s wedding. Tonight you make double your usual. And there’s more where that came from.” He hesitated and considered the pair of corpses, and then gestured to his men. “Paco, Jorge, get this trash out of here,” he barked in Spanish. “Dump them in an alley and get back as soon as you can.”
“You got it, boss.”
The band resumed its caterwauling as the dead men were dragged to the entrance, leaving bright red streaks on the concrete floor. The Mexican shooter spoke softly to one of his subordinates, and the man hurried to the bar, where he began pouring shots from one of the half-full rum bottles while a few of the patrons lined up for their free drinks. Soon most of the inebriates were queued for the shots, and the Mexican boss nodded to himself in satisfaction. No question they’d be back the following night, whether the bar was operated by the Crew or the cartel.
Breathing heavily, a rider dropped from the saddle in front of Crew headquarters and approached the guards stationed at the main entry. One of them cocked his head as the man neared and frowned as he lowered his weapon.
“What do you want, Joe?” he asked.
“I need to see Wink,” the one-eyed man from the bar managed, his chest heaving.
The guard’s frown tightened and he shook his head. “Not a good time.”
“It’s an emergency.”
“It’d better be or he’ll skin you alive,” another guard said.
“Where is he?”
The first guard sighed. “In his quarters. Carl will take you back there.”
A third guard emerged from the darkness. “That’s right, I will. You carrying?”
“Just this,” the one-eyed man said, holding out the sawed-off shotgun.
Carl took it, removed the two cartridges, and handed it back to him. “Come on.”
They set off through the massive hall and descended to the basement level. When they reached a wider section of corridor, two more guards stopped them. Carl explained that the bouncer was there to see Wink, and they exchanged a glance before nodding and knocking on a heavy wooden door.
“Yeah?” a voice called from inside.
“Guy here to see you,” Carl yelled. He looked at the one-eyed man. “Joe, from the Black Heart bar.”
Seconds went by. “What’s he want?”
“I need to talk to you,” Joe called out. “It’s important, or I wouldn’t be here.”
A pause, and the door swung open. Wink stood in the doorway with a hand on his holstered .45. “What’s so damned important you have to show up this late?”
Joe spoke in a rush. “Cartel came to the bar and shot Red,” he said. “Shot him down unarmed in front of fifty people. Said they’re taking the place over.”
Wink glowered at Joe. “You’re shitting me.”
“I was outside, but I watched through the door. They started arguing, and one of the Mexicans cut him and his bodyguard down. They never stood a chance. Then the Mexicans told everyone it was their bar now and handed out free drinks.”
Wink’s expression darkened, and he asked Joe a string of questions. When he was finished, he spoke to Carl. “Call my guys to the conference room in an hour. We need to decide how to deal with this.”
“What about me?” Joe asked. “I can’t go back there. They’ll kill me when they figure out I tipped you off.”
Wink nodded. “We’ll get you a bunk here and something to do. Don’t sweat it. We take care of our own.”
The barman departed with Carl, and Wink retreated to his quarters, worry lines scoring his face. If the cartel was becoming brazen enough to stage a clumsy attack on a known Crew possession in front of an audience, then they didn’t care what Wink or the gang thought about it – which spelled a troubling transition in their tenuous relationship. That implied they were ready to move against Wink or planned to take over one establishment at a time; they now weren’t concerned that in doing so they were eliminating any reason for the population to cooperate with the Crew. If the gang couldn’t protect its own, it was toothless and could be ignored.
All of which assumed that this wasn’t a rogue cartel faction flexing its muscles. Which he would have to confirm, but which his gut told him wasn’t the case.
The question was how to respond. Any overt aggression against them would doubtlessly be met by full-scale war, and Wink wasn’t kidding himself that the Crew was strong enough to win one any longer. He knew his lieutenants would be chomping at the bit to launch an attack, but Wink didn’t want to rush into a confrontation that would mean the end of his reign as the Crew’s leader – even if the gang was a shadow of its former self, it was still the most powerful of its kind in the country, or at least that’s how it billed itself.
He needed time to craft a plan that would salvage as much as possible for himself. With
the cartel moving against them now a foregone conclusion, the survival of the gang was immaterial. It would be every man for himself, and Wink didn’t intend for all of his efforts to have been in vain. He would prosper as he always had, even if the Crew’s days were numbered.
“Shit,” he muttered, and moved to his desk, where he’d spend the next hour trying to figure out a way to stave off the wolves at the door for just a little longer.
Chapter 22
Provo, Utah
A pall of dust hung over the army camp as the rising sun’s first glow warmed the field. The men had been up for several hours preparing to march, and the animals were fed and watered, wagons packed, and weapons cleaned, locked, and loaded. Lucas, Duke, and Sam stood at the Provo gate, where Glenn and the council were waiting. A large group of townspeople had gathered behind them, and Lucas’s gaze roamed over the throng before settling on some familiar faces.
Elliot and Sierra remained inside the walls. Sierra’s cheeks were glistening with tears, and she held Eve’s tiny hand tight in hers, Tim by her side. Even at a distance Lucas could see that dark circles ringed Sierra’s eyes from long sleepless nights. Her hair was limp and uncombed, and her shoulders slumped from exhaustion.
Glenn stepped forward and shook Lucas’s hand, breaking the moment and drawing his attention back to the present. “It’s been good knowing you, Lucas. Hope things go well for your group.”
Lucas nodded. “Thanks. And for the hospitality. I know it’s been tough for everyone.”
Glenn looked over Lucas’s shoulder at the mass of armed men behind him. “At least it’s been interesting. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“True enough.”
“I thought you’d want to know that we sentenced the Olson brothers yesterday evening.” The council had tried the Olsons three days before and found them guilty, Eric of assault and murder, Henry and Steve of attempting to break him out of jail. “Eric got ten years of hard labor, each of his brothers one year.”
Lucas sighed. “I guess justice is served. What about his daughter, though? Sounds like that’ll be as tough on her as it is on him.”
“He’ll be allowed to return home two nights a week. The brothers will be free to return to their beds each night. It’s not like there’s anywhere to run to, and they’ve got roots here, so they’ll go along with it.” He paused. “We tried to balance the punishment against the hardship to the family.”
“Not sure I wouldn’t suspend the brothers’ sentences. A lot of folks would have done the same as they did for kin.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of Glenn’s mouth. “The council reserved the right to do just that, as well as shorten Eric’s if he’s cooperative and repentant, which I believe he is.”
“Probably best.” He paused. “How’s the daughter doing?”
“She’s mending. But some things will take longer to heal than others.”
“I’m sorry this happened. There’s no excuse.”
Glenn nodded. “I think everyone could have done without the drama. But at least we got through it.”
Lucas looked over to Elliot and Sierra and waved. Elliot returned the gesture, but Sierra turned away and knelt to hug Eve and Tim. Lucas’s jaw tightened and his gaze hardened as he surveyed the barrier before turning to speak to Glenn.
“Take care of your new arrivals. They’re good people. Don’t judge them based on us. They’ve done a lot to protect the country with the vaccine, and all of them have risked their lives and lost loved ones in the process.”
“We’re lucky to have them. They’re part of the family now. Don’t worry about any reprisals. We’re capable of making distinctions.”
“Of course.” Lucas cleared his throat and raised his voice to address the gathered townspeople. “Everyone, my apologies for the disruption we’ve caused. You’ve gone way above the call to treat us well, and we appreciate it. Hope life gets back to normal once we’re gone. You’ve got a good thing going here, and we didn’t mean to mess any of it up.”
Nobody said anything, and Lucas turned to Duke.
“You ready?”
“Never been much for speeches. Sun will be getting hotter before too long. Best to get moving.”
“Roger that.” Lucas tipped his hat to Glenn and the council, and after a final glance at Elliot and his family, marched back toward his men, Sam and Duke on his heels. At the camp, a young man brought Tango forward and handed Lucas the reins. He took them and patted the big stallion’s flank with his bare hand, and then pulled on a pair of riding gloves and heaved himself into the saddle.
Duke and Sam did the same with their horses, and once mounted up, they rode to the far end of the camp, an entourage of officers in tow as the human sea parted before them. Once at the southern edge, where a long string of wagons and horses were waiting, Lucas inspected the column and stopped at the head.
“All right. Time to move out. We’ll be covering twenty to twenty-five miles a day and foraging for our meals whenever we can. Anyone who can’t keep up will be left behind, so make sure your animals are in good shape, as well as your shoes.” He twisted to Sam. “Pass the word. No stragglers. I want to make serious time. Anyone who isn’t ready for that should stay behind.”
Sam rode off to spread the news, and Lucas’s eyes settled on Ruby, who was seated on one of the wagons, Ajax tethered to an iron ringlet by the front seat. He nodded to her and she did the same, a fatigued smile in place. Her wild gray mane was cinched with cord, and a beaver-skin hat was planted on her head.
Duke leaned toward him and murmured just loud enough for him to hear, “We waiting for Christmas? I’ll die of old age at this rate.”
After a final scan of the thousands of men gathered along either side of the column, Lucas adjusted his holstered pistol, held up a hand, and called out in a voice that rang across the plain.
“Let’s ride!”
Chapter 23
Denver, Colorado
Heavy gray clouds hung over the Rocky Mountains and occasional flashes of distant lightning flared through the afternoon sky. The trees that lined the trail that paralleled the highway trembled in the wind, and the air was thick with moisture from the recently passed storm.
Snake’s horse slogged through the muddy grit with exhausted determination, its muscles straining for traction on the slippery surface. Ahead of him, Benjamin’s and Elijah’s animals fared no better, and Snake called out to them as he spurred his horse forward.
“We need to move onto the pavement,” he said.
Benjamin twisted to reply, “We will. We aren’t far now.”
“We’ll make it by nightfall?”
Elijah laughed. “More like in an hour. We’ll get onto the main highway soon, and then it’ll go faster. My guess is we’re six miles out, tops.”
True to their word, Snake was riding north with the Denver skyline looming before him in the anthracite sky no more than half an hour later. As they approached the city, they spotted only three other riders, all of whom were friendly and waved to them, although they didn’t draw near enough to talk. Elijah had changed into his white robe for the final leg of the journey; he sat straight in the saddle, as though on parade and not at the end of a long, arduous slog across inhospitable terrain.
When they reached the city limits, a group of a half dozen armed guards challenged them, but upon seeing Elijah, let them pass. Pools of standing rainwater mirrored the clouds when they arrived at the convention center that served as the church, and Elijah grinned as he swung from the saddle while a stable hand managed his horse.
Snake did the same, and Elijah held out his arms as though about to swan dive. “Well? Do you see?”
Snake looked around, noting the paucity of humanity. “Where’s the thousands of men for the army you talked about?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll have them soon enough.”
Snake caught the doubtful look in Benjamin’s eyes before he turned away, and his suspicions were confirmed – the pr
eacher talked a good story, but was, as they said in Texas, all hat and no cattle.
Elijah and Benjamin barked orders at the men and then led Snake to the buildings adjacent to the church where Elijah’s headquarters were located.
“Go ahead and stow your gear in the room at the end of the hall and get cleaned up. One of my people will come for you when it’s dinnertime,” Benjamin said. “We have gravity-fed running water that’s solar heated. Wash off the trail dust and be ready in an hour or so.”
“Yes,” Elijah said. “Our homecoming is a cause for celebration! The feast will be magnificent.”
Snake nodded as though in agreement, unshaken from his impression that those of Elijah’s troupe they’d encountered had seemed shocked rather than delighted to see them return with only a handful of men. He had little doubt that the preacher was delusional, but figured he could use that to his advantage – a combination of flattery and misdirection made manipulating a narcissist like Elijah easy for someone of Snake’s natural ability. And he had no doubt that the young man was suffering from a full-blown case of narcissistic personality disorder. All the signs were there, and Snake had the predator’s instinctive talent for spotting the weak and preying upon them.
The guest quarters were lavish even by the Crew standards Snake was accustomed to, and he luxuriated in a seemingly endless stream of warm water as he showered. He was used to bathing when he could on the trail, in a frigid stream or using a bucket of rainwater, so the change was as welcome as it was unexpected.
One of Elijah’s acolytes rapped on the chamber door as Snake was slumbering on the unimaginable comfort of a real mattress, and he shook off the grogginess and padded to the door.
“Dinner in five minutes,” a young, white-clad woman said when he’d swung it wide.
Snake eyed the nubile for a long beat and offered a crooked grin. “Let me get my boots and I’ll be right there.”
The Day After Never - Nemesis (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 9) Page 11