“I dunno, it seems to fit pretty well.”
For a few more seconds, Kara just kept her head buried. She let herself wallow in misery a little longer, just feeling sorry for herself, letting herself believe that this whole unfortunate situation of events was not her fault. It was just part of going undercover, of selling the ruse, she repeated to herself. She tried not to think about how hollow those words sounded, even to her.
And then, after a minute had passed, she lifted her head back up, finished off the coffee in her mug in one last, long pull, and then rolled her legs out of bed. “Let’s go,” she announced, striding over to her bag. “Time to get up, get dressed, put some pants on. We’re going out, tackling this case.”
Once again, Kara expected an argument from the man, but he just nodded, as though he had expected this reaction. “As you heard last night, the Hellraisers consider the gun running to be at the heart of their other operations, so they keep the details locked down, even to us,” he said as Kara went through her clothes.
“You guys aren’t all buddies, getting drunk together?” she shot back at him as she pulled a clean pair of jeans and a new bra out of her supply bag.
Cross shook his head. “Not likely. More like lifelong enemies who have agreed to an uneasy truce,” he countered. “So we hear bits and pieces of what they’re up to, but nothing concrete, no details.”
“So what are we going to do? It sounds like we’re at a dead end.”
“It’s not a dead end, not yet,” he replied. “For an operation as big as what the Hellraisers are running, they have to have other contacts - and a secret like theirs can’t be kept for long. ‘Three men can keep a secret if two of them are dead,’ you know.”
The expression made Kara’s eyebrows rise. “Benjamin Franklin?” she asked in astonishment. “Not what I’d expect a man like you to quote.”
“Oh, I’m a man of hidden depths,” Cross told her, his grin firmly back in place. “You would have seen another last night, if you’d had a stronger stomach.”
Now fully dressed, Kara felt much better, much more able to tackle the day ahead. “Never going to happen,” she told the man as she pulled on her biker’s boots.
Cross didn’t say anything; he merely rose up, grabbing both of the mugs, so that he could follow Kara out of the bedroom. But, unspoken, one last thought hung in the air, dominating the silence.
Both of them knew that Kara’s statement was untrue. Even now, when they were both sober, the pull was still there. They didn’t acknowledge it, but Kara knew better than to assume it would just go away.
Get through the case, she told herself as they left the bedroom. Make it to the end, get the evidence necessary to close this case, and then I can move on.
She didn’t have to ignore her attraction to Cross forever - just long enough for her to finish up and get away, someplace that he wouldn’t even be on her mind any longer.
CHAPTER 10
A couple hours later, Special Agent Kara Sybil was following closely behind Cross as he exited smoothly off the highway, tilting his big bike beneath his frame as he snaked around the curving off-ramp.
They didn’t go far from the highway - there was a truck stop just off to the side from the exit, and Cross turned into its parking lot, pulling up in front of the attached diner. “This is where he usually hangs out - hopefully, we’ll catch him here,” he called out to Kara as she pulled her own hog into the parking space beside him, parking their choppers close to each other so as not to take up multiple parking spots.
Kara just nodded in response as she cut her engine, reaching down beneath her seat to turn off the flow of gasoline to the engine. Unlike a car, where one could simply remove the key, a motorcycle had a few different steps necessary to shut it down. But for Kara, these actions were ingrained into her muscle memory, and she performed them all but automatically every time she threw her leg over the vehicle.
Coming downstairs from the bedroom, back at the Iron Brotherhood’s house, had been another exercise in embarrassment. Despite Cross’s comment about how most of the club members were likely still nursing hangovers of their own, Kara still received a raucous cheer from the men in the kitchen as she entered.
“Here’s the woman of the hour!” one of the bikers called out, raising up a glass of something thick and red, with a stick of celery sticking out. “Legs, the best thing to happen to Cross in as long as we can remember!”
“To Legs!” cheered the others in the kitchen, raising up their own glasses in a mock toast.
Kara knew better than to try and argue against the nickname. Doing so would only further cement it as hers - or worse, she’d end up with something even worse. She didn’t doubt the dirty imaginations of these men for a second, and she felt certain that their depravity could find something even worse to call her if she fought back too much.
So instead, she just put on a rueful, embarrassed grin. It didn’t take much acting, to be honest. “Yeah, yeah,” she said, trying to act as if the nickname was nothing. “Is there anything to eat in here?”
There certainly was - one of the men was standing over the hot stove, and it took him no time at all to whip up a heaping plate of food, which he insisted on pushing into her hands. “Best cure for a hangover - a good, filling breakfast,” he insisted. “And when Picnic - that’s me, by the way - gives you a plate of food, you damn well better enjoy it!”
The plate was heaping with food - scrambled eggs, a couple slices of toast, and bacon and sausages still sizzling from their time on the grill. Picnic’s food certainly looked appealing, and Kara dug in as Cross led her out to the dining room, where they found spots at the end of the central table. All the chairs from the meeting the previous evening had been pushed back up to the table proper.
“So what’s the plan?” Kara asked Cross, the words somewhat muffled by the food in her mouth. Picnic was a hell of a hometown cook, she mentally noted, scooping up some fluffy eggs. Everything was delicious in that way that only unhealthy, heart-clogging food can manage.
“We’re going out looking for a man known as Under,” Cross replied, reaching out and sneaking one of the sausages off of Kara’s plate. She lashed out at his fingers with her fork, but he was quicker, and he chuckled as he took a bite of the piece of meat.
“Under?” Kara repeated. “That’s his nickname?”
“Short for ‘under the table,’ yeah. He’s known for getting his hands on a lot of illegal stuff - and not just the usual things like guns or drugs. One time, I heard that he got a dude a real panda cub.”
It sounded preposterous, but Kara could see how a man like Under could be useful. “So where do we find him?”
“That’s the tougher part. The guy’s totally off the grid - hates cell phones, goes through disposables like they’re candy. But he’s got some hangouts where he usually spends his time in between clients. We’ll go hit those up, and hopefully get lucky,” Cross said.
Gimli, walking by, cackled as he overheard the last couple of words. “Get lucky again, after last night?” he joked, jumping into the conversation. “Cross, you’re gonna give this woman friction burns!”
Cross opened his mouth, but Kara was faster. “You know, Gimli, I didn’t see anyone hanging off of your arm last night,” she pointed out, raising her eyebrows.
Gimli frowned, but a couple other bikers who overheard the comment chortled with laughter. “The woman’s got ya, mate!” one of them called out.
For a second, it looked like the dwarf was going to argue, but his face instead broke into a rueful grin. “Way to kick a man when he’s down,” he groaned. “Fine, fine. But next time a girl complains to you in the bathroom about how she can’t find a good guy, send her my way!”
After eating, Cross and Kara both pulled on their riding gear and headed out, searching for Under. Unfortunately, the first couple places that they stopped seemed pretty deserted, and Cross’s expression grew steadily gloomier. “There’s still more places to look,” he said
at each spot, but it was clear from his face that he wasn’t succeeding in cheering himself up, or keeping his hope alive.
So now, pulling off the highway into this last truck stop, Kara silently voiced a fervent hope that Under would be waiting here. She didn’t know what the man drove, but there weren’t any other motorcycles in the lot.
“Oh, he doesn’t ride a bike,” Cross replied when she asked. “Like I said, the man’s crazy paranoid. Instead, he’s always got an old, beat-up car - and it’s been a different one every time I’ve seen him.” The man shrugged. “Paranoia, or maybe he just always has car trouble.”
As always, Cross was the first one in through the door. He didn’t explicitly tell Kara that this was to avoid scaring off Under, but the implication was clear. And at the last few stops, Cross hadn’t had to do much more than step in through the door, glance around, and then shake his head in disappointment.
This time, however, as he looked around the diner, Kara saw Cross stiffen, almost imperceptibly, just for a fraction of a second.
Most people would have missed it. But Kara was trained to spot this reaction, and it was as clear to her as a flashing light or ringing bell.
“He’s here,” she said, behind Cross, speaking low enough for the man to just barely hear her.
Cross nodded, ever so slightly. “But let me do the talking,” he said, as he stepped into the diner and headed over towards the far corner.
There was only one man sitting on that side of the diner, so Cross’s target was clear. The man glanced up at their approach, and he leaned back in his seat in the booth. The look could almost be regarded as casual - if Kara hadn’t spotted the little tensing of the muscles in his forearm. She knew that little motion.
Muscles only twitched like that, she knew, when the man was holding something under the table, his fingers wrapped around a barrel of some sort.
Under was armed, and he likely had a gun drawn on them, right then and there in the diner!
In response to this, Kara did nothing. She kept the same bland, unconcerned expression on her face, as if she didn’t know what the sitting man was holding her. She kept on following Cross as he approached, keeping her arms hanging easily down by her sides, in clear view. She made no sudden movements.
In the small of her back, underneath the leather jacket that sat on her shoulders, Kara could feel her own piece. She’d tucked it away there, more so that she wouldn’t have to leave it behind at the house than because she was expecting any sort of trouble.
Thanks to hours of practice at the FBI’s shooting range, as well as extra work on her own time, Kara knew that she could draw faster than almost anyone else.
Even with that speed, however, she knew that she couldn’t beat Under, since he already had his gun drawn. He’d have a bullet through her chest before her own gun had cleared her waistband.
So instead, Kara just gave the man in the booth a bland and unassuming smile as she and Cross drew closer. Trying to ignore the gun hovering just beneath the surface of the table, Kara tried to get a sense of the man currently aiming a deadly weapon at her.
Aside from the gun in his hand, Under was not a physically imposing man; that much was clear. He wasn’t muscled, but was instead a scrawny little man, probably somewhere between his late thirties and middle forties. He might have been attempting to grow a beard, but the end result was just a patchy mess of hair spread across his cheeks and chin. His muddy brown eyes didn’t settle on the approaching duo, but darted back and forth, as if searching for more threats. ‘Paranoid’ did seem like an apt descriptor.
Kara glanced briefly over at Cross, wondering if her companion realized that this man they were approaching was armed. If he did, at least, he gave no sign that Kara could detect. Instead, he gave Under an easy smile as he slid into the booth across from the man, as if he was returning to his earlier seat.
“Hi, Under,” Cross said, his voice not sounding concerned. “Got a few minutes for a couple questions?”
Under glared back across the table at them. “Cross,” he said, giving the biker a little nod of recognition. “Who’s your girl, here?” He glanced over at Kara, and his hand twitched beneath the table as well.
“This is Kara,” Cross replied, still not sounding concerned. The man had to have noticed the gun under the table, but he showed no sign of it. “And she’s the reason that you’ll want to listen to us. If you want to keep on making money and stay out of jail, of course.”
This last line was delivered in an offhand conversational tone, but Under definitely took notice. Kara saw the weaselly little man’s eyes widen, and he turned his attention on Kara. “What the hell’s he talking about?” he asked, his tone somewhere between frightened and angry.
Kara didn’t waste any words on niceties. “The Hellraisers are getting too strong,” she said, leaning slightly forward in her seat. “You know that they’re taking over the gun running business, but they’re looking to close out any competition - and that includes you.” She pointed across the table at the little man, who recoiled as if Kara was the one holding the pistol.
Even as she finished speaking, the man was shaking his head. “No, they wouldn’t do that to me,” he protested. “We have an agreement!”
“So did the others who worked with the Hellraisers,” Kara countered. “And one of them just turned up dead, likely after handing off a shipment.”
The man was still shaking his head, but his expression showed that he was shaken. “And what am I supposed to do? Why are you telling me?” he asked, glaring at Kara as if it was her fault, looking almost as though he was about to shoot the bearer of this bad news.
Surprisingly, aside from the gun drawn on her, this was actually working out well for Kara. The little weasel of a man across from her was looking scared, but he wasn’t actually aiming that aggression at her - not yet.
Kara knew that it wouldn’t be long before Under lashed out at her. She had to take advantage of this moment now, while he was still off balance.
“But we have a chance, Under,” Kara continued, leaning forward to emphasize her point. “We have a chance - a slim chance - to get out ahead of the Hellraisers, to cut them off before they kill their competition.”
The man nodded. “How? What do you need?”
Kara made sure not to smile, despite the temptation to do so. She had this. “We need to know everything that you know about the Hellraisers’ gun running operation - where they go, where their shipments are stored, and their base of operations.”
And the man, still wide-eyed and concerned, not given enough time to really think properly about everything, spilled all the secrets that he knew. Kara and Cross just had to sit back and listen.
CHAPTER 11
Forty minutes later, Under was finally drawing quiet, his store of secrets largely exhausted. The sun, still high in the sky when the man had started talking, was now starting to show its descent down towards the horizon. Kara Sybil and Cross were still sitting across from him in the booth, not saying anything, not daring to interrupt the flow of information.
Finally, however, Under finished speaking, and he blinked with concern at Kara. “Will that be enough to stop them?” he asked, the tension still clear in his voice.
It took a moment for the female undercover FBI agent to find her voice after she’d been listening for so long. “Oh, yes,” she agreed, giving Under a nod. “I think that you’ve been incredibly helpful - and we should be able to make sure that the Hellraisers don’t pay you any sort of trouble.”
Now that he’d given away all of these secrets, Under was beginning to once again start to look concerned. Perhaps it was only now sinking in how much he’d said, how many secrets he had brought out into the light, told to this near-stranger.
Fortunately, a few minutes into his long speech, the man had decided to put away the pistol he had been holding under the table, and that gave Kara reason to let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding in. He’d stuck it back behin
d him, likely tucking it into his waistband, similar to the pistol that Kara still carried on her person right now. Under evidently had decided that he could trust Cross and Kara - but now, he was starting to look a bit concerned once again.
“Listen, none of this is going to come back on me, right?” he asked, shaking his head. “I mean, I’m not the only one who deals with the Hellraisers, but this isn’t exactly public knowledge that I’m sharing around here. I don’t want them coming after me because you went and somehow threw a wrench into their works, you know?”
“Don’t worry - this won’t come back on you at all,” Cross promised Under. “The Hellraisers won’t know what hit them, and they won’t be in any sort of position to get revenge once we’re done with them.”
The man nodded, licking his lips. “So what, we’re talking gang war here?” he asked. “I mean, I wouldn’t put money on the Iron Brotherhood against the Hellraisers toe to toe - no offense, it’s just business - but it sounds like you’ve got some sort of plan. Sneak attack? Ambush?”
Cross shook his head, but kept his mouth clamped shut, refusing to divulge any information.
“Oh, come on, gimme something!” the little weasel of a man pleaded. “I stay alive by sensing which way the wind’s blowing, you know? And now I’m helping you totally change the direction. Just give me a hint as to how.”
For a moment longer, Cross dithered, glancing over at Kara, but eventually he couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “The Hellraisers have been reaching out too far,” he said, picking his words carefully. “They’re bringing in attention from more than just the gangs - even the law is starting to sniff around. We can’t have that.”
Under nodded, waiting. “So what? You’re gonna kill ‘em before the police start sniffing around?” he asked.
But here, fortunately, Cross decided not to reveal the entire plan. “Something like that,” he acknowledged. “But the point is that they’re going to see a major blow to their organization, very soon. So the more distance you put in between yourself and them, well, probably the better things will work out for you.”
Guns & Dusty Roads: The Iron Brotherhood Series Page 7