Deep Cover

by Edward Bungert

  Counsel conferred with Crazy, who was busy writing on a clipboard. Counsel motioned for Little Vinney to join them as he came by.

  "Hey, Vinney, come here, man." Counsel took off his sunglasses and wiped them on his shirt.

  "What's up, Counsel? Crazy." Vinney was visibly excited. He was wearing a Kaiser helmet outfitted with a pair of bull's horns. For many members like Vinney, the run was a chance to show the citizens what being a biker is all about. The club got a kick out of freaking out passing motorists on the highway, who were shocked by the sight of over two hundred bikers riding two abreast through the streets. Pedestrians in the dozen or so towns that The Henchmen would pass through made it an annual affair, as a parade of Huns on wheels rumbled through their otherwise peaceful small town. Many of the children who gathered to watch the procession imagined themselves riding a motorcycle one day. Many of the men would look on with hatred—hatred for something they feared and didn't understand. Hatred for the part of them that wanted to break out and live free, riding on a big Harley and not caring about society and its rules and regulations.

  "What's the status on the main crash truck?" asked Counsel. Crazy continued to write, occasionally looking around the lot to verify the presence of certain members.

  "Left last night. Snake's chick and Pam drove. They probably got there about four this morning."

  "Good. Crazy, did you talk with the police chief at Bridgepoint?"

  "Yeah," he said, without looking up from his paperwork. "He says everything's cool. Most of the dudes involved in last year's hassle don't even live there anymore."

  "Sounds like it's all smooth sailing," said Vinney, making a sailing motion with his huge, tattooed hand.

  Vinney, as assistant road captain on this run, was in charge of securing the crash truck's arrival. Besides beer and drugs, the crash truck transported a variety of small-caliber weapons. By sending the crash trucks ahead of or behind the pack, they could easily slip through the various checkpoints that so often delayed the main contingent.

  "Okay," said Counsel. "Let's get ready to ride. As soon as Doc and Fat Jack get here, we pull out."

  Amy Walsh glanced down at the copy of Roughriders that lay open on the bed. Pictures of last year's motorcycle weekend in Laconia, New Hampshire, covered the pages. She checked every detail carefully. She wore a tight miniskirt of blue leather, a black-and-white tube top, and soft black-leather boots that came up over her knee. She applied lipstick and eye makeup exactly like the woman's in the picture. A pair of dark sunglasses and a small leather shoulder bag completed the look. Amy glanced in the mirror and said with a nervous sigh: "This is it. Time to find me a biker named Martin Walsh."

  She left the house, map and suitcase in hand. She placed the suitcase in the backseat of the car and set out on her six-hour ride to Eureka Lake. She repeated in her mind the question that she had been asking for days: What can be wrong? Why hasn't he called?

  The ride would seem endless.

  By the time Fat Jack and I arrived, most of the bikers were lined up and ready to ride to Eureka Lake. Counsel steered his bike next to mine. I was making some last-minute adjustments to my carburetor before taking off.

  "Here, Doc. Hold on to these." Counsel handed me a vest, a Henchmen belt buckle, and a gold Henchmen insignia pin.

  "What's this?" I asked.

  "They're Monk's. He must have left them at the clubhouse early this morning. One of the prospects saw him leave around four-thirty."

  "He quit?"

  "Seems that way. We're gonna have a security meeting about him after the run."

  Yeah, I'll bet you will, I thought. Probably decide to kill the poor son of a bitch. But it's almost over for you, scumbag. First opportunity on this run, I'm gone and you're finished.

  "Why give them to me, then?" I asked.

  "I don't know, really. You two seemed tight. I'm thinking maybe he'll try to contact you or something. Just sit on the stuff for a while, okay, Doc?"

  "Sure, what the fuck." I rolled the items up in the vest and stuffed it in my rear saddlebags.

  The Henchmen were ready to move out. The Los Angeles chapter would lead the pack, as was customary. Counsel rode to his position at the edge of the parking lot. Crazy pulled up next to him, in the traditional position of the road captain. Hank the Skank was directly behind Counsel. Next to him Snake, with his jet-black Harley. The rest of the chapter joined the formation, with me riding to the left and behind Iron Man. The sergeant-at-arms always rode at the rear of the full-color-wearing members. Prospects and honoraries rode behind him.

  It took thirty minutes for all the chapters and other clubs to get into formation and join the run. The sea of bikers stretched for almost a quarter-mile. None of us would drive over fifty-five for the entire trip to Eureka Lake. Two miles behind the pack were three more crash trucks. These were intended to pick up members who had broken down or had been ordered off the road by the chapter's sergeant-at-arms. That killed my chances of just laying back and quietly disappearing.

  Iron Man had had a leather strap custom-designed for him by one of the local motorcycle shops. An aluminium baseball bat sat inside, like a Samurai sword in its scabbard. It was Iron Man's job to make sure no one was too stoned to ride. If he noticed a member driving recklessly, he would pull up next to him and whack him on his arm or leg with the bat. He could even order him to pull over and wait for one of the trucks to arrive.

  I did find riding my Harley for the long distance a welcome relief, after spending so many days cooped up in Fat Jack's house. The pain and confusion in my head subsided with the soothing rhythm of the highway. This was the first time I'd really felt right since I'd regained consciousness. I let myself become part of the great wave of thundering machines. I was going to make it through this operation. I was sure of it. A little too sure of it, as I would soon find out.

  Chapter 25

  A banner hung across Main Avenue. It read: EUREKA LAKE WELCOMES BIKERS. Men and women, young and old, crowded the sidewalks' to view the arriving bikers. Leverick, Atwood, and Samuels had arrived early, to position themselves by a refreshment stand across from the entrance gate to the swap meet and camping field. The Eureka Lake run was the oldest and biggest of The Henchmen's events. The Elmwood chapter arrived a day early to set up the tables for the motorcycle parts and accessories. Their two burliest bikers, both Wild Bunch members, stood by the gates, ready to turn back any club that hadn't been invited by The Henchmen.

  Animal Field, as the residents of Eureka Lake referred to the six-acre property, was rented by The Henchmen every year for three days. Their stated purpose: A "swap meet," for motorcycle enthusiasts to trade and purchase parts and accessories.

  "Any sign of him?" asked Atwood, as he returned to the aluminum picnic table. He carried three hot dogs, two cokes, and a black coffee.

  "Not yet," responded Samuels. "Only the Elmwood chapter and a club called 'The Proscritos' have yet to arrive. About fifty or so independents have checked in so far."

  "Independents like us," said Leverick, as he tugged at his denim vest.

  "Yeah, real hot-doggers." Atwood removed the lid from his coffee and took a sip. "I want to be ready to move in quickly if we have to," he said seriously. "Is everything set with the backup?"

  "Most definitely," said Leverick. "I'm in contact with the captain of the troopers." Leverick held a beeper-sized communicator in his hand. "There are almost a hundred troopers just on the other side of the hill. The twenty-man local force is also on call." He pointed north to a hill about two miles across the field. The Governor had reluctantly agreed to allow Atwood and Leverick to command the troopers, but only after a call from the FBI director himself had convinced him to cooperate. State troopers resent federal officers taking command of what they perceive to be a local problem.

  "I just hope that if we do have a situation they come through, or our asses are cooked," said Samuels concernedly. "I don't see why we can't just set up a roadblock and arrest Martin on s
ome hokey charge."

  "Forget it," said Leverick. "Mark Nelson, the trooper captain in charge of motorcycle gangs, said he has an agreement with The Henchmen. After the riot in '75 over the roadblocks and searches, he agreed to leave them alone as long as the bikers contain themselves to Animal Field. They also had to agree that they wouldn't send anyone outside the grounds for extra beer or food, in groups larger than three."

  "What makes you think Martin will be in one of those groups of three?" asked Samuels.

  "Doesn't matter," said Atwood boldly. "Nelson agreed that if we fail to pick Martin up during the weekend, he'll authorize stopping the bikes on the way out. You see, he only agreed not to block them coming in."

  Molly took a bite of her hot dog and nodded. Leverick stood up and placed his hand over his eyes to block the sun's rays.

  "This could be them," he said, as he spotted a large contingent of bikers coming into view down Main Avenue. "It's definitely them. I can see Counsel at the head of the pack. No sign of Martin yet."

  "He'll probably be riding next to the sergeant-at-arms at the rear," said Atwood. "Keep looking."

  The bikers rode through the checkpoint in pairs. Leverick was the first to spot Martin Walsh.

  "I see him. Christ, there's a lot of these guys here!" He looked down at Atwood, who was still nursing his coffee. "What now?"

  "Now we wait. If Martin comes out, we grab him. My guess is he'll use the first opportunity he gets to look for us or get to a phone. He's got to figure that we can't be far behind him."

  "We hope," said Samuels pessimistically. The three agents watched as more than a hundred bikers flowed into Animal Field.

  By four o'clock that afternoon the number of arriving bikers had dwindled. There were still some stragglers coming in, but most of the spectators had gone about their business. Five members of the St. Paul chapter were making camp at the edge of the field.

  "Hey, Jimbo, let's go, man!" said John Hollister. "I can't wait to see Dr. Death again. The mother chapter's setting up now at the other side of field, near The Watering Hole. We can grab a couple of beers and say hello."

  "Take it easy, Johnny," said his older brother. "I know you're anxious to see the dude, but let's make fucking camp first. We're gonna be here for three days. Cool it, bro. We'll go over in a few." John Hollister shrugged and began to unfold his sleeping bag. What can a few minutes matter? But won't Dr. Death be surprised!

  I joined Iron Man and Counsel and walked over to "The Watering Hole," a makeshift bar with kegs of beer that would pump all weekend. After buying our beers, we walked over and sat on some chairs surrounding an old wooden pickle barrel. There were ten similar settings scattered within ten yards of the beer kegs. We quickly guzzled the first round and I volunteered to get some refills. I grabbed the three mugs and walked toward the beer taps. I needed to make my move soon. Besides the tension between Counsel and me after that Helmsford incident, there was a lot of tension among the California chapters over the San Pagano massacre. I had heard one of the bikers from Elmwood inquire of Iron Man, "Any more chapters get hit by The Outcasts, brother?" Something about his tone was accusatory. Or was it my imagination? I wasn't planning to hang out long enough to find out.

  As I filled the last beer, I was startled to see three dollars being held under my nose. I had never understood the words "a chill ran up my spine" until I heard Amy's voice right then.

  "I'll buy this round, Martin," she said.

  I felt dizzy. The sight of her face brought back the pain in my head. For a moment I thought I might be hallucinating, that the knock on the head was causing me to see Amy when in fact there was no one there at all.

  "Are you all right?" she asked. She put her hands on my face. This was no mirage. She was really here.

  "Amy?" I looked over at Counsel and Iron Man, who were waiting impatiently for their refills. "What the hell are you doing here? You want to get us both killed?"

  "Martin, I'm sorry. I had to come. You hadn't called in so long, and when I heard about those bikers getting killed I didn't know what to do."

  "I'm fine. Look, you have to get the hell out of here. This is too dangerous." I could see Iron Man out of the corner of my eye. He stood up, funnelled his hands around his mouth, and yelled, "Yo, Doc, bring the bitch here if you want, just bring the fucking beers!" He sat down and laughed with Counsel. Amy was crying. I handed her one of the beer mugs. "Carry this. Remember, my name is Doc. You just met me here at the beer stand. We'll volunteer to get another round and then run the hell out of here, okay? Can you do this?" She took a couple of deep breaths, looked over at the bikers, and swallowed hard. "Yes, Martin... Doc. I can do it. Let's go."

  When we got back to the table I had Amy sit on my lap.

  "Shit, man, the fucking beer must be piss-warm by now," said Counsel, as he looked Amy Walsh up and down. "Not bad, Doc. Never knew you were such a quick operator."

  Iron Man guzzled down his beer.

  "I'm going to get another one myself. I'd grow old waiting for you to fucking get it." Iron Man went back to the beer kegs to get a refill. I thought that maybe Amy and I should try to run for it. The Base I team couldn't be far. They might even be watching right now.

  "Dalton! Quick! Look at this shit!" He handed Atwood a small pair of binoculars. The food stand was at least a hundred and fifty yards from The Watering Hole. The miniature pair of FBI-issued binoculars was as powerful as most of the full-sized models found in sporting goods stores.

  "Is that who I think it is, sitting with Walsh and the two Henchmen?" asked Leverick recognizing Amy from a picture in Martin's file.

  "Holy motherfucking shit! What the hell is she doing here? I think we might have to move in now."

  "Should I call it in to Nelson?"

  "Wait, there are two other men approaching them. I recognize one. The St. Paul chapter's V-P. I don't know the other guy. Molly—go down there and get her away from the group. Act like she's a friend who wandered away from her old man or something. Get her as far away as you can, and we'll give the order to move in."

  Molly Samuels slung her leather bag over her shoulder. She walked through the entrance and past the Elmwood chapter sentries, who made lewd remarks but made no attempt to stop her. She made her way down toward the The Watering Hole. Atwood kept watching. Leverick made contact with Captain Nelson of the state troopers and placed him on alert.

  "We got some visitors, Counsel," I said curiously. Counsel turned around.

  "Hey, it's Jimbo from St. Paul! Well, fucking Jimbo! How are you, brother?" Counsel kissed and embraced the biker.

  "This is my brother Johnny," said Jimbo.

  "Johnny." Counsel shook his hand.

  I was holding Amy's hand, squeezing it tightly.

  The biker Counsel had called "Jimbo" continued, "Listen, man. I'm sorry to hear about the San Pagano chapter. Those fucking Outcasts should all die."

  "We'll get our chance, brother. I got big plans," Counsel said acidly.

  "Hey, man!" said Jimbo enthusiastically. "Johnny used to party with the Saints years back. He's dying to see Dr. Death again. Is he around?" An acute sense of dread blanketed me at that moment. Counsel slowly turned and shot me a cold look.

  "That's him." Counsel pointed at me, then looked toward Johnny for his reaction.

  "No fuckin' way. I'd know the motherfucker anywhere. I don't know who you got here, man, but it ain't the Dr. Death I know from Satan's Saints."

  Counsel pushed over the barrel violently. I pushed Amy out of the way and jumped from the chair. Suddenly Molly Samuels appeared, grabbed Amy by the arm, and pulled her away from me and the bikers. Thank God! I thought. Leverick and Atwood weren't far behind. Amy protested as Samuels practically had to drag her away. "Martin, no!" she cried.

  "Who the fuck are you, man?" growled Counsel, grabbing me by the lapels of my vest. I could feel the heat of Counsel's breath on my face. Counsel's eyes were wide with both anger and surprise. "I'm gonna fucking do you myself, you cocksucke
r. Counsel pulled out a nine-millimeter pistol and pointed it at my head. "Tell me how the fu—"

  The screams from The Watering Hole stopped Counsel in mid-curse. He turned his head to look. So did I. People were scrambling to avoid a van plowing through the tables. Four people were run down by the vehicle before it came to a stop. The back of the van popped open and what I was sure were Outcasts started pouring out of the back, spraying machine-gun fire in all directions. They must have been on the far end of the campgound since early in the morning, waiting for the run to fill up with Henchmen so they could inflict a high number of casualties. I lunged at Counsel, who was still absorbed in the chaos, smashing my elbow into his face. He dropped the pistol and fell back over a chair. I picked up the gun and started to run toward the entrance. The bikers from St. Paul joined everyone else in scattering all over the grounds, retreating behind motorcycles, trucks, and anything else that would shield them from the onslaught. As I was running I looked over my shoulder and saw one of the St. Paul bikers fall. Iron Man was running for cover as well, about twenty feet to my right. I saw him duck behind a red van and out of sight. I could see that Molly Samuels had already gotten Amy through the gate. There was no time for me to run that far—I would be picked off by one of The Outcasts. I managed to get behind a cluster of pickup trucks and vans about fifty yards from the entrance.

  I took up position behind a white pickup and shot an Outcast dead between the eyes as he approached the vehicle, spraying his Uzi in a wide arc. Several Henchmen had made it to their crash trucks and armed themselves. The Henchmen and the invading Outcasts exchanged a barrage of gunfire. The state police moved in from the north. A fleet of cruisers with lights flashing and sirens blaring entered the war zone. One trooper was felled as he exited his car. The others started shooting at bikers on both sides. Confusion, smoke, and death were everywhere. I cautiously looked out from behind the pickup to see if Counsel was still out there. He was nowhere to be seen.