by PAUL BENNETT
‘This is it?’ the grizzled old man said.
I nodded.
‘Good luck, mister,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I hope we meet again in better circumstances. Although if we meet again any circumstances will be good.’
I walked out of the bunkhouse and back to where the four of them were assembled.
‘Get Ho,’ I said to Stan. ‘She goes to town, too. We can look after ourselves for a while.’
‘If we survive,’ said Pieter.
‘I’ll die of boredom otherwise,’ said Bull.
Stan went into the kitchen and came back with Ho. She went to her room, grabbed some clothes and a washbag and went back to stand with Stan. He took her by the shoulders, bent down and kissed her on the forehead. Turned her around and pointed her to the door. ‘Till we meet again,’ he said.
She turned to me. ‘Look after him for me. He means a lot to me.’
‘I’ll do my best to keep him safe,’ I said. ‘He means a lot to us, too.’
She walked out of the door; soon after, I heard the sound of engines kicking into life. The sound faded as they moved into the distance.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’
We squeezed into the jeep and set off.
Five minutes into the drive, Stan spoke.
‘It’s Bull’s show,’ he said. ‘He takes point. Johnny, you and Red take the flanks. Pieter watches the back door and I stand in front of him ready to reinforce whatever area they attack. We use the assault rifles first and save the handguns for a last resort. If they’re spread out, we get them into a tight bunch so that we limit their freedom of action and maximize ours. Not much of a plan, but it will have to do.’
‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘If we have to, we shoot to kill this time. But make sure one of them shoots first so we can claim self-defence.’
Ten minutes later Red slewed the jeep to a halt and swung it around, ready for a fast getaway. We got out and went into our formation.
Some of the bikers were outside the diner doing something to their bikes: repairing the damage we had done previously maybe. The rest were spread out in the camp, lying around. Some of them were smoking and I hoped that it was weed and would slow down their reflexes.
Bull walked forwards. The bikers looked up at him and made some sort of assessment of his demeanour, not to mention the Kalashnikov. I was hoping for fear, but would settle for bewilderment.
‘Bring me the Fixer,’ Bull shouted.
I walked over to the diner and waved the Uzi at the bikers who were there and herded them into the main part of the camp. Red and his trusty shotgun was doing the same on the right. Some were behind us and Pieter waved his gun, pointing at the rough circle that had been formed. Pretty soon we had them all in that circle.
The grey-haired man from the bar walked forward to stand in front of Bull. The heavily built Mansion stood by his side, fists clenched and ready for action.
‘What are you doing here?’ Fixer asked.
‘Come to look into the eyes of a coward,’ Bull said.
‘Who you calling a coward?’ Fixer said.
‘How many men do you need to take on us five? Thirty, Fifty? Whatever you settle on won’t be enough. You might as well hit us now and get it over with.’
‘Hit you while you’ve got the weapons and we’re defenceless. What do you think we are? Stupid?’
‘Reckon so,’ Bull said. ‘Stupid cowards, then.’
I could see Fixer tense up, his shoulders raised and his arms stiffened.
‘I’ve come to give you life or death,’ Bull said. ‘Either way it don’t make any difference to me. Your choice.’
‘I choose life,’ Fixer said.
‘Then get on your bikes and ride on,’ said Bull.
‘Can’t do that,’ Fixer said. ‘We took a contract and have to fulfil it to get our money. Won’t look good if we back down.’
‘Then you’ve chosen death,’ Bull said. ‘So be it.’
The Fixer looked at him and stood there wondering. Couldn’t make out Bull or his words.
‘You come to us tomorrow morning,’ Bull said. ‘The time is up to you, but we’ll be waiting. Waiting to give you death. If you don’t come, we’re come back here and give you death. There’s no way out for you now. You have made your choice.’
Bull backed away and the rest of us followed suit, keeping our rifles pointing at the circle of bikers until we were back at the jeep. We climbed in and Red sped away.
‘Happy now?’ I said to Bull.
‘Be happier when it’s all over,’ he said.
‘Seems like it won’t be long now.’
‘Reckon so,’ he said.
‘Life or death,’ I said. ‘And they chose death. How stupid can a person be? We’ve shown them what we can do and they still choose to face us.’
‘Discretion is the better part of valour,’ Pieter said.
‘You make it sound noble,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing noble about outnumbering your enemy ten to one.’
‘Won’t be a fair fight,’ Bull said. ‘Because they still don’t know us.’
‘Won’t get much sleep tonight,’ I said.
‘Haven’t had much sleep for a while now. Good to get it over and done with.’
‘As long as the result is right.’
‘There’s always that,’ said Bull. ‘Not worth thinking about the opposite. Can’t do nothing about that.’
‘When we get back,’ said Stan, ‘we clean the guns and go over the plan. Sleep in shifts, two hours at a time. Up before dawn and ready to go. Take up our firing positions. Any questions?’
There was no answer. Life or death. Tomorrow fate would show what it had in store for us.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
They weren’t early risers. They hit us a couple of hours after dawn. We were ready for them. As per the plan, we were at the forward firing-points, armed with our handguns and assault rifles. They were going to have to use their brains to get past us, so we thought we had the advantage there. There were fewer than we had expected, but more than we had hoped. At a rough count, I reckoned there were about thirty.
Pieter and I were to the left of our defensive positions, Bull and Stan to the right and Red facing front with his shotgun. They came riding in a column, three abreast, which was pretty stupid – easy target. After all we had done: the fight in the bar, facing down the man in black, the attack on their camp, they still underestimated us. The lead riders dismounted to kick aside our flimsy barrier and, unsuspecting, rode down the middle of the track straight towards the pit.
If I hadn’t been so tense I would have laughed. It was like a magic trick. One moment the lead bikes were there, the next they had disappeared. The second row of the column was too close to the first, so had no time to react: they followed into the pit. That was six bikers who, if they weren’t injured, now had to fight on foot – if they had the guts for it. We laid down fire on both flanks to keep them moving. The rest of the column swerved round the pit and, contained by our hail of bullets, formed back into the column and headed towards the barbed wire of the stinger.
It was the same story. The front row of the column was into the stinger before the row behind could react. The tyres didn’t immediately deflate, but psychologically it was another round to us.
Before they knew it, the re-formed column was approaching the oil. We continued to spray the flanks of the column with bullets, aiming at tyres and legs. They were sitting ducks. Bikes skidded on the oil, dislodging their riders. Those we had hit in the legs limped away back to where they had come from or just lay there groaning and immobile. The numbers were decreasing at last.
The trip wires accounted for another three bikers, throwing them off their bikes and sending them backwards through the air. Half the original force was now on foot. From here on it would be fire power and accuracy that would decide the result of the battle. Our job at the front of the defences now done, we retreated to the next line of firing posi
tions. We would fire, move, fire, creating the impression of larger numbers on our side and, at the same time, making us less of a target.
The grey-haired man, his long ponytail hanging down from his helmet, was still on his bike, Mansion at his side. The Fixer tried to marshal his troops, waving his arms to get them to form two wings that could encircle us. While he was doing this, we kept on firing. The bikers didn’t know where to turn, every move presented danger. Some had had enough; they turned their bikes around and headed home.
I used the Browning to fire more accurately and hit a couple of bikers in the thighs before moving to the next position. Behind me I heard the boom of Red’s shotgun and saw two men blown off their bikes by its force.
Those remaining had drawn handguns and were starting to return fire, a fruitless exercise for those on bikes since their movement reduced their chance of hitting us to close to zero. We fell back to the final level of firing positions outside the ranch house. There was the sound of shooting all around and it became increasingly difficult to work out exactly what was going on – there are times when you smell the battle and hear the battle, but don’t see it, as things are happening too fast. Each of us had to concentrate on our own targets. I was coming close to having to reload the Browning, so switched back to the Uzi until I got the opportunity. Behind me, I heard Stan cry out. He was hit.
I turned round and indicated that he and Pieter should head for the ranch house. Stan was clutching his shoulder as he ran back.
The only cover for the bikers was the defensive positions we had just vacated, but staying there wouldn’t do them any good. How could they progress when we were pinning them down? The grey-haired man shouted something I couldn’t hear against the cracks of the handguns, the volleys from the assault rifles and the deafening boom of the shotgun. Four of the bikers broke cover and tried rushing us. We cut them down before they had taken half a dozen paces.
It was the trickiest period now. Those bikers who were still mobile were beginning to get to our two flanks, those on foot were trying to advance directly towards us. We were constantly having to watch two threats at once. I would shoot at a target straight ahead and then swivel round to aim to my side. It was time for the next phase of our plan.
I shouted across at Bull and he turned his rifle to the right flank. I did the same on the left. Freed from fire, those who were ahead of us started to run forward. We let them come, all the time picking off the bikers on our flanks. There were men toppling off bikes on both sides, the numbers being whittled down with each of our bursts of fire.
The men on foot rushed forward. Bull and I turned and ran in an arc. We were now behind them. Red was in front of them and Pieter and Stan were at their posts at the windows of the ranch house. Instead of them surrounding us, we had them caught on all sides.
The Uzi gave the chilling click that told me it was time to reload. Through years of practice I didn’t have to look at the gun while I pulled out the spent magazine and clicked in a full one. There were bodies going down like pins in a bowling alley. Red fired his shotgun again and two of the men on bikes tumbled to the ground, their bodies trapped underneath their bikes.
I fired a shot at the Fixer and caught him in the shoulder. He spun round with the impact and I then shot him in the back – ignoble, maybe, but effective. Seeing their leader fall took the spirit out of the rest of them. Hands went up in the air. Pieter and Stan emerged from the ranch house and started to round up the bikers into a group. I looked across at Bull; he and Mansion were having a face-off, both standing up with a gun aimed at the other.
‘Looks like an impasse,’ I called out. ‘You can kill each other or we can work something out. Remember Bosnia, Bull? When the battle was going nowhere?’
Bull nodded and looked at Mansion.
‘Let’s see who’s the better man between us two,’ Bull said to Mansion. ‘Wrestle me, bare hands. If you win you go free. If I win, you give yourself up. How does that sound?’
The cogs in Mansion’s brain whirred for a while. ‘You got a deal,’ he said. ‘I know who’s the better man. You ain’t got a chance.’
‘OK,’ Bull said. ‘Throw your gun to the side and face me.’
Mansion threw his gun twenty feet to his side.
Bull smiled.
‘Sucker,’ he said, pointing his gun at Mansion’s head. ‘Put your hands up and move to where the rest of your friends are.’
‘But that’s not fair,’ Mansion said. ‘We had a deal.’
‘And I’ve just reneged on it,’ said Bull. ‘Get moving.’
We rounded them up and assessed the damage. Stan had blood coming from a wound in his left arm and Pieter was limping – there was a dark stain spreading along his thigh. Bull and I were unhurt. Not too bad considering the odds we had faced. I took my phone out and called the sheriff.
‘Safe to come now,’ I said. ‘It’s all over.’
Tucker took one look at the scene, then called for reinforcements from the state cops and a fleet of ambulances.
‘Well, boys,’ he said while we were waiting. ‘Looks like you’ve been having a real humdinger of a party here. Your guests don’t seem to have enjoyed it much, though.’
‘Didn’t seem to like our mercenary hospitality,’ I said. ‘Can’t please all of the people all of the time.’
‘In your case some of the people some of the time would be an improvement.’ He looked at me seriously. ‘Is this the end of it?’
‘I hope so, Sheriff. Not much more they can throw at us.’
‘What about the man in black? He doesn’t seem to be among the bodies round here.’
I shook my head. ‘He works alone – hard to catch a man when he works alone. He’s a professional, but he messed up badly in thinking he could rely on a bunch of bikers to defeat us. I’d like to think his contract is now terminated.’
‘And who do you think hired him?’
‘I’m pretty certain it’s the senator, but I don’t have any hard evidence.’
‘Pretty certain won’t be enough for me to hold the senator on any charge.’
‘Maybe if we catch the man in black he might give us a name. Make a statement to save his own skin.’
‘And the chances of that?’
‘Not good,’ I said. ‘Maybe you could circulate his description. The state cops could cast a wider net.’
‘State cops aren’t your best friends. Do you realize how much paperwork will have to be filled in as a result of this?’ He waved his arm in an arc that encompassed the large group of bikers being guarded by Bull and Red. ‘Hell, I don’t know if they’ll even have enough tape to record all the interviews.’
‘I should have thought of that when we were facing thirty bikers. Mustn’t increase the paperwork. How stupid of me.’
‘Foolhardy, maybe, but not stupid,’ he said. ‘Those mean streets will be a little less mean from now on.’ He gave me a look I hadn’t seen him use before. ‘Shake my hand, Mr Actually. You did well. Though I hate to admit it, mind.’
He thrust his hand towards me and I shook it. Somewhere beneath that hard exterior I thought I detected a subtle difference – a softness, sentimentality even, that he probably didn’t allow out much on its own. ‘So whatever you did,’ he said, ‘don’t do it again.’
‘No, Sheriff,’ I said.
‘Not unless you have to, that is,’ he said, giving me a wink.
The ambulances arrived first, but I guess that was best. There was no rush for the demoralized and bloody crew that now sat on the grass in front of the ranch house. The state cops were the second priority.
The good news was that Stan and Pieter’s injuries were minor. Both bullets had passed right through, leaving large exit wounds. They were going to need a lot of patching up, but they’d survive to fight another day – if necessary.
The state cops arrived in force. There were three motorcycle policemen in leathers and white helmets, four squad cars with every seat occupied and a van full of cops with
weapons at the ready. Tucker helped their man in charge to do a kind of triage on the bikers – those going to hospital, who needed guards, those who were in no state to cause any threat and could go with just the paramedics, and those who would go straight to jail.
As everybody was ferried away from the ranch, the adrenaline started to wear off. I needed a strong black coffee and a shot of something, anything, as long as it was alcohol, the stronger the better. The remaining three of us walked into the ranch house, put our weapons on the table and then headed straight to the bar that Stan had set up. I poured a slug of bourbon while I decided what I was going to drink. It didn’t hit the sides, just slid down real easy. I looked at my watch. It was still only eight in the morning. I reckoned that the whole battle had only taken maybe twenty minutes, but, as always, it had seemed like a lifetime.
Bull arrived with a pot of coffee and three mugs. ‘Do you think we should tell the guys in the bunkhouse that it is safe to come out?’ he said.
‘Give me a moment,’ said Red, pouring a shot of Jack Daniels. I noticed his hand was shaking. ‘Hell,’ he said. ‘I must be out of practice. Never used to shake.’
‘Yes, you did,’ I said. ‘We all did, but only when it was over. Memory plays tricks with us, that’s all.’
Bull turned to me. ‘Thanks for the reminder of Bosnia.’ He gave out a deep laugh. ‘They fall for it every time.’ He shook his head disbelievingly. ‘Still, nice to be trusted, even if it is by those who don’t have a brain cell.’
There was a knock on the door and a tall man in an immaculate grey suit came in. He had dark hair receding at the temples and flecked with grey at the sides. His face was weather-beaten and world-weary. He looked like he had seen it all before: nothing new under this relentless sun.
‘Which one of you is Johnny Silver?’ he said.
‘That would be me.’
‘I’m Captain Rogers, State Police,’ he said. ‘I think you’ve got a story to tell me. And, before you start, Tucker has told me all about you. Cut the wise guy, OK?’