“He… he’s helping me out,” I explain hastily. “He’s a friend of mine.”
Rosie throws back her head and cackles. “Honey, Gunner don’t have friends. Especially friends without dicks.”
“Well, anyway,” I stumble, reddening. “He is helping me. And he told me you might be able to tell me where Gonzalo is.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a couple of people glance at me, but I can’t be sure.
“Gonzalo?” Rosie’s voice is sharp. “Why the fuck would I know where that asshole is?”
“I just thought… he might have been here recently. Or you might know where he lives. Or something.” I trail off, feeling idiotic.
“‘Or something.’” Rosie mocks my tone, cackling again. “Look, girly,” She takes a step closer, putting a gnarled fist on her hip. “I don’t know what you’re about, and I don’t give a shit. I don’t know you from a hole in the ground, and I’ve got shit to do. If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here.”
“But if you could just tell me whether…”
The bartender suddenly appears at Rosie’s side. “You speaka da English?” he booms at me, poking his finger aggressively to the side of his head. “Rosie told you to get the hell out!”
A hatchet-faced man with long, greasy hair seated at the bar chuckles loudly. When I glance over at him, he shoots me an aggressively sexual leer.
I open my mouth to reply to Rosie, but stop. I realize no one here is going to tell me a damn thing. And I’m starting to feel very uncomfortable, and very conspicuous. The longer I stay, I realize, the more likely it is that something bad will happen to me.
“Okay. I’m leaving,” I murmur, taking a step backwards. I’m almost a little afraid to turn my back, but I force myself to do it, and walk out of the bar as calmly as I can. Outside, I realize my heart is pounding. My hands are trembling, half from fear and half from anger. I’m mad at them for being so mean, and mad at myself for being fool enough to have come here.
Back in my car, I lock the doors and take a few deep breaths to calm myself. This whole thing was a total bust. Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to think whether there’s any way I can salvage anything from this trip. There’s a town just to the east of here. Maybe I should just take a chance and go drive around, hoping I happen to see something? Maybe I’ll…
Thump! Thump! Thump!
I shriek in fright and jump in my seat, banging my head on the ceiling of the car. Wildly, I turn toward the noise to see the hatchet-faced guy from the bar leering at me from the other side of the driver’s side window. He’s grinning and laughing, obviously happy he scared me. Before I realize what he’s doing, he reaches for the door handle. I scream, turning the key in the ignition, The car roars to life. I know I locked the doors but I’m still terrified that somehow he might get in. I slam the car into reverse and hit the gas, not caring whether I run over him or not. He yells angrily and pounds on the hood of my car. I throw it into forward and squeal out of the lot, barely looking to see if there’s oncoming traffic as I hit the highway and drive away as fast as I can.
For a few seconds all I can do is try not to hyperventilate or crash the car as I accelerate, glancing in my rear view mirror several times to make sure no one’s following me. Eventually, as I continue back in the direction of Tanner Springs, the panic starts to dissipate little by little. What takes its place is a wave of despair, as I realize that for the second time I’ve walked all alone into a dangerous situation like a complete idiot. And for all that, I’m no closer to finding out anything about my sister.
I’ve never felt so helpless and stupid in my life.
It seems the fates aren’t done with me, though, because not long after I’m out of town, the car’s temperature light comes on. I down at the temperature gauge, and see the car is seriously overheating. Swearing, I pull over to the side of the road and reach down to put the car in park. As I do, I realize I’ve been driving in low gear all this time.
“God DAMN it!” I yell, pounding my fist on the steering wheel.
I’m stuck. I don’t know anything about cars. I’m afraid to drive any farther, and I have no idea what to do next.
Worst of all, I know — even though it’s the last thing I want to do — that I’m going to have to call Gunner to come help me.
A little over half an hour later, a tow truck arrives. The driver’s side door opens, and Gunner climbs out. I unlock my doors to get out and meet him.
The first thing I noticed is how pinched and angry-looking his face is.
“Thank you so much for coming, Gunner,” I begin, but he brushes past, barely looking at me.
I watch in helpless silence as he goes to my car, gets into the driver’s seat, and turns it on. He checks the instrument panel, then turns it back off. Sliding back out, he pops the hood, spends a minute or so looking around inside, and then slams it shut, hard. In spite of myself, I jump.
“Get in the truck,” he barks. Beneath the beard, his jaw clenches. Swallowing hard, I do what he says, climbing up into the high cab and shutting the door. I watch from the inside as Gunner positions a metal chain cradle under the front wheels. He lifts them up with a winch on the truck, then checks to make sure everything’s hooked up correctly. All the while, I’m sitting in the passenger seat, my hands clenched together and dreading the moment when he finally gets in the cab with me.
But the firestorm I’m expecting doesn’t come. When he’s finished, Gunner climbs in and turns on the tow truck’s engine without a single glance at me. He pulls out onto the highway, shifting gears as he speeds up, and soon we’re on our way back to Tanner Springs. The whole way home, he doesn’t say a single word. It’s like I’m not even there.
This is a million times worse than if he had just yelled at me like I was expecting.
The ride seems to last forever, but eventually we hit the city limits. Once we get into town, he drives me straight to his house and pulls up to the curb. Putting the truck in park, he finally turns to me.
“Your car is fucked,” he grunts. “I’m taking it to our shop.”
“Gunner —” I begin.
“Go inside,” he orders, his face contorted into a snarl.
“Thank you,” I whisper helplessly, and open the passenger door.
I’ve barely slid out of the cab when he reaches over to slam the door roughly behind me. He puts the truck in gear, and roars off into the evening.
I’m left standing dejectedly on the sidewalk, knowing he won’t be back again tonight.
Every single decision I’ve made today was the wrong one.
Tiredly, I drag myself up the front walk and into the house. I just want to go to bed.
Maybe things will be better tomorrow morning.
In any case, they can hardly be worse.
16
Gunner
The next day, I wake up in my apartment at the clubhouse, restless as hell and ready for action.
It was all I could do last night to not lose my fucking shit on Alix. I couldn’t even ask what she was doing out there on that highway because I was so fucking furious. I know she went to the Smiling Skull to look for Gonzalo again. I can’t believe she’d be so goddamn stupid, after what almost happened last time.
Well, at least for now, I’ve nipped that problem in the bud. She’s carless now. And she will be for the foreseeable future, since that’s the only way I can make sure she doesn’t get it into her head to go off looking for Eden by herself again.
All her overheated car needed was coolant. I was pretty sure that’s what the problem was when I talked to her on the phone. I even brought some with me in the tow truck. But on the way to get her, I realized I could keep her car in the shop if I told her it was a more serious problem. If she wants to go back to the Skull again now, she’s gonna have to hitchhike. And I don’t think even Alix is crazy enough to do that.
Last night I was so goddamn mad I didn’t trust myself to even talk to her. Shit, she could have gotten
herself seriously hurt. She could have wound up in the exact same boat as her sister — wherever the hell that is. Then I’d have two women to rescue instead of one.
The thought of Alix disappearing makes my blood turn to ice in my veins.
I’m still fucking furious with her this morning. But as I take a shower as cold as I can stand it and pull on some clothes, I grudgingly start to wonder whether I’m partly to blame for her going off like that. I know Alix has been stuck waiting at my place with no news. And I know she feels like the clock is ticking on finding her sister. I realize I haven’t been all that great about communicating with her. Tweak’s been doing everything he can to track down the intel we need to find Gonzalo, but Alix doesn’t know that. She’s probably been going out of her mind with worry.
As stupid as her little stunt was yesterday, I have to admit I probably had a small part in it.
Just before I go downstairs to grab some coffee and breakfast, I take my phone out and thumb a quick message to her, so she’ll at least know I’m not gonna leave her hanging for another day.
I’m going on a run with the club. I’ll talk to you later on today
I’m midway through breakfast when I get a response from her:
I’ll try to fit you into my busy schedule.
I can’t tell if she’s mad or not. She might be mad.
Well, too fucking bad, I think irritably. I’m mad, too.
Sighing, I shove the phone in my pocket and take my cup out into the main room of the clubhouse.
I go find Angel and ask him what time we’re leaving on the run. He tells me that it’s been postponed for a couple of hours, so I go outside and spend a little time making sure my bike is tuned up and ready to go. When I’m finished, I figure I’ll go see if Tweak has had time to get any of the intel I asked him for. I wander through the bar area and into one of the back rooms that Tweak has set up as his command station. He’s there, sitting at a desk surrounded by three large, flat-screen computer monitors, tapping away and lost in thought.
“Hey,” I murmur, pulling up a chair and flipping it around so I can lean my arms across the back of it. “You had any time to work on finding out about that Gonzalo fucker?”
“Good timing,” he replies, barely looking up. “I was just checking into some stuff. Haven’t had a lot of time yet to dig.” He motions me closer. “That him?”
I peer at an image on the far monitor. “Yeah. That’s him.” It’s a mug shot. I look closer. “Gonzalo Medina,” I read. So Gonzalo’s his first name, not his last. “What did he get busted for?”
Tweak snorts. “What hasn’t he been busted for? Drug possession, felony theft, aggravated assault. I got a feeling I’m just getting started.”
I nod. “You got his twenty yet?”
“Not yet. But I’m pretty sure he lives in the area. Apparently he grew up around here. In Death Devils territory.”
His words give me an idea I hadn’t thought of before. “Okay,” I grunt. “Let me know when you have an address for him. And call me right away if you find out anything else important.”
Tweak tears his eyes away from the screen to look at me. “Like what?”
“No idea,” I admit. “Anything that makes your eyebrows go up. Remember we’re looking for the sister of this chick I’m trying to help.”
“So, about this chick…” he begins. “I might have more to go on if you bring her in here, so I can ask her some questions myself.” He gives me a knowing smirk. “But if you don’t wanna share her with the club, that’s fine by me.”
“Fuck you, Tweak,” I snarl, my anger getting the better of me before I can stop it. “Alix ain’t a club whore. I don’t want her here at the clubhouse with you filthy motherfuckers.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Tweak scoots his chair away from the computer, holding up his hands. “Calm yourself, brother. Shit, I didn’t know you were so serious about her.” He gives me a look I can’t quite read. “You claimin’ her? Because you know damn well no one’s gonna touch what’s yours. You give the word, she’ll be safer here than anywhere else.”
“I’m not claiming…” Goddamnit. “It ain’t like that, Tweak. I just want to make sure she’s protected. I’m doin’ her a favor, and I’m not gonna let her get hurt or used on my watch.”
“Shit, Gun,” he protests. “You know all you gotta say to the men is she’s off limits.”
I know he’s right. My brothers would never touch her as long as I say the word. Still, it doesn’t sit right with me, bringing her here. Having the other Lords ogling her like she’s a piece of meat.
Tweak is right, though. I should probably bring her in. It doesn’t make any sense not to let him ask her questions directly.
Six Lords meet the Death Devils at an agreed-upon spot between our clubhouses. Then our two clubs set out riding south, toward the Kentucky border. We’re picking up a shipment of guns from a cartel that our club used to do business with. Once we pick them up, we’ll be bringing them to a warehouse in Devils territory that they own, to be stored there until the Devils can arrange a meet-up with the organization they’re selling the guns to.
Oz tells us the shipment is three crates of pistols that are coming up to us from Florida, by way of Atlanta. The Lords are providing the security on both ends: both the pickup and the delivery. The terms of the arrangement have been negotiated between Rock and Oz. Part of our compensation’s financial. The other part is mutually-assured partnership in the future, against any potential enemies to one or the other of our clubs.
We get to the pickup spot in the mid-afternoon. It’s a secluded place out in the country, in a densely wooded area that makes me a little jittery. There’s lots of cover where armed men could hide, and I find myself scanning the landscape for the slightest sign of movement. The Lords of Carnage had a business relationship with this cartel, called the Crow Clan, for many years. But we never met up here before.
I can tell Angel and Ghost are thinking the same thing as I am as we climb off our bikes. Angel shoots me a warning look and I lift my chin just slightly to acknowledge it. We’ve driven in with a group of Devils on bikes just behind a dark blue panel van that will transport the crates back to their warehouse.
Kane, the head of the Crow Clan, looks surprised and more than a little suspicious to see the Lords pulling up with the Death Devils.
“Gentlemen,” he says in a subdued, rasping voice that I know only too well. A deep, jagged scar on his throat, long since healed, betrays the source of his strange croak. “It’s been a long time since the Lords of Carnage have graced our presence. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Instead of answering, Angel looks over at Oz, letting him take the lead.
“The Lords happened to be in the neighborhood,” Oz says pleasantly. “They thought they’d come say hello.”
Kane snorts, his eyes flicking from the Devils to the Lords. “A fuckin’ party.”
“You may have heard that a few of our men are indisposed at the moment,” Oz continues, a slight edge in his voice. “The Lords have agreed to provide some extra security in their absence.”
Kane sneers slightly. “Hope you can hold on to these guns once they’re in your hands, Oz,” he rasps. “Though, that’s not really my problem.”
“No. It’s not,” Oz agrees coldly. “Speaking of which.” He crosses his arms in front of him. “Shall we get down to business?”
If Kane is pissed that Oz doesn’t want to sit around jawing all day, he doesn’t show it. He motions to a couple of his men. “Bring the crates,” he hisses. They turn back toward an old, battered pickup truck that has the logo of a plumbing company on the side panels. Opening up the back of the covered truck bed, they slide out three crates, one by one, as the rest of us watch in silence. Around me, I can feel the alertness of the other Lords, at the ready in case of anything unexpected.
“Open the crates,” Oz orders once they’re set in front of us. Kane’s men do as he says.
Oz’s Sergeant at Arms
and Vice-President move forward to take a look. They each pull out a gun to examine them. Even from here, I can tell they’re not the quality the Lords was used to getting from them.
“These are shit,” Oz’s VP growls. “You couldn’t get two-hundred dollars for these on the open market.”
“Maybe so,” Kane rasps. “But they’ll easily sell for five or six-hundred dollars in New York City.”
He’s right. The markup on these guns in NYC could easily be upwards of five-hundred percent. I don’t know who Oz is selling these guns to, though I’m assuming it’s to one of our former customers. Maybe they’ll be happy with these pistols. Either way, it ain’t my place to judge, and I couldn’t care less, as long as the deal goes through without incident.
Oz’s VP brings him the pistol he’s been examining. Oz racks it, sights it, and nods briefly. “And the ammo?”
“It’s all there,” Kane affirms.
Oz nods to his VP, who takes the pistol back from him and tosses it in the crate. From inside the van, one of Oz’s men appears with a dark-colored duffel, and hands it to Kane. Kane nods at one of his men, a large, squarish guy with crude features, to take it. He holds the bag up at Kane’s chest level to let him open it and examine the contents.
After a few seconds, he nods. “Okay. We’re good.”
Next to me, I hear Ghost exhale slightly.
“Gentlemen.” Oz looks around the room once. “It’s been a pleasure.”
He turns to go, and his men follow behind him. The Lords stay in position, watching Kane and his men until they’ve piled into their vehicles and moved out onto the deserted gravel road. As they retreat into the distance, Angel nods at us and we break formation.
The Death Devils and the Lords make our way back to our bikes and the large van. As we do, I decide to take a chance. “Oz,” I call. “Can I have a word?”
It’s unusual for a patch holder of one MC to approach the president of another MC without the explicit direction of his own prez. But this ain’t about club business. This is personal. And Oz may be able to give me information that no one else can. Angel shoots me a look but I ignore it.
GUNNER: Lords of Carnage MC Page 9