Red Rain: Over 40 Bestselling Stories

by J. R. Rain

  I told him about Camry. I told him about Steel Eye and J-Bird, too. As I did so, I bought Michael another beer.

  “So, you think buying me two beers is enough to spill my guts about my fellow brothers?”

  “I think it’s enough for you to help me out, in whatever capacity you deem appropriate.”

  He thought about what he wanted to say. While he thought, he drank some beer. “There are lots of charters,” he said. “The Devil’s Triangle is wide and far-reaching. Hell, we even have charters in Europe and South America.”

  “Everyone wants to be an outlaw.”

  “We’re not outlaws, Knighthorse. At least, not officially.”

  “Fine. And unofficially?”

  “Unofficially, we make ends meet.”

  “Drugs, prostitution, theft?”

  “The list goes on and on, Knighthorse. You don’t join the Devil’s Triangle because you’re a good guy wanting to do good things in the world.”

  “Why did you come to the DT?” I asked, using the common reference to the Devil’s Triangle.

  “Because I wanted to party. Because I wanted to be free. Because I wanted to give the finger to the establishment. Because I wanted to live hard, fight hard, party hard.”

  “Are we partying hard now?” I asked.

  “Not now, Knighthorse. But I can take you to one of our parties. Hell, you just might fit in.”

  “Maybe another time.”

  “We’re always around, Knighthorse. Always ready to party.”

  “Does the partying begin after you guys get off work, and end at a sensible hour?”

  Michael, with his steel-blue eyes, broken nose, a scar over his right eye, and chipped front tooth, looked at me briefly, then threw back his head. “Never, Knighthorse. Just hearing those words...work and sensible...send a shiver through me.”

  “Nothing wrong with an honest day’s work.”

  “And nothing wrong with living free, Jim.”

  “Freedom is relative,” I said. “You’ve been to jail three times.”

  “Never said there wasn’t a price to pay for life lived on the fringe, Knighthorse. If going to jail three or four times is the price I have to pay, then so be it.”

  “I’m leaning toward that we might have different outlooks on life.”

  “Maybe not so different, Knighthorse. You work as a private eye. You work for yourself. You take the jobs as they come to you, work your own hours, work when you want to.”

  “I work where the job takes me. Like here.”

  He laughed again. “This isn’t work, Knighthorse. This is living, bro.”

  “Kind of feels like work.”

  He laughed again and slapped me on the shoulder as he stood. “So what, exactly, do you want from me, Jim?”

  “I want to talk to Steel Eye, and I want to know about the guy he killed.”

  He looked at me long and hard, with his own steel eyes. He might have been smaller than me, but he oozed toughness. I suspected I oozed toughness, too, but I didn’t think Michael cared. Instead, he was weighing how much of a friend I was compared to the amount of shit he might find himself in by helping me.

  Finally, he nodded and said, “I’ll see what I can do, Jim,” and he patted me on the shoulder and left me with the bill.

  Yeah, it definitely felt like work.

  Chapter Five

  It was late and we were both in bed, but not together. I hate when that happens. Instead, Cindy and I were on the phone.

  “Did you say her name was Camry?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “I’ve owned two Camrys,” said Cindy.

  “Nothing to be proud of.”

  “They were good cars.”

  “Still nothing to be proud of.”

  “And she’s sleeping in your living room?”

  “She is, yes.”

  “And she paid your standard retainer fee?”

  “She did not.”

  “Then what, exactly, did she pay?”

  “Nothing.”

  “And you took her case?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “But she broke into your office.”

  “She did, yes.”

  “And she is an admitted thief and drug addict?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “And you’re still going to help her?”

  “Thieves and drug addicts need help, too. Now, did you want to start the phone sex or shall I?”

  She ignored me. “Is she cute?”

  “Is that relevant?”

  “It is if she’s sleeping down the hall and I’m sleeping over here.”

  “Both good points.”

  “Well?”

  “She is not you,” I said. “So, therefore, she is not my type.”

  “But she is pretty?”

  “In a non-standard way.”

  “She looks strung-out, you mean?” said Cindy.

  “She does, yes. You have nothing to worry about. As they say, I only have eyes for you.”

  “You’re helping her because she’s a woman in need.”

  “A human being in need,” I corrected.

  “If she were a man, would you offer the same services?”

  “I would.”

  “Fine. So who, exactly, is after Camry?”

  “Her ex-boyfriend.”

  “Her ex-boyfriend who happens to be the leader of a biker gang.”

  “That about sums it up.” I told her the gang’s name.

  “I’ve heard of this gang.”

  “Most have.”

  “Aren’t they, like, killers?”

  “Some of them.”

  “And they sell drugs?”

  “Biker gangs are known to be in the drug-supplying business.”

  “And have turf wars with other biker gangs.”

  “That’s the rumor.”

  “Jim, I don’t like this.”

  “She likes it even less.”

  “But she got herself into it.”

  “And I’m going to get her out of it.”

  “Jim, these guys are killers. They’re like modern-day outlaws.”

  I grinned. “Maybe.”

  Through my closed door, I could hear the TV going. Camry was watching the local news. On the bed next to me, Junior slept fitfully. He didn’t like having a stranger in the house. He especially didn’t like Camry, and spent most of his time growling at her deep in his throat. He’s cute like that.

  Cindy went on, “There are lots of them, and only one of you.”

  “Sometimes, I’m enough.”

  “What if you’re not?”

  “If I’m not enough—and that’s a big if—then, I’ve got friends. Friends in low places, you could say.”

  “Jim, this isn’t funny.”

  “Which is why you should be all the more impressed that I can find the humor in it.”

  “There’s something fishy about all this.”

  “Boy, you scholars use fancy words.”

  I could literally hear her drumming her fingers through the phone. After a moment, she said, “That’s asking a lot of your friends.”

  “I’ve got good friends.”

  “This doesn’t include your father.”

  “No.”

  “But will you call on him, too?”

  “If I have to.”

  “Your father will help you.”

  “My father is hit or miss. He will help me if he thinks it will benefit him.”

  “You’re too trusting, Jim.” I could almost see her shaking her head in disapproval.

  “It’s a calculated trust.”

  Cindy might have laughed, but it was hard to tell through the phone. She might have just as easily rolled her eyes. Which was hard to tell through the phone, too. Once we’d tried using Skype. I didn’t like it. My head, in the computer screen, looked far too big and squarish.

  “I’m worried about you, Jim. These guys are killers.”

  “Some of them.”

  “An
d part of a gang.”

  “Would it help if I told you that I’m a big boy?”

  “No.”

  “How about a really big boy?”

  “Jim, this is serious.”

  “What if I asked you to trust me?”

  “I trust you,” said Cindy. “It’s the biker gang that I don’t trust. So, why did she leave the gang?”

  “She saw something she shouldn’t have seen.”

  “Oh, God. Please don’t tell me she saw someone get killed.”

  “She saw someone get killed. Or rather, heard it.”

  “Now, I really don’t like this.”

  We’d had this talk before. Not too long ago, Cindy had thought she couldn’t handle the stress of dating me. We had taken some time off to think about it. We came back to each other stronger than ever, but the worry was still there. I didn’t blame her. I would be worried for me, too, if I wasn’t me. Mostly, I worry for the other guys. And even then, I rarely do. Maybe I’m more like my father than I thought.

  “So, what kind of help does she need?”

  “For now, she needs a place to stay that’s safe. I happen to offer the safest place in town.”

  Cindy laughed, a rich sound coming through the phone. “You drive me crazy, Jim.”

  “But you love me.”

  “Dammit, I do. More than ever.”

  Although we were quiet, I knew her mind wasn’t. And while I listened to Jimmy Fallon coming from the living room TV, some homeless man’s yelling coming up from the street and my dog’s half snores, I knew her mind was racing a mile a minute.

  Finally, she said, “So how long will you protect her?”

  “Until she doesn’t need protecting.”

  “How will you know that?”

  “I’ll know.”

  “Oh, God. Please tell me you’re not planning on taking down a whole biker gang.”

  “Maybe not the whole gang,” I said.

  “Just tell me you’ll be careful.”

  “Careful is my middle name.”

  “It couldn’t be further from your middle name.”

  Chapter Six

  It was the next morning when I got the call.

  “I thought all bikers slept in until noon,” I said. I was in my office. So was Camry. She was on the couch, texting furiously, her thumbs a blur, the tip of her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth. I rarely text, and when I do, it’s never furiously. It’s methodical and slow, since I tend to almost always hit the wrong key. Cell phones weren’t made for big men with gorilla fingers.

  “Only the slackers,” said Michael on the other end. “The rest of us are up early, kicking ass and drinking beer, and not necessarily in that order.”

  “You paint a beautiful picture,” I said. “What do you have?”

  Michael had come through. Turned out Steel Eye hadn’t killed J-Bird. Instead, the biker leader had royally kicked the shit out of J-Bird, and sent him packing. Word on the street was that J-Bird had a concussion and a mouth full of broken teeth and, more than likely, a broken jaw.

  “And the gunshot?” I asked.

  “Just to scare him.”

  “He wasn’t even shot?”

  “No.”

  “Just got the shit kicked out of him?” I said.

  “He messed around. Deserved what he got.”

  I nodded on my end. “So we’re not dealing with a homicide?”

  “Nope.”

  I glanced at Camry. She was still texting. I doubted she was listening.

  “One other thing, Knighthorse.”

  I waited.

  “He’s looking for Camry.”

  “I imagine he is.”

  “And from what I hear, he’s going to do a lot more than slap her around for running out on him.”

  “How much more?”

  “With Steel Eye, you never know. He’s unpredictable. It’s why I’m not affiliated with that charter anymore. I ride with a different band of brothers. But he’s going to hurt her, and bad.”

  “Remind her who’s boss and all that.”

  “Something like that. Look Knighthorse, this isn’t going to end well for her...or for you.”

  “What about for him?” I asked.

  “Someday it will end bad for him, too.”

  I thought about that as we hung up.

  Then I made some calls.

  Chapter Seven

  It didn’t take me long to find the Pit. I am, after all, an ace detective. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

  The locals all knew of it, although few were forthcoming about its location. Luckily, I have a winning smile and a way with words. Not to mention, you get the locals drunk enough, they’ll spill their guts. So, after a drinking binge with two wannabe bikers in a city called Cathedral City, which sounded more attractive than it was, I was on my way.

  After a few trial and errors, I eventually found myself on an unmarked road in the middle of nowhere. The sun was setting in my rearview mirror, and a dust cloud billowed behind my van. Yes, I drive a van. Or, as some have been known to call it, the Mystery Machine. And by some, I meant me.

  I heard the music before I saw them. Then I saw the glow highlighting a circular rock formation. Kind of like Stonehenge for stoners. Shadows moved around the rocks. Then again, maybe I stumbled upon a secret initiation into the Illuminati.

  Or not, I thought, when I saw all the Harleys lined up. Just a bunch of bikers breaking the rules and doing what they do best...party and piss.

  I parked behind a boulder, between two fatboys that were dusty and shining all at once. Dichotomy at its best. Now I heard them. Talking loudly. Arguing. Laughing. Snoring. Beer cans cracked open. Beer bottles being broken. The sound of fucking in the nearby bushes. Or lovemaking. Yes, I’m ever the romantic.

  I knew what Steel Eye looked like, thanks to Camry, and I knew where he usually sat, also thanks to Camry.

  So I took out my Walther and stepped out into the evening air that was suffused with campfire smoke, weed, tobacco, exhaust, weed, grease, desert sage, dust, weed, and Ralph Lauren.

  The Ralph Lauren might have been me, a birthday gift from Cindy. I figure if you’re going to kick some ass, might as well smell good doing it.

  I paused briefly just outside the firelight. I took a deep breath and said a silent prayer, then stepped around a boulder and held out my gun.

  Chapter Eight

  There were about twenty of them. And only one of me.

  I liked my odds.

  Actually, I didn’t. But I also liked to maintain a sense of positive expectation, even now, even while a half dozen faces turned simultaneously toward me, squinting through the smoke.

  One of them stood, rising straight up from a log. I briefly wondered where they had gotten a log in the desert when I stiff-armed the guy, sending him spinning and stumbling back over the same log that may or may not have been indigenous to the region.

  Although all eyes were on me, I still hadn’t attracted the attention of the man I wanted most, a man who was sitting in a wicker chair near the big fire and talking quietly to a young female, herself sitting on a flat piece of wood that could have been driftwood. Misplaced logs and driftwood? I suspected someone in this group was a closet beachcomber.

  She spotted me first, eyes widening. I didn’t fault her. My eyes would widen too if I saw me coming.

  Now I heard the whispery sound of guns being withdrawn, hammers snapped back and shotguns pumped. I also heard the whispery snap of switchblades.

  I stepped around the fire. Someone stood quickly from a plastic chair. That someone got kicked back into said plastic chair, to tumble ass backwards into the sand. Now people were moving toward me, but I had a bead on the man in the wicker chair.

  A man who finally looked at me.

  I could have been wrong—and the evening light was murky at best—but I was fairly certain his left eye was washed out, like a broken egg yolk in a sunny side up that got away from the chef. According t
o Camry, he was blind in the washed-out eye. I might have felt sad for him, accept that I caught sight of the girl next to him, a girl who was sporting fresh bruises along her arms and upper thighs.

  Steel Eye was faster than I expected. He was up and moving, reaching behind his back and withdrawing a pearl-handled revolver.

  Or, rather, trying to.

  Turns out I’m pretty fast too, especially now that my leg had been healed by God. Funny story.

  I took two long strides and, just as Steel Eye was bringing his weapon up, I drove my fist straight into his mouth and heard a sound that I knew to be teeth breaking.

  The punch was delivered with a lot of momentum, too. Not to mention I had put all of my weight in it. The result was pure mayhem. If Steel Eye wasn’t such a big son of a bitch himself, I might have broken his neck. As it was, his head snapped back and he staggered backwards. He would have fallen if I had hadn’t grabbed his collar and spun him around. I brought up my own gun and pressed it against his temple and faced the others. A half dozen guns of varying shapes and sizes were pointed at us.

  “What?” I asked, grinning perhaps a little too big. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

  Chapter Nine

  My punch had been a little harder than I had intended. Blame it on adrenalin. And having a dozen or so weapons pointed at your back.

  The result was that Steel Eye was mostly limp in my hands and I was doing all the work of keeping the son-of-a-bitch on his feet. He stood maybe an inch or two shorter than me and had shoulders nearly as wide as me. Both of which made keeping him up on his feet while I held a gun to his head all the more difficult. Luckily, I thrive in difficult situations. Or so I tell myself.

  “Who the fuck are you?” asked the girl who was standing now. She had a tasteful skull tattooed on her stomach, the teeth of which were biting down on her bellybutton.

  “I might have made a wrong turn somewhere,” I said, holding Steel Eye mostly up on his feet. “Does anyone know where the IHOP is?”

  A handful of bikers took a step forward. Those handfuls had enough facial hair to carpet a small dining room. Shag, of course.

  “What the fuck?” one of them said. Hard to tell who said what, since there were a lot of them and the firelight only reached so far.