“Please eat,” he said standing up straight, “and I’ll come get you when Shep is ready for you.”
“Follow me, please,” said the hostess who smiled despite her broken teeth. She must have gotten the job because she was too scraggly for anyone to want to pull her into the parking lot for a quickie.
Baylee Ann turned to Kelton, smiled, and swung her arms out in front of herself as she strode ahead after the hostess. Azrael took his cue from Kelton, following wearily and sizing up both the establishment and inside clientele as they made their way to the row of booths on the left. The Outlaw Saloon had the trappings of a legitimate roadside bar and grill if you had the balls to walk in and order something. Décor was dominated by Harley branding or motocross sporting paraphernalia. The lunch rush was over, and there was plenty of room for the dozen lingering patrons to be spread out from each other.
Kelton had figured everyone would go quiet and stare as he made his entrance, but that didn’t happen. Customers drinking beer in small groups may not have noticed him. But the servers and the henchmen had to notice. It was their job to notice. And they all pretended a dog coming in was perfectly normal, and that the figure in coyote brown fatigues and a floppy hat was dressed in an acceptable equivalent to denim and black leather. Kelton decided to play upon that a little.
When they reached the empty booth, Kelton let Azrael climb onto the bench before him and sit down at his side. He put his menu down in front of the dog.
“We’ll need one more,” he said flatly, like he was pointing out that the hostess was too dumb to count.
She scurried back toward the hostess station.
“So, you can be a jerk,” Baylee Ann smiled.
Azrael leaned his nose in slightly over the table at her.
“If there’s three of us, she should have brought three menus. What type of places do you and Bambi hang out in, anyway?” he said with a wink.
Then she got serious, “Shep is no one to be trifled with. He’s spent his entire life ruling over guys like these. Don’t show weakness. But know that you won’t be able to intimidate him. Make a straight up deal. And keep it. That’s your best bet.”’
“Okay, what can I get you people?” croaked the waitress. She was squat thing, who’s widening hips had turned a once toothpick figure into more of a square. Her lungs rumbled as she breathed after a lifetime of cigarettes. The hostess came running up behind her with the third menu and Kelton took it. The tabletop looked grease stained, but at least the service so far was quick. They ordered cheeseburgers, and Baylee Ann seemed happy, like a princess returned to court.
“Is this place normally like this?” asked Kelton. “I mean is this usually how you are treated here?”
Baylee Ann almost sang out with a glow of warmth rising in her eyes, before her face iced over and she considered.
“No. This is how I always wanted to be treated,” she replied in careful measured words. “But usually it’s more like the cafeteria in middle school.”
“How do you mean?”
She shrugged, “There are cliques. They jockey for respect and dominance, trying to gain favor with Shep for the best jobs. The bottom cliques pick on isolated new people, forcing them to find and join a group or go away.”
“You mean Shep’s men?”
“Yeah, the Outlaws. The Lowland Outlaws. Everyone else always keeps their eyes from wandering to other people’s business. And if you try and come in with another patch, Shep’s men are quick to approach and suggest you take it off.”
“Any idea why we aren’t being picked on? Why no one is trying to prove themselves by knocking off the guy who killed five of them less than a week ago? Who continue to ignore and treat as normal a dog eating at the dinner table?”
Baylee Ann’s lively energy extinguished and her shoulders sagged as her face became solemn. Then their food came, and she applied ketchup liberally over her fries. Kelton sliced a patty into pieces and fed them one at a time to his dog using his fork. Azrael bit gently to avoid rasping his teeth on the steel.
“Shep must have told everyone to chill out. Why would he do that?” she reasoned.
“He’s worried about something. I’d guess things aren’t going his way right now. But you know him, know this culture. I don’t.”
“Well, I guess we’ll know real soon,” she said, indicating with a toss of her chin that the man with the red round face was weaving through the tables toward them.
The lackey approached their table with a commanded stride and announced, “Shep will see you now.”
Baylee Ann began to rise, but Kelton held her in place with, “I’m still enjoying my fries.”
The man stuttered with eyes flashing wide. Through the tensing shoulders and bulging veins, physical violence was clearly his default response to disobedience or insolence. But with that option not available to him, he seemed at a loss. His eyes fell, and feet shuffled side to side, as he did some heavy thinking. Then he raised his arm with a pointed finger inches from Kelton’s face.
“I said now, AGhhh!”
Azrael had leaped from his seat over the table like a lightning bolt, exploding off of compressed haunches that could easily spring him over a six-foot fence. He took the arm deep into his mouth before clamping down with his crushing rear molars, fangs effortlessly penetrating the thin soft leather. The thug had put some force into his pointing gesture, an over commitment of balance for the sake of emphasis, that hadn’t considered the addition of a fast moving seventy-five pounds suddenly clamping on to his extremity. His rigid arm became a lever, and Azrael’s momentum easily spun him to the ground with red flowing streaks gushing from the dog’s muzzle down his sleeve.
“Get him off me! Get him off me!” he cried as Azrael splayed his feet and shook his head wildly without relenting in his jaw’s vicelike grip.
Kelton slowly stood as others came rushing up, but they stopped short not wanting to suffer the same fate and formed a semi-circle around the row of booths some eight feet away. Baylee Ann partially stood in her seat to get a good view, but stayed back from the action. The thug slapped at the dog with his free hand, but had no leverage flailing about on the floor to get his bodyweight into the blows. All he managed to do was knock over some chairs at adjacent tables. Azrael easily jerked side to side, never softening with his teeth and keeping up a lively growl. He’d been conditioned to that, dodging and taking soft whacks with a bamboo stick in training, while holding his grip on a bite sleeve.
“Aus,” said Kelton in a normal tone of voice.
Azrael released and ran to take a heel position at Kelton’s side. The dog’s black mask and face didn’t show much gore, but there was no mistaking the red splatter on the tan colored hairs of the side of his head and neck. He also panted in happy contentment, with eyes that begged to have another go.
The man gripped his savaged arm, blood oozing between the weathered fingers and soaking the torn fabric of his shirt.
“Motherfucker!” he cried, the voice much too high pitched in crying suffering to have any threatening credibility while writhing on the floor. Two of the Lowland Outlaws reached down to help him up. The other witnesses, three people deep as patrons, staff, and Shep’s henchmen mixed together, whispered to themselves.
“That’s enough of that crap. You people go back to what you were doing,” it was an edgy voice, with a hint of disappointment in it, that bellowed down from a balcony above the entrance. A tall figure there, leaning heavily on the half wall with his palms gazed down on the scene with disgust on his face. He caught Kelton’s eye.
“You two get up here. With the damn dog,” he clarified before turning his back and stepping into the mezzanine office. The shudders closed.
Baylee Ann jumped to her feet, while Kelton reached over toward his plate and crammed his fries into his mouth and raising a finger in a “wait a moment” gesture at a couple of other patch wearers that ventured a few steps closer. They looked at each other briefly with their best “this guy h
as got to be kidding” looks while Kelton washed his mouthful down and wiped his greasy fingers on a paper napkin. Then Kelton made a lead the way gesture with his hand, and followed them with Azrael and Baylee Ann right behind. He didn’t bother paying.
“Up the stairs,” one instructed while holding open the door marked “Private”.
The steps were narrow, so Kelton kept to the outside of the circle where they were the widest with his eyes scanning above. Baylee Ann huffed after below. The upstairs doorman rose as Azrael’s bloody face came into view heeling alongside Kelton and he made his single rap on Shep’s office door and stepped to the side pressed up against the wall. Kelton went straight in, not waiting for the man to nod. Shep stood by his desk chair.
“Bambi!” Baylee Ann rushed passed Kelton toward the small blond woman sitting on the bed in the corner. They grappled with each other, voices spewing simultaneous mutterings and whispers before Shep snapped at them in irritation.
“Shup up, Bitches,” turning back toward Kelton and his dog. “You can sit.”
“I’m not sure I want to,” said Kelton staying where he was with Azrael sitting at his side.
Shep’s desk was a mess of papers, cups, cell phones, a wadded up rag and a knife stabbed into the top.
The same couple of riders who led them from the dining room below came in the door and stood easy on either side of it. The doorman in the hallway reached in to grasp the knob and pull it shut with shuffling steps. The pair were younger guys, who’s stomachs hadn’t yet surrendered to years of beer, fatty foods and sitting. The taller one had stubbly cheeks that were red along the jaw line from periodic hacking away with cheap razors.
“You’re not the type of person who frequents my establishment. What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Shep.
“I’ve come for Bambi,” replied Kelton simply.
The girls looked up from where they were sitting on the bed, arms wrapped about each other.
“She’s not yours. She’s mine,” Shep stated with raised chin.
“She’s her own. Who can come and go as she pleases,” declared Kelton with a slight head shake.
“No, she has a debt to work off for the two men I lost,” he smiled. “Unless you pay it for her?”
“I’m not so inclined. And your men don’t want to fight me again.”
The cocking pistol made Kelton’s head jerk around. The thug held it, not three yards away. Kelton’s hand hovered over his pistol, but again he heard the old policeman’s words in his head about how you can’t outdraw an already drawn gun. Azrael omitted a soft growl and Shep held up his hand to his men.
“I don’t want to fight you. But if I do, you die here. Maybe a lot of us die here. And absolutely no one will come looking. Lowland County doesn’t have a whole lot of caring, and they aren’t going to spend it on us.”
“Then what do you recommend?” said Kelton, not taking his eye off the man with the revolver. He weighed his chances. It was a snubby, with a small site radius, and he held it one handed leaning into it off balanced. Clearly, he wasn’t a shooter. A leap to the side and he may very well miss, even at that close range. Even if he hit, it was a small caliber. Maybe a .32 Smith and Wesson. But what concerned him more was Baylee Ann and Bambi sitting behind him in the cone of fire.
“A man named Rebel Tarwick lost a package running away from Bucky in the woods. I picked him up, and rescued his sad self, but I care more about that package than I do about him. I’ll have my boys take you to where I picked him up. Find the package he stashed and bring it back to me, and I’ll let the girls go where they want to go.”
“What’s in it? How big is it?”
“It’s cash money. Drug money, belonging to no one legitimate. It’s a sealed plastic pouch, and weighs about five pounds. Tear the pouch, and the deal is off.”
Kelton looked over at where the girls huddled together. Bambi’s eyes shivered under her bangs, but Baylee Ann gave him a slight nod, and he turned back toward Shep.
“And how do I know you will keep up your end?” challenged Kelton.
“When you come back for the swap, I’ll let the girls go first,” Shep smiled and sat down.
“Okay then, deal. But I need a scent item of this Rebel guy for the dog.”
CHAPTER—26
Braxton Greene drove his truck, following a pair of Lowland Outlaws on their choppers up Thigpen Road, while Baylee Ann rode shotgun. In the bed of the truck sat Kelton Jager with his back against the cab and left arm tightly about his dog. Azrael sat beside him, turning his nose into the rushing wind to enjoy the smells and the visual sensation of rapidly moving scenery.
The ride gave Kelton a chance to suffer buyer’s remorse over the deal. A deal made him involved, and Shep Primrose was not someone he wished to be involved with. The easiest solution would be to just track to the bag of cash, scoop it up, and run away. Or just wander away. He’d been wanting to leave this town for a few days and had no need for a bundle of cash. His account held plenty for his immediate needs after four years of combat pay and no real way to have spent it during his tours. But when he saw Bambi’s trembling eyes under her gold bangs, and how small and vulnerable she looked embracing Baylee Ann, he couldn’t stand it.
The road had many gentle ups and downs over creeks and snaking turns about little hills since engineers of long ago had lacked the budget to force a straight line upon mother nature. Trees were thick on both sides, testifying to the rural remoteness. Kelton began to worry about how much light there was left in the day to perform the task at hand, but the truck began to slow and he looked over his shoulder so he could see up the road. The bikers had drifted over to the oncoming shoulder and were now going slow enough to use their feet on the ground to keep their balance. Braxton had slowed in kind to maintain his trailing position without venturing from his lane. Then they stopped all together.
One of the bikers dismounted and dropped his kickstand before walking over to the truck. He didn’t bother to stop at Braxton Greene’s window, coming straight around to the bed. They hadn’t been introduced, so Kelton thought of the guy with the stubble and razor burn as Rash.
“We picked up Rebel just up here. I’ll show you exactly where,” Rash yelled, hard to understand over the other bike’s roaring engine.
“Okay,” said Kelton with a thumb’s up gesture and used the pipe rack to climb over the side of the truck.
Azrael opted to leap, irritating Kelton who worried about him developing arthritis in his shoulders in future years. Then the other biker finally shut down, and things were quiet enough to talk without raised voices. This guy was a little shorter and stockier, so Kelton dubbed him Squat. Kelton took the time to turn toward Braxton while Azrael raised his leg on a nearby pine.
“Have a good set tonight. Thanks for the ride,” he wished him.
Braxton nodded back and after a quick sideways glance added in a whisper, “Don’t trust these guys.”
“Good luck, Kelton,” waved Baylee Ann, leaning forward to smile at him around Braxton. She still wore the same jeans, but the pink Browning shirt had been replaced with a black Harley tank top. They began to turn around. Moments later they were heading back south toward St. Albans. He watched them go, and saw Baylee Ann shifting more toward the middle of the front seat.
“Hey, Dog-Boy. We going to do this, or what?” chided Squat.
“Yeah, I’m coming. How do you know this is the spot?”
“He came out by that fallen tree over there,” he gestured at the dull weathered trunk choked in vines.
Kelton put Azrael on a tracking lead, essentially a super long leash to allow the dog the freedom to work ahead and side to side without control being lost, and then walked over to the tree while staying on the pavement. The roadside weeds and brush had clearly been recently disturbed, and Kelton even noted a small circle of dried blood on a piece of gravel.
“We’ll follow you,” said Rash. The kid with the razor burn kept his right hand in his jacket pocket, p
robably tight on the small revolver he’d brandished back in Shep’s office.
They made no attempt to hide their bikes, and left their helmets on the seats. Kelton reckoned they didn’t care about their brains so much, but rather being hassled by the State Police. Kelton noted they were leaving their heavy leather chaps on. He figured they weren’t expecting a very long trip into the woods, or were really concerned about briars and poison ivy.
Kelton kneeled by Azrael, and put on his doggles and mutt-muffs.
“Ain’t you making it harder for him to track?” asked Squat.
“It uses its nose to track, dumb ass,” said Rash.
Kelton interjected in a helpful explanatory tone, “Covering the eyes and ears to limit those senses helps the dog concentrate more on its nose.”
Kelton nodded his head for positive emphasis, trying to cover up that he expected gunfire in the near future.
“That’s cool. Let’s find the money,” said Squat while Rash pretended he’d known this technique all along.
Because people smell better too when they cover their eyes, right? Not the brightest bulb? Not the sharpest tool? Kelton thought it might be fun to google a list of ways to express stupid the next time things were slow.
Kelton took the wash rag from his hip pocket. A plastic bag would have been better, but it looked to be a pretty solid scent article. He turned, so that when he kneeled to let Azrael sniff the article, his left side was to the bikers. This allowed him to unfasten the retaining strap on his holster without being noticed.
“Such,” commanded Kelton, and Azrael’s nose went to ground, circling and darting back and forth a couple of times. It sounded like “Zook” and meant search. The dog trotted into the woods, the long tracking lead playing out before him. It was an easy trail, with time enough for the scent to evaporate and be readily detected, yet shaded in the woods against boiling off. Which meant Azrael moved out quickly. The line was only half played out from the coil in his hand when Kelton bolted forward to disappear into the brush.
K-9 Outlaw: A Kelton Jager Adventure Book 1 Page 22