Alone on Earth

by Susan Fanetti

  “Thanks, Lilli. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Lilli was looking through the windshield, squinting a little toward the side of the hotel. “Hold up.”

  She leaned over and opened the glove box. There was a handgun in there, and she pulled it out and checked the clip.

  Oh, God! Riley looked around, her head swiveling frantically, but she didn’t see anything. The only other vehicles in the lot were Omen’s bike and the Civic that the night manager—what was his name? Wallace—drove. Everything was dark and quiet.

  “Stay put. Lock the doors.”

  Adrenaline pumping through her blood now, Riley nodded and locked her door. Lilli turned a knob low on the dash and then quietly opened hers. The dome light didn’t go on. She got out and closed the door almost silently. Then she walked away from the car, toward the side of the building. The lot was gravel, but she still managed, as far as Riley could tell from inside the car, to be quiet.

  Riley was petrified. She leaned over and locked Lilli’s door, worried that would cause a problem if she needed to get back in a hurry. God! Was this what it was really like here?

  She sat there, nearly paralyzed with fear and confusion, for countless, infinite minutes. And then a figure was walking backwards around the building. A man. And then Lilli was coming around the building, too, her gun trained on the guy.

  He had a fucking camera.

  Riley wanted to go out there and kick that asshole in the shins, but she stayed put. She did not give bottom-feeders like that any scrap to live on if she could help it. But she was curious, and she tried to fill in the blanks based on what she could see.

  Lilli gestured with the gun, and the guy handed her his camera and his phone, then sat on the ground, his back against the building. He said something, and Lilli steadied her aim. He shut up.

  Lilli got her own phone out and made a call. Then she backed up to the car on Riley’s side and, never taking her eyes or her gun off the photographer, gestured for her to crank the window down. She did.

  “Hey, Riley. You can go in if you want. It’s clear. You got yourself a fan, but some of the guys are on their way over to take care of the situation.

  She didn’t want to go in. She wanted to see what would happen. In L.A., she was powerless against guys like this. Something told her that she had more recourse here in Signal Bend.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Isaac opened the office door. “Bart. Got a problem.”

  Jesus. Another one? “Yeah, boss?”

  “Guy with a camera at the B&B. Lilli flushed him out and has him at the end of her gun.”

  “Shit! Riley okay? Lilli?”

  “They’re fine. Lilli is in control of the situation. You miss something? Again?”

  “No, Isaac. No weird traffic at the B&B, or at the Millview Motor Inn. No suspicious bookings for air travel. It’s been clear, and I’ve got dummy info out. We’re as secure as we can be.” He’d ascertained that the tabloids and straight news orgs used certain travel services to book trips, and he’d been on them like Velcro. Nobody suspicious was coming into Springfield, St. Louis, or Kansas City. But there was only so wide a net he could cast.

  Isaac crossed his arms. “Guy with a camera. Something got missed.”

  Bart was tired and stressed out, and he was sick to shit of getting leaned on for fuckups he hadn’t made. Since the shit with Marissa Halyard, he was expected to read the fucking mind of everybody within fifty miles of the town border. “You really do think I’m some kind of wizard or some shit. I’m good. Very good. But there’s a limit to what I can know, boss. I have my hands on everything I can.”

  Isaac stared for a few seconds, and Bart stared back. Then Isaac nodded. “Okay. Come on. Let’s deal with this, and then you can get back to Ceej. I’m still gonna need somethin’ on that early tomorrow.”

  Bart sighed. Right. Because he was a machine.

  ~oOo~

  When Bart came out of the office, Isaac was orchestrating a clean-out of the Hall, sending the actors who were staying in Millview back with Vic and Badger in the club van, and having Omen take Pru, Doug Warness, Peter Gruen, and Pete’s assistant back in the B&B van. Doug was traveling without an assistant. Isaac, Bart, and Havoc followed on their bikes. Len and Show were going to wait at the clubhouse.

  They were bringing the photographer in.

  When they pulled up at the B&B, Lilli and Riley were sitting on the hood of Lilli’s classic ‘Cuda. Her headlights were still on, illuminating the figure of an average guy: brown hair, a little balding, wearing khakis, running shoes, and a windbreaker. He was sitting on the ground, against the building. Lilli had her gun on him; as far as Bart could tell, her attention had not wavered as they’d all pulled up.

  He dismounted and came immediately around the ‘Cuda to Riley. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Omen leading Pru straight into the building. Good.

  “You okay?” He put his hand on her neck and kissed her head, then she slid off the car and put her arms around his waist.

  “Yeah. Lilli saw him before he could get even one picture. I had no idea what was even going on until she already had him.”

  Isaac was talking to Lilli, and Havoc was dragging the guy up to his feet.

  “You should go on to your room, babe. We got this from here.”

  He leaned down to kiss her, but she held him off. “Wait. What are you gonna do with him?”

  “Don’t worry about it. We got it. Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.” Havoc had bound the guy’s hands behind his back and now he and Isaac were forcing him into the van. He had to get moving. He went to take her hand, but she pulled it away.

  “No. Wait a minute. Where are you taking him? Why are you taking him? What’s going on?”

  He shook his head. This was not her concern. Her concern ended when the guy hadn’t gotten a picture. And she was nowhere near close enough to him or anybody else in the club to be brought into their plans. “No, Riley. Just go on inside.”

  “No! Tell me what the fuck is going on! What—are you gonna kill him?”

  Isaac was talking to Lilli between the ‘Cuda and the van. They both turned at Riley’s raised voice, and Bart took her by the arm and pulled her to the porch.

  He stopped at the bottom of the steps and grabbed her other arm, too, staring down at her. “You need to shut up, and you need to chill. When I say we got it from here, that means it’s not your business anymore. All you need to know is that he won’t be bothering you. Now go upstairs and get in bed and stay put tonight. I will see you tomorrow if I can.”

  Her eyes were shimmery with tears, and he felt terrible. But he couldn’t talk to her about the club. She tried to pull away, but he held on. He wanted her to understand.

  “Bart, please. You’re scaring me. Don’t—don’t hurt him.”

  “I thought you hated guys like this.”

  “I do. I thought I wanted—but no. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

  He had to think of something he could tell her. The odds of them killing that asshole were very slim. Not zero, but close. Still, he knew better than to count it out entirely. They needed to talk to him, find out how he’d slipped past and whether there was more they were vulnerable to. But a guy like that would fold fast, and folding fast would likely keep him breathing. “Babe, relax. That’s not who we are. I can’t talk about the club with you. But I’ll tell you that we need to talk to him, and you’re not the only one who’s vulnerable. Okay? So we need to talk to him.”

  “You won’t hurt him?”

  Trying not to lie, Bart answered, “We only want to talk.”

  He could see her recognize the evasion in his answer. She narrowed her eyes and considered him. “Okay. Okay. Just—okay.”

  “Good girl.” He let go of her arms and circled her waist, bending down to kiss her. Her body was tense in his arms, but she kissed him back. “It’s gonna be okay, princess. I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you.”

  “What about you? Are you goi
ng to hurt me?”

  Surprised by the way her question hurt him, he took a beat and then smiled down at her. “Not me. I’m your Han Solo, remember?”

  ~oOo~

  They didn’t have to hurt him much. A few judicious applications of Len’s pliers, and he was chock full of information. What he had to say was both a relief and a problem. A relief, to Bart at least, because he was local. Not working for any of the media orgs Bart had been tracking, and so nothing he’d missed. His name was Grady Morris, and he was a ‘freelance,’ from Sullivan. The quotes around the word were needed, because he hadn’t actually earned anything as a photographer, even in a ‘freelance’ capacity. This would have been his break.

  The problem came when he told them that he was Wallace’s cousin. Wallace, the night manager at the B&B. Who was there with Riley and the other actors as they worked on Grady. He’d been there the whole time. For all they knew, he had illicit photos already.

  Bart didn’t think so, though. None of the actors was alone much, certainly not when Wallace was on duty, and Bart didn’t think he was stupid enough to try to get a shot himself while one of the Horde might catch him. So unless he was sneaking into their rooms while they slept, he probably hadn’t had a chance to do damage on his own. Which was probably why he’d leaked to his cousin. Grady had said about as much—they’d intended to split the proceeds after he’d sold the photo to the highest bidder. Wallace had suggested Grady wait at night to get a shot of Bart and Riley making out after they got off his bike.

  Isaac was on the phone, calling Omen, before Grady had spilled his whole story.

  “O, get out of your girl, get your piece, get downstairs, and put hands on Wallace. Show and Hav are on their way.” Now, Isaac nodded at Show, and he and Havoc turned and left the Room.

  “I’ll call Shannon again.” Show had his cell in his hands as he went through the double doors. Isaac nodded.

  When he ended his call, Isaac came back and stood in front of Grady.

  The guy was flushed and sweaty, his thin, dark hair plastered to his head. His shirt and his pants were open. One ear was turning emphatically purple, the ridges from the pliers still etched into his lobe. Len had started there. Grady hadn’t caved immediately, so Len had had to get a little…personal before they got his tongue loose.

  Now, his eyes jumping with fear, he watched Isaac move to stand in front of him. “What you gonna do to me? I told you everything. I did. I swear.”

  Isaac nodded. “I believe you. You know, Grady. You’re not a smart guy. Getting in people’s personal business is some stupid, slimy shit. I’m not sure you’ve paid what’s owed.”

  “I didn’t even get one goddamn picture!” His voice hit a high note and cracked.

  Isaac punched him, and his nose exploded in blood.

  “Don’t whine, man. Find your balls, or Len really will take ‘em.” He turned to Bart. “We need something over his head. Wallace, too.”

  Bart nodded. “On it.” He turned and headed to the office.

  ~oOo~

  Finding dirt on Grady took no time at all. There was so much edgeplay fetish porn on his home PC, Bart wanted to boil his eyeballs after taking the most cursory look. Asshole’s password was ‘12345678.’ Average people were such easy fucking marks. Bart figured they were so stupid they deserved to get their shit hacked. Grady was a deacon at the Baptist church in Sullivan. His actual job was an insurance agent. And he was married, with five kids. A hardcore BDSM jones should serve nicely to keep his trap shut. Bart printed out several of the grosser pictures—Jesus! Who gets off on pictures of caning wounds?—and prepped a little stack of evidence to share with Isaac.

  Wallace was a tougher nut. Bart had hacked him before he’d been hired on at the B&B, and he’d come up clean. He was the kind of guy who’d work a night shift job. He had an associate’s degree, and several years’ experience working at motels, as desk clerk or maintenance manager, but the economy hadn’t made much way for him. He had no wife or significant other, no kids. He was from Worden and had family, a mom and two sisters, but everybody was on the up and up, no secrets of value.

  This thing, conspiring with Grady to take and sell a compromising photo of Riley, was his only snag. There was nothing, no secret or scandal or embarrassment, that Bart could find to hang over him and keep him quiet. But he’d demonstrated that he couldn’t be trusted, so Isaac would demand leverage.

  What he had was a mother and two sisters, one of whom had a kid.

  Bart printed off some family photos Wallace had on his PC, and then sat for a while and got his head around the intel he had, and what it could mean. Then he left the office, a small sheaf of paper in his hand, and went back down to the Room.

  Wallace was bound to a chair right next to Grady, and neither of them looked like they were having a very good night. They were both gagged now, too. Wallace looked worse than Grady, in fact—his face was swelling into a lump. Havoc was standing closest to the door; Bart came up next to him and waited to catch Isaac’s eye.

  Havoc turned his head when Bart came up. “Moron tried to run. We had to chase him down on the goddamn road. After we got him pulled over, he came up with a gun. Little pearl-handled pussy gun. Show about fed it to him.”

  Well, that explained his face.

  Isaac walked over and put his hand on Bart’s shoulder. “Tell me somethin’ good, Bartholomew.” Show walked up and stood just behind him.

  “Grady’s locked down.” He handed Isaac the images he’d printed from Grady’s computer.

  “Jesus. This is sick shit.”

  “Yeah. He’s got a suit job, a family, and church. These’d ruin him.”

  “Good work, brother. Real good. What about Wallace?”

  “There’s nothing, Isaac. He’s whistle clean. There’s just this.”

  “Not good enough.”

  Bart sighed. “He’s got family. Women—a mom and two sisters. One of the sisters has a kid, three years old. A boy. They’re all in Worden. They all still live at home.”

  “Fuck.” Isaac was quiet for several seconds.

  Show still hadn’t said anything. Now he asked, “You sure there’s nothing else?

  “I looked as deep as I could in the time we have. I could look harder with more time, but there’s not even a bread crumb, so I won’t find anything. This is his first mistake. All we have as leverage is women and a kid.”

  “Goddammit. I just want a quiet fucking life.” Isaac closed his eyes. When he opened them, he took a breath and blew it out. “Okay. Let’s hope he’s smart, and knows when to take a threat seriously. Come on, Bart. Let’s show these boys some pictures.”

  Before they’d taken more than a couple of steps, Dom burst through the double doors. “Boss!”

  Isaac turned.

  “The Scorps are pulling in. Right now.”

  It was almost three o’clock in the morning. Isaac roared and punched Dom in the side of the head.

  Shooting the messenger. Show pulled him back, and Bart helped Dom to his feet. The kid was knocked silly, but conscious.

  Show had walked Isaac back and was talking him down. By the time Bart had Dom focusing well, Isaac was back. Dom eyed him warily but said nothing. What could he say? He was a Prospect.

  “Sorry, kid. Not your fault. Go on and head back to your room. You’re off the clock. Omen, get out there. Now.” Looking anxious, Omen nodded and trotted out. Dom walked himself unsteadily in his wake.

  Isaac turned to the rest of the Horde. “Badge, you get to the B&B. You’re on guard. Len, Hav, Vic, get these guys locked down, then Len and Hav, I want you out in the Hall with us. Vic—you keep it down back here. Show, let’s go. Bart, you too. We got company.”

  Sam was already in the Hall when Isaac, Show, and Bart came down the hallway. The rest of the Scorpions were filing in.

  Sam was older than Isaac, maybe mid-fifties. Entirely grey, with close-cropped hair and beard. In any other clubhouse, he’d be considered big—at or near six feet, wi
th a broad, barrel chest. For a Scorpion, and the mother charter President at that, he didn’t have much visible ink, and he probably could clean up into something pretty straight-laced, but he was very obviously someone to be reckoned with. Even standing next to Isaac and Show, who were so much bigger, Sam didn’t seem to be at a disadvantage. He carried himself like a man who had very little to fear.

  Bart had seen a few of the Scorpions, when they’d come through on important runs, or at charity events and rallies. But ten men came through the doors, and Bart only recognized four of them: Sam; Shiv, his SAA; Rick, Bart’s hacker friend; and Tug, the SAA of the Alabama charter. He knew Shiv and Tug were hard men, but they looked like teddy bears compared to some of the others. The Scorpions were hardcore, cold-blooded outlaws. These men wore menace like they wore their kuttes. Bart’s pulse picked up as adrenaline moved through his blood. He wondered which of these guys was Howler.

  He tried to think of their unexpected arrival at this hour as harmless, but he couldn’t. It had to be an attempt to catch the Horde—Isaac—off guard.

  And they had. Besides just being unprepared for guests, the Horde had two men detained for the very reason the Scorpions were concerned—publicity. Vulnerability. Exposure.

  Bart hung back a little and watched Isaac meet Sam in the middle of the Hall.

  “Sam.” Bart could hear the fierce anger in the rumble of Isaac’s voice.

  “Isaac. Brother.” Sam held out his arms, and he and Isaac hugged briskly. “Sorry to barge in on you like this. We were having a pit stop in Illinois, and we just decided to push on through. Figured you wouldn’t mind.” He and Show embraced, too. Nobody else moved forward in greeting. That in itself was disturbingly strange and a clear sign that this was not a social call. Trouble made the air virtually crackle.

  “‘Course not. You’re always welcome in our house.” Bart heard the way Isaac hit the word ‘our’. He could tell that Sam heard it, too. “Caught us flat-footed, though. Expectin’ you tomorrow afternoon, and we’d have had the rooms ready and the feed on.”