Gone Bad

by J. B. Turner

  The guy to his left smiled. “You all set?”

  Cain nodded.

  The barman handed the scar-faced guy a Heineken.

  “Hey, Pete,” Cain greeted him.

  “I’m in charge of getting you safely to your destination,” Pete replied.

  Cain looked at the barman. “And what about this guy? Is he with you guys?”

  Without a word, the newcomer took out a handgun and shot the barman at point-blank range through the head. The sound echoed round the wooden bar, blood exploded, and the man’s body slumped to the floor.

  Cain’s ears were ringing. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  Pete holstered his gun and hugged Cain tight. “Good to see you again, Hunter. How the fuck are you?”

  “Same old, same old.”

  The guy on the left got off his stool and hugged Cain. “I’m gonna do whatever it takes, Hunter. You know me.”

  “Neil, nice to see you, bro.”

  Cain grinned. It felt good to see two of his crew again, both released six months earlier. “We got work to do. But first, you need to dispose of that guy’s body.”

  Neil hopped over the counter and opened the hatch on the floor. Dragging the body feet-first, he dropped it down into the cellar and slammed the hatch shut. “All done.”

  Cain looked at Pete. “Who was the kid behind the bar?”

  “Friend of the Outlaws. Worthless piece of shit. Skag-head. Better off dead.”

  Cain said, “So we all set?”

  Pete nodded. “We got a fresh set of wheels waiting outside.”

  They drove for over an hour south down I-95 and stopped off at a gas station. They switched to a waiting SUV. Cain got in the passenger seat as the other two got in the rear.

  The driver gave him a firm handshake. “Let’s get going.”

  Cain nodded as they drove inland into the heart of Florida. Past little towns, villages and into open space. Farmland. Down some dirt tracks.

  At last they pulled up at a rural farmhouse.

  The driver said, “He’s waiting.”

  Cain turned to face Pete and Neil. His two comrades. “I’ll see you soon. We’re gonna kick some ass, right?”

  Both nodded, stone-faced.

  Cain pushed open the door and headed inside, alone. Standing at the far end of the hall was a huge man wearing a camouflage jumpsuit, hunting rifle in one hand. He stepped forward and hugged him tight.

  “Good to have you here, Hunter.”

  “Let’s get started.”

  “Follow me.”

  Cain followed the man down into a basement cellar. There was a huge plan on the wall.

  “This is the layout of the building where they’re meeting,” he said. “Specifications, dimensions, access routes, stairwells, everything. Copy of the original plans. No modifications since it was built.”

  Cain stepped forward and stared at the plans. “Who knows about this?”

  “A handful of people. Good people. Us.”

  “Pete and Neil?”

  “Where they’re going, they’ll have access to this plan too. Five copies made.”

  Cain had never met the man. He had only heard of him in militia circles. His accent sounded Appalachian. He’d served with a few in Delta. Tough diehards.

  “You’re probably wondering why we picked you, right?”

  “It had crossed my mind.”

  “We needed someone who was top-grade military. We needed someone with our mindset. A freeman. But someone who wasn’t averse to doing what it took to reclaim our country.”

  Cain looked at the map for a few moments. “What else?”

  “We picked your friends because we’d been observing how tight you lot were inside Leavenworth.”

  “You got people inside?”

  “We have eyes and ears everywhere.”

  “But why particularly me?”

  “A good few of the Aryan Brotherhood were excellent candidates. We wanted someone who was as tough as those fucks, but stood apart.”

  “Well, by now they’ll know I’m out. And I’ll be on their wanted list.”

  “Let us deal with that.”

  The guy bent over and opened up a floor hatch. Cain peered down and saw a ladder into a well-lit tunnel. “Go on.”

  Cain climbed down and the man followed after.

  The man was panting heavily as they entered a brightly-lit air-conditioned tunnel. “Follow me.”

  Cain did as he was told. “What the fuck is this?”

  “You’ll see.”

  They walked for nearly a mile till they got to a huge, floodlit firing range.

  “State of the art. Hidden from view. Soundproofed. Emergency exits in four places, in case the house is raided.”

  Cain smiled. He realized the mission was in good hands.

  SEVEN

  It was late when the small plane carrying Reznick, Meyerstein and a dozen Feds touched in Pensacola. He wondered how things would unfold. He always liked to think ahead. They were driven to the FBI field office and briefed by local members of the joint terrorism task force, specializing in organized crime and penitentiary gangs.

  Reznick pulled up a seat and listened intently. He realized that anything with Cain involved would be serious stuff. Heavy-duty. A huge color photo of Cain was projected on to a wall as they sat around an oval table, drinking coffee and eating pizza slices.

  “We believe,” began Special Agent Cortez of Pensacola FBI field office, “that Cain moved south. NSA have been called in and have pinpointed GPS locations with voice analysis from a cellphone microphone. In particular, to the wife of a militia member in Louisiana, Edwin Mackenzie. He was previously a member of a neo-Nazi biker gang, Kavallerie Brigade. He hasn’t been seen for a couple of days, around the same time Cain went missing. We believe Mackenzie was instrumental in getting him from Kansas down south and handed over, almost certainly to another militia.”

  Reznick said, “Anything else on this Mackenzie?”

  “Periphery of the Aryan Brotherhood around twenty years ago in Leavenworth. Killed two prison guards with a homemade shank. He escaped alongside Cain. But a subsequent search of his cell revealed notes written in invisible ink. Code numbers that we believe were the time and date of the escape.”

  Reznick rubbed his eyes. “Great.”

  Cortez said, “We believe now that Mackenzie was the bridge between Kansas and Florida, where Cain knows a lot of people. Pensacola in particular.”

  “He won’t be heading to Pensacola,” interjected Reznick.

  Cortez looked around the table at the rest of the FBI agents as Meyerstein scribbled notes. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve been introduced. You are?”

  Meyerstein interrupted. “His name is Jon Reznick. He works on special projects for me. Got a problem with that, Special Agent Cortez?”

  “Absolutely not, ma’am – just looking for clarification.”

  “Well, you’ve got it.” Meyerstein looked across at Reznick. “So, Jon, would you like to clarify why you think he won’t be heading to Pensacola?”

  Reznick sighed. “Here’s the thing. He might know people round here, but he isn’t stupid. He’s very intelligent. I know this guy. If he’s in Florida, he won’t be hanging around Pensacola.”

  Cortez said, “Are you saying we just shouldn’t bother about intel we have on him and his militia buddies?”

  “Not at all. What I’m saying is, you won’t find Hunter Cain here. He’ll be on the move. Hidden from sight by now. But not here.”

  “Mr Reznick …”

  “Listen, Cortez, I’m sure you’re very good at your job putting a solid investigative case together. But you need to get down to a different level if you’re dealing with these guys.”

  Cortez looked at Meyerstein before staring across at Reznick. “Are you saying we break the law?”

  “I say the speed you guys work on investigations is irrelevant to fin
ding Hunter Cain. He’s been sprung from a high-security penitentiary. And most of us in this room think something’s afoot. A terrorist act, maybe – who knows? And lives will be lost.”

  “Reznick, we need to do things in a legal, cogent manner. We need to cover all bases.”

  “And, meanwhile, he’s out there getting further away.”

  Meyerstein cleared her throat. “What are you suggesting, Jon?”

  “I’m suggesting we need to work this investigation from a different angle. Find out where his acquaintances hang out, and go in for a little chat.”

  Cortez grinned and shook his head. “Just like that.”

  Reznick took a few moments to compose himself. He wanted to go across and smash Cortez in the jaw. “Would you feel uncomfortable doing that?”

  Meyerstein lifted her hand to silence the exchange. “Oh, that’s enough. Special Agent Cortez, it’s a fair point Jon raises.”

  “Is it, ma’am?”

  Meyerstein slammed her hand hard down on the table. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

  Cortez flushed crimson. “Ma’am?”

  “Don’t ever try and play the smartass with me. If you’re asked a question, don’t be so goddamn defensive and precious. Now, let’s try again and get an answer. Where do the acquaintances of Hunter Cain hang out? Who’s the top one? And I’m looking for one with connections to the Kavallerie Brigade, and any militia activity.”

  Cortez nodded. He switched on a laptop. They watched a collection of photos appear on the screen. Bikers knocking back drinks, playing pool, and even one having sex with a girl on the pool table. “There’s a clubhouse, owned by the Outlaws biker gang, just outside Pensacola. Cain knows quite a few of the guys in there. Bought and sold guns with them. And drugs. Felony violations go on all the time. Was shut down. Burned down at one time. But rebuilt within days and opened up with a new owner on the license.”

  Reznick stared long and hard at the pictures. “Nice crowd.”

  Cortez said, “If we’re going to go in there we need to prepare, and have extensive back-up. It’ll take days to get things in place. We can’t just go in hard.”

  “Why not?” Reznick asked.

  “Why not? Because I know from experience that any criminal activity has to be monitored, and then arrests made. Unless we know Cain is on the premises, we’re on thin ice if we want prosecutions.”

  Reznick said, “Who said anything about prosecutions?”

  Cortez shrugged. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow.”

  Reznick said, “Do you have reasonable belief that there’s drug dealing going on there?”

  “Yeah, I believe that’s the case. But that’s a world away from going in there and making arrests, and getting some speed- or methamphetamine-heads.”

  “Who said anything about making arrests?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Reznick, I really don’t follow.”

  Reznick looked around the table and fixed his gaze on Meyerstein. “You know as well as I do, time is against us. We also don’t know shit where Cain’s gone. But we sure as hell won’t find him by twiddling our thumbs. I say we go to that bar and ask around.”

  Cortez shook his head and bit his lower lip as if trying to stifle a laugh. “Mr Reznick, and what do you think they’ll say?”

  “It depends how you ask the question. We need to go in there, get control, and exert some pressure on them.”

  Cortez stared at him long and hard. “With all due respect, I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

  “Special Agent Cortez, with all due respect, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think. And I don’t care for your rules, regulations and all your other bullshit you claim you need.”

  “We operate under the law, Reznick.”

  “You must be very naïve or very dumb, Cortez. Sometimes, just sometimes, you need to play dirty. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Cortez said nothing.

  Meyerstein cleared her throat. “Jon, that’s quite enough. It’s true our leads are all tied to who he knew in and around Pensacola. But barging in like Special Agent Cortez says without thinking of the downside would be pointless.”

  “Here’s the thing,” Reznick continued. “You have nothing just now, right?”

  Meyerstein nodded.

  “Now, I know Hunter, and he’s not stupid. He won’t be at one of his old haunts, or a friend’s house. I’ll guarantee that. But what you can do is get inside his head. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll make a mistake.”

  Cortez shrugged. “And how exactly are we going to get inside his head?”

  “You’ll see.” Reznick stared at Meyerstein. “We have nothing to lose. There’s no downside.”

  “You want to go into that clubhouse, don’t you? And then what?”

  Reznick shrugged. “Ask a few questions, that’s all.”

  It was dark when the three SUVs headed down an unlit road. Palm trees fringed the sand dunes. Reznick sat up front; three plainclothes Feds took the back. Four each in the other two vehicles. But Meyerstein opted to stay back at base and watch things unfold in real time on the pinhole cameras attached to tee shirts, lapels and jackets.

  Reznick felt wired. He saw the lights of the clubhouse come into view. Rock music getting louder in the steambath air. He turned to the guys in the back seat. “Okay, you guys, you’re coming in with me. As agreed, we keep the other two cars outside for back-up.”

  The Feds nodded, faces impassive.

  “I walk in first, okay? You give me ten seconds. And then you come in.”

  More nods.

  Reznick opened the door. The sound of a deep bass and guitar riffs filled the sticky air. Laughing. Shouting. He got out of the car and strode up to the door. Stared through the tiny hatch. Around a dozen boozed-up bikers, a few girls danced for them, guzzling Jack Daniel’s whiskey and beer.

  He pushed open the door and walked towards the clear leader, a sneering fuck, legs wide, a girl grinding before him.

  A long-hair pulled up a pool cue in front of him and Reznick grabbed it off him. He smashed the guy hard in the jaw, blood pouring down his split temple.

  A few bikers approached him.

  Reznick knocked the first out cold. He rabbit-punched the second and kicked the third in the balls. They dropped to the floor, writhing.

  He pushed his way past the girl.

  The biker with his legs astride stared at him, eyes cold.

  Reznick took out his 9mm and shoved it in the biker’s gaping mouth. “Okay, I got a few questions.”

  The guy’s eyes were wide with terror.

  Reznick heard the door burst open and the Feds stormed in. Shotguns and handguns.

  “Everyone on the floor!” one Fed shouted.

  A biker a couple of feet away began to laugh. “Fuck you!”

  Reznick pulled the 9mm from the biker’s mouth and shot the other biker in the stomach. The noise exploded round the bar. The shot biker shrieked in pain as blood poured from his belly. “I said everyone on the fucking floor!”

  Everyone complied as the guy on the floor began to cry.

  Reznick pushed the gun back into the biker’s mouth.

  The man’s eyes were crazed.

  “Okay, you can see how this thing works. Now, simple question. I’m looking for someone who knows Hunter Cain.”

  The man shook his head.

  Reznick pressed the gun to the back of the biker’s mouth. “If you don’t give me the correct answer, you’re gonna die. So I’m gonna count back from three, got it? Here goes. Three … two …”

  “Wait!” the guy spluttered. “Wait the fuck!”

  Reznick took the gun from his mouth and pressed it to his forehead. “Yeah?”

  “Man, the thing is, I know Hunter, but I don’t wanna …”

  A woman’s voice piped up from the throng. “I know Hunter Cain.”

  Reznick spun around and saw a scanti
ly clad young woman face down on the floor. He kept the gun trained on the biker. “How?”

  “I’m his girlfriend. I see him once a month.”

  Reznick pointed at her. “Get yourself outside, go to the last car and wait for me.”

  The girl got to her feet and headed outside.

  Reznick pressed the gun tight against the biker’s head. He watched as pee began to dribble onto the floor through the guy’s jeans. “Think you need to change your pants, son.”

  He turned and walked out as the Feds with shotguns and handguns covered him.

  Reznick walked over to the last vehicle and saw that the biker chick was sitting in the back. He climbed in beside her. He waited till the Feds had left the bar, got back in their SUV and pulled away. They followed behind, leaving a trail of dust in their wake as they about-turned down the beach road and back to Pensacola.

  The girl said, “Who the hell are you? You’re not a Fed, are you?”

  Reznick said, “They are. I’m working alongside them on this case. We’re looking for Hunter Cain. How long’ve you been his girlfriend?”

  “Since forever.”

  “I heard he was married.”

  “Still is. I’m his … girlfriend.”

  “I see.”

  Reznick handed her Meyerstein’s card. She looked at it long and hard.

  “Okay, so this is an FBI business card, right?” she said.

  “We need to speak to Hunter urgently.”

  The girl began to sob. “Fuck!”

  “Tell me, you got any kids?”

  “Three. Two from my ex-husband, who was a dog, let me tell you.”

  “And the third?”

  “That’s Hunter’s.”

  “We don’t have a record of that.”

  “He took my name. Hunter isn’t on any certificate or whatever.”

  “What’s your name?”

  The girl pushed some hair away from her eyes, tears streaking her face with mascara. “Kathleen. Kathleen Burke.”

  “Kathleen, I’m glad you were smart enough to speak up. But it’s really important Hunter contacts us. Now you seem like a nice enough girl. But, to be honest, you really don’t wanna hang around with that crowd back there. You got a record?”

  “A few for drugs. One coming up soon.”