by Aden Lowe
Careful to not leave any traces of their passage, he led Vicki through the little jungle and out the other side, into the old service alley where deliveries came to the fancy houses. The overgrown alley sat unused now, except for foot traffic by kids slipping unseen through town. They came out at the back of the big Victorian on the other corner.
As they stayed to the shadows close to the side of the house, Kellen wondered if the same people still lived there. The old lady had been nice to him, when the rest of town pretty much looked the other way after his momma left. Lost in thought, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Vicki touched his arm.
She signaled for quiet, then pointed at the window above their heads. The reason she'd stopped quickly became apparent with the unmistakable thwack of a fist on skin, followed by a grunt of pain.
He didn't need to hear any more. He circled them back to the rear entrance, annoyed to find it locked up tight, along with the windows accessible from ground level. There was another way, one the old lady had showed him all those years ago, if it was still there.
He jogged around to the other side of the house, trying to stay silent. Vicki kept up, no problem. There it was, the steel plate doors jutting at a forty-five degree angle to end just above the ground. He dropped to his knees and felt carefully under the bottom clapboard to the right of the coal cellar doors. The key to the old Master lock tumbled into his palm from its little hollow behind the board.
His fingers fumbled as he opened the lock. Damn, the old hinges would screech to high heaven when he opened them, alerting the occupants of the house that someone was inside. No help for it though. He had to get in there, and doing it was going to make noise.
He took a deep breath lifted the right side door the bare minimum to allow Vicki and him to slip through. Surprisingly, the screech he expected was more a low crackling sound. Once Vicki was inside, he followed quickly and let the hatch close. From memory, he found the string to the bare bulb, praying it worked.
Murky yellow light flooded the area, revealing ancient coal dust on the floor, and the old cast-iron furnace to the left, the coal shovel still propped nearby. Half feeling his way and with Vicki's hand on his shoulder, he found the way around a few generations of debris and reached the staircase that led to the upper floors.
He'd never been that far before, so had no idea where the stairs opened onto the first floor. They could step through right into the middle of a whole room full of Russians. He went up the stairs first, testing each tread before putting his full weight on it.
At the top, he drew the .40 from his belt and chambered a round. Vicki followed suit, holding her handgun upward, ready to swing down on a target. With a silent count of three, he turned the doorknob. Nothing.
The door held fast against a light push, then a harder one. Finally, he put his shoulder to it and it gave a little. Shit. Disaster waited on the other side, he had no doubt. He gave the door another shove and slipped through before it opened entirely, with Vicki right on his heels.
They found themselves in the kitchen, and at first, Kellen thought the room was empty. A faint moan drew his attention, and he looked around until he found her. The old lady who'd been so kind to him as a kid lay on the floor, badly beaten.
The sound of a blow landing on flesh came from the next room, with the same grunt of pain they'd heard earlier from outside. Staying light, Kellen moved to peer through the door as a muffled cry came from somewhere in the same room.
In the dining room, an old man sat, zip-tied to a chair, while a beefy stranger stood before him. "Last time I ask, old man. What happened to the men who came with me? You talk, or my buddy there will stick it to that sweet little girl."
A muffled squeal came from somewhere beyond.
"Don't answer, old man, please. I'm going to enjoy this. Bet she's tight as a drum." Another male with an odd accent taunted the old man some more about what he intended to do to a girl.
Kellen had heard more than enough. He stepped through the room and leveled his gun at the first bastard's head. "I happened to your buddies, motherfucker."
Behind him, Vicki moved silently around the table and evidently found the second man. "On your feet, you cocksucker." A man rose with her gun barrel pressed to the back of his skull, pants down to reveal his erection. "The boys where you're going will enjoy that bare ass."
By the time Kellen had his man zip-tied and ready to go, Vicki had hers against the wall weeping in fear while she helped a girl, maybe fourteen, to stand, and cut away her restraints and gag.
The old man was nearly unconscious and in bad shape, and the girl had been roughed up too. "I'm calling Dix to send someone over here to take care of them." Pinning his prisoner against the wall and searching him, he made the call and filled Dix in. "He's sending a couple of the girls and one of the Raiders over."
Vicki nodded and explained to the girl, soothing her as much as possible as she did. "Can we just cut their throats? They need it."
Kellen weighed the option carefully. "No, we might need them for leverage. Can't trade dead men for information."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They dropped the captives off without incident, and Kellen led Vicki back out to hunt. Before long, they came across another invader, but this one sat in a blocked up car behind a dilapidated house. Hiding?
Kellen moved up silently to the drivers side and reached through the broken window to grab the man by the throat and drag him out of the car. The man's shriek cut off quickly when Vicki brought her gun butt down hard right behind his ear, knocking him out. By the time he started to stir again, they had him tied and searched thoroughly.
When they reached the courthouse to drop him off, Kellen deliberately spoke to the guard, loud enough for the prisoners to hear him clearly. "Found this bastard hiding out in a junk car." He laughed. "Can you believe that? Send a bunch of enforcers to take over a town and they hide." He shoved the coward into a small cell with three of his compatriots. "Good luck there, buddy." The first blow landed before he turned away.
Before they made it back to the street, his phone vibrated with a text. Checking the message, he cursed. "We have to go back to the Rattlesnake. That was Dix. I have to settle an issue between one of the Nasty Boyz and a citizen."
"I could use some water anyway, so it's okay."
Kellen headed back via the most direct route, cutting through yards and mostly avoiding the streets. In Stags Leap, property lines and fences meant little, especially to someone like him. They reached the Rattlesnake in record time and he headed inside to face whatever problem had come up.
Vicki went to the bar while Kellen made a beeline for where Dix had a highly annoyed Nasty Boy facing off against a local ready to spit nails.
"Kellen, glad you made it."
He nodded to Dix. "What's going on?"
"Mr. Jordan here doesn't like the visiting clubs prowling through town. He found Motorhead passing through his backyard." Dix looked pained, as if he'd like to slap some sense into Mr. Jordan.
Kellen felt the same way. He ignored Motorhead for the moment. "Mr. Jordan, you know what's happening in Stags Leap?"
"I know some criminal biker gangs are sneaking around chasing figments of your damn imagination." The tall skinny man spat on the floor, narrowly missing Kellen's boot.
"Well, two of those figments of my imagination nearly beat the Bigelow's to death and were getting ready to rape a little girl there. Lucky I came along when I did, slipping through the hedges and alleys." Kellen bit back more details of what they'd caught the Russians doing. "How do you propose we protect Stags Leap from the fucking Russian mob when they've decided we're prime territory or some shit?"
The man paled a little, but stood his ground. "We should bring in the police. The Sheriff can deal with them."
Kellen shook his head. "Do you not understand these are brutal enforcers for the mob? Or that one of them was ready to rape a fourteen year-old girl? You think they're going to follow the rules and come alo
ng peacefully when Sheriff Butcher tells them to? Seriously?"
Jordan looked at the floor a moment then back to Kellen. "Maybe not, but we certainly can't have gangs of criminals chasing other criminals right through our yards. And those mob guys wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for you and your own band of merry men." He spat again.
Rage shot through Kellen with surprising force and he barely held back the fist that wanted a go at the man's face. He sighed. "Look, buddy, you spit on my boots, I'm going to kick your ass into next week. And my activities have nothing to do with this invasion." So he stretched the truth a little. What the locals didn't know wouldn't hurt them in this case, but it could sure as fuck hurt the Raiders. "They were searching for new territory. They move into a place, scare the hell out of the locals, and take over. We're just making damn sure they don't take over here."
"I don't buy it, and I want all these gangs out of town. This thief was going to steal something from my garage." He pointed to Motorhead.
Kellen looked to Motorhead. "Tell me what happened."
The big biker twisted his head so his neck popped audibly, putting his Fuck You tat on full display. "I spotted a Russian going in the back of a garage, and followed him in. Not sure where he went in there, since I didn't find him before this jerk came in yelling about calling the cops."
"Wait." Kellen couldn't keep his anger out of his tone. "You left a Russian in the garage?" He turned to Jordan. "Did you know that? And is your family home?"
"My wife…" His voice trailed off and his face blanched as the implications hit him. "Oh God."
"Come on." Kellen tapped Motorhead's arm and headed for the door at a run. From the footsteps behind him, he assumed both Motorhead and Jordan were hot on his heels. He remembered Jordan's house and his pretty wife. The backyard route presented the fastest way to reach the modest two-story just above the old ferry ramp. He darted along a privacy fence and across a gate, along the sidewalk for a moment, then crossed the street and rushed to another backyard.
Finally, they reached Jordan's house, and all three were breathing hard. Kellen signaled for quiet. "You go in the front, as if you suspect nothing is wrong. I'll be right behind you. Motorhead, you take the back door. We'll clear room by room."
Moving fast, Motorhead rounded the side of the house for the back. Kellen gave him a slow five-count, then nodded to Jordan. Up the steps onto the porch, Kellen cursed. The whole damn place was an ambush waiting to happen, with shrubs growing close under the windows, and an aluminum awning covering the porch, and a decorative brick wall providing privacy from the street. But the porch was clear of threat, except for the flowery cushions on the wicker furniture that could have blinded him.
Jordan opened the front door, no need for keys, and headed straight in. "Lenore? Where are you?"
Kellen came in directly behind him, letting the words cover his movement. Silence greeted them. Gun chambered and ready, he made a quick check of the room then nodded for Jordan to go ahead. He paused to turn the TV on, taking the chance the noise would conceal some vital sound from him. It would also keep anyone else from hearing clearly. Worth the risk.
Jordan poked his head into a small bedroom off the living room to the left and said his wife's name again. This time panic threaded his voice as all the possibilities likely presented themselves.
Kellen entered and cleared the room quickly and directed Jordan to go ahead. In the kitchen, the man made a strangled sound and darted forward.
His wife sat on the floor, her back against the cabinets, with a glazed look on her face. Nude from the waist down, she didn't even look up when Jordan knelt at her side. In her hand, a butcher knife dripped blood.
Motorhead came in from another room beside the kitchen. "All clear here. But there's something on the back porch you should see, Kellen."
"Can it wait a minute?"
"Yeah, it ain't going nowhere."
Kellen bent and gently took the knife from the woman's hand. His touch seemed to wake her, and she stared up at him with wide eyes. "Mrs. Jordan? Are you okay?"
She looked at her husband with those same wide, startled eyes. "I'm okay. Where is that man? I cut him. He was going to…" She trailed off into sobs.
"Get her covered up and get her something to drink. Whiskey if you have it. She's in shock. And get her out of this room." Kellen stood and shook his head. "Now what do you think of the criminals prowling around?" Without waiting for a reply, he went out the back door.
On the porch, a young guy, maybe twenty-two or –three, sprawled face down in a spreading pool of blood. Kellen rolled him over, puzzled for an instant by an odd sucking noise. Intestines spilling from the gaping hole in the man's belly explained it.
"Damn, she did good." Motorhead stood at his side, looking down at the corpse. "Wouldn't think a little girl like her could do that much damage, would you?"
"No, sure wouldn't. Good thing she did, though. Dude's an idiot." Kellen turned away from the body. "You okay to go on?"
"Yeah, no sweat. Just wish that asshole hadn't interrupted. I'd have liked to talk to this dude first. Saved the lady some trouble."
Kellen nodded. "Yeah for sure. Okay, let's get back to it." He took long enough to text Dix and let him know what had happened and where the body was. Looked like they'd get to make use of Old Man Sadler's morgue after all. He headed off in the opposite direction from Motorhead.
Wonder how many other people felt like Jordan? He hadn't considered that angle when he called Ramon and Nasty Mike for help. The townspeople had always silently supported the Hell Raiders and he'd had no reason to suspect resentment. Definitely something to consider.
Word must have spread about the threat from the Russians. He passed through a backyard full of play equipment, and a pair of sad-faced kids looking out the window of the house. Apparently at least one parent considered safety and kept their kids inside.
He came out not far from the little art gallery he and Vicki had visited the day before and decided to check in there. The guy had seemed forthcoming and some news from the citizens' side of things might prove helpful.
Inside, the owner grinned at him and patted the carved stock of his shotgun. "Ain't had a bit of trouble, much to Pap's disappointment. Did see one of them guys pass by a couple hours ago, though. Seemed in a hurry."
Kellen spent a few minutes talking to the man, then took his leave and headed for the Speedy Shop. The old men gathered there, same as always, but they all wore conspicuous firearms.
He got a coffee and took a seat at the Liars Table. "How's it going, boys?"
The old men greeted him as a peer and straight-away filled him in on everything they knew. They seemed to think the majority of the citizens were fine with the clubs helping rid them of the invaders. No one wanted anything to do with that, and figured it best left to those equipped to handle it, legally or not.
"Good to know. I was getting worried for a minute. Jordan didn't seem to appreciate the boys crossing through his yard all that much."
"Jordan's a fucking stuck up prick. Ignore the bastard."
Kellen laughed and talked for a few more minutes, then left. Time to check in with Dix again, and steal a few minutes with Vicki. Entering the Rattlesnake, he spotted Dix back at his table, but Vicki was nowhere in sight. Must have gone to the ladies room.
He dropped to sit across from Dix. "How many we got so far?"
"Twenty-eight plus one dead. They're getting scarce now. I think we have most of them."
Kellen's phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen, tempted to ignore the call in favor to Vicki's lips. Elena Rojas' number. He answered the call. "Hey, Elena."
"I only have a minute, but I wanted to tell you, I traced that symbol back to one of the biggest arms dealers to come out of the old Soviet regime. Rudolfo Mihalovich came out of the fall of the USSR a very rich and powerful man. He uses that symbol to warn others off, and to make clear who was responsible when he orders a hit or something."
Elena's
voice gave way to the buzzing in Kellen's ears and the pounding of his pulse. Mihalovich. Vicki's last name. "Where's Vicki?" He slapped the table when the answer didn't come fast enough. "Where is she?"
"She isn't with you?"
"No."
"I haven't seen her in a while." Dix called to Georgie, and when she came out from the kitchen asked her.
"She left a couple hours ago, said she just remembered something." Georgie sat. "Something wrong?"
"I hope to fuck not." He suddenly remembered Elena, still on the line. "Hey, do you know where this guy is located?"
"He's based in Pittsburgh, always has been, but he's rumored to have nationwide reach. Kellen, if you go against this man, you be careful. He's bad." Elena promised to call back later and hung up.
Kellen scrubbed a shaking hand over his face, struggling to clear his thoughts. Of course! He could call her. Except it went straight to voice mail each of the ten times he tried.
Shaking even harder, he cleared his throat. "I have to go to Pittsburgh. The man behind all this is Vicki's cousin, and she's not answering her phone. One of his men has grabbed her." A dozen horrible scenarios ran through his mind. He darted for the men's room and puked endlessly until dry heaves hit.
Dix came in behind him. "I'll go with you."
Kellen shook his head and spat one last time. "No. I have to do it alone. If more than one goes, he'll see us coming and be ready with a trap." He washed his face and rinsed his mouth.
Back at Dix's table, he spent fifteen minutes memorizing the most direct route to the address Elena texted him, and speaking to Trip. Finally, armed with plenty of weapons, cash, and what knowledge he could scrounge up, he rolled out of Stags Leap.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three minutes out of Stags Leap, Kellen made a U-turn and headed back. As much as everything in him shouted to get to Pittsburgh, he needed information. He needed to know Rudolfo Mihalovich's weakness. Every motherfucker had one. So he kicked it down and went straight for the old courthouse.
At the back door, he met Motorhead and another of the Nasty Boyz bringing in a prisoner. "Hey, you boys want to have some fun and help me out too?"