by Nikki Wild
“Other disappearances?”
“Yessir. There have been over a dozen kidnappings in the greater El Paso area in the last two weeks. If we find the cartel taking these girls, I think they can lead us to the cheerleaders.”
It was a long shot… but I needed his backup on this one. Maybe he could pull resources I couldn’t access, and get us some backup…
“I can smell the stink on that bullshit from over here, Detective,” he glowered down the phone. “If that was really the case, then it would be all over the fucking news and on every damn officer’s desk from LA to goddamned Houston. Forget three cheerleaders – it would be pandemonium! But do you know what I see on my fucking desk right now? ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING!”
“They’re… undocumented, sir.”
“You’re fucking shitting me.”
“No, sir. The cartel we’re tracking is targeting the children of illegal immigrants to the United States. They’re taking them right out of their homes in broad daylight, if the information I have is solid–”
“So, let me get this straight: I send you down to Tucson to follow up on a nationally-known high-publicity case. I ask you to prove your mettle as a fresh detective… I make it very clear what was on the line…”
The pit in my stomach deepened.
“…And you immediately bullshit off four hours away to El Paso, chasing after some wayward kids that aren’t even in the fucking system? Do you have any goddamned proof at all?”
My spirits crumbled into dust.
He wasn’t going to help me.
“Your silence is goddamned deafening, Detective,” Lieutenant Crabbe sneered the title as usual… only with a little more obvious disgust this time. “The case I gave you – your assignment – is four hours away from whatever fuckery you’re chasing at the moment. That’s one hell of a goddamn stretch.”
“But it lines up,” I tried to reason. “If they were heading this way… El Paso is directly on the border. They could have seen an opportunity and come back to reap the locals.”
“I don’t know if they teach you basic fucking geography in the Academy, but you’re out of your jurisdiction and out of your goddamned mind,” he growled. “Your little biker boyfriend has hocked you some goddamn bullshit, and you will not tie up resources in my precinct over fucking hearsay from a goddamn criminal, DO YOU HEAR ME?”
“Yes sir,” I hesitantly replied.
“That’s the first fucking thing you’ve said since picking up the goddamn phone that has been what I’ve wanted to hear,” the Lieutenant scowled. “I’m giving you tonight to get your damn head screwed on straight, and you should fucking thank me for it. Your orders are as follows: get back in your car tomorrow morning and drag your sorry ass back to Tucson. Hit the street. Get results. Abandon this little bullshit crusade of yours or you’ll be riding home in the back seat of a squad car. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
I gritted my teeth, sitting on the cusp of giving the lieutenant a piece of my fucking mind. This could be solid! He wasn’t even giving me the time to fucking follow up on the lead that was sitting right in front of me!
“Yes sir,” I answered.
Without a speck of acknowledgement, the line disconnected on the spot.
For the next few moments, I furiously beat my steering wheel with my fists; after a couple of more minutes to simmer in anger, I twisted the keys in the ignition and followed up towards the bar.
I glanced at the clock as I pulled up to the covert headquarters of the Devil’s Dragons MC. It was already half past midnight. Sitting alone in the car, I muttered, “Do we even have a chance tonight?”
With no answer coming from my empty cruiser, I released a heavy sigh and let myself out. My boots crunched against the gravel, bringing me towards the front door – and whatever other surprises lay in wait for the night.
The big one was when I let myself in.
I’d fully expected either a deserted bar, or a crowd of drunken, belligerent bikers. After all, the last time I’d see them they were given a free round on the house, with plenty of alcohol already flowing.
This was no longer the case.
The women who had been clinging to the bikers were nowhere in sight. There wasn’t a drop of alcohol to be seen that wasn’t in a bottle behind the counter.
I spotted eight, maybe nine bikers suiting up. Slapping on bulky bulletproof vests and checking a wide assortment of guns, the Devil’s Dragons MC was clearly ready for war.
Jesus. These guys are impressive, I thought to myself as I briefly studied them. Besides a couple of quick glances up, they were committed to the task.
“If they weren’t expecting you, you’d be staring at the wrong end of a barrel,” I heard Hunter’s voice amble from across the room.
He stepped out from a corridor and strolled my way, firmly clasping a few bikers on the shoulders. All heads glanced up at him in acknowledgement as he passed, offering curt nods or brief smiles.
I could clearly see a bulletproof vest over his tee, just like his men. This spontaneous midnight strike in the desert clearly came with some high stakes, and an expectation of definitive danger.
“What took you so long?” Hunter asked as he stopped in front of me, tilting his head.
“I couldn’t stop ignoring the Lieutenant’s calls,” I shrugged noncommittally. “When he wouldn’t let up, I had to pull over and update him on a few things. Such as explaining why I’m four hours from my specific assignment…”
“And?” Hunter asked, crossing his arms.
“Safe to say that I don’t exactly have his support. He wants me the hell out of dodge in the morning, chasing up whatever wisps of a lead that I can find in Tucson.”
Hunter shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. “About what I expected. Your Lieutenant’s an idiot. Tucson’s a dead end. What we’re doing here is the best shot you’ve got at finding what you need.”
“I tried to explain that,” I insisted. “He wasn’t having any of it… Hunter, I think my career might be on the line with this one.”
“Then you’ve got a choice to make,” he answered without skipping a beat. “But you’re lucky. Things are moving quickly. It isn’t like Víboras Verde to suddenly launch an operation like this… not unless they’ve escalated things. Set up a cleaner escape point, maybe…”
“Do you know where they’re going, or when?” I asked, following Hunter as he patrolled across the bar, checking his men’s work over their shoulders.
“I know both.”
“And how is that?”
Hunter flashed me a devious smile. “My faithful scout has been in touch. Let’s just say that I know men in some wicked places…”
I didn’t want to work out whatever that was supposed to mean, so I dropped the topic.
As a member of the other side of the law, it was probably for the best that I knew as little as possible about my old flame’s operations.
“Not to sound rude or anything, but your numbers are looking a little light…”
Hunter expected the question. “This is only about a third of the club. The rest were too tired or drunk to lend their assistance. They’re sleeping off a few more hours. What you see are the ones who could sober up.”
I accepted this answer, noting how a few bikers glanced up with bags under their eyes. I could only hope that some fresh midnight wind would invigorate them.
Hunter turned to a nearby biker. He hadn’t pulled his attention away from working with the pistols on his bar top table. “How are we lookin’, Grizz?”
The biker stood up straight. Tall, burly, and intimidating, Grizz flashed his piercing blue eyes our way. Turning with a pistol in hand, he expertly emptied the magazine, bounced the bullet from the chamber, and reloaded the gun – all with his eyes trained on us.
“We’ve got this shit, boss.”
His fierce eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a slight shiver down my spine. He had such an otherworldly feel, but even in his dark gaze I sensed s
omething compassionate and sad…
“Grizz, meet Sarah. She’ll be joining us on our little jaunt in the desert tonight.”
His eyebrow raised, and a faint flicker of a smile crossed his lips. “So, you’re the infamous young woman that I’ve heard so much about…”
Hunter cleared his throat instantly, and Grizz flashed him a grin. “We’re in good shape,” he elaborated, turning to gaze upon the other bikers in the bar as they worked. “We’ll be ready to roll out in fifteen, maybe twenty minutes…”
“That’s what I like to hear,” the biker president nodded. “I need to go over a few things with our… distinguished guest, so I’ll leave things in your rather capable hands.”
“You go right ahead,” Grizz acknowledged, returning to his work. “I’ll give the signal when we’re ready to ride out.”
“Good man.”
Hunter led me towards the corridor, and I noticed the other bikers glance at us as we passed. They seemed to murmur among themselves, although a sharp eye from Hunter put these things to an immediate stop.
“Who was that guy?” I whispered.
“My second-in-command,” Hunter replied softly. “One of my best men, and an expert marksman. It has something to do with those pale goddamn eyes of his. Fucker’s saved my life more times than I can count…”
The sounds of clicking and loading guns receded as I followed him around a quick turn. A moment later, he pulled open an old, dusty door, beckoning me inside with a brief wave of the hand.
“Welcome to our chapel,” he explained.
A single exposed bulb above lighted the decrepit wooden room. It looked like something from below decks on a pirate ship – dark, dirty, and with rudimentary décor and a single large bookcase flowing with old hardbacks. The center of the room was dominated by a large, wooden round table – with large maps of the Southwestern states spread out, scattered with marks and small plastic pieces.
In a glance, I was taken back to the end of my youth – and that fateful last night together. I recalled stepping into a room that was filled to the brink with bikers from two distinct clubs, where Hunter had merely been the latest pawn on the table.
This meeting chamber was a hard change from the relative comfort of the strip club. It was significantly older, more fundamental, and clearly a place specifically for hard conversations and future planning.
“This is where the magic happens,” Hunter explained as he pulled me around to the table. He scrutinized the maps on the table briefly. I could see now that the papers were nailed down, likely to keep a stray hand from dismantling the entire top-down view.
“I see,” I murmured thoughtfully as I glanced over the maps along with him. The markings were in several different colors of ink – scribbles and patterns meant to indicate possible cartel locations, territory lines of other factions, and notices of who precisely opposed who, out here in the desert…
“There’s a bulletproof vest on the hook over there–” He pointed over my shoulder without looking up. “Throw that on.”
I did as he told, tossing the heavy material on and buckling it into place as I studied the tabletop beside him.
“A lot of thought that went into this,” I observed coolly. This table represented a view of the criminal underground any cop worth their salt would drool over.
“Yeah…” Hunter glanced up at me and nodded lightly. “This is what it takes to keep the peace. Even if we see eye-to-eye on outside forces crossing into our prospective territories, there’s still the threat of open war. Keeping the tenuous balance requires diplomacy, foresight, and a lot of grit.”
“I’m surprised you pulled it off,” I dangled in conversation, wondering where Hunter ranked in this outlaw ecosystem.
“A story for another time,” he spoke offhandedly, still studying the maps across the board before him.
Reluctantly, I resisted the urge to pout. I needed to know more about how he had accomplished all of this… and what he had done to enact the balance.
“More importantly…” he spoke, lifting his eyes from the maps and summing up my skill with buckling a bulletproof vest at a glance. “I need to know that you’re prepared for what we’re about to face.”
“I’m not,” I shrugged.
“You’re not?”
“Of course not, Hunter. I know why you’re after these guys, but you haven’t told me a whole lot about what to expect when we get out there.” I hated doubting him, but I wondered aloud: “Do you have any grasp of what’s on the horizon?”
Hunter grimaced. “That’s a fair point.”
“So, enlighten me,” I nudged.
He grabbed a pen and made a small mark approximately ten miles from El Paso, on the edge of the Mexican border.
“This is where we think they’re taking the girls,” he explained quickly. “As you can see, there’s not a whole lot out there. My scout says that he’s spotted a break in the fence here, marked by a small, abandoned farmhouse.”
“What about US Border Patrol? Wouldn’t someone have caught a big hole in the border fence?”
“There’s about seven hundred miles of fence down here, and the cartel pokes holes in it faster than the border agents can fix them… Makes it hard to lock down abductee routes, but if my info’s solid, then this is where it’s going down tonight…”
“When?” I asked.
He glanced at an old clock on the wall. It was a quarter to twelve. “We’re thinking they’ll move the girls at three o’clock. Pretty early in the morning. Less chance of any attention, especially outside of the city…”
“So you’re going to grab a bunch of tired, sobered up bikers and stake the place out until they show up? What if you’re outnumbered?”
Hunter took the criticisms in stride.
“This is our one shot, Sarah,” he patiently insisted. “Víboras Verde is a cartel that either works small, or they just can’t spare the resources. We’re not walking into a Bolivian army out there.”
“You’re thinking it’ll be a small operation?” I crossed my arms, glancing down at the maps. I couldn’t make heads or tails of the information spread out over the landscape.
“It’s probably going to be a couple of vehicles and a single van on the other side of the fence. They’ll run light. Whoever’s out there won’t be expecting any real firepower or resistance, but they’ll come prepared for a quick showdown if they find one. We can take them with less men than we already have.”
I opened my mouth to ask more questions, but the sound of breaking glass down the hall called our attention.
“That’s the signal,” Hunter told me.
“What, a shattered bottle of beer?”
“Classic sign of war, breaking a bottle,” Hunter commented, grabbing his leather jacket from the hooks by the door. “Which means that it’s time we show these fuckers what for.”
Throwing the jacket on over his bulletproof vest – his President emblem catching my eye again – he cast me one last quick glance.
“Are you ready for this?”
I nodded confidently. If tonight went well, I might not have to be back in Tucson tomorrow after all…
“And now, sweetheart, we ride.”
27
I left the cruiser and its goddamned GPS tracker sitting in the parking lot of a nearby motel. There was no reason to give the Lieutenant any more reason to light me up in the morning. The crisp moonlight wind whipped at my hair; prepared for whatever was to come, I tightened my grip around Hunter’s broad, comforting torso. My legs straddled his throttling engine as we rode out towards certain danger.
I glanced over my shoulder at the other bikes as they fanned out around and behind us. The night was ours as we hit the main highway, roaring towards the dark horizon. About half an hour later we left the asphalt behind, weaving and winding through the desert until I spotted a dilapidated farmhouse in the distance.
The rising tension amongst the Devil’s Dragons almost crackled in the night wind. Seeing
our destination only made the imminent threat more tangible…
Hunter lifted his wrist and signaled to the others. The bikers fanned out over the dirt as we left the trail and traveled over the flat desert.
The farmhouse gradually rose in the distance. I could see now why he wanted to stake things out a few hours in advance – the engines were so loud that you could hear them from ages away out here, in the relative emptiness…
I sensed that something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
As the looming building came close enough to distinguish windows, a clenching sense of danger came over my chest…
BANG!
A bullet ricocheted nearby, and several bikers broke formation.
The bikers broke formation and soared towards the building, whipping out pistols and firing a few warning shots. Nobody fired directly at the building – they recognized the unknown on possible hostages.
Returning gunfire matched our efforts, and one of ours was knocked from his bike as we made it to the farmhouse. All around me, bikers dismounted and took tactical positions along the porch.
“Possible abductees. Known two, maybe more,” Hunter hissed quietly, before issuing brief objective reminders. “Shoot to kill. Save the girls if you can. Scour the house. Watch your six, and move in pairs.”
Everyone gave a rapid-fire nod.
He gave the order. “Dragons, move!”
The men immediately followed the commands, forming pairs that moved in all directions. The majority of the bikers descended into the house, kicking open the front door as Hunter hung back with me.
We remained crouched by the front steps as he quietly hissed to me: “We’ve got to get to that fence. The men will run distraction and back us up from doorways and windows as we make our approach. You ready and armed?”
I nodded, brandishing my glock.
“Good. Follow my lead. Stay behind me.”