Devil's Dance (Trackdown Book 1)

by Michael A. Black

  “You hungry?” McNamara said, pointing to a rectangular blue sign advertising a list of restaurants and fast food joints.

  Wolf wasn’t, but the thought of having the freedom to go into some place, a real restaurant, sit at a table, and order whatever he wanted was suddenly very appealing to him. It had been a long time. Too long.

  “Sounds great,” he said. “But I don’t have much in the way of money.”

  McNamara chuckled and steered toward the exit ramp. “For now, you just let me worry about that.”

  The waitress looked barely this side of sixteen, all blonde hair and dimples, with a burgeoning figure that was going to be really something in a year or two. Her name tag spelled out Jenny. Wolf appreciated the surreptitious glances and bright smiles she kept throwing his way. Mac had insisted on pulling into this place they saw after Wolf mentioned that he’d skipped breakfast at Leavenworth.

  “Would you gentlemen like some dessert?” the girl asked.

  McNamara lifted his eyebrows and from his expression Wolf figured his friend was going to make some rakish comment asking what the girl had in mind. But he didn’t. Instead he pointed to Wolf and said, “He will for sure. You got some of that apple pie with ice cream on top?”

  “We sure do. You want some?”

  “He does,” McNamara said with a grin. “He’s just coming back from what we used to call a hardship tour.”

  Wolf was still chewing his steak. He just wanted to enjoy his first outside meal in over two years, but Mac just wouldn’t leave it be.

  Jenny looked at Wolf, her eyes widening. “Wow, are you like in the Army or something?”

  Wolf shifted what was left of the steak to his cheek and said through clenched teeth, “I used to be.”

  “Go on, show the little gal your tattoo.” Mac tapped Wolf’s left forearm. “Prettiest pair of jump-wings you ever seen.”

  “Jump-wings?” she asked. “What’s that?”

  Wolf flushed as Mac said, “Airborne. He used to jump outta airplanes.”

  “Wow, were you like in the SEALs, or something?” She was obviously awestruck.

  Wolf started to set her straight, but McNamara cut him off. “The SEALs are navy. He was army, but he was just what you call a Ranger. I was a Green Beret. Course in the military we say Special Forces.”

  Just a Ranger, Wolf thought. He was about to give Mac some shit, then realized he wasn’t a Ranger anymore. He was just a guy who used to be one, long ago and far away.

  “Were you two in the war?” Jenny asked.

  “Hell, yes,” McNamara said. “A couple of ’em, in fact.” He leaned forward and rolled up his sleeve showing a heart with a dagger through it under which was lettered, DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR on a beefy forearm. “I got plenty more of ’em, too. Maybe you’d like to see ’em sometime. Of course, some of them are in embarrassing places so we’ll have to wait till you’re a little bit older.”

  The girl bit her lip as the hint of a blush crept up her neck.

  “That apple pie sounds real nice, Miss,” Wolf said.

  She looked at him with a nervous smile and said she’d be right back.

  He noticed McNamara licking his lips and watching her as she walked away.

  “Hey,” Wolf said. “Relax. She looks like she just got her braces taken off.”

  McNamara winked and leaned forward, whispering, “Yeah, well I’m just trying to get you set up for number two on that list.”

  “What list?”

  McNamara held up his hand and began ticking off his fingers, “Get a good meal, get laid, get drunk, get in a fight ...”

  “I already had my fight for today. Some asshole tried to shank me this morning.”

  Twin spaces formed between McNamara’s eyebrows. “What? Who was it?”

  Wolf shrugged. “Some big white guy.”

  “Anything come of it?”

  “The guy’s gonna have trouble eating solid food for a couple of months.”

  McNamara smirked, but then his face turned serious again. “I’m surprised they let you out after that.”

  Wolf savored some more of the coffee. It tasted so much better than it had this morning behind the walls. “My cellmate took the blame for me.”

  “You and this guy been getting into it, or something?”

  “Not hardly. Never locked horns with him before.”

  “Then why’d he go after you?”

  “Probably heard I was getting out and wanted to score some points with his Aryan buddies by shanking a guy that’s half-Indian.” Wolf set down his coffee cup. “Don’t need a lot of reasons in that place.”

  “Just the same, I’ll see what I can find out about it,” McNamara said. “I still got some connections you know.”

  “Why bother? It’s behind me now, and I’d like to keep it in my rearview mirror.” Wolf shoved another piece of steak in his mouth and was about to reply that he wanted to be in charge of his own list when he noticed a subtle change in his friend’s expression. McNamara had insisted on sitting so his back wasn’t facing the door, taking the seat Wolf wanted. “What’s up?”

  Mac’s mouth tightened. “Trouble, maybe, or at least two guys looking like they’re spoiling for it.”

  Wolf glanced over his shoulder and saw two bikers strolling by the front register, ignoring the Please Wait to be Seated sign. Big, beardy guys, with weightlifter’s bare arms and lots of tattoos. They each wore a filthy Levi jacket with the sleeves hacked off and a plethora of patches and insignias of motorcycle wheels with wings. As Jenny walked past them, they both swiveled around to ogle her, and Wolf saw AMERICAN BREED spelled out in white and black letters across each of their broad backs. One of them let out a low whistle.

  The bigger of the two said, “I know what I want to eat.”

  The other guy, stockier but with an impressive set of triceps, punctuated his partner’s comment with a growling laugh. “I’ll be sure to leave you sloppy seconds, Coyle.”

  Coyle laughed and the two of them plopped down in an adjacent booth a couple spaces away from Wolf and McNamara and next to a family composed of a man, his wife, and two teenage girls, who looked like twins.

  The one named Coyle leered at them across the way, his lips curling into a feral sneer.

  “What the fuck you looking at?” he asked. “Ain’t you never seen the American Breed before?”

  Biker number two chimed in. “No, but I’ll bet his daughters have.” He laughed. “Or at least they will pretty fucking quick.”

  “I wonder what charm school they graduated from?” Wolf said as he cut another piece of steak and placed it in his mouth.

  “Yeah,” McNamara said. He squinted and got a serious look on his face. “Hey, I got to ask you, one troop to another, what the hell really happened over there? In Iraq.”

  Wolf shook his head, said nothing.

  “Come on,” McNamara said. “It’s just you and me sitting here.”

  Wolf shrugged, then set down his knife and fork. “Mac, I’m not lying when I tell you there’s a part of it that I just can’t remember, no matter how hard I try.”

  McNamara’s face twitched.

  “It’s the truth,” Wolf said. “I really can’t. The doc said it was due to the severe bash I got to the head. Erased the memory. It’s like a blank spot. I can remember everything up to a certain point, and then everything after that, but I lost those crucial ten minutes. Didn’t do me any good saying that at court martial, but it’s the truth.”

  “Yeah, well I guess I should tell you I’ve had a lawyer looking into things for you?”

  “What?”

  The two bikers made another loud, off-color comment.

  McNamara pursed his lips, looked around, nodded, and stood up. “You know, I got to check on something. Be right back.”

  “Hey, wait. What do you mean a lawyer?”

  McNamara didn’t answer. Wolf shifted in his seat so he could watch as his mentor got up, put his cowboy hat on his head, and sauntered down the ais
le past the two low-life bikers and the family trying to finish what had previously been a pleasant meal.

  The father motioned for the waitress to come over. When Jenny got there the man said, “We’d like to move to a different table, please―”

  “Hey, sweet cakes,” the biker named Coyle said, “Which one of you three wants to sit on my face?” His tongue lolled out of his mouth with an exaggerated wiggle.

  Jenny turned and started to say something, but Coyle reached out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her onto his legs. “In the meantime, how about a little lap-dance to warm things up, baby?”

  “Let me go!” she screamed. A middle-aged woman, evidently the manager, came from behind the register and threatened to call the police.

  “Go fuck yourself, bitch,’ the other biker said. “You touch that phone and the Breed will be on your ass quicker than you can say blow job.”

  “Hey, Remmy,” Coyle said, his hands were all over Jenny’s breasts, “I kind of like the sound of that.”

  Jenny screamed again.

  Wolf looked around for McNamara but didn’t see him.

  He must still be outside, Wolf thought. Just when I need him.

  Wolf stood, wiped his mouth with the paper napkin, and strolled over to the booth with the bikers. He stood looking down at them. They both had cruel eyes and expression that looked like they were itching for a taste of violence.

  “Why don’t you let her go and get out of here?” Wolf said, keeping his voice even and calm.

  “You talking to me?” Coyle asked. He squeezed Jenny’s breasts again. “Remmy, you think he’s talking to me?”

  The other biker laughed. “Shit, you got me. Mumbles some, don’t he?”

  “Get outta here, boy,” Coyle said, staring up at Wolf. “Before I really mess you up.”

  “Leave the girl alone,” Wolf said.

  “You talking to me?” Coyle continued to fonder Jenny and laughed. “Hey, Remmy, you think this shitbird’s talking to me?”

  Wolf’s eyes darted to the second biker, maintaining enough distance to stay out of grabbing range.

  “I told you to get outta here,” Coyle said. “You shit-for-brains faggot,”

  Wolf saw he was missing a few of his front teeth. He wasn’t surprised.

  Remmy laughed again.

  Jenny squealed in distress.

  Wolf looked down at Remmy. “Anybody ever tell you that your laugh sounds like a horse trying to pass a peach pit?”

  “Say what?” Remmy’s bulky frame shifted as he started to move out of the booth.

  Wolf pivoted and smashed the heel of his left hand into the biker’s nose. His head jerked backward, and Wolf grabbed a handful of the long, stringy hair, pivoting so he could slam the man’s face down against the tabletop.

  Coyle pushed Jenny off his lap and lurched upward, out of the confines of the booth. Wolf stepped back, waiting for the girl to get clear as the big biker moved forward.

  “I’m gonna rip your head off and shit down your neck,” Coyle said.

  Wolf’s right foot shot out with a snapping kick that collided with Coyle’s left knee. He stumbled forward and Wolf smashed a left hook into the outstretched jaw. It was a perfect punch and Coyle collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  Remmy, his nose a crimson faucet, reared upward, snapping open a buck knife that he’d pulled from his belt.

  “I’m gonna cut your fucking balls off and feed ‘em to ya,” he yelled.

  Wolf stepped back and avoided the man’s arcing swing. Remmy swung his arm back as he rushed forward with the assurance of a man who’d brought a knife to a fistfight. This time Wolf timed the lunge and grabbed Remmy’s knife-arm with both hands, pivoting and using the heavyset biker’s momentum to shove him forward, then back, twisting the arm with the motion. Wolf bore down on Remmy’s wrist, forcing the hand back. The knife clattered on the floor. Remmy’s eyes followed the lost weapon. Wolf brought a knee into the other man’s groin, then repeated the motion several more times, still maintaining his grip on the arm. He let go and Remmy sagged to his knees, at which time Wolf delivered a one-two combination of punches that twisted Remmy’s face, first one way, and then the other.

  As the second biker fell forward, Wolf turned and helped Jenny to her feet.

  “You all right?”

  “I’m okay,” she said, breathless. “Thanks to you.”

  “Great job,” the man with his family added. He turned to the older woman who was still frozen in place by the register. “Are you going to call the police, or what?”

  Her head wiggled a nod and she started for the phone, but McNamara was already walking back inside the front of the place, holding up his cell phone.

  “Don’t trouble yourself, honey,” he said. “I got that covered. Just want to step outside so I could get better reception, is all.” He turned and looked at the two fallen bikers, then back to Wolf with a nod of approval. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

  Wolf grinned. “You mean for just being a Ranger?”

  “Aw, hell, I was just trying to help you out.”

  “Oh yeah? How do you figure that?”

  “I figured that little gal would feel sorry for you, and you’d get lucky.” McNamara grinned back as he took out two pairs of plastic handcuffs. “Help me get these two trussed up, partner. I think these boys are worth some money.”

  “Money?”

  McNamara stooped down and flipped Coyle onto his belly, then looped the first set of cuffs over the man’s wrists. “Do that one while I check something.” He tossed the second set of cuffs to Wolf who rolled Remmy over and twisted his arms behind him. Due to the guy’s blocky physique, he had to pull and twist a bit. The semi-conscious Remmy groaned in pain, which didn’t bother Wolf at all. In fact, it sounded like sweet music to his ears.

  McNamara was on his cell phone sorting through Coyle’s wallet. “Yeah, his name’s Coyle Weiner.” He read off the date of birth and driver’s license number. McNamara snapped his fingers at Wolf. “Gimme the other one’s wallet, will ya?”

  Wolf patted Remmy down and found two wallets. The one with the Harley Davidson wings obviously belonged to the biker. The other one had the identification and credit cards of a woman named Marcia Livingston. Wolf handed them to McNamara, who went through them and keeping one and dropping the other into the biker’s vest.

  “Probably stolen. The cops will probably want to take a look at that one.” McNamara smiled. “Unless he’s really a Marcia. Anybody want to check?”

  “No thanks,” Wolf said.

  McNamara took out Remmy’s driver’s license and read the information into his cell. After about fifteen seconds he nodded. “Okay, brother, we’ll be turning them over to the county police as soon as they arrive.”

  He hung up and smiled.

  “You want to tell me what the hell’s going on?” Wolf asked.

  McNamara tucked the wallets back into the respective pockets and stood up. “Both these jokers got outstanding warrants. I figured as much when I seen ‘em stroll in. Bikers are usually a good bet.”

  “A good bet?”

  “I just talked to a local bail bondsman and told him I had them both in custody and that we’d be turning them over to the county cops.” He paused and smiled. “All we have to do now is follow them to the lock-up and get verification so we can pick up our fee from the bail bond place.”

  “Bail bond place?”

  “Yep,” McNamara said, turning to Jenny, who was still wide-eyed and watching them. “Honey, we need to settle up right away. And I think my friend here will take that apple pie a la mode to go.”

  “Mac,” Wolf said.

  McNamara shushed him with a wave and smiled. “Don’t worry none about the check. This one’s on me.”

  “Thanks, but I’m still not sure what the hell’s going on.”

  McNamara squinted and gave Wolf a sideways glance. “Ain’t you figured that out yet? I’m what they call a multi-state, bail enforcement agent, othe
rwise known as a bounty hunter.”

  Wolf was letting that settle in when McNamara added with a laugh, “By the way, I was planning on broaching this subject later, but now circumstances have brought things to a head a bit quicker than I planned.”

  “Broach what?”

  McNamara smiled. “How’d you like to go into business with me as a full-fledged partner? Unless you got a better offer going.”

  “Taylor versus Taintor, eighteen-seventy-two,” McNamara said, using chopping gestures with his hand. His eyes moved periodically to the Plexiglas window where the girl behind the glass was processing their paperwork. “It established the right of recovery of an accused who’s skipped out on bond. Don’t you ever watch that TV show with Reno Garth?”

  “Who the hell’s that?” Wolf asked.

  McNamara shook his head with a grin. “Never mind. Steve McQueen made a movie about bounty hunting too. The Hunter. His last one, in fact. You remember Steve McQueen, don’t you?”

  “Only from the retro-TV cable show.”

  McNamara snorted. “Don’t be sacrilegious. Anyway, all you need to do is come work with me, as my partner. I’ll get you set up with all the courses you need, community college and mail order stuff. Piece of cake. With your background you’ll be a natural.”

  “Explain to me again how this works.”

  McNamara took a deep breath. “When a shitbird like our buddy Coyle is arrested, he’s eligible to be released on bond. That’s court talk for money. He can walk as long as he guarantees that he’ll be back in court to answer the charges. Because …” McNamara raised his eyebrows, “our great Constitution states that the son-of-a-bitch is considered innocent until he’s proved guilty.”

  “Believe me, I know all about that,” Wolf said.

  “I’m sure you do but let me finish the civics lesson. Now in all fifty states, excepting Kentucky, Illinois and Oregon, you have what they call bail bondsmen. They’re certified through the courts to guarantee the bond set in the case. They carry an insurance indemnification that allows them to sign an agreement stating that if somebody like good old Coyle misses his court date, they’ll pay the court the full amount of the bond. In this case fifty-thousand dollars. Follow me?”