“We can’t leave him like this,” Grayson said. He pointed his gun at Gremlin’s face. Dome turned his face to the setting sun. The shrill treble of a chorus of crickets filled the air.
“See you on the other side, brother,” Grayson said.
He fired a volley of bullets into Gremlin’s face. The staccato burst sounded like someone had dropped a thousand nails on a metal desk. Grayson put the machine gun on the ground near Gremlin’s body. He went over to the demolished bikes. He tried to pick up his bike, but the ape hangers were bent in all the wrong places. The gas tank was leaking. One of the cams had a huge dent. A huge gash zigzagged across the leather seat. The front wheel was caved in on itself. It was a like a child’s first attempt at writing a capital “D.”
Grayson laid the bike back down.
“Alright, then,” Grayson said. He knew in his gut that Andy was dead. The idea that two old bastards who should be sitting on the couch draining tallboys had gotten the drop on a prospect was far-fetched but not impossible. As he took in the carnage laid out before him, he realized he’d made two mistakes.
He’d taken these men lightly, and he’d been holding back. The first mistake was his fault. He would never forget nor forgive himself. The second mistake belonged to a rich boy who had never gotten dirty or bloody or been in a fight. Yeah, he’d paid them, but that didn’t even matter anymore. This had become more than business a long time ago. Now it was more than personal. It was about honor. If he couldn’t handle these two, then he didn’t deserve to be the president. He didn’t deserve to wear the goddamn patch. Might as well take it off and throw it in the fucking trash.
This was crazy. All of it.
Cheddar dead.
Gremlin dead.
Gage probably bleeding out.
Not to mention what had happened at the Black’s shop. Grayson rubbed his face.
His hand lingered on the scar that bisected his cheek. There was going to be no more holding back. No more half measures. All that was done.
* * *
“Dome, you got a spare in this thing?” Grayson asked.
“Yeah, I mean I think so. It’s my wife’s van; I don’t drive it much,” Dome said.
“What we gonna do with the bikes? We can’t just leave them,” Kelso said. Grayson pulled out his knife and went to each bike. He used the tip of the knife to unscrew the mounting bolts on the license plates. He pocketed all three license plates. The cops might check the VINs, but they could always report the bikes as stolen.
“You two get the cuts off of Cheddar and Gremlin. Then change the tire. Load up Gage so we can get the fuck out of here. We in the middle of bumfuck, but you never know what nosy-ass neighbor might have called Johnny Law. When we get back to the clubhouse I’m calling a war party. We gonna drop hell at this motherfucker’s front door,” Grayson said. Dome and Kelso fidgeted in place, shooting worried glances at each other.
Grayson went back over to Gremlin’s body and picked up his gun. He glared at Dome and Kelso with such baleful intensity that he gave himself a headache.
“Did I fucking stutter?” Grayson asked.
THIRTY-THREE
“Pull over!” Ike hollered from the truck bed. Buddy Lee didn’t seem to have heard him. The truck shimmied and shook as he flew down the single-lane blacktop. Ike could see the needle on the speedometer was ticking past ninety.
“Buddy Lee, pull over so I can get in!” Ike said, using the full force of his voice. He saw Buddy Lee’s watery blue eyes in the rearview mirror. The whine of the engine eased and the truck coasted to the shoulder of the road. Ike hopped out and jumped in the cab. He’d barely shut the door before Buddy Lee took off, tires spinning and gravel shooting up into the air.
Ike felt something warm and moist against the small of his back. He leaned forward, and as he did, Tangerine slumped over into his lap. He grabbed her by her narrow shoulders and sat her up.
“Fuck,” Ike whispered.
Tangerine’s entire right side was bathed in red. A bullet hole the size of a dime in the crook of her elbow was vomiting blood at an alarming rate.
“What, somebody behind us?” Buddy Lee said. His eyes scanned the rearview and side mirrors. Ike took off his shirt and his belt. He wrapped the shirt around Tangerine’s arm, then cinched it tight with his belt. A huge dark wet spot radiated out from Tangerine and stretched across the truck’s bench seat.
“She’s hit,” Ike said.
“What? Fuck shit goddammit to hell! Is she dead?” Buddy Lee asked. Ike put his finger against the side of her neck. He felt a pulse flickering like the frantic wings of a bumblebee.