Dante
“Now listen here, I’m a proud Texan man and I don’t take kindly to waiting around.”
I watch the man silently, wanting to get this deal over with. The last thing I need is some bastard wearing a cowboy hat and boots with shiny bits on them talking down to me. I offer him a sideways smile and wait for him to shut his mouth. At my side, Lion bristles. I can feel my VP getting ready for a fight, but there’s no need.
“You have the drugs,” I say. “We have the cash. It ain’t our fault if there was a crash on the road into the city.”
“Passing the buck,” the man tuts. His name is James, if I remember rightly. “I don’t like that sort of—”
“What you like and what you don’t like don’t matter none to us.” I rest my hand on my revolver. “What matters is the merchandise. You say you don’t like waiting around. Well, I don’t like it either. So how about you stop wagging your tongue and get to dealing?”
James looks to Lion. “The fuck you looking at me for?” my VP snaps. “You heard him.”
At my other shoulder, Timmy stands up straighter. Both of my men are ready for fighting if it should come to that, but I don’t see why it should. We’re standing in an alleyway in the heart of Austin, the summer night heat making it stink like the devil, the sounds of the city all around us. I just want to get this deal done and get out of here. I wonder briefly how Markus would’ve handled this, and then push that from my mind. There’s never any use dwelling on the past. It’s called the past for a reason.
“You’re aware this is Chosen Wraiths’ territory.” James smiles.
“I’m aware I have my hand on a .44 Magnum,” I counter.
Behind James, his cronies rise from their bikes. There’re four of them in all, the type of men who’ll kill and think nothing of it. It’s lucky we’re that type as well, then. But still, I should’ve brought more guys. Three against four, five including the cowboy. Silently, I curse myself. It’s a goddamn rookie mistake.
James laughs. “Okay, friend. Let’s get this done. Rustle, bring the merchandise.”
“Lion, the money.”
“Boss.”
As our men collect the bags, James leans over and pats me on the shoulder. I should let it go. It’s just a pat on the shoulder, nothing worth ruining a drug deal about. But it’s the way he does it, just pats me and then leans back and says nothing, as if proving he can do anything he damn well pleases and get away with it.
“If you ever touch me like that again,” I say, knowing it’s a mistake even as I say it, “I’ll break your hand.”
James inclines his head. “If you say so. I really don’t see the need for that sort of attitude, though.”
Our men exchange bags. I watch James’s face closely. As Lion unzips the bag and peers inside, it goes from a smile to one of deadly intent. Before he pulls his gun, I know the deal’s going south.
“Boss, there’re bricks in—”
I dive at James and smash the gun from his hand, head-butt him, and then throw him at the nearest man, knocking them both over. Gunshots fill the air as I sprint to a trashcan and duck down behind it. Rat-a-tat-tat, gunshots ringing off the metal and chipping the brick above me. Lion and Timmy crouch down on the other side, exchanging shots.
“The Gentleman wants him dead!” James roars. “How hard can that really be?”
The Gentleman …the leader of the Chosen Wraiths. This was a trap from the start.
“Fire back, lads!” I shout, aiming with my revolver. I shoot twice, quickly, turning two heads into sprays of blood and messes of bone and brain. The men slink down and James turns to them, mouth hanging open.
“Get out of here!” he cries. “Get the fuck outta here!”
I fire more shots after them until my revolver clicks on empty. The men climb onto their bikes and fire back, bullets hitting the concrete at my feet …and then one bullet, taking me through the shoulder and sending me flying to the ground. I land heavily on my back, staring up at the blue Texan sky. Lion and Timmy keep firing and then run to me.
Lion’s mane of blond hair falls down into my face. He brushes it aside. “Sorry, boss,” he mumbles, leaning over me. “Fuck, they got you, didn’t they?”
“They got me,” I wheeze, trying to sit up. My shoulder throbs painfully. “It’s just a flesh wound, I reckon.” I manage to sit up on my second try. There’s pain but I can still open and close my fingers. Moving my arm hurts some, but since there’s a bullet in there I think hurt some is the good end of the deal.
“Did they get our money?” I ask.
Timmy, peering down behind Lion, nods. “Sorry, boss.”
“Should’ve brought more men,” I mutter. “If they really are Wraith dogs, they’ll be paying the Gentleman by sunset, and then the money’ll be in Wraith businesses within the week. Help me up, will you? We need to get back to Sun Town. I hate the fuckin’ city.”
“Boss.” Lion leans down and lifts me by my good arm. I struggle to my feet and then limp to my bike. Forty thousand in Wraith hands …stupid fucking mistake.
I’m about to climb onto my bike when sirens fill the air around us. I jump on my bike and then a spike of pain shoots through my shoulder, the bullet moving around in my flesh. I grit my teeth and try to grip the handlebar but the pain is too severe. Sometimes being a man is about pushing through the pain. Sometimes it’s about admitting when the pain is too much. I’m not risking my men because I got shot, no damn way.
“You two get out of here, now,” I tell them. “Don’t second-guess me on this. Just leave. I’ll handle the police.”
Timmy opens his mouth to protest but Lion claps him on the back. “You heard the man,” he says.
They ride out of the alleyway, leaving me to sit with my back to the wall. Maybe the injury is worse than I think because no sooner have I sat down than my vision is going blurry—and then it goes black.
I wake up hours later, the midday sun turned into a purple bruise in the sky. A woman in a suit stands over my hospital bed, her hair scraped back into a tight ponytail, her lips pursed. Just behind her a tall man stands with his hands folded, a smirk on his face. I recognize them as police officers by their demeanors but I don’t know either of them personally. This ain’t Sun Town, where we own the cops. This is the big city.
Before either of them can talk, the doctor sweeps into the room. She’s a pretty Asian lady with pink-framed glasses. “Mr. Dante Stevenson,” she says, using the alias from my fake driver’s license. She glances at the police officers and then goes on. “The bullet fragmented and went deeper into your arm, but we were able to retrieve the fragments. We have given you …” She trails off, glancing again at the police officers. It’s clear she wants to get out of here as quickly as possible. “We have given you seventeen stiches and billed your health insurance company. There will be moderate pain. Please treat this accordingly. I can prescribe something if you like.”
“It’s all right, doc,” I say. “You can go.”
She nods gratefully and retreats, closing the door behind her.
I turn to the woman. “I bet you’ve been ragging on her all damn day about speaking to me. You’ve got her all shaken up.”
“My name is Detective Grimson.” She waves at the man. “This is Detective Junior.”
“Your surname is Junior?” I laugh, ignoring the pain in my arm.
Now that the fragments are out, it’s less severe. I feel good enough to ride. I clench my fists when I remember …the Wraiths! The Chosen Wraiths can’t get away with this. The Gentleman …his name rings through my skull. More like the Animal. I remember a day long ago when I looked down at a man with blood in his beard, his eyes closed and blood pooling like egg yolk around his skull.
“Mr. Stevenson!” Detective Grimson snaps. “Are you with us?”
“I think this gunshot is making me lightheaded. I’ve half a mind to push that there button and get me a nurse.” I nod at the call nurse button. “Hopefully one with a tight ass and some big, bouncy tits.” I wink Detective Grimson. “You’re a little stern-lookin’ for my tastes, ma’am, but I’m sure I could make do.”
“I need to know what happened in that alleyway,” Detective Grimson says. “Your account of what happened, anyway.”
“My account?” I shrug.
“You are a suspect in a murder case,” she says, watching me closely. “Two men are dead.”
I sigh. “We both know how this is going to work. Two drug dealers are dead. Your boss’s boss is going to get a call and he’ll tell your boss, who’ll tell you, that two dead drug dealers ain’t worth anyone’s time.” At least that’s what I’m counting on. Lion should’ve already made the call, offering a substantial bribe and using blackmail if necessary.
“That’s not how things work,” Grimson says. “Maybe in your biker world, but not here.”
“Biker world? I don’t know what you mean.” The only good decision I’ve made today, I reflect, is making sure Lion, Timmy, and I were wearing civilian clothes when we rode into town.
“You were found near a Harley Davidson motorcycle. It follows that you’re a member of—”
“I’m a hobbyist, ma’am,” I say. “I ride ’em and clean ’em and care for ’em, but I’m not into the club stuff. No way, not me.”
Detective Junior leaps forward. “You better stop fucking us around or—”
“Or what?” I snarl, sitting up. Ever since I was a teenager, men have been scared of me. My brother said it was the devil in my eyes, blood-red, the same color as my hair. I always thought that was unduly biblical of him, but whatever it is, it rarely fails. I lean forward and watch Junior closely. “Or what?” I repeat.
He swallows, takes a step back. “I think we should let him stew here for a while,” he says. “He thinks he’s in control but he’ll learn soon enough.”
Detective Grimson smiles. “There’s an officer on the door and the windows are locked.”
They both leave me, smiling like they’re onto something. I feel bad for them as they close the door. They just want to do their jobs, and do them well. There are dead bodies and they want to find out who’s responsible and put the person away. They want justice and clean streets and men like me sent far, far away. What they don’t understand is that men like me are everywhere, and we know how to get what we want.
A couple of hours later, once the sun has set, a nurse comes into my room holding a grocery bag of clothes. She places the bag on the bedside table and looks down at me. She’s a motherly-looking woman with a wide smile and large eyes. “Lion called,” she says. “I’ll never forget what the Saints did for my pappy.”
“And what’s that?” I ask as I strip the sheets from me and take off the gown.
The nurse turns, embarrassed. “He was getting hassled by some local drug dealers—they broke his nose twice, it was nasty business—and the Saints helped. They never troubled after the Saints talked to them, I’m glad to say. The officer has taken a cigarette break, instructions from up high. You’ve got ten minutes. Come on, I’ll take you out the back entrance.”
The nurse leads me down the hallway and to the staircase. She nods to the bottom. “It’s the door on the right,” she says.
“Did the officer say anything?” I ask. “Is there going to be a manhunt or is this all above board?” I laugh gruffly. “Or as above board as things like this can be.”
“It’s all above board,” the nurse says, smiling at me. We really must have helped her old man out. She reminds me of my mother. Memories of fresh-baked cookies and Christmas carols and flower-smelling hugs come to me. “I heard the lady detective shouting into her cellphone. I think her boss has told her to back off.”
“So why …” I nod to the staircase.
“Why the back way? Because I heard the man detective saying he was going to round up some of his friends and—I don’t want to repeat the words he used.”
“That’s okay, ma’am,” I say. “I can imagine.”
“Now you make sure you rest that arm,” she calls after me as I walk down the stairs.
“Rest it?” I grin up at her. “After everything that’s happened, I need a goddamn drink!”
“A drink?” The nurse reaches out her hand as if to catch me. She reminds me of my mom, standing on our porch when I’d go riding out on the dirt bike. “Just be careful!”
“Much obliged.”
I open the door and walk into the night, whistling under my breath. Sometimes it’s damn good being a Saint.