Crank and Shiv sat in O’Malley’s Bar, two half-consumed beers and the remains of their lunch between them. Crank was feeling the loss of Motor now like never before, and he’d turned to Shiv for guidance.
“There was nothing you could do,” Shiv said, his voice quiet. “You couldn’t have known. How do you know Silas followed you? He may have followed Lana. That makes more sense, don’t you think? He knew where, and when, he could pick her up.”
Crank nodded. He’d told himself all that. But he’d been at the police station as well; making a final pass through all the places where he thought Silas would likely set up for a shot. He’d found nothing, but he may have led Silas to Lana.
The look on Lana’s face as she left with the patrol officers last night had ripped his heart out. She was blaming him. Maybe she was right. All of this was his fault.
“Crank, listen to me, brother,” Shiv said. “This isn’t your fault. None of it. It’s that fucking Silas’s fault, and don’t you forget it.”
“But it’s because of me that—”
“Bullshit!” Shiv snapped. “That’s complete bullshit, and you know it. Silas is obviously as crazy as a shit-house rat. This is all on him and nobody else.”
Crank nodded, staring at his unfinished burger and cold fries. “But what do we do to stop it?” He looked up and met Shiv’s gaze. “We’ve got nothing, and I assume the cops have nothing either. How do we find someone that appears and disappears like a ghost?”
“He’s not Superman, Crank. We keep doing what we’re doing. We keep digging until he makes a mistake or we turn something up. It’s all we can do.”
“And how many more will die?”
“None.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because last night was a fluke. He was targeting Lana, or her father because he can’t get at us anymore. Now the cops have Lana locked down tight. It’s going to get a lot harder for him going forward. Why do you think he was taking so many so fast? It’s because he knew he had only a limited amount of time before we figured out who he was and what he was doing, and reacted.”
“And if he starts shooting people at random? Then what?”
Shiv made a face as if he was in pain. “I don’t know. Do you think he will? His targets have been very specific so far.”
“I honestly don’t know. He might if he thought that would bother me.”
Shiv didn’t have to ask if it would. Having civilians shot would bother them all, but Crank most of all because he was blaming himself already.
“Then we’ll deal with it when the time comes. It’s all we can do.”
“What if I called him out?” Crank asked. “What if I challenged him to go one-on-one?”
“You think he’d go for it? Would you?”
“No,” Crank admitted. “He’d know it was a trap. He may be crazy as shit, but he’s not stupid.”
Shiv rubbed his chin. “He may not be stupid, but maybe, if you belittled him enough, made him feel like he had to prove something, he might just make a mistake.” Shiv paused as he stared at Crank. “I can’t see how it would hurt anything. How are you going to get a message to him?”
“That’s the easy part,” Crank said.
***
“Mr. Lee? Randal Hughes, News Director here at the station. Nice to meet you.”
Crank took the neatly dressed man’s hand. Randal Hughes had been the news anchor for WAMB, the only local television station, since before Crank was born. He’d retired from the anchor desk a few years back, replaced by younger, and prettier, faces. Randal wasn’t as tall in person as he’d thought, and he looked older than he had when he was reading the news, but he was still wearing his trademark hair style without a hair out of place.
“I’m going to pair you up with Tonya Roberts for the interview. Do you really think by speaking to the suspected killer directly you can put an end to the shootings?” Randal asked as he escorted Crank through the building.
“I don’t know. But you’re going to run what I say, as I say it. No cuts, no makeup, no crap. That was our agreement.”
Randal nodded. “There are certain broadcasting guidelines we have to follow. I can’t get around those without the station being fined, but other than that, we won’t edit your words.”
“What guidelines?”
Randal smiled. “The only ones you have to worry about are bad words. You know what they are. Don’t worry about it. You say what you have to say. We’ll bleep only the words that will get us fined. We’ll run a warning ahead of your tape to warn viewers what is coming.” Randal turned Crank into a small studio where a stunning woman was waiting in a seat, a makeup artist working on her.
“You sure you don’t want makeup? You’re going to look washed out under the lights.” Randal asked.
Crank glared at him. “You think this is some kind of game?”
Randal held up his hands in surrender. “Can I give you a piece of advice? Start with a quick summary of how you know this guy and what’s driving him. People are going to want to know that. It doesn’t have to be long. When you’re speaking, talk to Helen,” he said, motioning to a petite woman wearing headphones and holding a notebook. “She will be standing just off camera, and it will appear you are looking directly into the camera. Finally, speak slow and clear.” He looked at Tonya. “Give him an intro then don’t interrupt.”
“How will I know when you’re finished?” Tonya asked.
“Just give us a signal when you’re finished, and Tonya will wrap it up,” Randal said. “Any questions?”
“No.”
Crank let a man pin a clip mic to his jacket. He ran the cord under his jacket then plugged it into a small transmitter that he hung on his belt.
“Say something,” the tech said as he placed a headset against one ear.
“Something.”
The man nodded. “Loud and clear.”
“In your own time,” Randal said and stepped back. “We have to get this in one take, people!” he shouted, then turned and hurried out of the room.
“Charles, if you’ll sit right here,” Tonya said. “I’ll speak first, then I’ll prompt you. Relax. It’s going to be fine.”
“Call me Crank,” he said as he sat where she indicated. He noticed her eyes taking him in, then she smiled, as if embarrassed she’d gotten caught checking him out.
“We’re ready,” Randal’s voice came over a speaker, and Helen counted three fingers down as Tonya licked her lips and sat up straighter.
Helen pointed to Tonya. “I’m here with Charles Lee,” Tonya said, looking at the camera, her tone somber. “Crank is the president of the Fallen Legions Motorcycle Club, the main target of the recent shootings. He’s here today to speak directly to Silas Conrad, the man he believes is responsible for the shootings. Crank?”
Crank watched Helen for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m Charles, Crank, Lee, president of the Fallen Legion Motorcycle Club. Someone from my past has targeted my club in revenge. That man is Silas Conrad. He was a sniper in the United States Army. I say was… because he was dishonorably discharged for the murder of numerous Iraq civilians.”
He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Silas, I see you haven’t changed. You’re still the same man I knew in the army. You are a dishonor to every sniper that ever lived, to every man that has served this great country. You target the innocent—killing people just because you can. Killing soldiers wasn’t enough for you, was it? No, you shoot women trying to protect their children. You shoot kids. You’re trying to hurt me by targeting innocent people, people that have nothing to do with what happened. Your fight is with me,” he said, slapping himself on the chest. “You want revenge on me for having your sorry ass drummed out of the army, then why don’t you come at me? Why are you shooting people that have nothing to do with what happened?”
He paused, breathing hard. “You and I both know why. It’s because you’re a chickenshit. You’re afraid of a stand-up fight. You shoot people that have no way to defend themselves because you’re nothing but a coward. You won’t face me because you know I’m better than you.”
Crank paused as he stared at Helen, trying to decide if goading Silas about missing Lana, twice, was worth the risk of making him think he had to prove something by killing her. He decided he didn’t want to put Lana at even more risk.
“Prove me wrong,” Crank challenged, again slapping his chest. “Meet me. Just you and me. You pick the time and place. We’ll meet and settle this between us. Nobody else has to get hurt.” Crank read his phone number, twice, then threw a cold smile at the camera.
“I know what you are. If you don’t meet me, if you keep targeting innocent people, the rest of the world will know what you are too. A coward and a murderer.”
He stood and stomped out the room, pulling the mic and transmitter off and shoving them into the hands of the first person he walked past.
***
I know what you are. If you don’t meet me, if you keep targeting innocent people, the rest of the world will know what you are too. A coward and a murderer, Lee had said before he rose and stomped off camera.
That was Charles Lee, the president of the Fallen Legion Motorcycle Club, issuing his challenge to accused shooter Silas Conrad, the news-babe said solemnly before the video cut back to the news desk.
Silas picked up the remote and switched the television off. He’d jotted down the number displayed on the screen throughout Lee’s two-minute monologue. He knew what Lee was trying to do. If he thought Lee would hold up his end of the bargain, he’d gladly meet him one-on-one, but Lee wasn’t that stupid. He knew it was a trap.
He stared at the dark screen, his heart hammering, Lee’s words ringing in his thoughts. Coward, Lee had said. Coward.
He grimaced. He had been on his fourth tour of duty when that snot nosed punk, Lee, had joined Bravo Company. He’d seen more shit, more combat than most, and certainly more than Lee. Like all new recruits, Lee came in full of piss and vinegar, like he had something to prove. But rather than prove it, Lee accused him of improper conduct? Lee didn’t know shit about how things really worked.
He picked up his cell and stared at it. Lee was calling him out, but to contact him was dangerous. He was staying in a fleabag motel outside Amberton that didn’t ask too many questions and accepted cash.
He put the phone down on the scarred and battered table between the beds, deciding that it wasn’t worth the risk, but Lee’s words gnawed at him. With a growl of frustration, he picked up his phone and walked to his car.
He didn’t know how much the stuff he’d seen on television about being able to tap and track cell phones was true, but he didn’t want to be anywhere around his motel when he placed the call.
He drove the thirty minutes to the outskirts of Amberton before pulling into a Walmart and parking. He turned his phone on and dialed the number he’d written down, listening as his phone purred.
***
He looked at his phone. This was the third call from an unknown number in the last half-hour. “Crank.”
“So, you go by Crank now?”
“Who is this?” Crank asked as he snapped his fingers, catching the attention of Shiv and Hilt. He placed the phone on speaker and carefully placed it down on the table.
The three brothers of the Legions were gathered in Shiv’s kitchen. They had expected some wannabes to call, and they’d been right, but this voice sounded familiar.
“You don’t know?” Silas asked.
“Let’s just say you’re not the first person to call this number.”
“Do you think Duncan or Garibaldi thought I was a coward? Maybe Dulcini? You think the guys in Bravo Company whose lives I saved saw me as a coward?”
Crank nodded so his brothers would know it was the real deal this time. “I think they didn’t know the kind of monster you are. You’re sick. You need help. Turn yourself in.”
Silas chuckled. “I don’t think so.”
“Then name your place. You and me, alone.”
“No, I don’t think so on that either.”
“Because you’re nothing but a fucking coward.”
“Because I’m not walking into a trap.”
“No traps, no tricks. Just you and me. You want to settle the score? This is your chance.”
Silas chuckled again. “No. That would be too easy. If I wanted you dead, you would already be dead.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to suffer! I want you to suffer as you’ve made me suffer. You took everything from me. The army was my life. Now, because of you, I spend my days bussing tables in a fucking restaurant! You fucked me, and now I’m fucking you!”
“You were killing fucking women and children!”
“They were ragheads giving birth to more fucking ragheads who grow up wanting to kill us. I was doing the world a fucking favor!”
Crank looked at his brothers, his mouth hard. “What about now? How are you going to justify it now?”
“It’s you!” Silas screamed. “This is all your fault.”
“You shot a cop!”
“She deserved it.”
“Let’s end this. Come on. You know you want a shot at me. Take it. Show the world that it’s my fault. Good versus evil, right? Good always wins. Show the world you’re right.”
Crank and his brothers listened to Silas’s heavy breathing for a moment. “No. Not yet,” he said, his tone calmer. “I have more work to do.”
“You’re done,” Crank said. “We’ve got your number. You’ll never get another shot.”
“Fuck you, Lee. I can reach anybody.”
“You can’t reach shit. You’re losing your touch. You missed Lana not once, but twice.”
Silas laughed. “Oh, I didn’t miss.”
This time Crank reciprocated it. “You missed her. Twice. Last night you shot her father, but you missed her.”
Silas was quiet for a long time. “You’re lying.”
“Want me to have her call you? You suck, Silas. Finger my ass. More like getting the finger.”
“Fuck you, Lee.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like the chance to fuck me. I’m giving you that chance. All you have to do is man up and take it.”
“She was lucky,” Silas said. “I was shooting at shadows on the window, and I mistook someone else for her. Next time I’ll be sure. She’d dead, Crank. She’s dead, and so are all the members of your gang… and it’s your fault.”
“Give it your best shot, you fucker,” Crank sneered. “We’re coming for you, and when we find you, I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt you so fucking bad. You’re going to beg me to kill you.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
“Yeah, I guess we will.”
“Good hunting,” Silas said, and then was gone.
“Fuck!” Crank slammed his fist down on the table.
“That guy is batshit crazy,” Hilt said, shaking is head like he was seething on the inside.
“Yeah,” Shiv replied. “That’s what make him so dangerous.”
“We’ve got to find him,” Crank said through gritted teeth.
“How?” Hilt asked.
“I don’t know. Hand me a piece of paper. I’m going to give the cops this number. I don’t know if it’ll help, but it can’t hurt.”
Shiv dug around in a drawer for a few seconds, then handed Crank a piece of paper and a pen. “Is it just me, or are we doing all the heavy lifting on this? So far everything the cops have, his name, car, and now phone number, have all come from us.”
Crank finished writing. “I don’t care. I want this guy off the street. If the cops can get him…” He shrugged. “At least we’ll know where he is. We’ll deal with him then.”
He dialed Lana’s number. It rang until her voicemail picked up.
Hi! This is Lana Winters’ voicemail. You know what to do.
Crank waited for the tone. “Lana. I need to talk to you. Call me. Also, I have Silas’s phone number.” He read the digits off the paper. “I spoke to him, and he admitted to the killings. It’s him. He’s coming for you, Lana. We need to get you out of town. Call me.”
He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the table. “Fuck…” he muttered.