Chapter Thirteen

 

Eighty-eight miles west of New Orleans

 

Blood, Sandman, Bam-Bam, Easy, Wicked, and So-Cal stood in a line taking a piss in the grass at the edge of the gravel parking lot. The hot afternoon sun beat down on them.

Sandman looked over at Blood. “Ever since you made that remark about the pin in my dick, I’ve been having a hard time getting it up.”

Blood chuckled as he zipped back up. “The voodoo bullshit? It’s all in your head, bro. Or maybe you’re just getting old and need a little blue pill to get your dick stiff.”

“Bite your fuckin’ tongue,” Sandman snapped back. “This isn’t funny. Don’t anyone laugh.” At which point, the line of men all burst out laughing.

Blood replied with a chin lift to the man on his right. “Hey, Bam-Bam here swears by ‘em.”

“Don’t drag my name into this fairy tale you’re tellin’ him.” Then he peered around Blood. “Sandman, the bitch put a hex on you, and your dick’s gonna fall off. Hate to be the one to tell you, but there it is, the sad truth.”

Sandman looked down. “Fuck.”

Blood’s phone went off, and he pulled it from his pocket. “Yeah.”

Undertaker’s voice came through. “Where are you?”

Blood scanned the area. “About ten miles from ‘wouldn’t be caught dead living here.’ Why?”

“Quit fucking around.”

Blood chuckled. “I’m standing in the parking lot of some dive bar called Whiskey-a-go-go. It’s on Bayou Teche in Morgan City. Been all up and down the area; there’s no sign of ‘em.”

“Got a tip on a place about twenty miles west of there. An old body shop off Highway 90 and Kemper Road.”

“Yeah? What’s the tip?”

“Lot of bike activity in the area. Guy thought he saw a couple patches with Texas bottom rockers. Couldn’t get close enough to see the club insignia.”

“We’ll check it out.”

“Be careful.”

“Ain’t I always?”

Undertaker huffed out a breath. “Not lately.”

Blood disconnected. “Mount up.”

“What? I thought we were having a beer? It’s hot as hell out here.”

“It just ain’t your lucky day, Sandman. Move.”

A minute later, six bikes turned right out of the gravel lot and gunned it down the pavement.

 

***

 

Fifteen minutes later, they rolled into another gravel lot in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. There was a large metal shed to the right of a one-story brick office. A faded metal sign read Topper’s Body Shop. Broken down vehicles filled the lot, but no motorcycles.

The men dismounted.

Bam-Bam looked around. “This place looks more like a junkyard than a body shop.”

They walked to the glass door. Blood pulled on the handle. “It’s locked.” He cupped his hand and peered inside. “Looks deserted.”

“Let’s try the shed,” Sandman suggested.

The men walked over, their eyes scanning the lot.

“You see any bikes?” Bam-Bam asked.

Blood looked down at the dusty ground. “No, but I see tire tracks.” He bent and examined them. “Definitely big touring bikes.”

They moved carefully to the door. Blood drew his gun, and the others followed suit. The metal door was open two feet. They moved carefully inside, peering around.

“Easy, Wicked, So-Cal, sweep the yard, the back, everything. Search for any trace,” Blood whispered. The men nodded and backed off.

Blood, Sandman, and Bam-Bam entered. They looked around the cavernous space. Didn’t look like a lot of bodywork was done there. In the back was a wooden board set up on saw horses. Jugs of chemicals sat on top. Blood strolled over and examined the setup.

A man darted from behind a wall, a gun firing. Blood and the other men ducked for cover and returned fire. A moment later, the man dropped to the ground. Bam-Bam knelt next to him and rolled him over. His face was shot up. “He’s done.”

The other three bikers yanked open the big metal double doors. “What the fuck? You guys okay?”

“Yeah. Stay out there and keep watch.” Blood glanced over the table again.

Sandman moved to stand next to him. “Meth lab?”

Blood studied the jugs. “Hydrochloric acid, sulfuric acid, and hydrogen peroxide.”

“Hydrogen peroxide isn’t used in cooking meth,” Bam-Bam offered as he joined them.

“That’s because he wasn’t cooking meth,” Blood replied. “He was making a bomb.” He gestured to the two five-gallon metal drums sitting on the floor, one filled with ball bearings and the other filled with nails.

There was a small sound from the left, behind some old equipment. Blood put his finger to his mouth and signaled Sandman, who crept up and yanked a skinny girl out. She was dressed in jeans, a tank top, a ruffled apron, and rubber gloves. A paper-breathing mask hung around her neck. She looked terrified.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Blood barked.

She stayed mute as Sandman dragged her forward. Her eyes fell to the dead man on the floor.

Blood’s eyes moved over her again, taking in her pink ruffled apron. “What are you, Betty Crocker, meth cooker, or homegrown terrorist? Or maybe you’re all three. A real renaissance woman, you are.”

“Me and Gib, we were just making a little extra money. That’s all.”

“Making bombs?”

“No, making meth.”

“That ain’t meth.”

“They made us do it.”

“Who?”

“The bikers.”

A loud beep and a click sounded, and the men all looked at each other puzzled. “What the hell was that?” Blood swung back to the girl. “There someone else here?”

Tears streamed down her face, and a moment later, the building exploded.

The men all hit the dirt floor as the entire shed caved in.

 

***

 

Cat stared at the clock above the bar. Blood had been gone the entire day. She’d heard not one word from him. He’d ridden out earlier with one of the three different groups who had left that morning. She knew they were looking for that other MC; they weren’t looking for her sister.

She wished Blood would call and ask to speak to her. Something about the sound of his voice had a way of calming her, and she needed that.

She chewed her lip, wondering if Holly was okay, worrying that right this minute she may be enduring a rape or beating. Blood had told her she was too valuable to kill, but Cat wasn’t sure she believed him.

She felt so helpless, and Mama Ray’s words from that first day kept coming back to haunt her. “If that were my sister, I’d hightail my butt out of here and go find her.”

Cat glanced around the main room. The place was deserted except for the Prospect at the bar. There was one old landline phone behind the bar, but he’d been ordered to keep her away from it.

“You want a Coke or something, sweetheart?” he asked when he caught her looking at him.

She shook her head. “I think I’ll go sit outside and get some air.”

“Stay away from the gate.”

Cat nodded and moved outside. She sat atop one of the picnic tables and studied the compound, the wheels already turning, formulating a plan of escape she hadn’t realized she was contemplating until right that moment. She couldn’t wait any longer. Her sister had been missing for days and must be out of her mind with fear. Cat had to do something.

She eyed the gate. Two men stood near it. One smoked a cigarette; the other was animatedly describing something to him until they both were laughing. Cat’s eyes strayed to the back. There were a couple of metal garbage dumpsters in the back corner. If she could find a way to get on top of them, she might just be able to pull herself over the tall stockade-like fence. It would be quite a drop to the other side, but she couldn’t worry about that.

She looked around again. There were a couple of old plastic milk crates behind the building. She could use them as a step up onto the dumpster. She glanced back at the gate. The men seemed oblivious to her. She slowly edged down off the table and darted behind the building. They couldn’t see the dumpsters from where they stood. As long as she didn’t make any noise, she just might have a shot.

 

***

 

Blood lifted his head and shook it. He couldn’t hear a thing besides the ringing in his ears. Dust filled the air. Something heavy was on top of him. He managed to roll to his back and shove the sheet of metal off him, the whole time thinking that if he ripped open his wound, Cat was going to kill him. If it didn’t hurt so badly, he’d laugh at the irony of that.

“Sandman? You okay?”

He heard a muffled groan to his right and crawled beneath the twisted metal that formed a low cave around them. “Sandman!”

“Yeah,” came the weak reply. It sounded like it was coming from underwater, but then Blood realized his hearing was just messed up.

He heard the shouts of the men he’d left outside to guard their backs.

“Blood! Sandman! Bam-Bam! You guys alive?”

“Over here!” Blood yelled back. He looked around. There were spots of daylight coming through the pile, but he knew there was a good chance they were trapped under all the debris. He got to Sandman and pulled him out from under a twisted metal pipe. He only had strength in one arm, but somehow he managed.

Sandman rolled over and started cursing. “Motherfucker, that hurts.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Are we trapped?”

“Not sure.”

“Who the fuck’s idea was it to come in here?”

“Yours,” Blood replied with a grin.

“Bullshit. I deny all involvement.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You still got those painkillers in your pocket?”

“Let me check.” Blood finagled his hand into his hip pocket and came out with the bottle. “Yeah.”

“Give me a handful.”

“Fuck no. I need them. You can have two.”

“I always knew you were a stingy bastard, even in my hour of need.”

“Fuck off. I was shot.”

“I think my leg’s broke.”

“Shake it off, you big baby. You’re fine.”

“We were setup.”

“No shit.”

“I’m gonna kill the motherfucker. Who gave Undertaker this tip?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Call him and find out.”

“Now?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Blood dug his phone out. “No service.”

Easy yelled out, “I found Bam-Bam. He’s okay. We’re gonna get you guys out. Don’t worry!”

“Shut up and let me die in peace!” Sandman yelled back.

“Relax,” Blood told him.

“Hey, do me a favor please, and for once in your life admit how bad the situation is.”

“I’m aware of the situation.”

“Really? Because I think we’re fucked.”

“Calm down.”

“You know I hate small spaces.”

“That’s just a state of mind. You’ve got to work through it.”

Sandman groaned and rocked.

“You all right?”

“No, I’m not all right.”

“Quit moving around so much. This pile is very unstable.”

“Thanks. That’s encouraging.”

They were both quiet as the others continued to try to dig them out.

“How’d they know when to detonate, Blood?”

“Maybe pizza-face called someone.”

Sandman looked around. “Let’s dig him out so I can kill him all over again.”

Blood fell to his back, breathing heavy. “Maybe Betty Crocker detonated it. She gave me a weird look.”

“That’s just the way all women look at you.”

“Ha ha. You’re hilarious.”

“I know. It’s a gift.”

Blood stared up at the tiny slivers of sunlight shining through the debris and tried to move some of it. The metal pieces were all twisted together in an interlocking pile like some giant Jenga game. He shifted one piece, and another board fell on Sandman.

“Fuck!”

“Well, that could have gone better,” Blood said, trying to stifle his laughter.

Sandman glared over at him. “Ya think?”

Blood tried again.

“Please, for the love of God, stop before you kill me.”

He finally gave up, impatience gnawing at him, and fell back, breathing hard.

Sandman shoved the board off himself. “I hate you right now.”

“You’ll get over it.”

They were quiet for a few minutes. Blood looked over at Sandman who could never stay quiet for long. “You alive?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Remember last week when you wanted to tell me the meaning of life? Now’s your chance.”

“You sayin’ I babble?”

“Endlessly.”

“Fuck off,” Sandman bit back then rolled his head to look at Blood, picking a topic of his own choosing. “She’s pretty.”

“Who?” Blood frowned over at him.

He turned his head back to look at the bits of blue sky. “Cat. You can tell she really cares about you, too.”

Blood looked up at the same spot. “Yeah, I’ll probably screw it up like I do everything else. It’s not in my DNA to be happy.”

“What a bunch of bullshit.”

“I’ll run her off just like all the rest. It’s what I do.”

Sandman huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, so…quit doin’ that. Boom. I’m your life coach.”

Blood fought to give in to the humor, but soon they were both breaking down into laughter. He clutched his side. “You fucking asshole. Damn that hurts.”

That only made Sandman laugh that much harder.