Cass
Scott, Cass, and now Clayton fired up and got on the road. Scott had gotten the contact information for Ghost and got in touch with him, letting him know they’d be seeing him this evening. He didn’t give him an exact time, but he didn’t need one. He was going to be where he was all evening. See, Ghost had been burned by the Moccasins, but unlike most people, Ghost was patient. He didn’t have to do things immediately, he’d wait ten…fifteen years before he ever went after a personal target. His time was taken up by paying customers and their not so great friends that they wanted gone.
When Clayton learned of what they were going to do, he wanted in and wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Besides, Clayton would be a good asset to have with them. He may have been getting old, but his senses were sharp. The ride was short, but the temperature outside was steadily dropping. It was almost cold enough for leather…almost.
They turned down a long, blacktop driveway that wound through the woods until an opening appeared. A small log cabin sat neatly with a motorcycle and a truck parked out front. Lights shone from the two windows in the front onto the front porch that ran the length of the cabin. One wooden rocking chair sat on the porch with a small table next to it.
“Welcome, boys.” The voice came from behind them near the wood line.
“Damnit!” Clayton jumped, looking behind him. They had just stepped off their bikes and Ghost caught them by surprise. He had a good reason for his name, that was for sure.
“Thanks for the warm welcome,” Cass said, walking over to shake his hand.
Ghost chuckled and stepped into the light. He wasn’t a very tall man. He was shorter than Cass, with dark brown eyes and dark brown hair. He was in his late thirties to early forties, but he was still the best at what he did.
“I was out making my rounds around the property when I heard y’all pulling in. Had to come scope ya out first. Not my fault you didn’t hear me,” he grinned, definitely pun intended.
“That’s why we’re here. You’re the best. I’ve only ever heard of you up until now. It’s a pleasure,” Cass said.
“Come in. Let’s talk over a cup of coffee.” Ghost walked ahead of them, leading the way into the cabin.
Inside, the walls were identical to the outside. The dinner table was a light brown wood. It appeared to be home made, along with the four chairs that surrounded it. Whoever had made it was handy with that sort of thing. Cass admired the intricate designs that were engraved on the sides of the chairs and the center of the table.
“Nice work, here. You make these?” Cass asked, intrigued.
“Years ago, before I got too busy taking lives, I used to enjoy wood work.”
“Looks like you were pretty good at it,” Scott said.
“I used to be. Hell I wouldn’t know now. Haven’t touched a saw in years.” A sadness sparkled in his eyes as he turned around to fix four cups of coffee. One by one, he set them down at the table until he was finished, then he took a seat in the last empty chair.
Cass’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, shocked at who was calling. Gater’s name lit up the screen.
“Excuse me for a minute,” he said, standing up and walking toward the door as he slid the green button to answer it.
“You either have a death wish or an explanation. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s the latter,” Cass said as he eased the door shut behind him.
“I’m outside of your house right now. I just brought the guns to the prospects and members guarding our ol’ ladies.” Gater sounded apologetic.
“Is there any specific reason I didn’t know about this beforehand and why you didn’t feel like it needed to be discussed with me?”
“You’ve been busy with all this shit going on. I didn’t want to bother you with it, man.”
“Didn’t want to bother me with it? You took a fucking shit ton of our illegal weapons out of the clubhouse and haven’t been seen nor heard from all day!” Cass roared.
“You’re not the only one allowed to make decisions for this club. That is why you appointed me VP, to help you make decisions and to make decisions in your absence, isn’t it?”
“That’s not the fucking point! If weapons are leaving the clubhouse, I need to know about it. End of story. We’ll discuss this at church this week, I’ve got other shit to handle right now. Oh, and Gater…mind your P’s and Q’s, it’s real easy to get a patch stripped, VP or not.” Cass didn’t wait for a response before he hung up and slid his phone back into his pocket.
He opened the door and took his seat back at the table. Clayton, Scott, and Ghost were talking about different jobs Ghost had done, but when Cass sat down their conversation died down. Ghost looked over at Cass, intrigued.
“Who is it, exactly, that I’m targeting in that sad excuse for an MC?” He raised his black cup of coffee to his lips, taking a gulp. “Not that I much care, they can all rot in hell as far as I’m concerned.”
“That’s the million dollar question. I need a little more information on who’s leading their little charades before I set a bullseye on anyone. I have a damn good idea, though.” Cass was almost certain it was Asher. He was the president, after all.
“I can tell you who is in charge,” he said, smugly.
“Who?” Cass asked.
Ghost had everyone’s undivided attention, which he took advantage of for a few beats longer than normal while he took another gulp from his cup. Setting it down, his eyes met Cass’s.
“Their VP. The one that likes to get messy.”
Scott looked at him curiously. “Keith?’ he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
“I didn’t think he was smart enough to be in charge of anything,” Scott said.
“Wait, what about Asher?” Cass asked.
Ghost cocked his head. “Who?”
“Their president…?”
“Ahh. I was wondering about him, myself. He’s nowhere to be found. Word on the street is he hasn’t been seen nor heard from in quite some time.”
“Something’s not right there.” Clayton’s voice was filled with conviction. It wasn’t an opinion, it was fact.
“What makes you say that?” Scott asked.
“Would Cass let Gater run shit and disappear in the middle of a war?”
“Good point.”
Cass looked back at Ghost. “Then, that’s your target.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that. That’s why I’ve already run surveillance on him over the past few days and figured out his routine. I may have taken out a few of his throw-aways in the process. Nasty little fuckers. Got in my way, but they were too strung out to even realize what hit them.”
Cass grinned as Ghost’s words registered in his mind. This guy was the real deal. Good thing he’s on our side.
“Where’s he going to be tonight?” Clayton asked.
Cass could tell Clayton was itching to take care of some of these guys. He used to do that for the club back when he met Cass’s mom, but he’d thrown the towel in after Cass was a few years old and he almost got caught tossing a body. Not by the police, but by Cass. Clayton had told him about when he got older. He was going to the pond outside their house early one morning, dragging a body wrapped up in a rug behind him. When he made it to the edge of the pond, he was just about to unwrap the body when a three year old Cass spoke.
“Daddy, what’s that?” he had asked, approaching the rug.
Clayton had run and put himself between Cass and the rug and scooped him up, walking him back toward their farmhouse. “Nothing, son. Nothing at all.”
“Cass?” Scott was looking at him as he said his name, snapping him back to reality.
“Yeah?”
“Where do you want to start? Keith is going to be at their makeshift clubhouse. The ghetto, rinky dink bar that they are rumored to have strong armed from the owner.”
Cass glanced at Clayton, waiting for his instruction…an old habit that he didn’t realize would make its way back with his presence.
“Let’s start there,” he said, and Clayton nodded his approval. That was something that always let Cass know he was doing right, when he made decisions and they were the same ones his father would’ve made.
“Saddle up, then, boys. I’ll be there before you can say bullshit,” Ghost snickered, leaving them alone as he walked through a door on the other side of the living room.
Scott, Clayton, and Cass downed the rest of their coffee and headed outside. They got ready to head out and Cass stopped as they were about to pull down the driveway.
“Anybody got an address on this place?” he asked.
“Yeah. Already put it in the GPS,” Scott shouted over the roar of the engines.
“We’re following you.” Cass waved his hand forward, letting them know they were ready. Cass took off, Scott to his left and Clayton riding behind them. The bar they were in route to was a little ways outside of town. There was an abandoned gas station about a quarter mile before the bar, where they decided to pull into and park at, hoping to still have the element of surprise. He didn’t think they’d be on guard since to their knowledge, the Hounds had no idea where it was they’d been hanging out anyway. Where they were parked at was hid well in the dark, giving them shelter from passersby on the highway.
Cass was first to hop off and he walked around the store, looking for anything suspicious. It was dark, but not so dark that he couldn’t see. After a thorough walk through of the premises, Cass made his back around the side to where Scott and Clayton stood. They were looking down the street toward the bar. The sound of a motorcycle accompanied by a single headlight headed in their direction had them on edge, Cass included.
It flew past them, never checking up. Whoever it was, was oblivious to their presence. Cass put a hand on Clayton’s shoulder. “Ready to fuck some shit up, Pops?”
“I was born ready, Son. Let’s go.”
Clayton led the way, walking into the woods that separated the bar from the old store. To their surprise, a fresh path was already cut, a white paper ghost hanging from the first tree in the path. Clayton chuckled and pulled the ghost down.
“He said he’d beat us here. Looks like he did.”
They followed Clayton down the heavily wooded path until dim neon lights shone through the trees as they neared the bar. Once they made it to the edge of the parking lot, Scott peered through the trees to ensure no one was around. There were a few motorcycles parked in the front, but no cars or trucks. The music was playing loud enough to mask any sounds they would make.
Making their way through the last few tree branches Ghost had left to hide the trail he’d made, they got a good view of the bar. Ghost wasn’t lying. The place was rundown and looked like it hadn’t had any maintenance done in the last thirty years.
The paint on the exterior walls was chipped to hell and back, the gutter was hanging down, and the door was lopsided and didn’t shut properly. It couldn’t be very secure. The parking lot was full of large pot holes and the gravel was thin. It looked like someone had abandoned the place in the eighties and squatters had been living there since.
“Hell of a makeshift clubhouse, huh brother?” Scott asked, taking in their surroundings.
“I’ll say.” Cass walked around toward the side of the building, hoping there was a window he could see inside through. As he suspected, there was. Inside, he could see Keith sitting at the bar with a patch on either side of him and one behind the bar who was likely a prospect.
The smell of gasoline crept into Cass’s nostrils. He looked around, finding Clayton kneeling a few feet away from him pouring gas into a glass beer bottle. Before Cass could react, Clayton stuffed a piece of cloth into the tip of the bottle, lit it, and hummed it directly through the window. It exploded upon entry through the window, causing instant chaos inside. Fire spewed toward the men at the bar, small bits of it landing on them.
The bartender ducked for cover while the two patches that were sitting next to Keith drew their weapons and disappeared. Cass no longer had eyes on anyone, they were hidden from sight. Clayton looked at Cass, then at Scott.
“Now or never, boys,” Ghost’s voice rang out from behind them in the brush.
“I’ve never been one to half-ass anything. It’s go time.” Cass raised his pistol and crouched down, making his way toward the door. Scott and Clayton were on the move, too, and Ghost…well, he was doing what he did best. Disappearing.
Taking a deep breath in, Cass kicked the falling apart door open and all fucking hell broke loose. Whoever was firing off rounds was a complete idiot. They were shooting wild, with no target in mind obviously, because bullets were flying in every direction. Cass was still outside, standing beside the doorway, just out of sight. He no longer had eyes on Scott or Clayton, but he had to remain focused, if not he wouldn’t be walking away from this place upright.
His arm stung from the flesh wound of a bullet grazing him that he hadn’t noticed initially, but when he leaned against the chipped boards that made up the outer walls, he almost howled under his own weight.
Biting his lip to subdue any noise that might escape, he eased off the wall. He instantly felt relief once his weight was lifted from his arm. He could hear movement inside and what he assumed were supposed to be whispers and hushed voices. They sucked at the concept though.
“Get Kingston and his guys on the phone. Let ‘em know we’re being attacked at the bar.”
Cass would recognize that voice anywhere. Keith. Moccasin VP. Leader of chaos. Or at least that’s what he used to be. Because tonight, he wouldn’t be any of those things. Tonight, he was going to be another toe tag in the morgue. Ghost never missed a target and some drugged-up douchebag wouldn’t be the first, of that Cass was certain.
From the sounds of their footsteps, Cass figured they were behind the bar. Which was far enough to the side that he should be able to get inside the doorway and take out at least one of the guys before they realized he was there. Fuck, I hate this part.
Whipping around the corner, his nine aimed and ready, he was able to get off one shot as he suspected. Straight to the head of a short, young man. He dropped and Cass quickly ducked back outside.
“Come on, Cass. Doing your own dirty work, these days?” Keith’s tone was challenging.
“Better than sending some fucked-up zombies out to do the job, don’t you think?” Cass fired back, hatred lacing his voice.
“Keith, look out!” one of the men shouted, followed by a gurgling moan and a loud thud.
Cass did a mental recap and counted the number of men that should be left: one. He waltzed through the doorway, an unamused Keith standing behind the bar with a highly amused Scott behind him with the barrel of a gun pressed against his head.
“Hey Pops, you can come in now,” Cass called loudly as he approached Keith.
“Think I got it from here, brother.”
Scott lowered his weapon and shoved Keith forward. His grungy hair covered his face with the motion. He whipped his head sideways in attempt to get his hair out of his eyes so he could see.
“I’m not scared of you. You’re nothing more than a wannabe. You can’t even run your own goddamn club right!” he shouted.
Cass laughed in his face. “You don’t know anything about running a club. Hell, you don’t know anything about running a damn thing other than dope.”
“I knew how to run dope and firearms. I’ve made more money off that than you could even fathom.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe that,” Scott muttered.
Keith looked between Scott and Cass then focused his attention back on Cass. “That little house you just bought is cute. That’s chump change.”
Cass’s blood boiled as soon as the words were out of Keith’s mouth. There was no way in fucking hell he should’ve known about that. Only a select few of the Hounds knew about it and a few of the Sinners, but they couldn’t pick any Moccasins out of a lineup if they weren’t wearing a cut.
“Guess that all depends on what kind of lifestyle you want,” Cass countered, reigning in the anger that was so close to breaking through the surface. He refused to let this motherfucker get the best of him. He had a lot of information to drag out of him and he wouldn’t be any good for that if he were missing his teeth and bleeding all over the damn place.
Like the lion tamer in a circus, Cass beckoned his inner beast into its cage, swallowing back the rage that burned his throat like a whiskey shot. He wanted nothing more than to turn Keith’s face into puree, but he wouldn’t. Not right now.
“Get a prospect here with a cage. We’re taking him to the clubhouse. He’s gonna have a one on one with Snapper and his…” Cass tapped his fingers against one another, “tactics.”
Scott pulled his phone out and dialed. He made demands while Cass made sure Keith’s hands were secured and then unarmed him. He was carrying a piece in the back of his jeans and two knives, one on the side of each boot. He was quiet while Cass tied his hands with rope he’d found in a drawer behind the bar.
“They’ll be here in ten. I’m going to see if I can find Clayton.” Scott was out the door before he finished his sentence, leaving Cass and Keith alone in the bar.
“Whatever you’re going to do to me, it won’t work. You know that just as well as I do.”
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”