CHAPTER ELEVEN
The arrival of the Black Wolves MC of Sturgis, SD was remarkably discreet.
Instead of rolling in thunder through Spokane and Airway Heights on their bikes, the veep, sgt-at-arms and two of the brothers drove into the Flyers' parking lot in a big, new, black, passenger van. The van had a logo on the side with a wolf's head howling at the moon, the words 'Black Wolf Casino & Resort' circled around it.
The van was splotched with wet snow, the windshield wipers working, for fat snowflakes had begun to fall, dusting the ground and sticking to the fences.
When the Wolves pulled up before the north cargo bay of the Flyers' compound, the doors rolled open, and after a half a moment to ascertain the bay was clear except for Stick, Rocker and Bouncer, the driver pulled in and parked, the van dripping melting snow onto the oil-stained cement floor.
The van doors opened, and four men stepped down. The Wolves' veep, a lean man in his fifties, with Plains Indian evident in his hawk-like features and ebony hair, walked around the front of the van, and nodded to the Flyers.
"Welcome to Flyer territory, Hawk," Stick said. He looked to the Wolves' sgt, who moved forward to join his veep. "Clapper. Good you made it."
"Long drive," said Clapper, a tall skinny man with graying hair and an ugly scar that twisted up one corner of his mouth. "But at least Idaho's narrow this far north. Took us a long fuckin' time to cross Montana, but Idaho, not so much."
The Flyers chuckled. "That’s why they call it the Panhandle," Stick agreed. "This is Rocker, our veep, and I think you know Bouncer, our sgt."
"We do," Hawk Firewalker agreed. He beckoned the other two Wolves forward, a younger version of himself with long braids, and a stocky blond with acne scars under a deep tan. "This is Chaske, my oldest, and Wheels, our driver."
"Nice van," Bouncer commented. "Next time we'll invite ya in summer, so y'all can enjoy the ride, stead of cooped up in a cage."
"That would be good," Chaske Firewalker muttered, looking sulky.
"Wolves know when to run in the open, and when to use the cover of the brush," his father said, with a twinkle in his eye. "The law dogs had no reason to notice us in our van."
"You got a casino on your tribal lands now?" Rocker asked. "There's a moneymaker."
"We do. Couldn't beat the white man in direct battle, but we might bankrupt him."
"True that.,” Stick said wryly. “I see the buses pullin' in to the tribe's casino here, full of people who can't wait to drop their money in a machine."
"We're staying at their hotel," Hawk said. "Do a little spying while we're in enemy camp."
Rocker's brows went up. "No enemies here in Flyer territory, just allies."
Hawk shrugged. "It's a Native thing. Few of the tribes trust each other."
"Well, come on in," Stick invited. "Doors are locked, so your van is safe here. No one around but our brothers."
He led the way into the club house, and along the hallway, knowing Rocker would bring up the rear and have his back.
The Wolves followed him into the main room of the clubhouse, where Streak stood behind the bar. Stick and Rocker's favorite whiskey was set out with shot glasses. Bouncer poured for Stick and Rocker, then for himself.
The Wolves stuck to beer, and Streak poured them all one of The Hangar's blond ales.
"How's Chains?" Stick asked. He'd known the Black Wolves' pres several years, although not well. The man had gotten his club name by beating to death a would-be rival for his woman. Chains had finished the job by garroting the guy with a length of chain. Since the other man had tried to kill Chains first, Stick saw nothing wrong in this.
Hawk took a drink of beer and made a face of pleased surprise at the taste. "Chains? He's good. Busy with the casino, you know." He smiled. "Hear you got yourself an old lady now."
Stick nodded. "Da. My Sara is made of lace and steel. A fine choice for me, my boys and my club."
"It's an epidemic 'round here," Bouncer said, lifting his second shot. "Rocker's claimed now too."
Rocker grinned slowly. "No regrets here."
Hawk saluted him with his beer. "A good woman makes it all worthwhile."
"Our old ladies have a spread planned for later," Stick said. "Then we'll party. Now, what say we get our business out of the way?"
"And the shit into your possession," Clapper said wryly. "In case any of your local law dogs come sniffin' around."
"They won't," Stick said. He made it a point to be friends with those he could, and keep club business on the down-low, out of sight of the unfriendly law officers.
"Heard you got a new top cop in town with a hard-on for you boys," Hawk said.
"Just for me," Rocker said. "Which is why I keep my nose real clean. Nothin' for you to worry about."
"Good," Hawk said. "'Cause if any word was to get out about our deal, Chains would be real unhappy."
"Not nearly as unhappy as me," Stick assured him, his gaze cold and hard. "Now, are we on, or not?"
Hawk looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. "We're on."
Stick held out an arm toward the garage bays to the north. "Then let's go."
As they walked out to the garage, Chaske Firewalker pulled his cell phone out and sent a text. A few moments later, a car horn sounded outside.
"That'll be our merch," Chaske said, smirking.
Streak jogged over and looked through the walk-in door to one side of the cargo door. "It's a chick in a Lexus, South Dakota plates."
The Flyers looked to Hawk, who shrugged. "Didn't think we were stupid enough to travel with it, did you?"
Stick nodded to Streak, who hit the power button to raise the cargo doors. They opened to reveal a new gold Lexus SUV, driven by a woman. She parked behind the van, and turned off the motor, waiting until Chaske opened her door to step out.
She was pretty, with a mass of dark hair streaked dramatically with red and gold, wearing tight jeans and tee. Her body language said she belonged to Chaske.
Stick turned his gaze to Hawk. "All right, let's see it."
They all gathered around the back of the Lexus, and the two younger Wolves pulled out a couple of girly suitcases, then the bottom liner of the cargo area, and the spare tire. Chaske pulled on a lever, and the bottom of the tire well opened, revealing case upon case of ammo stacked in tightly.
Rocker whistled. "Nice. Haven't seen a set-up like this since I worked a drug op out of Cali."
"Got some more rigs just like it," Clapper said proudly. "Law dogs keep an eye on delivery trucks coming in and out of the Casino. They can't watch every passenger vehicle. Ain't never been any weed or blow near these rigs, so K-9 drug-sniffer won't raise any alarms, either."
Stick filed this information away for a chat with Moke and T, see if they'd be interested in working up some modifications like this on a couple of vehicles.
Not that Stick would even consider letting his woman drive a vehicle loaded with contraband. He knew most all of his men would agree.
Snake being the exception. His woman Darlene had grown up in the life with a father in one of the most notorious Cali clubs. She hadn't turned a hair when her Vegas' vacation a few weeks ago had included transporting two drugged and bound low-lifes in the back of his van.
The pair had been turned loose and promptly got themselves killed trying to outrun the Vegas cops in a stolen car. They hadn’t died in Flyer territory, that was all Stick cared about.
"Let's talk price," Stick said. "I like your deal, we'll take more shipments."
With the scarcity of legal ammo in their area, they could sell as much as the Wolves delivered. And this way, the Flyers did not have to deal with getting it over the border from either Mexico or Canada. Stick had little respect for laws that limited the amount of ammo gun-owners could buy for legal firearms. But he also had zero interest in international smuggling. The Wolves wanted to do it, or had contacts who did, that was fine.
He was a family man now, and he couldn't afford to do prison time. Stick had feelers out to the Seattle chapter of the Flyers for deliveries smuggled into the Port of Seattle, but so far Sound had been able to sell all he got in his own territory.
Stick and Hawk haggled. When they reached an agreement, Streak brought a dolly, the brothers unloaded the ammo, and it was wheeled away. Chaske's woman headed for the casino hotel.
The bikers trooped into the meeting room for drinks, cigars and more talk about possible alliances in other areas. Although Stick trusted the Wolves about as far as he could throw them, he respected that they, like the Flyers, did not run hard drugs or whores.
In their world, a club had to take the allies they could get.