Tank
The news the next day hit me like a knife stab to the gut.
Bulldog, one of the newest members of the Warhawks, had been found dead.
It seemed hard to believe, and my first instinct was to meet up with the rest of the men and get every goddamn detail that I could. How he’d die, where he’d been found, any suspects—I needed to know everything. But the men were as at a loss as I was, and me having to deliver the news that Cruiser was not only any longer the vice president, but out of the Warhawks entirely, was just more shit that they all had to take in.
This was already shaping up to be a real motherfucker of a week.
“So, Cruiser’s out, just like that?” asked Bowie, one of the more recent members of the club.
We were all gathered at one of our usual haunts, and I could tell that the men were shaken. We went from having the payday of all paydays on the horizon to having to deal with the news that two of our own were gone—one dead, one out on the street.
Where was Cruiser, you might be wondering? Well, as much as I wanted to put a knife in his neck and kick his body into a ditch, I knew that I needed to let myself cool down before making any rash decisions. Sure, betraying the club was an offense that I’d have been fully justified in offing him for. But Cruiser’d been a loyal VP up until now; this whole thing with Star and Dakin had just got him spooked. So after I’d had the rest of the night to think about it, I decided that exile was the best bet. I’d let him cool his heels in my basement for a day or two before telling him he was out. I’d give him a few thousand to get a new start somewhere else, with clear instructions that Florida was now officially off limits.
If he was smart, he’d hightail it across the country and start a new life as a mechanic in Idaho or some shit. Part of me still wanted to make him really pay for what he’d done, but I had his years of loyal service to consider too. Plus, executions weren’t exactly the best way to inspire loyalty in the rest of the club. Good for fear, but not much else.
Anyway, I had more pressing shit to deal with.
“Nothing about Cruiser for the time being,” I said. “Just know that he’s fucking out. And I’ll leave it at this: betrayal is something I don’t fuck around with.”
That got the boys’ attention.
“Now we’ve got a murder of one of our own to deal with. How’d he die?”
“Gunshot to the back of the head,” said Shiv, a baldheaded bull of a biker. “Quick and clean.”
“That means someone was sending a message,” I said. “They just wanted us to know that death is on the line, that these are the stakes.”
“We just gonna let them get away with this shit?” demanded Rex, a wiry, crazy-eyed man with a mane of white hair. “That was a brother of ours they killed!”
Murmurs of agreement went up from the two dozen men or in attendance. I held up my hand, giving them the order to quiet down.
“First, we gotta find out who did this shit,” I said.
But I had a damn good idea just who had done it; it had to be Dakin. No other gang in the area would even consider fucking with the Warhawks.
Then, right at that moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Anyone who’d be getting in touch with me was in this room … other than Star, that was. I pulled out my phone and read the text that I’d just received. It was from an unlisted number.
Hope you got the message loud and clear. I’m not fucking around about the girl. I want Star. Meet me here when you’re ready to do the smart thing. Come alone.
D
An address followed.
“What’s it say, boss?” asked Oslo, a big-shouldered, barrel-chested biker who’d risen to be one of my most senior men.
“I figured it was Dakin, but now I know for sure.”
More murmuring among the men broke out.
“What’s he want?” Oslo asked.
“You remember that girl, the one I paid half a mil for?”
“No fuckin’ way,” said Oslo.
I turned to the men.
“I don’t know what his terms are, but I have to meet with him. Alone.”
“Alone?” asked Oslo incredulously. “No fuckin’ way am I gonna let you meet with a psychopath like Dakin by yourself.”
“It’s what’s gotta be done,” I said, holding up my hand again. “Killing Bulldog was his way of saying just how far he’d go to get what he wants.”
Oslo slammed a fist into his palm.
“I knew that fucker was a no-good piece of shit.”
Oslo was right—Dakin was the exact type of dirty little ratfucker who’d turn on you like this. But I’d hoped, foolishly, that I’d be able to get a couple of good transactions out of him before he showed his true colors. After all, if this deal had gone through, I could have said sayonara to him for good. No chance of that now, I supposed. I’d rolled the dice, and they’d come up snake-eyes.
“He says he wants to meet me alone, so that’s what I’m gonna do. None of you boys better follow me unless you wanna catch the Greyhound with Cruiser.”
With that, I turned to leave. My crew was loyal as shit, but no matter how much they feared for my safety, they’d obey me. Especially with the recent situation with Cruiser fresh in their minds. I hopped on my hog and peeled off, the image of Dakin’s face fresh in my mind. I wanted to rip that little shit limb from limb.
Later, I told myself. First, I needed to see if there was anything I could salvage from this debacle.
After a time, I reached the house. It was out in the sticks, and I could hear the commotion from a mile off. Sure enough, as I pulled up I saw that the front lawn of the two-story house was packed full of bikes. Rock music was cranking, and men and their old ladies were gathered in front.
This must be the new house that Dakin picked up, I thought to myself. Good location, lots of space; I can see why he wanted it.
I pulled my bike into a spot out front, and I could feel the tension as soon as the first few guys near me laid eyes on my patch. Dakin must’ve spread the word of what kind of shit was going down with the Warhawks, so these rough motherfuckers in attendance knew that when someone rolled up with this patch that shit might very well hit the fan. I hoped to keep things nice and calm, however—any fight that broke out wouldn’t exactly turn out well for a man outnumbered fifty-to-one.
A beefy wall of a man stood at the front door, barring my entrance. He gave me a snort as I approached, and as I looked him over I saw that he was strapped—a huge pistol was on his hip and I spotted the outline of a bowie knife at his ankle; probably another gun down there too. Not that he’d even need the weapons; a bruiser like that could probably take down five men with his bare hands. I took a quick sweep of the crowd and saw that there were four or so other guys, just as beefy and loaded for bear as this dude.
Dakin wasn’t fucking around.
I told the guard why I was there. He looked me over skeptically before giving me a pat-down. He pulled out the buck knife that I always kept well-hidden in my boot and slipped it into his pocket.
“Upstairs,” he said, his words a creaky grunt.
He moved to the side and I entered. The place was packed with the same kind of men and women who were outside. The fact that this was a home of some sort was clear from the décor that Dakin had yet to take down. Though a few more parties like this and it’d look like any other biker dive.
I weaved through the crowds and headed upstairs. More guards looked me up and down with narrow, beady eyes as I passed. I spotted a door flanked by those goons, and I figured this had to be where Dakin was posted up.
I told the guards my business, and before they could respond I heard a familiar voice from the other side of the door.
“That Tank? Send his ass in.”
One of the guards opened the door and I entered. The space was what had once been the master bedroom of the house, though Dakin hadn’t exactly been keeping up with chores. Dakin was seated at a desk, a pretty little blonde on his lap. Two more girls were on the bed, their eyes looking bleary from whatever they were on. The bass from the music below thumped through the floor
And the guns. Couldn’t forget those. The place was packed full of weaponry. There were cases of ammo, racks of machine guns, plastic bins each loaded down with different kinds of pistols, boxes of hand grenades. As far as I could tell, Dakin had skimmed a little gear off of his weapon shipment in order to provide his gang with the goods they needed to stay competitive.
“What’s up, man?” asked Dakin, the blonde on his lap playing with the hair of his beard.
I stepped into the room, the back of my neck tingling as I did. I got a real sense of danger from this place, and I knew if Dakin wanted to have me dead for whatever reason, all he’d have to do was snap his fingers. And the neat little arrangement of white lines on a small mirror and the half-drunk bottle of whiskey next to it on Dakin’s desk made it clear he might not be in the most stable frame of mind.
“You told me to come, so I came,” I said, feeling the eyes of the girls on the bed scanning me.
“You did, you did,” he said. “Wanted to see if you’d come to your senses about the little arrangement I proposed.”
“Still thinking it over,” I said.
Dakin looked me up and down. Even through the obvious effects of the drugs on his demeanor, I could still see that sharp gleam of intelligence in his eyes. Any chance that I’d be able to take advantage of his fucked-up state was small.
“Well, I’ll put it to you like this,” he said. “If you come to your fuckin’ senses and give me the girl, I promise that things’ll be cool as cream between the two of us. Because, see, some of the boys are just itchin’ to put all this gear we got to use. And, now, normally, I’d be tellin’ ’em to calm their asses down, to not go rushing into some stupid fight with one of the toughest gangs in the region. But I couldn’t help get to thinkin’… maybe there’s something to what they’re sayin’? After all, the turf you guys got would make a nice little addition to my, ah, growing enterprise.”
He was talking about war. He wanted to take out the Warhawks and was using Star as the pretext.
“Now, I’m a reasonable man; you know this. So, if you agree to give me Star and make a little agreement about your territory—namely that it would be mine—we can avoid this whole mess.”
I said nothing.
“What’s that word you said, Kelly-Ann?” he asked to one of the girls on the bed, some brunette with legs for days.
“Fealty,” she said, her voiced spooled out from whatever she was on.
“Yeah, that’s the word. ‘Fealty.’ You know what that means?”
I kept my mouth shut.
“Just a fancy, medieval-type word for loyalty. It means that you recognize someone as your superior, and they recognize you as below them on the old totem pole. Don’t think they had totem poles back in medieval times, though. Anyway, you pledge your fealty to me and give me that fuckin’ girl, and we can have a nice little setup. You can be my official gun-running crew. It’d work for all of us. All you gotta do is, well, bend the knee.”
I wanted to grab one of this assault rifles and ventilate this fucker right then and there. It was bad enough when he’d just wanted the girl; now he was threatening war unless I gave him everything he wanted.
“Now, don’t feel like you have to say anything now,” he said, raising his palms. “Though if you did, I’d be more than happy to share my company here, if you know what I’m saying.”
The girls on the bed eyed me hungrily.
“But I want you to think on it. Take your time. Really thing about what’s at stake. So, until then.”
He took a mighty pull from his whiskey bottle, followed by dumping a splash onto his blonde’s tits. She squealed with delight, playfully slapping Dakin.
“Ta ta,” he said.
I rushed out of the room as fast as possible. Getting my knife from the goon on the way out, I was back on my bike in minutes. And as I tore down the road, my hands clenched in anger on the handlebars, I could only think of one thing.
If it’s war he wants, it’s war he’ll get.