Blood Lines (30 page)

Urlacher intended to keep him there.

>> Hawthorne Machine Shop

>> 0736 Hours

Victor came up with a pistol in his fist. His dreams had been twisted and dark, taking him back to the jungle. He'd been turning over bodies after a rocket attack had taken out his unit. Every body he turned over had worn Bobby Lee's face.

The pistol sights settled on Fat Mike's round face, only inches out of reach.

“Friendly!” Fat Mike yelped and held his hands up over his head. “Victor! Friendly!”

Fat Mike's words and voice soaked through the old terror and frustration that gripped Victor. He eased the pistol's hammer back down and dropped his hand and the weapon to the bed again.

He gazed around the simple room. It took a moment for it to click in; then he realized he was on the second floor of the machine shop. Those rooms had been turned into crash pads for the chapter.

“What's going on?” Victor grated.

Fat Mike stood to the side of one of the windows. He peered out at the rising sun.

“Cops,” Fat Mike said. “They're all over the place, bro.”

That woke Victor. He sat up in bed and started coughing. Cursing his smoking habit, he reached for the pack of cigarettes beside the bed, shook one out, and lit up. He joined Fat Mike at the window.

Looking out, he saw that the police had congregated on the premises en masse. He cursed again.

“I told you not to break into the ME's office,” Fat Mike said.

“It had to be done,” Victor said. “They weren't going to let me tell Bobby Lee good-bye otherwise.”

“Didn't say it wasn't the
right
thing to do,” Fat Mike agreed. “I just don't think it was the brightest thing.”

“Done is done. Can't go crying over spilt beer.” Victor reached into his pants pocket and dragged his cell phone out. He'd put Agent Urlacher's number on speed dial.

>> 0737 Hours

Will followed Tarlton's people. For a locally trained police unit, they moved well. They also kept quiet and didn't talk much, which was another plus. A lot of guys got the idea they should dialogue during an op like the men featured on
Cops
and other television shows.

The bikers in the machine shop saw them coming. They were hard-eyed men in jeans and sleeveless shirts, with tattoos all over their arms and bandannas tied around their heads.

Tarlton's people and Greene's deputies put bikers and customers up against the wall as a matter of course. The same question kept cropping up.

“Where is Victor Gant?”

Only a few of those asked knew. They told them the outlaw biker leader was upstairs.

>> 0739 Hours

“Look, Victor, don't panic,” Special Agent Urlacher said.

“I'm not panicked,” Victor replied as he watched the police invade the premises. That was the truth. He wasn't panicked. He was angry.

“Good.”

“You said these men couldn't touch me. You said you were gonna handle that. We had an agreement.”

“Based on what I knew of you when I cut the deal with you, they couldn't touch you.”

“And now they can?”

“I don't know,” Urlacher told him. “I'm working that out now. Why are they coming after you?”

“I don't know,” Victor lied. He couldn't help himself. Lying was a reflex action when dealing with cops. He'd done it all his life.

“I don't think they have a leg to stand on,” Urlacher said. “But I'm headed there. Don't say anything to these people until I do.”

“I won't,” Victor agreed.

“And tell your men to keep their weapons holstered. Any shooting starts, this thing gets complicated really fast.”

“Sure.” Victor cursed. “Just you get here. Fast.” He hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket.

>> 0741 Hours

Tarlton almost died at the third door of the individual rooms along the second floor. The law enforcement group stood out in the oval hallway only a short distance from the steps they'd come up. Three other sets of steps mirrored the points of a compass.

Will stood behind Tarlton and saw the woman with the man in the room. Both of them were getting dressed hurriedly. The man held a Baggie of drugs that he was frantically trying to pour down the sink at the back of the room at the same time.

“Police!” Tarlton yelled. “Put the Baggie down and step back with—”

At that time, the young woman brought up the Colt .357 Magnum she'd been holding. She had a good hold on the pistol and appeared to know what she was doing with it. She had Chinese tattoos inked along her forearms.

Will hooked a hand into the collar of Tarlton's Kevlar vest and yanked the police chief back as he started to backpedal. Tarlton hadn't seen the threat the woman offered until it was almost too late. Muscling the man out of the doorway smoothly and efficiently, Will pressed Tarlton into the wall just as the woman started firing.

The Magnum hollow points fragmented against the doorframe and blew splinters out into the hallway. The reports in the enclosed space were deafening. They punctuated the long scream the young woman loosed.

Will knew she was on drugs and stoned out of her mind. He'd noticed the wildness in her eyes. She wasn't even totally aware of what she was doing.

Pressed up against the wall, Will gave silent thanks to God for allowing him to see the young woman's movements. He'd been just as focused on the man at the back of the room as Tarlton was.

One of the deputies spun around the doorframe and lowered his semiautomatic into position. “Sheriff's department!” he bellowed.

The young woman turned toward him.

The woman was out of bullets. Will knew that. The wheel gun she grasped so tightly only carried six rounds. She'd fired all of those into the doorframe. He'd counted out of habit.

The deputy reacted anyway. He looked young, eager, and afraid, which was always a bad combination.

“No!” Remy said and reached for the man. Evidently he'd counted the shots as well. “She's out of—”

The young woman fired her weapon. Only the dry snap of the hammer striking the firing pin came out of the room.

Mesmerized by his own imagined brush with death, the deputy fired at the woman twice before Remy was able to grab his hands and pull the pistol up. The deputy fired two more shots into the ceiling. Remy bodychecked the man and took the weapon away.

But it was too late. Both bullets had struck the young woman. She stutter-stepped back and whipped around in a quarter turn. Blood poured down her right side.

“Stand down!” Tarlton roared. “Hold your fire!”

The biker at the back of the room dropped the Baggie and ran to the woman's side.

Tarlton led the way into the room. He held his pistol before him and aimed at the biker. “Down on the floor!”

“You shot her!” The biker was young, probably in his early twenties. “Man, you didn't have to shoot her!”

The biker was high enough that Will had to wonder if he'd even registered the fact that she'd shot at them first.

“Down!” Tarlton grabbed the man's jacket collar and dragged him to one side. The police chief held the pistol back so it was out of reach. “Get on your face!”

“You killed her!” The biker cursed again in a voice loud enough that Will had no doubt the accusation carried around the oval hallway. “She's dead!”

Remy dropped into position beside the woman. Blood soaked her side as Remy pulled on a pair of surgical gloves from the medical supplies in his combat harness. He put two fingers against the side of her neck and waited.

Then he looked up at Will. “I got a pulse.” He reached into other pockets and pulled out compresses.

Tarlton called in the shooting, then snapped handcuffs on the man whose back he was kneeling on. “They got an ambulance and the fire department rolling.”

“Anybody here got any medical training?” Remy asked.

One of the policemen raised his hand.

Remy tossed him a pair of surgical gloves. “Put those on. Let's see if we can get the bleeding to stop.”

“You got this?” Will asked.

Without looking at him, Remy nodded. Max hovered at his side, gazing around anxiously. The Labrador had already set up a perimeter guard.

Will stepped back out into the hallway. Tarlton, finished with his prisoner, was at his heels.

Bikers emerged from the other rooms. Evidently a lot of them hadn't awakened yet. They came out with guns and shotguns in hand.

“Police!” Will yelled with all the authority he could muster. Since he'd been one of the youngest XOs on an aircraft carrier, he'd learned to project his voice. “Put your weapons down immediately!”

The bikers didn't follow his orders, and Will was certain the hallway was about to turn into a bloodbath.

Farther down, Victor Gant stepped into the hallway with a pistol in his fist.

“Gant!” Will yelled. “Tell them to put the guns down or this is going to go very badly.”

“For who?” Victor grinned at him with cold maliciousness. “Seems to me we got you outnumbered up here.”

“It's not going to play out like that,” Will promised. “And you know it. We're ready for this and your men are still getting it together. If this starts on your word, you're the first man to go down.”

Victor hesitated for a moment. Will saw the indecision on the man's face. Victor wanted to push the situation into a violent confrontation.

Will centered his shotgun's sights over the man's chest. He still wasn't certain he'd gotten his point across. His finger curled over the trigger.

“You heard him,” Victor said without looking at anyone. “Put your weapons down and plant your faces on the floor.”

After he issued his command, Victor dropped to his face on the floor and waited quietly to be taken into custody.

Will went forward and cuffed him.

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