Dark Rain: 15 Short Tales (13 page)

“If she were a man, would you offer the same services?”

“I would.”

“Fine. So who, exactly, is after Camry?”

“Her ex.”

“Her ex who happens to be the leader of a biker gang.”

“That about sums it up.” I told her the gang’s name.

“I’ve heard of this gang.”

“Most have.”

“Aren’t they, like, killers?”

“Some of them.”

“And they sell drugs?”

“Biker gangs are known to be in the drug-supplying business.”

“And have turf wars with other biker gangs.”

“That’s the rumor.”

“Jim, I don’t like this.”

“She likes it even less.”

“But she got herself into it.”

“And I’m going to get her out of it.”

“Jim, these guys are killers. They’re like modern-day outlaws.”

I grinned. “Maybe.”

Through my closed door, I could hear the TV going. Camry was watching the local news. On the bed next to me, Junior slept fitfully. He didn’t like having a stranger in the house. He especially didn’t like Camry, and spent most of his time growling at her deep in his throat. He’s cute like that.

Cindy went on, “There are lots of them, and only one of you.”

“Sometimes, I’m enough.”

“What if you’re not?”

“If I’m not enough—and that’s a big
if
—then, I’ve got friends. Friends in low places.”

“Jim, this isn’t funny.”

“Which is why you should be all the more impressed that I can find the humor in it.”

“There’s something fishy about all this.”

“Boy, you scholars use fancy words.”

I could literally hear her drumming her fingers through the phone. After a moment, she said, “That’s asking a lot of your friends.”

“I’ve got good friends.”

“This doesn’t include your father.”

“No.”

“But will you call on him, too?”

“If I have to.”

“Your father will help you.”

“My father is hit or miss. He will help me if he thinks it will benefit him.”

“You’re too trusting, Jim.” I could almost see her shaking her head in disapproval.

“It’s a calculated trust.”

Cindy might have laughed, but it was hard to tell over the phone. She might have just as easily rolled her eyes. Which was hard to tell over the phone, too. Once we’d tried using Skype. I didn’t like it. My head, in the computer screen, looked far too big and squarish.

“I’m worried about you, Jim.”

“Would it help if I told you that I’m a big boy?”

“No.”

“How about a
really
big boy?”

“Jim, this is serious.”

“What if I asked you to trust me?”

“I trust you,” said Cindy. “It’s the biker gang that I don’t trust. So, why did she leave it?”

“She saw something she shouldn’t have seen.”

“Oh God. Please don’t tell me she saw someone get killed.”

“She saw someone get killed. Or rather, heard it.”

“Now, I
really
don’t like this.”

We’d had this talk before. Not too long ago, Cindy had thought she couldn’t handle the stress of dating me. We had taken some time off to think about it. We came back to each other stronger than ever, but the worry was still there. I didn’t blame her. I would be worried for me, too, if I wasn’t me. Mostly, I worry for the other guys. And even then, I rarely do. Maybe I’m more like my father than I thought.

“So, what kind of help does she need?”

“For now, just a place to stay. I happen to offer the safest place in town.”

Cindy laughed, a rich sound coming through the phone. “You drive me crazy, Jim.”

“But you love me.”

“Dammit, I do. More than ever.”

Although we were quiet, I knew her mind wasn’t. And while I listened to Jimmy Fallon coming from the living room TV, some homeless man’s yelling on the street, and my dog’s half-snores, said mind had to be racing a mile a minute.

Finally, she said, “So how long will you protect her?”

“Until she doesn’t need protecting.”

“How will you know that?”

“I’ll know.”

“Oh God. Please tell me you’re not planning on taking down a whole biker gang.”

“Maybe not the
whole
gang,” I said.

“Just tell me you’ll be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name.”

“It couldn’t be further from your middle name.”

t was the next morning when I got the call.

“I thought all bikers slept in until noon,” I said. I was in my office. So was Camry. She was on the couch, texting furiously, her thumbs a blur, the tip of her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth. I rarely text, and when I do, it’s never furiously. It’s methodical and slow, since I tend to almost always hit the wrong key. Cell phones weren’t made for big men with gorilla fingers.

“Only the slackers,” said Michael on the other end. “The rest of us are up early, kicking ass and drinking beer, not necessarily in that order.”

“You paint a beautiful picture,” I said. “What do you have?”

Michael had come through. Turned out Steel Eye hadn’t killed J-Bird. Instead, the biker leader had royally kicked the shit out of J-Bird, and sent him packing. Word on the street was that J-Bird had a concussion and a mouthful of broken teeth and, more than likely, a broken jaw.

“And the gunshot?” I asked.

“Just to scare him.”

“He wasn’t even shot?”

“No.”

“Just got the shit kicked out of him?” I said.

“He messed around. Deserved what he got.”

I nodded on my end. “So we’re not dealing with a homicide?”

“Nope.”

I glanced at Camry. She was still texting. I doubted she was listening.

“One other thing, Knighthorse.”

I waited.

“He’s looking for Camry.”

“I imagine he is.”

“And from what I hear, he’s gonna do a lot more than slap her around for skipping out on him.”

“How much more?”

“With Steel Eye, you never know. He’s unpredictable. It’s why I’m not affiliated with that charter anymore. I ride with a different band of brothers. But he’s going to hurt her, and bad.”

“Remind her who’s boss and all that.”

“Something like that. Look, Knighthorse, this isn’t going to end well for her… or you.”

“What about him?” I asked.

“Someday it will end bad for him, too.”

I thought about that as we hung up.

Then I made some calls.

t didn’t take me long to find the Pit. I am, after all, an ace detective. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

The locals all knew of it, although few were forthcoming about its location. Luckily, I have a winning smile and a way with words. Not to mention, you get the locals drunk enough, they’ll spill their guts. So, after a drinking binge with two wannabe bikers in a town called Cathedral City, which sounded more attractive than it was, I was on my way.

After a few trial and errors, I eventually found myself on an unmarked road in the middle of nowhere. The sun was setting in my rearview mirror, and a dust cloud billowed behind my van. Yes, I drive a van. Or, as some have been known to call it, the Mystery Machine. And by some, I meant me.

I heard the music before I saw them. Then I saw the glow highlighting a circular rock formation. Kind of like Stonehenge for stoners. Shadows moved around the rocks. Then again, maybe I stumbled upon an Illuminati initiation.

Or not, I thought, when I saw all the Harleys lined up. Just a bunch of bikers breaking the rules and doing what they do best… party and piss.

I parked behind a boulder, between two fatboys that were dusty and shining all at once. Dichotomy at its best. Now I heard them. Talking loudly. Arguing. Laughing. Snoring. Beer cans cracking open. Beer bottles being broken. The sound of fucking in the nearby bushes. Or lovemaking. Yes, I’m ever the romantic.

I knew what Steel Eye looked like, thanks to Camry, and I knew where he usually sat, also thanks to Camry.

So I took out my Walther and stepped out into the evening air suffused with campfire smoke, weed, tobacco, exhaust, weed, grease, desert sage, dust, weed, and Ralph Lauren.

The Ralph Lauren might have been me, a birthday gift from Cindy. I figure if you’re going to kick some ass, might as well smell good doing it.

I paused briefly just outside the firelight. I took a deep breath and said a silent prayer, then stepped around a boulder and held out my gun.