Biker (32 page)

Dear God don't let the women open that door
.

The door looked closed. In the dark it was hard to see.

“Moon?” Pratt called.

“Pratt, you insane motherfucker!” Moon called from behind the bar, voice filled with admiration. “You owe me thirty grand!”

“Why aren't you dead, Moon?”

The women had to have heard. If they had any sense they'd crawl out the basement window. Go. Go now. Run into the forest where he'll never catch you.

“Why aren't
you
dead, Pratt? You mean the bar? Bunch of steel saucepans down here on shelves.”

“Whose body did you leave at Cass' place?”

“That was Rollie, the guy you sucker-punched to get my stash.”

Pratt eyed the bar. Obviously Moon didn't have a gun or he would have used it, but a bow and arrow were just as lethal. Pratt hyped up. Run to the bar, stick his gun hand over and
shoot shoot shoot
.

Do it
.

Do it now
.

Pratt exploded from the base of the steps. Three leaps to the bar. He jammed his gun hand over and shot down behind the bar from one end to the other, handheld novas casting black and white tabloid light.

Pratt stepped behind the bar.

Munz lay where Moon had dropped him, with four post-mortem holes Pratt put in him. Munz' gun was nowhere to be seen.

Pratt looked at the door to the utility room. His heart exploded and jammed in his throat. The door was open.

“Stand away from the door, Pratt,” Moon called.

Numbly Pratt stepped back. Cass came first, face like concrete, Moon's arm around her neck. At the end of the arm was a bowie knife with a twelve-inch blade that caught the lightning like fireflies in a jar.

“One false move, I slit this bitch's throat like a harvest pig,” Moon grinned.

The point of his knife indented her throat. Both her hands were on his knife arm.

“Set your gun down on the bar and step back.”

Pratt hesitated.

The knife bit until a drop of blood trickled from Cass' neck. Pratt stepped forward and put the Ruger on the bar. Moon edged forward with Cass and grabbed it. He turned and propelled Cass into the utility room with a mighty shove. Moon meant for Cass to hit the floor and she did. Moon pulled the door shut. He wore a black muscle shirt, black jeans, and black biker boots. Tribal tats encircled his biceps. A beaded knife sheath hung from a beaded belt.

Moon leaned on the bar holding the pistol casually. He reached down and brought up a bottle of bourbon that had survived the shoot-out. He reached down and brought up two glass tumblers. Laying the pistol down behind the bar, he unscrewed the bourbon and poured two fingers in each glass.

Pratt watched, mesmerized. Moon picked up his glass and his pistol and walked out from behind the bar toward the sofa. He gestured toward the other glass with the Ruger.

“Here's to you, my resourceful friend. Under other circumstances we would have been boon companions.”

“Never,” Pratt said.

Moon made a face. “What's the matter? Don't you like me?”

“What you did to that boy …” Pratt searched for words.

“Big fucking deal. Eric's father owed me seven thousand dollars. I gave him an ultimatum.” Moon drained his glass and set the tumbler down on the bar.

For a second Pratt wasn't sure he'd heard right. “What did you say?”

“We could have been friends!”

“You took him from his
father
? You mean he's not Ginger's kid?”

“Fuck no! Do you think I'd do that to my own flesh and blood? I placed the real Eric with a wealthy Cuban couple in Miami. He's living in the lap of luxury. I don't know if that's going to make Ginger happy or sad. I guess we'll find out, won't we?”

“Why call him Eric?”

Moon grinned. His teeth were perfect. “Well maybe he is my kid. I guess you'll never know. Come on, Pratt! I'm fuckin' with ya! When I look at that boy my heart soars like an eagle. He can track a jackrabbit through a blizzard. I taught him how to
smell
, how to
see
, how to
listen
.” Moon touched his nose, eyes and ears. “Many's the time that boy went out in the morning and brought back dinner in the evening. He can crouch like a rock for hours. Patience? You don't know the meaning of the word. Speed? He can outrun a coyote.”

Pratt envisioned the stoop-shouldered, spine-twisted Eric running. Was everything Moon said a lie? Or like all great liars, did he pepper his lies with the truth? A black and twisted thing clawed its way out of Pratt's gut, a hatred so intense it threatened to consume him.

It must have showed on his face. Moon looked surprised and took a step back, training the pistol on Pratt. “Wow. I'll bet you suck at poker. You'd really like to kill me, wouldn't you?”

“It would give me great pleasure.”

“Now I'm really sorry, Pratt. I like you more every time we meet. But I can't let you live. We are known by our enemies. They will sing about me around the council fires so long as there are Lakota. I will sing for you in a minute.”

Moon pointed the Ruger at Pratt with both hands. He began to chant slowly in a loud, ritual voice, moving from foot to foot like a sumo wrestler. “
Hey na na na na hey—nokia na na …
”

Pratt waited for death.

Lord, it's in your hands
.

The door to the utility room slammed open and Cass leaped out holding the .38 Pratt had given her. “YAHHHHH!” she screamed.

CHAPTER 64

Moon swiveled and fired at the same instant as Cass. Twin geysers of flame lit the basement. Cass crashed on her face. Pratt slammed into Moon, planting his head under Moon's jaw and grabbing Moon's gun hand in both his hands.

Control the weapon hand. They slammed into the sofa and fell over it onto the floor, Moon on top. Pratt got his foot beneath Moon's hip and thrust, twisting the pistol up and out of Moon's grasp. Pratt seized the Ruger by the barrel and tried to turn it. Moon kicked Pratt's hand, sending the Ruger skittering across the floor into darkness. Moon straddled Pratt and rained down elbows. It was the mountain lion all over again. Stitches ripped. Pratt jammed his pointed fingers hard against the indentation in Moon's throat. He thrust his finger beak deep and twisted.

Moon choked.

Pratt tore loose, lashing out with a back kick that caught Moon in the gut. Moon grunted. Pratt and Moon got to their feet. Moon's hand went to his waist and pulled out the bowie. His teeth reflected lightning. They circled one another in the center of the rec room. Pratt sprinted for the pool table, swept up the cue, swiveled and lashed out with the thick end, barely missing Moon, who danced back.

Pratt held the cue in both hands, rotating it over his head and out with a swishing sound. He dared not glance at Cass, not for an instant. She was lost in shadow. They circled one another, each looking for an opening. Pratt fixed his gaze on Moon's chest.

“You think this storm just happened?” Moon hissed. “I
made
it happen. I control the elements, the seasons, the creatures of the prairie. You can't beat me, you could never beat me. I wear the belt of quills and the medicine lodge shirt. My father was a medicine man, as was his father, and his father's father. My great-great-great-grandfather fought with Crazy Horse at the Little Big Horn. I am the son of the sun and the moon's lover.”

“You're nothing,” Pratt spat.

With a roar Moon attacked, the tip of his blade describing wild helixes as Pratt yielded ground, sweeping the cue to keep Moon at bay. Pratt gripped the cue and swung for the fences. Moon corkscrewed into a reverse spin kick, catching Pratt in the ribs.

Pratt grunted but held on to the cue, jamming it into Moon's chest. Moon stepped back, gasping. The two men faced each other, panting. Moon's face morphed into a leering mask like a Mohican lodge pole.

He began to chant. “
Hey na na na—hey na na na
.” He lifted each leg in turn and stomped. Eyes fixed on Pratt, Moon danced backwards toward the sofa. He danced behind the sofa, his gaze sweeping the floor.

Looking for the gun.

Pratt exploded, banishing his pain to the outer boroughs of his thoughts. He leaped over the sofa, swinging the pool cue in a downward arc at Moon's head, which gleamed dully in the flickering light.

The pool cue struck a bolster. Moon lay on his belly reaching beneath the sofa. Pratt came down on both knees but Moon rolled out of the way, away from the sofa, and uncurled to his feet like smoke rising. He held the black Ruger like the Olympic torch.

He pointed the automatic at Pratt. In the dark only Moon's head was visible, disembodied, floating in space like a ghost moon.

Pratt got up and leaned on the sofa.

Both men grinned.

“Damn,” Moon said panting, “you are one resilient motherfucker! Where do you want it?”

Pratt stepped behind the sofa. He could dive, but Moon would be on him in an instant. It will be interesting, he thought, to see if Chaplain Dorgan's interpretations of heaven were accurate.

“Your ass.”

“Well turn around.”

Pratt wasn't about to take a bullet in the back. He held his hands behind him and faced the bullet.

Moon squeezed the trigger.

The utility room door opened in a blaze of light.

Ginger stumbled forth spitting flame from her hands.

CHAPTER 65

Eyes glassy in the moonlight, Ginger advanced, holding a Roman candle before her like a dousing rod. Like a tiny volcano it spat flaming fragments across the room. Grimacing and whining deep in her throat, Ginger aimed the tiny meteorites at Moon's face. Moon was too quick for her. With a ducking motion he weaved out of the way, went down on one knee and swept Ginger off her feet with his leg.

The Roman candle rolled to one side, where it continued to disgorge its flame for several seconds. The room stank of burnt gunpowder.

“Hello, darling,” Moon snarled. “Been a long time …”

As Pratt lurched forward Moon brought the gun up and aimed.

Ginger lay beneath Moon's grasp. She put a hand on his wrist and choked, “Tell me the truth, Gene. Is Eric our son?”

“Of course he is, darling. You don't think I'd let a stranger raise my own flesh and blood?” Moon stood, letting the pistol fall to his side half-aimed at Ginger. Moon stared at her with loathing, lips curled in an animal grimace. Pratt saw that Moon was a razor's edge from pulling the trigger.

“You're afraid of her!” Pratt said.

Moon's eyes seemed to retreat beneath his brow until they were two dull gleams. The muzzle fixed on Pratt. “I'm not afraid of anything.”

“You're afraid of everything! Look at the way you live. I'll bet you don't even have a driver's license.”

Moon shivered with delight. “Most people are sheeple. You know that to be true, Josh! Look at the life you've chosen to lead. You've been through the criminal justice system. Do you know that in Greek, Joshua, is the same as Jesus? The Lord said unto Moses, 'Send thou men, that they may spy out the land of Canaan, which I give unto the children of Israel; of every tribe of their fathers shall ye send a man, every one a prince among them.' And he sent Joshua to lead them.”

“And Moses sent them from the wilderness of Paran according to the commandment of the LORD; all of them men who were heads of the children of Israel.”

“Christ I wish I didn't have to kill you Pratt!”

Ginger struggled to her knees and put her hand on Moon's arm. “Gene …”

He whipped away as if scalded, swinging the automatic in a tight arc that clipped Ginger on the temple. She said, “Ooh,” and went down. The gun snapped back to Pratt.

“I told this bitch what I'd do if she ever betrayed me.”

“You, you, you. It's always all about you, isn't it? You don't believe in anything bigger than yourself.”

“Why should I? Show me proof that God exists.”

“It's a matter of faith. You can't see it, hear it, or touch it.”

“I understand mass delusion when I see it. Look at Nazi Germany—all those good Germans. They went with the herd. It's happening right here. They're just going with the herd.”

Ginger moaned and grabbed Moon's leg. He tried to shake her off but she held on tight. “Where is he, Gene? Where is our son?”

“Get … off!” Moon dinged her on top of the head with the butt of the pistol.

Pratt fought the detonation of fury in his belly, the image burned indelibly into the back of his skull. He heard the rhythmic whacking of a wind-driven limb against the roof. He tasted copper at the back of his tongue. He caught a scent of something atavistic. Something strange yet familiar touched his mind, and his rage was doubled as if joined by another.

Pratt sensed movement and turned. A blurred shape detached itself from the base of the stairs and rolled at Moon, shoving Pratt out of the way with enough strength to send him stumbling into the bar. The bolus of fur fell on Moon like a mother bear protecting her young, claws slashing. The jaws clamped down on Moon's gun hand and nearly tore it off. The gun skittered across the floor and disappeared in shadow.

The dog boy gripped Moon behind his head, pulled him to the ground, and used his legs and feet and teeth to tear into Moon's gut and neck, the way he'd been taught. Blood flew. Warm viscera struck Pratt in the face.

Moon never uttered a word.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Eric got to his feet. He stood over the body panting, blood dripping from his hands and mouth. Ginger looked up from the floor.

“Eric?”

Eric crumbled and crawled into her arms, mewling.

CHAPTER 66

Pratt ran to Cass. Two holes in her torso oozed blood. One was in her abdomen near the right side. The other was up under the armpit. Pratt felt for a pulse in her neck. It was barely there. She opened her eyes and tried to smile.