Burn (8 page)

M
ercer and Cruz traveled to the final X on the map.
 
It marked a location outside of Cheyenne, Wyoming.
 
Actually, it was closer to a small town called Laramie, but once again, the X wasn’t an exact location, just a reminder for someone.

They rode up and down the streets.
 
In town or out, they could find nothing that led to the Rattlers.
 
Finally, they needed a rest.
 
They stopped off into a bar for a beer.

“I don’t like this at all,” said Mercer.
 
“Every time we hit a new place on this map, we find less.”

They drank their beers.
 
A thought was coming to Mercer.
 
Something was bothering him, had been bothering him since Casper.
 
“We found a fucking arsenal in Billings,” he said.
 
“That was a hell of a lot of firepower for the Rattlers.”

“How you figure?” asked Cruz.
 
“Wouldn’t they want a lot of guns around?”

Mercer shook his head.
 
“Not that many.
 
Doesn’t make any sense for a club that size.
 
They want some, sure, but they were sitting on hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of firepower.
 
The smart thing would be to keep enough for the club and sell the rest, but they were hanging on to all of it.”

“Maybe there were just keeping it until they lined up a buyer?”

“No, that stuff was hidden away in the middle of nowhere.
 
If they were waiting for a buyer, they’d make it easy to get in and out, to move the stuff quick.
 
This was like they were expecting to need them all.”

Mercer finished his beer and went to the bar to grab another for the both of them.
 
He came back and took a big pull.

He continued, “It’s not just the weapons.
 
That place outside of Casper, why mark an empty building on a map?
 
And in both places, there were no markings.
 
It took me a while to figure out what was wrong about those places.
 
Not a Rattler logo on the whole lot.
 
Nothing that tells anyone to go away.
 
Shit is wrong here.”

Cruz polished off his burger.
 
“Maybe.
 
But I think you’re running on fumes.
 
I think you’re tired from looking for Danni and shit is starting not to make sense anymore.
 
She’s missing and you’re scared, so you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

Mercer nodded and took another drink.
 
He figured Cruz was right, but there was a bad feeling he couldn’t shake.

Outside the bar, they heard motorcycles.
 
Being around them so much, their ears were tuned to the sound.
 
They could pick the sound of a Harley-Davidson XL 1200N Nightster in a crowded football stadium.
 
Mercer looked out the big window of the bar and saw big, bald man in a Rattler cut ride by.
 
He was riding slowly, swinging his big head back and forth, looking for something.
 
Whatever he was looking for, he was clearly on a serious mission.
 
He saw the Black Ice bikes parked out front and gave them a second look, but kept going without stopping.

“That was Big Mike, that Rattler,” said Cruz. “If the Rattlers are here, I think we’re close to Danni.”

They walked outside to see where the Rattler was heading.
 
He turned the corner and was out of sight.
 

“Come on,” said Mercer.
 
“We’re going to follow that asshole.
 
He’ll either lead us to Danni or we’ll beat it out of him.”

They mounted their bikes when the sound of the engine returned.
 
Big Mike had turned around and was coming right back for them, gun in hand.
 
He took aim and fired on them.
 
Mercer ducked behind his bike while Cruz threw himself back into the doorway of the bar.
 
Both members of Black Ice pulled their weapons and returned fire, but Big Mike was gone.

“Guess that means they know we’re here,” said Cruz.

They redoubled their efforts to find the place marked on the map.
 
It took them a half an hour, and asking several people in town, but finally, they were pointed in the right direction.
 
The information actually came from an old man.

They found him by accident.
 
The men had been all over town, asking the local residents and shop owners if they knew where the bikers hung out.
 
It was clear everyone knew the answer, but they were all too afraid to say.
 
There was look of fear in their eyes that Mercer hadn’t seen since Tank took over Black Ice.
 
Finally, they were in a gas station, asking the attendant.
 
The small man just shook his head, refusing to answer.

From behind them, a voice said, “You want to find those bastards?
 
I’ll tell ya exactly where they are.”

They turned and saw an old man standing behind them, looking like he’d just stepped off the farm.
 
His white hair poked out from his Colorado Rockies baseball cap and his overalls had mud streaks on them.

“They’re on some old farmland, not too far from my property.
 
They ride those goddamn ‘cycles of theirs up and down the street all night.
 
Keeps my wife up.
 
I call the cops, but they don’t do nothin’ about it.”

“Where’s your farm?”

“Out on Route 9.
 
Past the Bullston Mill.
 
You’ll have a hard time finding it.
 
Not many signs out thataway.”

“Show us,” said Cruz, pulling out the map.

The old man studied it.
 
“That’s why you can’t find it.
 
This marking here, this is wrong.”

The old man grabbed a pen from the counter and made a new X.
 
“That’s where them sonsabitches live.”

They thanked him and started for the door.
 
When the old man called after them again, they turned back.

“You give ‘em an ass-whoopin’ for me, ya hear?
 
Give ‘em an ass-whoopin’ for this whole town.
 
They got folks scared.
 
Scared to say anything, scared to do anything.”

Merced nodded.
 
“Don’t worry.
 
They’ll get what’s coming to them.”

***

With the new marking, they found the location easily.
 
It was up a long gravel drive; not knowing what lied ahead, they approached slowly.
 
As they neared the building, it seemed no one was around, so they rode their bikes up the drive to the cabin.
 
It was a large, two-story structure, with a smaller cabin made out of the same materials down the hill.
 

Mercer and Cruz got off their bikes, guns drawn, and searched the area.
 
Near the big cabin was a motorcycle with its brake line shot out.
 
Inside the cabin wasn’t much to speak of.
 
It looked like a typical biker hangout.
 
The entirety of the ground floor was a giant recreational area.
 
There was a pool table, dartboard, some pinball machines, and—of course—a bar.

The upstairs was the actual living area.
 
There were a bedroom, living room, and kitchen.
 
The kitchen table was full of plates, containing half-eaten food and mostly full beers.

“This place got left in a hurry,” said Cruz.

“Makes me wonder what’s in that cabin down the hill.”

They left the big cabin and made their way down.
 
Mercer had a bad feeling, even though he couldn’t exactly say why.
 
There was a stillness that creeped him out, and even though he was sure he’d imagined it, there seemed to be a vague stench of death in the air.

They reached the door of the small cabin and the hairs on the back of Mercer’s neck stood up.
 
He made sure his gun was cocked before placing his hand on the knob.
 
After checking to make sure Cruz was ready to go, he opened the door quickly, gun first.

The sight was terrible.
 
A dead man on the floor, his blood in a pool around his body.
 
Signs of a struggle in the little cabin.

“Jesus Christ,” said Cruz.
 
“What the fuck happened in here?”

Mercer looked around.
 
There was a broken plate on the floor, a tipped-over chair, and random things strewn across the floor.
 
Mercer turned the dead man’s head with his boot.
 
He recognized him as Roscoe, a former Black Ice member who’d joined up with the Rattlers after Mercer had killed Tank.
 
There was a jagged piece of plate sticking out of his neck.

The air still smelled like Danni.
 
Danni and a whole lot of blood, anyway.

“Danni was here,” said Mercer.
 
“They came after her, so she jabbed Roscoe in the neck with the plate.
 
Roscoe got a gun on him?”

Cruz checked and shook his head.

Mercer continued, “Roscoe always kept a .45 on him.
 
Always.
 
If it’s gone, that means Danni shanked him and took the gun.
 
Then…”
 
He paused, thinking about the scene, and checked Roscoe’s belt.
 
“Then, she took his keys and got his bike.
 
Rattlers heard the bike and left their meal on the table to chase after her.
 
She shot at one of them, hit his brake line.”

“You think she got away?”

“I think so.
 
If they got her, they’d be back here.
 
Rattlers got to be out looking for her.”

“All of them except the one without the bike,” said Cruz.

“Shit, good point.
 
He must be around here somewhere.”

They exited the little cabin and a shot rang out, the wood next to their heads exploded.
 
Next to the large cabin was a fat man with thinning hair.
 
They fired and he ducked behind a tree.
 
Mercer and Cruz dropped to the ground.
 
They had no cover, so they fired off a couple of shots as they made their way back to their bikes.
 
They got on and were down the hill in seconds.
 
Mercer didn’t like running away, but now he knew Danni was out there, and he didn’t like his chances facing down a gunman without cover, even if they had him outnumbered two to one.

As they raced their bikes back towards town, Mercer was alive with energy, knowing Danni was so close.

D
anni filled up her bike with gas and bought herself two burgers at a local stand, all with the credit card she’d stolen from the lady’s purse.
 
It was weird.
 
She didn’t feel bad about stealing.
 
She was in trouble and did what she had to do to survive.
 
The thing was, she felt bad about not feeling bad, as if that made any sense.
 
She didn’t like what that said about her.
 
She thought about Cruz and how she had gotten mad at him for stealing just to get by.
 

The last few days had been trying for her, in ways she’d never thought possible.
 
She had stolen food, money, and a cell phone.
 
She had killed a man.
 
She, Danni Endres, had stabbed a man in the neck and let him bleed out.
 
Yes, it had been self-defense.
 
If she hadn’t stopped him, it would have been her lying there in a pool of her own blood.
 
She took comfort in the thought.
 
She knew now that she had what it took to survive, to strike back at those who would do her harm.

Danni was satisfied that she had what it took to survive, but she still couldn’t shake the thought of the man’s face as she was leaving.
 
It wasn’t like in the movies.
 
Up on the screen, people got shot and they died instantly, without pain.
 
The man in the cabin hadn’t died that way.
 
He had stayed awake the entire time, while he could feel his heart forcing blood out of his body through the hole in his neck, the hole Danni put there.
 
She remembered his eyes, the pleading look in his eyes, the look that said,
No, please, don’t let my life be over yet.

Danni wondered if she would have the same look on her face when her time came.
 
She shuddered at the thought.