Kick (The Jenkins Cycle Book 1) (6 page)

“Ok,” he said, at last. “I’m not waiting for him. He’s gonna keep that car, isn’t he? Never mind… Dammit!”

Then he slipped past, heading to the kitchen.

I’d been half-hoping the plot to kill Z and assault his daughter had been Mike and Stump’s idea. Now I had to deal with his friends too. Angrier than I should have been, I slipped into the bathroom, shut the door and took a good look at myself in the mirror. Mean and scary, just like the trash in the kitchen. Murderers and rapists, involved with drugs and who knew what else. I could do the world a favor right now and still sleep soundly.

I pulled both weapons and checked that they were chambered and ready to fire—and then put them away. Even if I shot them all before they pulled theirs I’d have to deal with four fresh corpses and noise enough to alert the neighbors. Also, if I were being honest, I couldn’t be sure they were all guilty. Perhaps only Stump, Mike and the president were in on it.

“Mommas, don’t let your babies grow up to be Howlers,” I whispered.

I joined them in the kitchen.

“What’s up?” I said, opening the fridge and grabbing a brewski—reminding myself not to call it that in front of the dudes… as well as not to call them “dudes.”

“So, how was that cute little daughter of his?” one of the creeps said. An older, washed-out-looking man with stringy hair and a scraggly beard, leering to show he could guess how she was.

“You know me,” I said. “No kiss no tell.”

“Yeah, whenever he kisses me he don’t say shit,” another one said, getting a laugh from everyone but the president.

“The snitch got what’s coming to him.” This from a wild-eyed tweaker with a harelip.

She’d gone through hell because her daddy was a snitch? How was that justice?

“Jill, too?” I said, unable to help myself and wishing I could keep my mouth shut.

Everyone took it the wrong way and laughed.

“Where’s Stump?” Scraggle Beard said.

Glancing my way, the president—Dave, someone had called him—said Stump stepped out but would meet us later at the thing. I had no idea what the
thing
was, but since deciding not to shoot everyone I figured I’d find out soon.

“You guys go ahead, we’ll be right out,” Dave said, motioning me to hold back as the others left. “Mike, if it were anyone but you, I’d be suspicious, you know that right?”

“Yeah man, I know.”

“So if you’re holding out on me, keeping something back, trying to protect Stump or something, you gotta tell me.”

“Look, man, this one threw me.”

Dave leaned over and clapped me on the shoulder.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Let’s go kiss some babies.”

Dave’s strange pronouncement became clearer half an hour later—but not before a harrowing ride through the city, Howler-style. They rode loud and fast, packed close together, flocked like satanic geese flying to Hell for the winter, with their hard-eyed president out in front. I spent the entire ride about two seconds from disaster, flinching a little every time we should have stopped for something but didn’t.

As one, we pulled into a small park that looked busier than a county fair, with barbeque pits, live music, a Moon Bounce and tons of people milling about. Lots of bikes, and of course, lots of bikers. A huge banner hung draped between two enormous trees: “Howlers 3rd Annual Muscular Dystrophy Ride.”

Looking around, I noticed Howlers from various states, based on the bottom-most back patches of their vests: Georgia, Virginia, West Virginia and Dave’s group, Tennessee. Until then, I hadn’t understood what the word “Nomad” on the back of Mike’s vest meant. Clearly, Mike wasn’t affiliated with any particular group.

“Mike, you look starving,” the tweaker said. “Go get you some food, man, it’s all free. We’ll be over at the tent.”

I gave him thumbs up. The food smelled amazing. Even though I’d eaten only a few hours ago I felt hungry again, making me wonder if Mike had a tapeworm.

Minutes later, juggling two burgers and a cup of soda, I made my way to the pavilion.

Chapter 8

A ZZ Top cover band rocked a small stage midway down the pavilion. Families and friends mingled freely, drinking, smoking, and talking while kids ran around in small groups. A few couples danced in front of the stage, the older ones holding each other, the younger ones standing apart, bopping back and forth. Except for Dave and about half the people there, it looked about as nice an event as you’d find anywhere.

Dave stood by a table talking to a girl who looked old enough to vote but too young to be drinking that beer in her hand.

He saw me approaching.

“Mike, get your East Coast ass over here and say hi to Tammy. You remember Tammy, right?”

“How could I forget,” I said, leaning in to shake her hand and making her laugh at the formality.

“You don’t have a clue who I am, do you?” Before I could reply, she said, “So, you wanna dance?”

Surprised, I looked to Dave to see if he minded. He nodded, taking a phone call while making little shooing motions with his hand to show it was ok. Tammy just smiled. Way too young to be that pretty. Cute dimples. The kind that make you feel like a dirty old man.

“Let’s go,” I said, and set my food down on a table.

Tammy took my hand in hers and led me onto the floor during a slow song. I experienced a thrill of nervous anxiety when I placed my hands on her hips, then tried not to think about it too much.

I’m not much of a dancer. I can hold onto someone without breaking an ankle but it can’t be all that fun to be my partner. If Tammy felt that way, she didn’t show it. Like all girls, she took to it naturally, in touch with her body and the music in ways most guys couldn’t pull off.

“So where you from?” she said.

“I don’t talk about that,” I said. Which seemed like a biker thing to say.

“He said you’re from Baltimore.”

“See why I don’t talk about it?”

She laughed. It was a great laugh, warmed me right up. I’d have to come up with more jokes.

“I’d love to see Baltimore.”

“No you wouldn’t,” I said. “At least not most of it. The waterfront’s ok, but it’s an old city with a lot of dangerous places.”

Tammy heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Great, my one dream crushed. Thanks a lot, Mike.”

I started to apologize, but stopped when I saw she was teasing. Ok, sure, I lose about forty IQ points when I’m dancing with a pretty girl.

Mock-exasperated, she said, “What I meant was, I’d like to go see the world—anywhere but here. If I never see another motorcycle again I’ll die a happy girl.”

That surprised me.

“This is hardly the place I’d expect to see a motorcycle hater.”

“I don’t hate them,” she said. “I’m just sick of them—weren’t you listening?”

I could have strangled the singer for picking “Sharp Dressed Man” for the next song. Reluctantly, I removed my hands from her hips and stepped back.

When the song finished, she said, “Thanks for the dance, Mike. You’re different from daddy’s other friends—you didn’t try to grab my ass once.”

So she was Dave’s daughter. To cover my surprise, I waggled my eyebrows.

“Disappointed?”

“Maybe,” Tammy said, laughing to show she wasn’t serious. After all, Mike was about the same age as her dad. I looked for a resemblance and found it in her gaze—bold and intelligent, though without her father’s ruthlessness. Nice kid. Clearly, Dave had done something right, though he probably shouldn’t have let a cretin like Mike get anywhere near her.

When we got back to the table, I felt suddenly uncomfortable. Dave stood about ten feet away talking quietly on his phone, facing my way. When he saw me watching he nodded, then turned around and kept talking, making it seem casual. I’ve managed to weed mistakes like that from my own performances over the years. By turning away like that, he may as well have shouted, “Oh no, he’s looking!”

“Hey Mike,” he said, when he was done.

“Yo.”

“Nobody’s heard from Stump. We need to go back and wait for him, see if he shows up.”

“Ready when you are,” I said.

The jig was up. Sure, he sounded reasonable, but I knew someone had found the Stumpcicle in the freezer. And a few minutes later, when I saw it was just us riding back, I knew there’d be people there, waiting.

Ah, well.

There’d been potential to enjoy myself this trip, with all that money and the bike. Briefly, I considered pulling my guns and plugging Dave and his crew right there, but I couldn’t do that with Tammy and the kids around. Instead, I returned to the house with Dave, though slower this time and with more consideration for traffic laws.

As we pulled into the neighborhood, Dave made a show of having mechanical trouble. When we got to the house, he stopped short, letting me slip past. The problem must have been minor because, seconds later, he pulled right in.

I watched him dismount through the blurry reflection in the back window of Stump’s van. When I saw him adjust something under his shirt, I pulled the 226, turned around and pointed it at him.

“Over here,” I said, motioning to the side of the van away from the house and beyond the line of sight of the closest neighbors. When he just stood there looking at me, I shouted, “Move!”

“What are you doing?” he said, backing against the van.

“I could ask you the same.”

Dave gazed at me, steady and calm.

“We found Stump in the icebox,” he said. “That was you.”

“A little.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because he was about to murder someone. Maybe because he spent the night raping the man’s daughter. What the hell’s wrong with you people, anyway?”

Saying it out loud, I felt surprised by how angry I was. It must have shown on my face, because Dave flattened himself against the van—so far, his only visible concession to fear.

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “You knew what was going down. Shit—you volunteered to help. What the hell is this?”

“I changed my mind,” I said, mentally wincing at how lame it sounded.

“You gonna kill me, too? Stuff me in the icebox? Or do I get the fridge?”

“I don’t know, why don’t I rape you first and figure it out after.”

Dave shook his head.

“This is bullshit. I known you my whole life. You find Jesus or something?”

“Yeah—or something. Who else is in the house?”

He hesitated. I shook the gun at him.

“Billy.”

“Who else?”

“Just Billy. He got here after the rest of us and looked around.”

“You asked him to?”

“That’s right. What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know yet. If he heard our bikes …”

Dave shook his head.

“I doubt it,” he said. “We had the house soundproofed.”

When he said that, I felt a little click where I kept my brain. That explained why Stump hadn’t heard when I first arrived. I wondered how many people had left the world through that empty room before I got here.

“Where’s he hiding?”

“He’s not hiding,” Dave said. “He’s probably having a beer. I was going to do it just as we walked in, then get him to clean it up.”

“It’s good to be the king, huh?”

He didn’t reply.

I thought for a second, then made my decision.

“Let’s go talk to Billy,” I said. “I’m not going to kill you, but if you reach for that gun under your shirt I will.” I didn’t trust myself to take it from him, but I didn’t want him to touch it either. I pointed the way. “Go on.”

Billy must have forgotten to lock the door when he came in. When Dave stepped in, I motioned up the stairs and closed the door.

“Billy, be cool, we have company,” Dave said.

“Dave?” came a voice from the kitchen.

“Just stay cool Billy,” he said. “Let me handle it.”

Together, we walked into the kitchen and found Billy standing up, pointing a big revolver our way. When Dave dropped to a crouch, leaving me wide open, I put three into Billy—also wide open—center mass. Dave turned, grabbed my arm and lifted it over my head while simultaneously reaching toward his waist. He never made it. Mike was a big guy, strong too, and I used that strength to rock Dave with a left jab to the face, staggering him back and opening him up. Then I dropped him with a kick to the stomach. But Dave didn’t get to be president of a bunch of killers like the Howlers by staying down. He got one knee up, preparing to launch himself.

“Sit down,” I said. “Hands stay off the gun and you live.”

A tense moment passed with nobody moving.

“I’m serious.”

“I know you’re serious,” Dave said, one poor choice away from death.

“Just sit in the chair,” I said. “Go ahead, it’s cool.”

“No, it’s not cool.”

But he did sit down.

We looked at each other in silence for half a minute, each taking the other’s measure. Despite what just happened, Dave seemed in control of himself. Angry, sure—that was to be expected—but not shaking or fidgeting.

“What now?” he said.

“That all depends on you, Dave.”

As I explained what I wanted, it was all I could do to keep from laughing at the expression on his face.

Chapter 9

“You’re not serious,” Dave said, for the third time.

“Just because it sounds strange to you doesn’t mean I’m not serious.”

“Three weeks? Of what, goofing off?”

“Yep.”

“With Stump and Billy here, stuffed in a freezer?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“And I’m supposed to pretend like I don’t know about it? Just go and goof off too, is that right?”

I shrugged.

“You don’t have to goof off if you don’t want to. But you’d be surprised at how much fun you can have in three weeks.”

He eased back in his chair like he was relaxing, letting his hands rest casually in his lap. I still hadn’t disarmed him. It wouldn’t take long before he tried to surprise me.

“If you stay nice and calm,” I said, “I won’t accidentally shoot you twice in the chest and once in the head.”

He narrowed his eyes and folded his arms.

“Why are you doing this, really? The Mike I know wouldn’t… Christ, this can’t be real. What’d I ever do to you except watch your back while we were locked up and treat you like family?”