Redemption (3 page)

T
he two big
bikes dominated the highway. Their crackling loud pipes exploded with acceleration. Echoes resounded off the canyon walls. The sun shone bright with the slightest huckleberry scent of coming rain. The mountainous grades were intimidating and beautiful at the same time. Each sweeping curve offered different vistas of the Rocky Mountains.

Justice tried to limit his concerns, but a foreboding fear that his empire was crumbling set his mouth in a thin line. White knuckled fists around the ape-hanger handlebars limited his mobility, so he drifted across the divider line, into the path of a jake-braking eighteen-wheeler. The blaring air horn jerked back his attention. Justice’s heart leapt out of his chest as he swerved and barely missed being smashed by the big rig.

Visibly shaken, Sue tried to veer through vehicles to follow him across multiple lanes of interstate traffic. They both dropped pegs on the shoulder next to a
Falling
Rocks
caution sign.

“Bro, you okay? Shit you’re white as uncut meth,” Sue gasped—his eyes wide.

“I saw Fury in the grill of that truck. Fuck, Sue, what have I done? We’ve not even claimed his body yet. Everything’s falling apart, and there’s nothing I can do.”

“What are you talking about?” Sue waved away approaching cars.

“Something’s got to give. We’ve lost too much, and I can’t bear the burden alone. This all goes back to not seeing it was a straight rip off by Geneti as guided by Gray Man. That predator was hunting me, and I was so fixed on getting them guns that I missed the signs of a set up.” His words came in strained gasps of breath.

Sue dismounted his ride and patted his little brother on the back. “It’s not all on you. We were invited to help you clean things up and get shit legitimate. We’ve let you down, Justice.” He scanned the open stretch of roadway for a possible tail.

“But Rage, Fury and Vengeance are all dead. What would mom and pop say about that?”

Sue pinched his damp eyes, held pressure between his brows for a moment, then leaned his face in front of Justice’s. “Fuck them, you hear me? They did nothing but torture us as kids. If it wasn’t for the military, one of us would’ve killed them both.” His words landed like punches of truth. “As for the other three—they got what they had coming.”

Justice dipped his head, agreeing with the reality of a fucked-up childhood filled with intimidation and lies. “Thanks, bro.” Justice offered his hand. “SFFS.”

Sue gripped his hand. “No SFFS. Boudreaux Forever, Forever Boudreaux.”

Justice allowed a huge breath of air to escape his lungs—relief but not resolve. He lifted his sunshades and squinted into the sky, “Still got the cops on our ass. We’re going to go down because Vengeance fucked up the Geneti kidnapping.” He moaned through teeth clamped together.

“Didn’t I once tell you that y’all fucked for fun, while I fucked for purpose?”

“Chief Perez?” Justice asked.

“Yeah. I think you’d be better off worrying about your friend, Sheriff Roger Reed.” Sue licked his lips like he was eating the chief’s pussy.

Justice righted his Hog and ignited its powerful engine. Once again, pure muscle pumped through loud pipes, vibrations that ricocheted against the mountain’s sheer walls.

“Why’s that, Sue?”

Sue pulled back on his accelerator and ripped off a loud engine roar. “Your friend the sheriff has been wearing a body wire every time he stops by to visit.”

Justice’s sun-kissed face drained pale. “You shitting me?”

“Never about that.”

Justice’s fingers raked through his wind-beaten beard. “You sure Perez is in the bag?” Justice felt his blood gush through steeled veins. His hand rapped back on the accelerator—foot on the shifter.

“On my word.”

“Then I’ve got a visit to make to good old Roger,” Justice yelled.

Frenzy blistered through his soul. He’d lost his intuitive gut. Instead of the hard-ass operative that changed the history of nations, Justice had tried to become more diplomatic and engage his surroundings instead of decimating them. It was back-to-basics time.

He tore along the freeway like a man possessed. In a way, he was, possessed by the demons of his past. The inhumane tasks he’d willingly carried out for the sake of the United States government had left him empty—not proud. It was his flexible moral fabric that had attracted the CIA recruiters and he was about to demonstrate how flexible it was.

Sheriff Reed had been a lawman for almost fifty years. He ran the sheriff’s office like it operated when he first began. His flat-roofed, adobe style home sat less than a quarter mile from Joseph’s Trail, a dirt and rock road set off as an extension from the state highway junction. The ranch lay just inside the Custer County boundary. Cattle were Reed’s hobby.

Justice killed his engine as he rolled off the asphalt surface. He push-walked the bike into a shrubby grove of small trees. Dust hadn’t been kicked up on this street in days. He crept beneath the shade until he was close enough to see Reed’s unwashed law enforcement cruiser. The SUV was backed into the driveway. Across the property, an old John Deere tractor was parked next to the unpainted barn.

Justice ran his hands over both Colt 45 caliber pistols strapped beneath each arm. He sucked in and forced out air to clear his head and calm his temper. Half embarrassed and pissed at being made a fool of by the old man he had considered a friend, Justice tried to decide whether to confront Reed to confirm the body wire information. He pulled his hands away from the guns.

Justice approached the house from the eastern side which had fewer windows to announce his coming.

“Hey outlaw, you looking for me?” Sheriff Reed stepped out from the corner of the house. Wearing one-piece coveralls and slippers, the top cop looked like a retired grandpa.

“Sure am, Reed.”

“Thought you’d come sooner or later,” he snarled. His left shoulder came into view—and so did a sawed off Remington 870 shotgun.

“Why’d you think that, old man?” Justice’s eyes fixed on the long gun. He quickly skimmed the area for others. Had he walked into a trap?

“Figured the feds had done talked to you. You’d know I’ve been setting you up once the cat was out of the bag. Didn’t want to in the beginning, but somebody had a hard on for you, and they knew about my sideline dealings. It was either you or me. It wasn’t going to be me.” The old man cackled.

“Who you talking about, Roger?”

“Some fed in Las Vegas. Flew all the way over here to meet with me,” he said in a phlegmy, aged voice. His crooked finger pointed to the southwest. “Landed his chopper right there—scared hell out of my cows. Wouldn’t give milk for three days.” He let the shotgun alternate between dangling, and holding in his right hand. “Anyway, he had me pegged on some shit I used to do to supplement the pension—if you know what I mean?”

“He blackmailed you.” Justice steadily, but slowly moved in as they spoke. If they were going to shoot it out, he’d have to be closer.

“Hell, I guess he did, son. Didn’t really look like a fed—but he sure the hell had his facts straight. So like I said, it was you or me. Figured an outlaw like you would fare a hell of a lot better in prison than an old ex-sheriff. Hope you ain’t upset.”

“Fed got a name?”

“You know his name if he talked to you. If he didn’t then I just ran my yapper for nothing.” Reed tightened the grip on his shotgun. His jaw muscles tensed.

“What’s his name, old man?”

The slight coat of gun oil caught the light as Reed leveled the shotgun, but quick as a blink Justice drew both pistols and unloaded three rounds into him. The shotgun fell to the ground—so did Reed. Justice ran to the sheriff. He’d purposely shot him in the thighs and groin to give him one last chance to tell the name of the man who’d set everything up.

Reed would die from eventual blood loss, but how fast would depend on his cooperation.

“You owe me, Roger. I’ve been nothing but good to you. We’re both vets. I doubt this fed ever served his country like us.” Justice knelt beside him—held his head up to help him breath.

“Good shooting, son. I never been outdrawn before. Had no intention on shooting you.” He spoke in broken gasps. A crooked finger pointed to the Remington.

Justice racked it back—nothing. There were no shells in the shotgun. His eyes moistened. “Why old man?”

“Couldn’t live with being a rat. Live free or die—ain’t that what you outlaws say?”

Justice forced a light laugh, “You’re right, old man. Please, I need a name.”

Reed’s hand cupped over Justice’s solid wrist. His rheumy eyes slowly batted open and closed. His wizened lips curled back against his teeth. He fought for a huff of air. “Ford.”

A
bigail hopped out
from the passenger side of the truck. St. John whipped it around toward the barn and parked alongside the fence like he’d found it. They walked toward the back porch of the Savage Souls’ clubhouse. Breakfast in hand, St. John opened the bag. She retrieved her food.

“Why you think Justice wanted you back here so bad?” she asked.

St. John folded over the white paper bag. “Not sure, but if he starts his shit about us spending time together, I’m going to let him have it.”

Abigail caught the bacon that hung between the biscuit and her mouth. She hurried it into a bite. “Get ready. Here he comes.”

“What’s new, Justice?” St. John tried to set the tone.

“Lets talk. Abi, you go on inside.”

St. John winked at her behind Justice’s back because he knew how she hated being called that—especially by Justice.

Justice stopped walking. “Can I trust you?”

St. John hesitated. This was a set-up question. “I thought you told me to steer clear of questions about trust. They cause the other person to doubt you. Is this a trick?” His gaze slanted sideways toward Justice.

“No, this is real deal. You’re invested in this shit. I just need to know how deep you’re willing to go,” Justice said as he grabbed the paper bag and retrieved a wrapped biscuit.

“How’d you know that was for you?”

“You’re too mannered. You knew we were meeting, and you’d never come without enough for guests.”

St. John fist bumped him. “Good old southern manners.”

“Okay, you in or out?” Justice’s dark eyes demanded an answer.

“Semper Fi, Justice.”

He craned his neck in both directions. There was no one roaming about at this time of the morning. “I told you everything about I knew about Gray Man, except his name. It’s Benjamin Franklin Ford.”

St. John’s hand covered a snicker. “That’s a pretty fucking normal name for a crazy fucker like that.”

Justice laughed. “Yeah, no more so than Ted Bundy. But seriously, I just learned about his connection to a source that might’ve turned your cop friend over to Gray Man. Another dirty cop.”

“He’s not my friend. I just knew of the guy. I know lots of people.”

“Maybe so.” Justice looked anxious to get to the point. “Gray Man’s dad is a cop named Ford.”

“Ted Ford?” St. John all but shouted.

Justice’s eyes narrowed and his lips pinched. The biscuit crumbled within his grip. “Yeah, how the fuck did you know?”

St. John had grown weary of the undercover identity and struggled to keep associations separate. But he knew this was too far of a stretch for Justice not to know he was a federal agent.

“Told you. I know lots of people.” Those words were the last St. John would say before the realization of Justice’s implication hit him. “Gray Man is Ted Ford’s son?”

St. John sat back against the rusted flatbed trailer. He brushed away the ants, tossed his breakfast onto the ground for them instead. It began to make sense. The efforts to sabotage his case, the desert ambush of Lawless, Voodoo. Finally, Graham’s murder all made connected sense.

St. John knew Ford had been in that sedan the night he went to meet Lawless and Voodoo. He’d assumed the other person was his lackey, Dr. Worthington. His gut rumbled before the ire began to build. Fuck the bureaucrat—he’d pay for what he did.

“Justice, I’m in. I knew Jeff Graham a long time ago in another life. If Ford had anything to do with his death, I’ll kill him myself.” St. John was shocked by the words that flowed from his mouth. He didn’t regret them—he was just shocked.

“Good. You and me head out today for Vegas.”

“Just us? Today? Why the rush?” St. John thought about protecting Abigail. They’d just discussed their plans to set up Gray Man and the Savage Nation with the gun deal. He feared leaving her would make her vulnerable to attack from an increasingly tense crowd of brothers.

“Yeah, plus I need to fade some heat. Sheriff Roger Reed might have been killed.” Justice smirked.

“Well, I’m sure he deserved it. And Justice…”

He held up his hand and blinked. “I know, Opie. Abigail. Why don’t you run her into town and put her up in a hotel?”

“Don’t trust your boys anymore?”

“Not sure, but she deserves better, and you’ve been as loyal as any one of my blood brothers,” he said. He offered his massive grip as a sign of trust.

“Considering some of your kin, I’m not sure that’s a compliment.” He said it with half a grin.