The Long Ride (3 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

"The five of them just left, and they're in a hurry," Juan told Tomas on the phone.

"Are you following?" Tomas asked.

"I'm about to, but they are moving too fast not to notice me for very long. I think they are heading for the 10 west."

Tomas then heard a smacking sound on the line.

"Hello?" Tomas asked.

"Hello," a gravelly voice said. "We're coming for you, asshole." This was then followed by what could only be gun shots, two of them. Followed by the line going dead.

"Weekend warriors, my ass," Tomas said grimly.

Obviously that was the end of Juan. They caught him. But Tomas believed the information was good, and he was going to act on it as if it was.

Tomas thumbed through his phone as he was running for his car. He would gamble on Juan's 10 west as well. He called El Paso. After talking for a while, he arranged the resources for an ambush of the White Wolves, stressing that he needed at least one alive—two would be better—so that one could watch the other tortured and killed.

There was only one destination they could possibly be heading for, and that was whereever Chelsea had hidden herself. Five men was nothing. They should have brought a lot more than that. Obviously they had no idea who they were fucking with.

Since she had her Shelby back, Tomas figured she was driving that, and if that was the case, she could be near or in California by now. He doubted she would stop once she started. No distance was far enough, and she was a mouse, so she would feel that fear.

His instincts, and what he knew about Chelsea, told him that Los Angeles wouldn't be the place. Too many stories about the dangers of L.A. in this part of the country. L.A. had a mythos surrounding it, like New York. She wouldn't head for San Francisco either, he decided, but had nothing more than a gut feeling about that. No, San Diego would be where she would run for a new life. She wouldn't be there long, however. Her fears would chase her out of there. She would feel trapped against the ocean.

Tomas drove fast, putting his emergency lights on so he could cut through the Houston traffic. His speeds were dangerous the entire way to I-10 West. Once on the freeway, he came up to 120 mph, lights flashing, and running on the shoulder at times when cars couldn't get out of his way fast enough.

He was sure that he wasn't more than thirty minutes behind the White Wolves, guessing that they would push the speed limit, but not break it by much. They didn't want to be pulled over. That would just slow them down even more.

After twenty minutes on the freeway, he turned the lights and siren off, but kept his speed at a constant 120. The terrain was mostly flat, and the road nearly straight between here and San Antonio. He was hoping that he would come up behind them outside of Sealy—on the outside, before Schulenburg.

Tomas wanted to be at least within five or six miles of them. Able to speed up and see them, check their course, and then drop back out of the line of sight so he could plan the ambush right.

Thankfully he had a full tank, since he imagined that the Wolves would have kept their bikes ready to ride. Of course, he would easily outrank them with his gas mileage, which was good. He would pull over for gas at the places he felt they would be forced to stop with their smaller tanks.

According to the DMV Elias Neal owned a V-Rod, which put his range at about 130 miles. He wouldn't want to risk running dry, though, so he would probably pull over every 100 or so for gas. Unlike many of the other Harleys, such as the Heritage, the V-rod had only a 3.2 gallon tank under its seat instead of the five gallon. The V-rod was basically a short-distance city bike with a dragster feel, and a very powerful engine. That power was useless out here on the highway, however, if he didn't have range.

It was outside of Schulenburg before he came up on a group of riders that fit the bill. Four men on Harleys being followed by one man on a trike.

One of the addresses on the stay-away order he was served with was
Duffy's Bike Shop
, and Tomas remembered a blue and chrome trike outside that shop when he staked it out looking for Chelsea. This group had to be them. How many trikes could be heading West at ninety miles an hour following four other bikes? No, this was definitely them.

Tomas slowed down and let them get out of sight, and then brought his car back up to ninety to keep pace with them. He looked at his trip meter and did some quick math, estimating the next gas stop Elias' V-rod would force them to take. Then he mentally mapped out his road between here and El Paso.

After mulling it over, he decided that the ambush would be better after El Paso, rather than before. Fewer travelers would be on the road, and they should be coming out of El Paso after midnight. He doubted they would stop to sleep. No, they probably did a few lines of cocaine before they left, and would keep the lines coming at their gas stops to remain awake and alert.

After El Paso, then, at roughly one in the morning. A road block in front—two pickup trucks could do that. And then box them in—so another two pickups behind them. Box them in, take the hostages, kill the other three, and then back to El Paso and down into Juarez where he could spend some quality time without being interrupted.

Walking through this visual, playing it out several times in his head, he decided on ten men with strong fire power. Ten good men, who wouldn't go crazy and turn his informants into splatters of blood across the highway.

After he had Chelsea's hiding place, he would gun it as hard as he could to get there before she freaked out and left for someplace else. She had to have called Elias, Tomas reasoned, so she would probably wait for her bodyguard to come to her. She was undoubtedly screwing him. Why else would he be running so fast to get to her?

Elias' goal, since he wasn't running alone, was obviously to bring her back to Houston. Tomas played with the idea of just waiting for them to return, but nixed it. It would be better to take care of her as far from Houston as possible, and there were plenty of witnesses now to the fact that she took off on her own. In California, he could end her and make her a Jane Doe. No one would even know Chelsea Shore was dead, and no one would be looking for her in California. A Jane Doe death was what that worthless cunt deserved anyway. She was fun to fuck, but Tomas never forgave betrayal.

Tomas continued to let these thoughts and others piece together in his mind, backed by many years on the force. He knew how cops thought, but he was cautious about falling into the trap that this was going to be easy. He believed the Internal Affairs man and his captain. If they ever got word that Chelsea Shore was murdered, he would be their prime suspect and they would be sniffing every bush and tree in his yard. Nobody, doing the things he was doing, wanted that kind of scrutiny in their lives.

At least Stewart was taken care of. Stewart was the only weak link in his chain of contacts and resources. Stewart was the only one with enough to lose that he might try turning over on him if it got too hot. That wasn't a worry any more. Stewart was now helping the grass grow greener in South Texas. Bye-buddy-bye, and may God have mercy on you.

CHAPTER SIX

By the time Chelsea was on her way to the hospital, Elias, Duffy, Rick, Jeff
, and Tom were riding hard West. They kept their speed at around ninety, and let their bikes eat miles. The V-rod was beginning to piss Elias off by the time they were out of San Antonio and heading for El Paso. The one-hundred-mile range was ludicrous.

At each gas station he called Dave to see what was going on with Chelsea. She was in the hospital, sedated, and the doctors planned to keep her that way until Doc arrived in Yuma to take over her care.

Dave told him again and again that he didn't need to ride hard. Chelsea was going to be asleep until Doc arrived anyway. And they weren't going to move her until Doc said she was stable enough to do so. That could be a month, but definitely—according to the doctors watching her now—more than a week.

"She's bad, Elias, real bad. Worse than any of these doctors have ever seen, and one of them is ex-military. The sedation is holding though, and Doc will be here in—three hours? Four? Not much more than that, so everything that can be done
is
being done."

Doc jumped a flight in Houston for Phoenix, where she planned on renting a car. So she was going to be there long before he could arrive.

There was also the disturbing message from Eric, who said that he found a scout—a young Mex with Cartel tats on his arms and chest. The young Mex was currently in the hospital with a broken jaw, and three broken ribs. Eric said on his message that he would be riding hard to catch up with them and to watch their back trail.

The big, redhead ex-merc had better instincts than Elias felt he himself had, and that was saying something. If Eric thought they had trouble behind them, then only a fool would not take this as fact until strong evidence to the contrary was presented—and even then, one eye on the mirror wouldn't be a bad idea.

Where would the ambush happen? It wasn't a question of if, but
where
.

Where would he do it?

The goal of an ambush had to include taking one or two of them alive while killing the rest. That seemed obvious enough to Elias. Why bother if no one could tell Tomas afterward where Chelsea was?

No one followed Dave or Billy. Elias was sure of that. They were single riders, going in different directions. So, at this point in time, the only one possibly leading danger to Chelsea was himself.

The Cartel tattoos on the kid in Houston gnawed at him. That was the thread he needed to pull on. If the kid worked directly for Tomas, then Tomas had Cartel connections. Not exactly uncommon in Houston, but more common in El Paso, with Juarez just across the border.

At their current rate, they would be coming into El Paso sometime around midnight. Would Tomas hit them before or after El Paso?

A hundred miles outside of El Paso, Elias finally decided that
after
was the best bet. There would be less traffic coming into El Paso from the West, and the terrain would be better.

At the next gas offering, Elias signaled the group off the highway, even though he was still at half a tank. They cruised into the station, and Elias got off his bike and tried to call Eric. He let the phone ring until voice mail picked up, and then called back. He did this five times before he got a "Hello?"

"Eric, where are you?"

"About one-fifty outside of El Paso. Where are you?"

"Fifty in front of you," Elias told him, and gave him the exit. "I'm smelling an ambush."

"That's because you're riding into one," Eric told him. "I've got fourty men with me, all Guards."

"I really like your style. We're staying put until you arrive."

"You're smarter than I figured. I thought that you would be balls out for Chelsea," Eric said with a grin in his voice.

"I was, but Chelsea is fine. We have her, and she's not going anywhere for at least a week. We have time. I want Tomas. I want this ended," Elias told him.

"Why do I have the feeling that we're going to ride into an ambush on purpose?" Eric asked.

"Because you are a smart man," Elias told him.

"Then balls out is
still
the way you're riding," Eric laughed. "I was right the first time."

"Yep. See you when you arrive."

They pulled their bikes behind the gas station, and then took up posts in various spots around the exit area on foot, hoping to spot their pursuer if he backtracked to relocate them. Chances were, though, he would just stay in sight of the road up ahead of them, and wait for them to pass again.

"We could just avoid the whole thing," Jeff suggested. "Hell, we could head north, and then take the 40 across, and come down through Arizona. Adds a major stretch to the ride, but why bother with the ambush if we don't have to?"

Elias took this question as a tactical inquiry, because Jeff was not one to shirk a fight if one was available.

"You mean, take the 25 up to Albuquerque," Elias suggested.

"Right, then the 40 into Arizona, and then the 17 down through Phoenix," Jeff agreed.

"We're marked with Duffy's trike with us, and there is no way for us to lose a car on our back trail. He has range—I don't. I swear I'm getting a Heritage as soon as I'm back in Houston," Elias said with a grimace. "But the bottom line is, I want Tomas. I want this over. I don't want Chelsea, or us, to ever have to worry about that horror of a human being again."

"There's a lot easier ways to kill a man," Jeff mulled.

"Any of them include getting me to Chelsea's side as soon as possible?" Elias asked.

The big man thought that over, and after several long moments said, "Not that I can think of, boss. No."

Elias nodded. "Chelsea may not want to come back to Houston. There's a lot of pain for her there. Tomas wasn't the only one who scared her. She mentioned some guy she knew as Papi coming for her on the phone. She was hallucinating, apparently, because she thought she could see the man in her room, but the man scares the crap out of her just as much as Tomas does. If you had that kind of horror in Houston, would you want to go back?"

Jeff shook his head. "No, no I wouldn't."

"That's my answer too. So, she may not want to go back, and I want her to know it's alright not to. I want to be there when she starts making that decision. I want her to know that I'm with her all the way. Besides, maybe it would be best to be in San Diego, or Seattle, or fucking Sydney, Australia." Elias sighed and then continued, "But where ever, whatever, she decides, she'll never stop running until there is nothing to run from. She'll never feel safe with that fucker out there. Not because I couldn't hide her—I could. But because her fears are just too strong."

"You sure are taking on a lot, boss. I mean, I've known some PTSD's before. Hell, we all have. You know that it never really goes away, and the state she is in now—she may not come back. Doc said that, and I think you know it, down deep."

Elias nodded, looked out at the dark freeway and watched the light traffic. "You're right, I know that. But, after feeling that house without her in it, and my bed without her beside me, I know I've got no other choices. Whether it’s hard or not, Chelsea is my woman, and the only one I want. As long as I am breathing, I'm going to stand by her."

They were silent together for a long time, just feeling the night and watching the road. Then Jeff said, "You're a lucky man, boss. If I had what you two have, I wouldn't let it go either, and I'd kill whoever tried to take it from me."

"That's the way of it," Elias agreed.