Protect (19 page)

“Yeah. That’s how Tank and two other guys
took out a crew of Gypsys that were coming to ambush them.”

“They had a heads’ up.”

Fritter laughed, taking the rifle back and
setting it in its place again. “Yeah, okay. That’s why.”

Guido was laughing too, then picked up his
beer to take another drink. “Fuck. I wanna get going on this,
man.”

Fritter nodded, noticing how his fingers were
drumming on his own belt, where he had his thumb hooked. “Fuck. Me
too.”

“Are you ready to meet your fucking makers,
motherfuckers?”

It was screamed from the doorway, and the
cheer it wrought was deep, lusty, and aggressive. Knuckles stood in
the double door way of the board room, arms out and over his head,
eyes closed.

Fritter hoped he was on Knuckles’ team for
this raid. The guy was nuts; no fear, ice water in his veins on
this kind of thing. So fucking calm his hands didn’t shake and he
was as steady as any of them were on any regular day. But he lived
for this. He may have served his country, but a part of Fritter
wondered if “sanctioned homicide”—as he called it but only to
himself—wasn’t the biggest allure of the Army.

“Where’s Jayce?” Tank asked, walking around
Knuckles like he wasn’t holding a sermon to the God of blood and
war.

“On his way. He’ll be here soon,” Guido
answered as he clasped hands with the big Vice President.

“Think we can talk him into staying here?”
Fritter asked.

Tank just laughed.

It was Fritter’s main function to keep Jayce
safe. And he would; he’d absolutely put himself in front of a
bullet for the man. But sometimes Jayce liked running head-long
into danger, meaning Fritter was chasing him more than protecting
him.

“Everyone got weapons?” Tank rumbled. He
never really had to shout. His deep voice carried just fine.

“Come to Poppa, baby,” Knuckles said, shoving
between Tank and Fritter to get to the table. He grabbed a new
AK-47, freshly oiled and prepped courtesy of the prospects. “Oh
God, she’s gorgeous. This one’s mine. Her name’s Chiquita.”

“Like the bananas?” Fritter asked,
frowning.

“Fuck you,” Knuckles replies, eyes still on
his date for the night. His hand swept the length, forend to
buttstock, licking his lips. “She makes me fucking hard.”

“I ain’t riding with him,” Guido pointed out,
reaching over to pick up an AK as well.

Fritter himself grabbed a Ruger and clip
first, tucking it into the small of his back under his hoodie. He
grabbed a few magazines and then one of the AKs, not sure what made
Chiquita so special since they all looked the fucking same. As the
weapons were being divvied out Jayce finally arrived, Spaz behind
him. Spaz had a few papers in hand, and he looked even paler in the
black sweatshirt he was wearing. Fritter knew the kid was nervous,
but he was going to have to nut up. It took more than sitting at a
computer to be in this club.

“Listen up,” Jayce bellowed, and Guido helped
the room get quiet with a loud whistle. Jayce nodded his thanks. “I
take it everyone knows the plan. The Mazaris are the fuckers that
beat up the old lady of one of our brothers, first off.” Jayce
nodded to Buck as he spoke, and the silent one gave a jerk of the
chin in response. “They’ve come into my town, beating up my
dealers. Throwing acid on one our dancers, now my VP’s old lady.”
There were grumbles around the room, and Tank gave a nod to show he
appreciated the outrage. “And that’s all bad, don’t get me wrong.
But that’s not how they’re earning. That’s them making a nuisance
of themselves. They make bank by trafficking flesh, and they’re
bringing kids into this country to be sold, raped, and then ... who
the fuck even knows.”

Fritter was watching the Nomads. He could
immediately tell only Guido knew that part. The other Nomads grew
still, but their hands tightened on whatever they held be it an AK,
the arms of their chairs, or a beer bottle. And the room got really
fucking quiet.

Jayce noticed it too, nodding. “You don’t
have to have kids to know that fucking shit cannot stand. I admit,
I dragged my feet a little, worried about who the Mazaris might
have business with. But right now I don’t give a shit. A store of
kids was found in Hazeldale a couple weeks ago, ten kids who’d been
tied up and used. Left starving in the meantime. I hope it makes
you all ill. I hope it makes your blood burn and your stomach turn
to stone. There is no guilt in taking out these assholes. They’re
not human. They don’t deserve to draw breath around my wife, my
kids, your families, anyone you care about and even people you
can’t fucking stand.”

There were a few chuckles at that, and when
Jayce smiled it was stone-cold serious. “So we move in unison.
Strike all at the same time so no one can be alerted. They got
weapons, I’m sure of it. They seem tight with the Dirty Rats so
they at least have the means to be armed. But don’t be scared of
them. Remember who they hurt. And they cannot have the same effect
on us.”

“Fuck no!” Knuckles all but screamed,
Chiquita clutched to his chest.

“Because we are not children. We are not
unarmed women. Let them try fucking with someone who can fight
back. Watch ‘em curl up like the fucking pussies they are!”

The room erupted, and Fritter’s adrenalin
kicked in faster than a mainlined narcotic.

“Spaz has the assignments,” Jayce went on,
hand up to silence the crew. “Each sheet has the names of the men
you’ll be paired with, the address of where you’re going, and our
best estimate of how many people might be inside. These are the
groups I want you to stay in. I don’t have to tell you to keep it
fucking quiet until it’s party time. We hit them all at once.
Smooth. Take ‘em by surprise. No one is left breathing. If you find
kids, don’t try to help them. Take care of business, call in an
anonymous tip to the Sheriff’s department and fucking ghost. No
bikes, no kuttes, no colors. We got vans, SUVs and a few cars. Your
list also indicates what vehicle to take.”

Spaz made the circuit with the assignments,
handing them out to specific people. Fritter didn’t get one so he
was on someone’s paper. He tried to peek at Guido’s sheet but he
couldn’t make out the chicken scratch.

“When it’s done head back here immediately.
You run into trouble, ditch the weapons if you can. Wipe ‘em down,
or do that now and grab some gloves. But just as important: torch
these sheets. No evidence of the plan. Also, no one gets left
behind. We all get back here. No matter how it happens.”

The room grew silent at that. It wasn’t fear.
It was a somber acceptance.

“Now let’s roll out. Your map has the ideal
location to park and approach marked out. Get there now. We hit
every spot on that map at exactly 11:50pm.”

Like everyone else, Fritter checked his
watch.

“Right now I got 11:13.” Jayce shouted and a
few people reset their times. “11:50, tonight. We’re taking out
these assholes once and for all. We gave them every opportunity to
get the fuck out of Markham and they didn’t. So we exterminate.
We’re not starting a war. We’re ending it.”

“Fuckin’ rights,” Guido muttered among the
other rumblings of agreement.

“Thank you to the Nomad charter for coming to
our assistance once again.” Jayce shot a grin straight down the
length of the table at Guido. “Our markers are really starting to
add up here.”

Guido chuckled. “I’m keeping track. Don’t
worry about your math skills.”

“Now everyone get your shit together and
clear out.”

The room filled with moving feet, the
shifting creak of leather and over two dozen weapons being
selected, examined, and adopted. Fritter knew he’d be on Jayce’s
crew, so he followed the Prez out into the clubhouse. Jayce snagged
Knuckles, Tims, and Tiny as well. Fritter was pleased; that was a
fucking dream crew in his mind.

“We got a ranch house over near the school,”
Jayce began with, spreading his paper out.

“The school?” Knuckles sounded properly
outraged.

“I know. Now it’s a pretty big place, but
looking at it, I think it’s close to the layout of my house, just
reversed.”

They stared at the photo of a house front,
and Fritter nodded. “I think I see it, yeah.”

“We park at the house next door. It’s the
Jacobs’ place, and they’re on an Alaskan cruise right now. Those
old fuckers, the Coopers, are on the other side and they’re both
deaf as a post.” Jayce pointed out the directions in reference to
the house front. “Not a lot of coming and going from this place,
based on recon. I’d say this is just a place they’re living at.
It’s too high profile to be doing anything really sketchy.”

“How many bedrooms your house got?”

“I’m glad you don’t know that,” Jayce said
with a smile at Knuckles. “We had four, but one was in the
basement. A guest room. I’m guessing this is a three-bedroom spread
on the main floor, no idea if it’s a finished basement.”

“Your place was open plan, right?” Tiny
rubbed his chin, squinting at the sheet.

“Yeah. So if this place is the same, the only
small space is the hallway. Sweep the main rooms, move to the hall,
clear bed and bathrooms, then the basement.”

“Fucking basements,” Knuckles muttered,
shifting in his boots.

“I know. We got no choice, though. Tims, I
want you by the vehicle outside in case anyone gets out. Take ‘em
out right on the lawn.”

“Okay.”

“I want to be in and out in less than three
minutes. That is the absolute maximum. If people start calling the
cops the sheriff’s department will be overwhelmed, I can’t even
imagine how they’ll prioritize calls. I’m not assuming anything
will be instant response or slow. I just don’t want anyone caught
with these guns.”

“Holy shit, this is all going to be loud.”
Fritter was just thinking out loud, but Jayce was nodding.

“Yeah. Six locations getting shot to shit all
at once. Seems a little too big for us little Red Rebels to pull
off, hey?”

Knuckles laughed at that, and it sounded
insane. Fritter felt his senses heighten and narrow all at
once.

This was it. The most insane, dangerous,
bloody, and reckless thing he’d been asked to do as a Red
Rebel.

Outside an arrangement of four-door vehicles
were waiting. Some borrowed from hang arounds, others loaners from
Grainger’s. They all looked to be the same color until you got up
close. Some were black, others dark blue, one was a deep red. The
only color that could definitely be identified at night was white,
so they stayed clear of that option. All the license plates had
been swapped out, linked to different makes and models just to
cause a bit more confusion.

Jayce led them to a navy Yukon. The thing was
fucking huge. Knuckles was cackling to see that Tank and Buck were
assigned to a black fucking Caliber. They made it look like a clown
car, but it was a smaller crew going out to a trailer. It was just
the two of them and Spaz.

Jayce asked Fritter to drive, so he climbed
behind the wheel and Knuckles called shotgun. It was the work of a
few minutes to reach the neighborhood in question, and he had to
pull a U-turn to park on the correct side of the street, in front
of the home of the vacationing Jacob’s two-story. There was a tall
hedge between the properties, and a huge tree on the Jacobs’ yard
partially screened the house in question. Good that no one would
see them coming, but it also meant Tims would have a hell of a time
seeing if they needed help.

Fritter pulled the balaclava from his pocket
and rolled it on, noting that his hands weren’t even shaking. He
knew this had to be done. These guys were real scum. They beat up
Gertie to get to her dad; a woman all alone, defenseless. Four
against one. And they threw acid on Rose, just to try to take a
chunk out of the Rebels’ bank. They didn’t come right at their
enemies, they attacked soft spots. Areas where a club was
vulnerable. Weak. Pathetic.

Next the leather gloves went on. There were
clicks and clanks as magazines were slammed home. Next to him
Knuckles was panting in a rhythmic way and Fritter’s knee was
bouncing in time to it.

“Four minutes,” Jayce basically whispered
from the back seat.

Shit. A lifetime.

“You good, Tiny?” Fritter asked.

“Fucking ready, man.”

“Jayce?”

“Better believe it.”

Fritter nodded. “Tims?”

“Got your back, guys.”

Knuckles grinned at him maniacally. “You know
I’m fucking ready.”

“Of course you are, you fucking psycho.”

“I see, a bad moon rising,” Knuckles began
softly singing.

“Fucking shoot him,” Tiny groaned.

“I see, troubles on the way.”

Weirdly enough, Knuckles’ tone-deaf serenade
kept the vehicle calm until 11:49. In unspoken agreement all four
doors opened as quietly as possible, then closed the same way. In
full stealth mode they stole along the sidewalk, pausing by the
hedge. Jayce had an eye on his watch. Knuckles was on point, eyes
on the property, back to them. When Jayce nodded at Fritter he
slapped Knuckles’ shoulder, and they were off.

The house was entirely dark. Like most of the
street, it seemed as though everyone inside was enjoying a good
night’s sleep. Hopefully, there were three to four people inside,
not expecting anything out of the ordinary, inside this particular
house.

Knuckles waited for Fritter to pull the storm
door out of the way, then he booted the inside door, no
hesitation.

There were no curtains on the front windows.
The first room was lit with a flood from the light standard in
front of the house.

No one was in the front sitting room.
Knuckles swarmed one way down the hallway to the left, Tiny behind
him. Fritter and Jayce split around the island of the kitchen,
clearing the main room in one easy sweep. Fritter scanned the back
yard, but nothing was moving. Not a single light on anywhere at any
of the neighbor’s.