Hell, it’ll probably be the best thing I ever do’ setting an outstanding woman like her up to live a life free of this violence and darkness.
But that only happens once we take care of Bowen Dale Cooper.
“It’s time, brothers,” Stone’s voice rises above the rumble of the clubhouse getting ready for a showdown.
Armed and ready, we ride out.
Our enemy is waiting for us.
His retinue is reduced since we saw him last; just two armed men, but those two men have the kind of guns with them that are enough to decimate anyone in their way. The only sign of Bowen Dale’s personal loss are a few extra wrinkles on his forehead. We form our bikes in a semicircle around him, Stone front and center, while the rest of us hang back, hands on our guns, ready to attack if things go sideways.
Bowen Dale doesn’t blink in the face of our presence. Doesn’t look like he gives a shit that he’s outnumbered or outgunned. And why would he? He’s got our guns hostage, and the financial hit from losing that shipment could sink the club.
“Stone, glad you came to your senses before any more blood had to be spilled. I was starting to think I’d have to kill some of your family members to get you to see sense and, if I’m honest with you, I never enjoy killing the fairer sex. They always look so pitiful when they’re dead. Like wilted flowers.”
Stone’s fists clench and I tense, preparing myself for an all-out shootout.
Then he steps forward and extends his hand.
“Bowen Dale Cooper, you are one terrible son of a bitch and I hate that we’ve had to come together under these circumstances. But I’m glad we could sort things out before anyone who’s actually important died,” he says.
Now it’s Bowen Dale’s turn to look on the verge of murder.
“Show me what you brought before I change my mind about visiting your wife.”
With a flick of his wrist, Stone beckons me forward.
I’ve got a duffel bag slung over my shoulder containing all the necessities for this meeting. Unzipping it, I hold it out to him and he greedily takes it from my hands.
“You’ve got there everything your heart could ask for, Mr. Cooper,” I say. “That’s the laptop from Agent Jones’ hotel room, just like you wanted. Also, there’s your nephew’s Desert Eagle. A nice gun like that, I thought I should return it, even though I was tempted as hell to keep it.”
“Where’s the proof of Jones’ death? I want to see that motherfucker’s corpse.”
“His corpse is probably in the city morgue at this point in time. I spilled his brains out in the loading bay of an abandoned warehouse in the old part of town. Didn’t use a silencer, either. So someone sure as hell probably heard it and called it in. Still, I took a few pictures on my phone. Let me show you,” I say, carefully sliding my hand to my pocket and throwing a stern look at Bowen Dale’s men. “I’m going to reach into my pocket now and take out my phone, so you two keep your fucking weapons in your pants, you hear me?”
I take out my phone. Open up the photo gallery and pass it over to Bowen Dale.
There’s a look of malignant glee on his face.
“Fantastic work. Blew his brains all over the pavement. Did he scream before he died? Did he beg for his life?”
I shake my head. Glee turns to slight disappointment.
“No, sir. I caught him by surprise. He didn’t know what hit him before I put lead in his skull.”
“Shame. And I would’ve preferred video — something to truly remember that rat bastard by — but this will do,” he says. Then he hands the duffel to one of his men, who loads it into the black Mercedes they drove to the meet. “Stone, you’ve lived up to your word. Eventually. And I’ll live up to mine. Once I’m a safe distance away, I’ll call you with the location of your cargo. It’s all there. In fact, you’ll find that none of its even been opened. It was a pleasure doing business with you, though I hope that we never again cross paths in this life.”
There are no handshakes exchanged. Nothing more is said as Bowen Dale gets into his Mercedes with his men and drives off into the distance. True to his word, about fifteen minutes after Bowen Dale leaves, Stone’s phone rings. He listens for a brief moment, nods, and then waves to Mack and Rusty.
“Fifteen miles north of Lone Mesa, off Albert Road, there’s a dirt track that leads toward some hills. Follow it for two miles. On your right you’ll see what used to be a gravel path leading to a cave set in a hillside. Our shit’s in there. I want you two to head back to the shop, get a fucking truck, grab Goldie and Sarge, and get there and get our cargo home.”
The two men hardly stick around long enough to answer in the affirmative; they race to get on their bikes and zip down the highway on their way
