“Get off,” the cop shouted at me, and I gritted my teeth.
“Not fucking likely,” I said and slowly accelerated.
The cop had two choices: let go or hold on and be dragged onto the blacktop. It took less than a second for him to decide to release me. I continued to accelerate and threw one final glance over my shoulder at the army of police officers. They already had a couple of men on the ground with their hands handcuffed behind their backs. Dante was going to be pissed.
I weaved in and out of traffic, trying to put as much distance between myself and the police officers as I could. We were going to need a hell of an explanation when we got to Dante’s.
I drove another fifteen minutes before I exited for Sasha’s and spotted a few bikes already parked on the side.
“What the hell was that?” I shouted as I turned off the engine and removed my helmet.
No one looked at me because they were too fixated on the argument ensuing between Spider and Crow. The gravel crunched beneath my boots as I strode over to the other gang members, my helmet in my hand. I placed one hand on my 9mm that was tucked in the band of my jeans. Part of me was afraid that I would be their first target if they were worried about a rat.
“You just kicked off and left us there,” Spider said, his hands clenched in fists at his sides.
“Like you would have done any different?” Crow sneered as the other members quietly watched them.
“What are we going to tell Dante?” I asked as all eyes turned to me. “We didn’t get the oxy and there were cops. It was a setup.”
“Damn right it was a setup!” Spider spat.
“Well, who did it?” I asked as I looked around the group, and Spider turned to face me with wild eyes.
“Maybe you, kid,” Spider said, and I snorted out a laugh.
“Kid? Come on, I’m like a year younger than you,” I said and took a step toward him, gripping my helmet tight, challenging him to take a swing at me. I turned my focus to Crow once I realized that Spider wasn’t going to make a move.
“We don’t know who did it, and until we know for sure, we’re not going to go around killing each other,” Crow said, his voice reasonable. “Who wants to be the sorry bastard who takes that pleasure from Dante. If it is Easy,” he said, gesturing to me, “then he’ll get what’s coming soon enough.”
I glowered at Spider, who’s fingers flexed at his sides. “Where are Ice and the other guys who were on lookout?”
“I’m assuming that were taken, they’re not here, are they?” Crow replied.
“Now I know why there was no alert,” I said.
“You think?” Spider snapped.
This guy and I were going to have a coming to Jesus if he didn’t lay off me.
“So, what do we do now?” I asked as sweat rolled down my forehead and stung my eyes.
“I’ll tell Dante what happened,” Crow said with a nod. “Then we will figure out who ratted tonight. Be warned, if it comes out that any of you fuckers have betrayed us—your family,” he said as he clapped a hand down hard on his chest. “I’ll make sure the punishment is long and slow.”
Kobe
The low rattling came from under the hood of my beater Mustang. I really needed to give up on the old girl, but honestly, I didn’t have the money or the time. I was driving across the city to the DT Coyote’s headquarters, also known as Dante’s place. He had a party tonight, and everyone was going. If I wanted to get any closer to solving my brother’s case, then what better place to go than the lion’s den?
I ran an index finger carefully under each eye because, with this heat, I was positive that my eye makeup was running, and then I cranked up the air conditioning. It was no use, the damn thing just continued to blow hot air. Accepting defeat, I rolled down the window and smiled at the warm gust of wind that kissed my face as I exited the highway. It was probably better to arrive windblown than sweat soaked. Adding mechanic shop to my mental to do list, I turned up the radio as Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama” crooned through the speakers.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” I said to myself as I turned the loose dial on the dashboard. The song brought back memories of rides with Jared back when country music was still country and worth listening to. I’d rather pour bleach in my ears than have to listen to Luke Bryan’s bro-country, which was all that my coach had been playing in the gym this week. I grimaced at the memory and slowed for the stoplight. This was the worst parts of town, and anyone with sense would roll up the windows and lock their doors.
I narrowed my eyes at the boarded windows, graffitied walls, and faint smell of garbage and marijuana in the air. If there were ever a place to avoid, this was it.
Slowly letting off the brake, my Mustang puttered down the road toward Dante’s. Cars were lined along the narrow street, so much so that it was difficult to drive.
The music was pumping out of the small, two story home that was in desperate need of repainting, or at the very least, a good pressure washing. Shutters hung precariously, and on the second floor, there were visible holes in the glass. I bet someone had shot through them.
