Bandit loaded up his stretched FXR with his bedroll, pushed it into the sun and fired it to life. Marko approached.
“I need to nip this in the bud before Saturday,” Bandit said. “We need to come down hard to prevent any harm to Sin, but I gotta get to the source first. I’ll be in touch.”
He downshifted into first, popped a wheel-stand and peeled out of the parking lot onto Harbor Blvd, and then onto the Vincent Thomas Bridge toward Long Beach and the freeways out of town. He jammed over the massive suspension bridge swaying over the Port of Los Angeles.
He split lanes up the 710 Long Beach Freeway, to the 91 Riverside Freeway heading south east to the 15, which heads southeast directly toward the desert and Vegas. His mind raced with options and questions. He knew Sin was golden when it came to being a straight-shooter. He could only hope her girlfriend contained the same level of integrity.
Sin started to choke up on the phone. ?“She’s a flower made of gold leaf,” Sin said. “She wouldn’t do anything out of line, it’s not in her DNA.”
At a gas station in Baker, Bandit refueled in 115-degree heat. He dialed Smokes’ number and wondered where he got the name.
“Yeah,” Smokes said.
“This is Bandit, I’m heading your way,” Bandit said.
“Meet me at South Point,” Smokes said. “I’ll buy you a steak.”
“I’ll be ready,” Bandit said. “Don’t let anyone know I’m coming.”
“Terry told me,” Smokes said. “We’ve got work to do.”
“Quick work,” Bandit said. “No time to lose.”
Bandit saddled up on his long FXR with the girder front end, bounced into the night like a classic chopper missile on a mission. He peeled onto the 15 and started to think about a brother from a long time ago, who got himself into a jam with drugs.
Bandit asked him to come to his pad and head to Vegas to get out of harm’s way. Instead, PT faced his demons in Ventura and they killed him over drugs. Bandit suspected bad motives in this deal and all the wrong players, with the girls caught in the middle.
Vegas is a neon anomaly in the desert. It represents sin and glitter, but there’s an underbelly. On the dark side, a meeting took place in an old industrial park where a handful of club guys ran a meth lab and pondered their growth scenario. The Satans were a mixture of hefty security guys and former members of other clubs. Many of the members were young, dumb and fulla cum. A new violent breed took charge.
While Bandit and Smokes ate steak at the South Point, these thugs met in a block industrial building on the outskirts of town. The smell of chemicals filled the large concrete room scattered with motorcycles and a couple of pickups were parked outside.
Ray brought the meeting to order to discuss club business. But he had a few guys he wanted to speak with regarding their meth trade, after the meeting.
“What the fuck is going on?” Ray demanded. “Who is the new guy outside?” Ray was a seasoned outlaw who was shunned by another club for his native Indian affiliation. He had a grudge, towering ego and some leadership capabilities. Since he became the boss of the Satans, the other clubs were pushed out of town. He recruited only the baddest of the bad and knew how to guide them.
“I brought him around,” Ricardo said and flipped open his 4-inch locking blade Buck knife. “We need pissed off people and he’s pissed off the cops and the Mongrels from LA.”
“Watch him closely,” Indian Ray said. “One snitch and we’re done.” All the members sitting on milk crates or standing suspiciously looked around the room.
“We have business here in town to deal with,” Ray continued, “but as soon as we’re done, Desperado Dale is planning a run to Pahrump to the whore houses for a long weekend of fun.”
Members grinned. “Collect the dues,” Ray said. “Is there any other business?”
A couple of members knew they were being left out of the drug trade and they didn’t like not being part of the inner circle. Ray picked up on the vibe.
“We need to keep some of our club business close to our chest,” Ray commented. “One slip and we’re finished, understand? Major announcement in Pahrump.”
The brothers seemed appeased, paid their dues and grabbed cold beers from iced coolers.”
Ray, Desperado Dale, Ricardo and Rusty moved into a corner of the shop space. “What are we doing about that coke dealer?”
Ricardo, a slender, knife wielding Italian outlaw, would rather stab someone than to ask for the time of day. Harsh looking, with dark long wavy hair, and a notorious glare, he enjoyed his outlaw stature and used it to abuse as many women as he could get his hands on.
“He’s done,” Ricardo said. “We will take everything he owns, including his women. He was too easy.”
“He’s so scared he doesn’t know which way to turn,” Desperado Dale said, a massive guy who was violent to the end. “We gave his best girl to the guys in LA. She won’t survive the encounter.” He was also a snitch who had done previous time and didn’t want to go back. The sheriffs in Las Vegas gave him an open ticket to fuck up as many people as he wanted for info about the Satans. They were building a case.
Ray, the tough Indian-raised leader tried to hold it all together. He knew there would be trouble as they expanded their meth trade, and didn’t know exactly how to handle it, but his ego got in the way of making sense.
“I hope it sends a message to the drug players in town, that we’re here to stay and growing,” Ray snarled.
“There are a couple of items we’re leaving out,” Rusty said.
Rusty was also massive and trained constantly. He had a wife and a bike shop and worked hard. He escaped another wicked motorcycle organization in Los Angeles and sought a brotherhood in Vegas. This group was not what he had in mind and saw destructive issues brewing.
“You’re forgetting the Man,” Rusty continued, “and Freddie’s supplier.”
“We’re keeping an eye on the Man,” Dale said. “I have a connection.”
“I hope so,” Rusty said. “But what about the other?”
“They’ll get the picture,” Ray gloated, “when we take care of Freddie.”
“Do you think we’re the only game in town?” Rusty asked. “The mafia has controlled these streets for almost a century. You think we’re going to stroll in here and tell them what the fuck?”
“We’ll deal with them when the time is right,” Ricardo said. “What’s wrong, you can’t handle it?”
“I can handle anything, motherfucker,” Rusty spat. “But the question is do I want to? Don’t be stupid.”
“Maybe you don’t get it,” Ray retorted. “Time will tell and shit will smell, and maybe you won’t fit in.”
The conversation wasn’t going well.
Across town, Bandit ate a luscious steak with the old outlaw Smokes in a luxury casino restaurant. The warm lighting set the mood and the waitresses were just a delicious as the food.
“What’s the problem?” Smokes asked. “I’m a Nomad, which keeps me out of the action, but…”
“There’s an issue here that rubbed off on a couple of high-buck hookers, and one is an old friend,” Bandit said. “From what I gleaned, there’s a move by your guys to control the meth trade and push the coke guys out. That’s none of my business, but I know a trick bag when I smell one.”
Smokes, a little guy who smoked a lot, lit another cigarette. Well kept, his all gray hair was pulled into a ponytail and his long mustache was trimmed. He didn’t look imposing, but his entire life he dedicated to fighting, boxing and all that came with it. He didn’t start smoking until he quit fighting. “I didn’t want to become a drunk,” Smokes said, “So I took up smoking.”
“I don’t care about club business,” Bandit said and started to look at his watch. He began to twitch like he was burnin’ daylight. He looked hard at Smokes. “I need to reach Freddie, the coke dealer before your guys take him apart.”
Smokes lit another Lucky Strike and looked at Bandit. The big guy had a dirty road face fulla concern, not hate or menace. But contained in his features were the signs of an impending deadline. Bandit looked at his watch again.
“Let me see what I can find out,” Smokes said.
They wrapped up their meal quickly and Bandit returned to his room. He called Marko. “How’s it going?” Bandit said.
“We are beginning to nail down the party boat for Saturday night,” Marko said. “Can’t we just snag Sin Wu?”
“No,” Bandit said, “that will set off alarms and we will still need to handle this end first. I’m going to need some equipment here and maybe a trustworthy limo driver.”
“I’ll make a call,” Marko said. In one of his previous lives, he ran security details for the rich and famous, and then ultimately in Afghanistan for ten years.
“We’ve got to time this carefully,” Bandit said and hung up.
***
Smokes drove home, suited up, including his patch, and jumped on his FXR to peel across town, through glitter alley, and one massive casino after another. Tourists filled the streets as he blazed past the Bellagio, Mandalay Bay and the Venetian, but then he ducked onto the freeway and his Thunderheader announced his arrival onto the slippery asphalt as he passed Freemont Street and old Vegas where the freaks hung out.
Finally, he reached the back streets and the sleazy bars where brothers went to escape the crowds. He pulled up alongside a bunch of familiar bikes next to the Velvet bar and walked inside. He knew a couple of the Vegas chapter members well, but he was past his prime and the young toughs didn’t pay much attention to him.
He said hello to Gypsy, one of the original members who stared at his tumbler of Seagram’s 7 and ice. “How ya doing pal?” Smokes said.
“Not bad,” Gypsy said and pushed a tangled mess of hair out of the way so he could see Smokes. Smokes lit another Lucky Strike. Vegas still allowed smoking in local bars. He ordered a Diet Coke, took a swig and looked around the bar.
“The usual suspects all lined up,” Smokes said.
“I’m afraid there’s going to be trouble,” Gypsy said and took a slug of whiskey.
“What’s a Nomad doing here?” Ray asked as he approached.
“If it isn’t the president,” Smokes said and slipped off his barstool and stood all of 5’6” where Ray was about 5’10”.
“The Prez asked you a question,” Ricardo said and snapped open his razor sharp blade with ivory handles.
“A Nomad can come around whenever he likes,” Smokes said to Ricardo, who was dressed in all slick black leathers on a hot night.
Ricardo stepped forward as if to threaten Smokes, but he wasn’t giving an inch. Ray stepped up and motioned for Ricardo to stop. “It’s cool; we’ve got an issue we are trying to deal with,” Ray said. “A couple of brothers are wound up about it, but it’s nothing, or will be.”
Desperado Dale stormed into the mix and threw a punch at Smokes. “Fuck these Nomads,” he snapped, “They ain’t shit. He’s probably a snitch.”
Smokes, about 62 years of age, couldn’t handle the massive man with 18-inch arms at half his age. He dodged the punch and moved into a better position.
“Relax you guys,” Ray said, “We will take care of that Freddie punk tomorrow night. It’s all set. Treat a brother with respect.”
Smokes watched Dale move into an advantageous position and took the opportunity to move out of harm’s way and throw a punch. He’d only get one and it better be good. He trained and sparred with the best. He knew where to hit a big man so it wouldn’t break his old worn hands, the nose.
He crushed Dale’s nose with a single blow and took him down with an uppercut to the solar plexus. Dale doubled and hit the deck. “Nobody calls me a snitch,” Smokes said, broke a beer bottle on the bar rail and prepared to finish the big bastard on the peanut shell-covered deck.
The other brothers stepped in front off him as he tossed the beer bottle on the floor in front of Dale so it would be tough for him to scramble to his feet. “Fuck it,” Smokes blurted. “I’m out of here.”
He moved to his FXR, fired it and peeled out. As he split through the city, he thought about what occurred in the Velvet bar. He rode straight to the South Point Sports Casino on the south side of town, almost out of the city.
He pulled up to the valet stand. “Watch it, will ya,” he said to the bellhop and gave him a five-dollar bill. Inside, he hit the first house phone he could find and called Bandit’s room.
“How much time do we have?” Smokes asked.
“The shit is going down Saturday night on the coast,” Bandit said.
“It may be going down tonight here,” Smokes said.
“I’d better move,” Bandit said.
“Don’t you need back-up?” Smokes queried.
“I don’t think you should be involved, for your own safety,” Bandit said.
“There’s a code,” Smokes said. “I’m gonna help.”
“Get up to my room,” Bandit said. “You can leave your gear here.”
“Be right there,” Smokes said and hauled ass to the elevators, which were a long hike across the colorful casino floor with bars on one side and gambling all around. Before he hit the long hallway to the elevators covered with psychedelic carpeting, he passed a sushi bar.
When he reached Bandit’s room on the 5th floor, the big man was on the phone. “Come in,” Bandit said. “Toss your gear on that bed.” He indicated one of the queen-sized beds. He hung up the phone and sat in a deeply padded chair that matched the interior of the room. They were well-adorned, but that didn’t matter to two outlaws on a mission.
“This fucks up everything,” Bandit said. “I needed another day.”
“I overheard Ray say it was going down tomorrow,” Smokes said. “Can’t believe a fuckin’ word he says. It’s another trick. We better move tonight.”
Smokes took off his patch and tossed it on the bed. “Tonight may be the last time I wore that.”
Bandit’s cell phone jingled. He just listened. “He’s downstairs,” Bandit said. “Let’s roll.”
They didn’t speak until they departed the air-conditioned casino into the stifling desert heat. A large black SUV rested at the curb.
A young stout gentlemen about 6-foot and obviously well trained jumped out of the cab, rounded the glossy, detailed vehicle and opened the door. “Get in,” Bandit said to Smokes.
Bandit turned to the driver and shook his hand. “Do we have some hope?” he asked.
“I believe so,” the driver said and Bandit got in the SUV adorned with black leather upholstery, and the air conditioning blasted freedom from the heat.
As they pulled away, the driver turned to Bandit. “Freddie was easy to find. He lives in a luxury place on the south side of town, not far from here.”
They pulled into a gated community packed with mini-mansions, beautiful homes with tall ornate entrances and heavy wooden front doors. The driver obviously knew his way around. Bandit noticed the sharp SUVs in the driveways and even a Bentley, a Jag and a new Corvette, then a grubby van came the other way as they turned on a long street leading into a cul de sac.
“Is it at the end?” Bandit asked.
“Yep,” said the driver.
“Can we park on the next street and come in from the back?”
“Sure,” the driver said and swung around.
Bandit nodded to Smokes. “Take a look behind the seat,” he said. “They’re all loaded.”
The driver parked and Bandit and Smokes got out. “Stay here,” he said to the driver. “I have a bad feeling.”
They jimmied the fence and crept into the back yard. The house was quiet, no movement, but the lights were still on at 2:30 in the morning. They walked around the fancy pool and the sliding, glass door was ajar. Inside, the place was a mess and no one was home.
The 2,500 square foot single story home had been ransacked. There was blood on the walls. Bandit looked for photos and found a few of Freddie and girls. Whoever came inside found Freddie’s stash and his safe. It was too late for Freddie.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Bandit said.
As they ducked through the gate, the driver leapt from his seat to open the doors for the two outlaws. “We were too late,” Bandit said.
As they pulled away, they could hear sirens in the distance. “Who is the snitch?” muttered Smokes under his breath.
Bandit turned to Smokes, “Freddie gonna end up in the desert, don’t you think. Any notion?”
“Yeah, head east on the freeway, quick,” Smokes answered, “and haul ass. We gotta find that van.”
Desperado Dale drove the old Econoline work van while Ricardo played with his knife. Two girls were tied up in the back, with all of Freddie’s shit, his money, drugs, jewelry, you name it. Freddie didn’t need to be tied or cuffed, but duct-taped. He was beat half to death and taking his last ride. The girls whimpered, Shirley was one of them.
“Let’s head to our spot,” Ricardo said. “I’ll make that bastard dig his own grave.”
“What about the girls?” Dale said.
“I need to have some fun first,” Ricardo said. “We’ve sent a message tonight.”
The van lumbered along the freeway north past downtown, past old town and then passed the new sports complex.
“We need to haul ass,” Bandit said to the driver. “Not sure we can help Freddie, but I need to get to a girl before it’s too late.”
The driver punched it. The turbos kicked in as they peeled past downtown and onto the express lanes. The were exceeding 90 as they turned past Freemont Street and toward the industrial side of town, the Sports Complex and a sign showed up quick. Highway 93 to the great basin approached.
“Take that off-ramp and head north,” Smokes said.
The rusting van pulled off onto Highway 93 heading due north. He rolled north past the truck stop into the open desert of the Great Basin for five miles and then off the two-lane highway onto a sandy road into shrub-covered hills. About a mile back, Dale knew the spot.
This was the base of the Satans’ version of boot hill. More than one shallow grave deteriorated in the soft sand.
Ricardo jumped out of the cab and rounded the van to the back doors. He yanked open the tin doors and pulled Freddie out of the van into the dust. A mess, Freddie’s face was covered with blood, swollen and cut. He tried to move and Ricardo kicked him.
Dale came around back and pulled the shovel out of the back of the van. “Over there,” Ricardo pointed. “Let’s see if he has the strength to bury himself.”
Ricardo pulled the scantily clad girls to the edge of the van, so they could sit as the sun crested the hills in the east and the heat burned their legs. Sin Wu trained Shirley for these times and told her to keep her head down always. She was too beautiful for words.
The other girl was also a knockout, with a touch of Mexican and long dark hair with big boobs. She looked up at Ricardo. “I’m going to have fun with you,” Ricardo said and ran his hand over one of her pendulant breasts. Her nipple hardened and Ricardo like that.
“We want you to watch,” Ricardo said. “If you don’t do exactly as I request, you’ll face a similar fate.”
Ricardo had the look of Satan. He loved every aspect of evil and his thin angular stature had the look of his demeanor. His drawn, pock-marked face, with a sketchy van dyke facial hair made for an uncomfortable appearance. He didn’t look friendly or even mad, just evil.
He pushed Ruby’s legs apart and started to touch her.
“We gotta get this done and get the hell out of here,” Dale said. Freddie pulled himself to his feet and attempted to dig, but the skinny weak drug dealer lost too much blood from Ricardo’s stab wounds and collapsed in the sand. Dale yanked the shovel from his bloody hands and started to dig.
Terrified, Ruby pissed herself on the edge of the van when Ricardo snapped open his blade and touched it to her leg.
“What the fuck,” Ricardo said and backhanded her with his other hand. Shirley sat with her head down quietly, but tried to take in the setting and move her leg to see the van license plate.
She was just as terrified, but contained just a modicum of shaky composure, mostly through Sin’s training. It helped.
***
Bandit’s SUV blazed past the unmarked road for a couple of miles. “Turn around,” Bandit said. His mind was full of thoughts about how this unfolded. He had to get something done before a Satan could call his brothers in Los Angeles.
Precarious as hell, Bandit didn’t have any desire to take on an entire chapter in Los Angeles, if it came to that. He had to nip this in the bud and not get spotted in the process.
Even if he could, suspicions would be aroused. His brain worked overtime looking for solutions. They turned around and drove slowly down highway 93 looking for new exit tracks. Smokes spotted them. “I heard about this place,” he said.
“If these guys get out of here, we’re fucked,” Bandit said. “Pull over.”
Bandit and Smokes got out of the car. Smokes grabbed a 9mm while Bandit snatched a stainless steel sawed off High Standard shotgun loaded with eight rounds.
“There’s one in the chamber,” the young driver said.
“See if you can hide this thing, not far from here and hang on,” Bandit said. Just then they heard two rounds fired nearby. “Let’s go,” Bandit said.
They started up the road, one on each side staying low in the drainage ditches. Just about to round a turn, they could hear a vehicle coming and ducked. Less than a yard from the spinning van wheels, Bandit had no choice as the wheels scattered sand and gravel at his face. He blew out the front and rear right-side tires as it passed.
The left hand curve forced the van out of control as it began to roll over. As the curve unfolded, Dale spotted the SUV backing into the center of the dirt road, tires spinning.
The Econoline still in the turn started to lean to the outside. It would roll. Dale, forced to attempt to upright the van turned hard to the right and into the creosote scattered desert bed.
Smokes took a shot and flattened the left rear tire. Dale didn’t have any idea of who it could be. It could be the cops, but that wasn’t part of the plan. The cops were supposed to gather evidence and take the chapter down.
The old Econoline banged into the desert with the SUV in hot pursuit. Dale struggled to control the faltering, blubbering van and Ricardo reached in his vest for his phone. Three tires flattened, Dale could see the highway ahead. He floored gas pedal. Ricardo dropped his phone and bent to reach it as the van plowed into the berm at the edged of the highway and came to a dusty abrupt stop.
Dale slammed into the steering wheel. The limo driver was immediately at the driver’s door, yanked it open and pulled the dangerous one onto the sand face down. “Don’t move!” He pressed a pistol to the back of his head.
The limo driver squatted with one boot on top of Dale and motioned to Bandit that there were more folks in the van. Just then, the rear doors burst open and Ricardo kicked Shirley into the desert and grabbed Ruby, holding his knife to her throat. The glare of the western approaching sun jarred his vision.
Shirley couldn’t see, but tried to scoot along in the dirt around the van and away from Ricardo. She looked up and saw Bandit a few yards away kneeling with the shiny shotgun at the ready. Bandit motioned to her to keep moving until she was out of harm’s way. There was something very friendly about the tanned trimmed goatee and green eyes. Sin Wu talked about Bandit, but was this the big guy from the coast here to find her?
For a split second, she wanted to cry. For days, paranoid Freddie paced his house and smacked his girls, looking for release from his deadly predicament.
“Who the fuck is it?” Ricardo yelled at the glaring sunlight cresting the rolling hills, his razor-sharp knife cutting into the soft flesh on Ruby’s neck.
“It’s Smokes,” Smokes said. “What’s the hurry?”
The glare dissipated, but Ricardo couldn’t find Smokes. His mind raced with options.
Shirley, crawling quietly in the warming sand gestured to Bandit that Ricardo had a gun in his vest. Bandit knew they were on the brink and the options weren’t good.
A sudden freaky quiet fell over the desert. Bandit could almost hear the dust settling. He could hear Shirley moving like a lizard in the sand.
“Dale,” Ricardo said. You there?”
Dale was dazed and breathing dirt. He knew these guys weren’t cops, Smokes was there. What the hell could it be?
Dale coughed, “Yeah, I’m pinned.”
“What the fuck do you want?” Ricardo said.
“Just step away from the van and we’ll let you go,” Bandit said.
This startled Ricardo. Now he knew there were three and they were evidently on all three sides of him.
Bandit rolled the dice and blew a hole in the side of the van with the shotgun. It startled Ricardo, who dropped his knife and went to the 9mm PPK in his vest. As he did, he opened himself up and Smokes put a round in his chest. He was dead before he hit the dirt.
Bandit pulled Shirley to her feet. “Get the other girl and anything you have and jump in the SUV.”
Smokes and Bandit surrounded Dangerous Dale, who pushed off the driver and sprang to his feet, prepared for action.
“Get on your knees,” Bandit said. “You have one option.”
“You’re a fucking snitch,” Smokes said.
“Did Ricardo make a call?” Bandit asked.
“I don’t think so,” Dale said. “He tried, but all hell broke loose and he dropped his phone.”
“Here’s what I suggest,” Bandit said. “We are taking the girls and you can have the shit. Make up anything you want, but leave the girls out of it. We know you’re a snitch, so any wrong move on your part and all bets are off. Are we clear?”
“Obviously, Smokes will keep an eye on you. I would suggest you hang on for six months and quietly retire. Go fuck with someone else. But a few will always know.”
“I can’t go back to jail,” Dale said.
“That’s not our problem,” Smokes said. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. This place smells.”
They jumped in the SUV and peeled through the dust to the highway back toward the 15 and Vegas.
“How about breakfast?” Smokes suggested and lit a cigarette.
“How are the girls?” Bandit said. “How’s her neck?”
The limo driver set a first aid kit on the seat and Smokes dressed her superficial cut.
“Looks like they need some threads. Shirley, you will need riding gear. We need to haul ass back to the coast. This isn’t over.”
“You’re Sin Wu’s Bandit,” Shirley said.
“Yep,” Bandit said. “Here, call her.” He handed her the phone. “Let’s get back to the casino.”
