Page 12 of Devil's Marker

Realizing that his anxiety and indecision was creating tension in the room, Win consciously decided to lighten the mood. He grinned. “Your wife is…”

Brant said, “Stop right there, Prospect. You got no call to say a word about the mother of my sons. No matter how beautiful and smart and shiny and rich she is.” Brant grinned, but in a way that was more menacing than teasing.

“Shiny?”

“Done talkin’ about Garland. Go with my drift. This other thing. You need some time to think on it?”

Win shook his head. “Thinkin’s not gonna change a thing. So no point. I guess I’m in. But for the record, I’d like to have it known that I’m not into reckless or suicidal. Got your word that my loyalty won’t be questioned? I mean if I survive?”

“I got a strong feelin’ you’re gonna be back as a full patch member. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t have even brought this up. But I’ve been doin’ this long enough to say that when my gut speaks, I listen up.”

Win gave a nod that was both slight and unconvincing, more an acknowledgement than an agreement. “And I have your word that my loyalty won’t be questioned again. Ever.”

Brant stilled and looked the younger man squarely in the face so that he could absorb the seriousness and sincerity of the answer. “Yes. You do. I’m gonna call the Ranger right now, with you sittin’ there. So stay put.” Brant punctuated that order by pointing to the chair underneath Win’s firmly muscled behind.

“Call me back,” Brant said into the phone. “While we’re waitin’, why don’t you tell me if there’s somethin’ I need to look after regardin’ the accounts you’ve been messin’ with.”

Win took exception to the phrase ‘messin’ with’, but chose not to challenge the club president about his word choice. He opened his mouth to reply, but Brant’s phone rang. Brant looked at the face of the phone and accepted the call.

“He’ll do it. But if anythin’ goes wrong, you’re gonna answer to me personally.” Win could hear the muted sound of a vocal response, but couldn’t make out the words. “Stipulation. He’ll have full immunity. No. Matter. What. And he will not testify to anything later. He’ll give you a one-on-one confidential debriefing. In secret. Just the two of you. This is a deal breaker. Take it or leave it.” Brant paused to let the other man respond. “Just to reiterate. We’re talkin’ about a month maximum. And, if anything, I mean anything, goes south before that, I don’t care if it’s an hour after arrival, he’s outta there.”

As Win sat and listened to the one-sided conversation his respect for Brant blossomed. The prez negotiated like a lawyer and seemed to really give a damn about Win’s future.

Brant hung up and looked at Win. “Gotta protect our golden goose.” Brant opened a drawer and pulled out a new burner phone.

CHAPTER Four

Win spotted the white bobtail truck pulled off on the side of a farm to market west of town that was little used during the day and never saw traffic in the dead of night. The driver lowered the ramp and helped secure the bike inside the truck.

“Am I droppin’ you someplace?” Win asked.

The man shook his head. “Somebody’ll be by before long.”

“Okay then.”

“There’s a big thermos of coffee inside. Sandwiches, too.”

“Huh. Wasn’t expecting that. Nice though. I can sure use the coffee.”

“Yep. You got a hike ahead.”

Win nodded. “Better get to it.” He climbed behind the wheel, turned the ignition and the truck roared to life along with bluegrass music blaring from speakers that sounded like they must have been manufactured in the fifties.

He reached for the volume, gave it a sharp turn, and sighed. There’d be no satellite radio with up-to-the-minute market reports. There were places between Austin and El Paso where he’d be lucky to even pick up the usual musical menu. Old style country. New style country. Tejano. Revival style Bible thumping, fire and brimstone preaching. Or rockabilly.

He could have plugged into a device of his own, but didn’t like the idea of not being aware of sounds. Like, oh, sirens for instance.

When he’d left California, he saw himself spending his days in a high tech command center office, in front of four screens, monitoring activity in the marketplace. He’d expected nights on his bike with a stomach full of Tex Mex and soft warm Texas wind rushing past when he wasn’t nestled between the legs of a UT coed out for a bad boy thrill. To his way of thinking, those things meant good life.

When imagining his future, the last picture that would’ve come to mind would have been wrestling a damn bobtail truck around country roads in the middle of the night, headed west… the same way he’d come.

He’d taken a nap in preparation for a long night’s haul. If he kept driving, he’d be there by early afternoon. He’d catch I-10 at Kerrville and take it all the way past the University of Texas El Paso campus on the western side before leaving the truck and doubling back to Agua Dulce, home of the El Paso chapter of the Marauders.

He was determined to not be lulled into a trance state by the monotony of a four, sometimes six, lane divided interstate highway. The bounce and squeak of a near-empty truck would help with that. So would the carefully cadenced radio voice selling salvation while promising eternal suffering for sinners refusing to heed the call.

Twenty minutes off the interstate, Win spotted the Desert Wind Ranch sign and turned onto the road. It seemed the SSMC, under the name of Brandish Inc., was a substantial investor in the burgeoning wind and solar enterprise. The first building appeared to be housing for the business. There were several vehicles parked there, but no one about. At some distance to the rear were buildings that appeared to be a residence, barn, and worker or guest houses.

He opened the truck door, but before he could climb down, a man came out of the small building donning a cowboy hat.

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