Page 3 of Devil's Marker

“Won’t deny that.”

“A finer point on it being that you’re still part of the Texas Confederation of Clubs. Which means you can get closer than we can.”

Brant leaned back into the booth. “Like I said, we’ve been outta the outlaw business for a long time. I belong, but I don’t go to C.O.C. meetings. At least not often.”

“True enough, but you could help out here. Would do you good to be on the side of good.”

“Now you’re goin’ comic book on me? Good and evil,” Brant scoffed. “Jesus. Not sayin’ I will, but just out of curiosity, how would you think the Sons could help?”

“You got a new guy prospecting.”

Brant sat back, raised his chin, and cocked an eyebrow. “You watchin’ us, Russ?”

Russell shrugged without looking away. “We watch all the clubs. Even the ‘legitimate’ ones. Gotta justify our paychecks.”

Brant looked down at his cup and turned it around in a circle. “Huh.”

“Anyhow, your new guy. Transfer from California? The Huns, I believe it is? His old outfit is affiliated with Marauders.”

Brant was beginning to see where this was going. “Guy you’re talkin’ about. The reason he left the Huns was ‘cause he’s lookin’ for a situation that doesn’t require being armed even when asleep.”

That conversation thread came to an abrupt stop when the waitress showed up and set an oval platter down in front of the Ranger. “See those people over there?” Russell turned to see where she was pointing. It was a family looking at him eagerly. Mom, dad, two tween kids. “They’re tourists. From England. They want to know if you’ll take a picture with them.”

Russell turned back around, his color rising. “Jesus Christ,” he said. Brant covered his mouth and turned the other way to keep from laughing out loud. “They gettin’ ready to leave?” he asked the waitress.

“Nah,” she said. “Their food’s not up yet.”

He was disgruntled, but reluctant to appear crotchety. “Tell ‘em they can catch me when I go.”

The waitress grinned. “Sure thing.”

“What is the world comin’ to?” he said to Brant.

“I guess it’s outpacin’ us old timers.” He grinned at Russell. “Can’t wait to tell the boys that you got a request for a tourist photo.” He raised his chin toward the visiting Brits. “Maybe they’ll give you a nice tip.”

It didn’t take much to push Russell the rest of the way into full-blown irritation. “Just shut the hell up about it. We got serious things to discuss.”

“A little comic relief never hurts.”

Russell gave him a look that might have stopped a criminal in his boots, but it just made Brant laugh harder. “As I was sayin’, we could use your boy on the inside. Find out what’s goin’ on up close and personal. Clear your marker with me.”

“Christ.” Brant let that hang in the air while Russell began making short work of breakfast. “What do you think’s goin’ on?”

“Just between you and me, there’ve been a few incidents between the clubs in the past few months. Things are heatin’ up. Somebody from one club gets caught on the I-35 and beat with a hammer. Somebody from the other club gets caught outnumbered, throttled with chains, and has his bike stole. You know.

“This thing between these two clubs goes all the way back to 1970. Marauders abducted two Stars & Bars members who’d cheated them on a meth deal. Marauders forced them to dig their own graves, then shot them and set fire to their bodies.”

“Christ.”

“The bad blood goes back a couple of generations now. This is more than little boys that didn’t grow up, wantin’ to play cowboys and Indians with real weapons.”

“Maybe. But it started with that Ghost Rider thing. Men who’d name a club after a comic book character? Well, far as I’m concerned, that says it all.”

Russ narrowed his eyes. “So you’ve been payin’ attention.”

“I read the paper.”

“Yeah.” Russell glanced at the folded paper set off to the side. “So you do.”

---