Page 72 of Devil's Marker

“Got my reasons.”

He heard a big sigh. “We’re gonna leave the light on. You get outta there at the first sign of trouble.” When Win hesitated, Brant said, “Or don’t come back. If you can’t follow my orders, you’re no good to me.”

“Okay. You win. Shots get fired. I’m gone.”

“Tomorrow night, you’re back here. Either way.”

“All right.”

“Call me when you’re back on the premises.”

“Yep.”

At six thirty the parking lot of the Double D started to fill up with motorcycles. At least that’s how it seemed. Motorcycles have a way of multiplying in the eye. They look like there are more than there actually are.

Four different law enforcement agencies had representatives keeping an eye on the situation. They’d been instructed to hang back unless a crime was committed, and that’s what they intended to do.

The Double D was normally closed on Mondays, but Boss had made opening for a private affair a very attractive proposition.

The menu was simple. Ribs. Corn on the cob. French fries. Biscuits. Beer.

Boss figured, if you could keep men’s hands busy with eatin’ good food, there was less chance those hands would go reachin’ for weapons. Beer didn’t jump people up like booze. Beer was friendly. It was what you did with friends and neighbors.

Such were the thoughtful plans of a leader willing to leave to chance only what had to be left to chance.

He’d given careful instruction about the arrangement of tables into two horseshoes. Boss would sit at one end with Marauders facing each other, four and four. There would be a space between tables for servers to walk. A mirror horseshoe at the other end would seat Dredge with eight of his guys in mirror formation.

Like a meeting of foreign dignitaries, there were diplomatic protocols to follow. Neither of the clubs would enter the reserved room and be seated until both were there. If one club arrived late and the other was seated, waiting, it would be a sign of disrespect.

Of course the Marauders did hold grudging disrespect for the Stars & Bars, but making that too evident too early in the process would be counterproductive. So they’d play the game and observe tradition.

Boss left Zipper to guard Cramer, thinking rightly that Zipper was too closely connected to the sins of Stars & Bars. He took Roar, Smash, Cue, Cowpie, Paul, Cuervo, Jack, and, to his very great surprise, Win. Catcher was among the seven selected to remain outside and make sure that things remained calm, orderly, and according to plan.

Boss came roaring in leading a parade of fifteen motorcycles in a deafening announcement of arrival. Seeing that some of the Stars & Bars had parked on the south side of the entrance, Boss backed his bike into the beginning of a row on the north.

Inside the bar restaurant, Dredge and his boys were waiting to go into the room set aside for the meeting. When Boss entered, their heads turned to showcase glares that made their feelings crystal clear.

“Evenin’,” Boss said, entirely too cheerfully. But the club with the upper hand could afford to be friendly. “Let’s get to it.”

He led his little procession into the reserved space and took the tables at the far end. The disadvantage of that was that they’d be farthest from the door. The advantage was that they could see the door. The disadvantage was mitigated by an emergency exit door within a couple of steps of Boss’s chair.

The Stars & Bars filed in wordlessly with sullen expressions like teenagers being called on the carpet of the principal’s office, but hoping to maintain some of their dignity.

Waitresses wearing boots, scandalously short cutoff jeans, and tops that were basically front closure bras with fringe, began serving pitchers of beer with flirtatious smiles. They figured out in short order that none of the men were there to flirt.

The representatives of the two clubs stared at each other while women clad in the risqué versions of ‘cowgirl’ costumes served big platters of food. Marauders dug in happily and commented to each other how good it was while Stars & Bars stared, refusing to touch any of the food.

“Not hungry?” Boss said, chewing on corn from an ear in his hand. “Too bad. You should eat up ‘cause this is gonna be your last meal in Waco.”

Dredge’s nostrils flared. “That right?” he asked with an accent far too ‘Southern’ for modern times.

“Yeah,” Boss said happily, picking up a rib. “That’s right. This is good stuff. You should have some. For the road.” He looked around at the other Marauders and laughed, saying, “Unless you’re wantin’ to take it to go.”

The Marauders obliged by laughing, which made Dredge fume even more and cross his arms over his chest. “If you think my operation can’t sustain one hit, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Boss put his food down and grew serious. The other Marauders took his lead and did the same. “You missin’ somebody?”

Dredge held Boss’s gaze. “You got my boy? That what this is about? Shakedown?”

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