Page 62 of Fury
“Tell me where he is. The dot on the screen is Spider. His phone died last week, so I took the opportunity to send him one of the club phones. We all know they’re tracked, but he might have forgotten.”
Chismoso angled the screen so Fury could see, too. The dot was holding steady, not blinking or moving, but the map was zoomed in so close only a road crossroads was visible, the numbers showing not meaning anything to Fury. Chismoso tapped a button on the side once, twice, and the image zoomed out until the shape of the locale was clear. Fury looked up at the screen, staring into Myron’s eyes. “Mexico.”
“What do you want to do, boss?” Opie’s gaze didn’t waver, holding as steady as the blip on the screen representing Spider. He was looking to Fury for an answer. Fury glanced around the room to find every man’s eyes on him, no question in their mind who was the shot caller for this gig.Maybe most of the problems I see are in my mind. Maybe Myron hadn’t meant anything earlier. Maybe.Maybe not.
“I want you to roll to the bridge and hold. Wait. We see him moving your way, we’ll get word to you. Intercept and detain, take him to the clubhouse by whatever means you deem necessary.” Opie winced and Fury remembered that only months ago he’d been the second in command, standing alongside Spider at most functions. “Go easy if you can, but once you get him, you keep him.”
***
“How long ago?” Fury held the phone to his ear, waiting.
“Ten minutes. He’s a fuckin’ mess, brother. Not sure how he’s breathin’.”
“Get him there alive.” He disconnected the call, noting absently that his hands were shaking. Swallowing hard, he dialed another number and waited. The call connected and before they could say anything, he started talking. “Spider’s back. Glad I put the Las Cruces guys at the bridge, and even more glad they took a cage for some unknown fucking reason. Spider’s back, but he’s bad off, Mason. He brought home a package, though. A fucking package that we’ve been looking for a long time.”
Taking a breath, he paused, and Mason waited, the pause pregnant with tension.
“Tucker. He fucking brought fucking Tucker back, man.”
Drawling the words slowly, Mason asked, “Upright, or planted?”
“Fucking upright, brother. No clue why he’d risk so much.”
“Tucker unscathed?” Still slow, with the distinctive Kentucky accent, Mason questioned him. “Spider fucked up, but Tucker breathin’? That don’t make sense.”
“No, Tucker’s down, too. Opie’s getting them both to that church they deal with there in El Paso. He’s already rolling medics. They’ll meet them there. Juanita’s on her way, too. She wouldn’t hear no for an answer, and the boys there, they won’t put hands on the queen, brother. You know how it is.”
“Oh, yeah. I do.”
Noise in the background resolved to a child’s rising laughter, broken off in a scream for “More, Ace, more.” Mason’s voice sounded like he’d covered the receiver, but Fury could still hear him. “Take ‘em to the living room, Chase. Thanks, son.” Back in the speaker, he asked, “We got time to get there before things go south?”
“No idea, brother. I’d vote we wait for them to get situated, and see from that.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Mason paused, then said Fury’s name like a question. “Fury?”
“Yeah, brother?’
“Tell ‘em to make sure they keep Tucker incapacitated. He’s a fuckin’ cockroach, always coming back to life when we least expect it. Tell ‘em to keep him down, yeah?”
“Will do.” Mason was gone, the line nothing but dead air even before he finished saying those words. He tapped out a text to Opie, knowing if he was on his bike he’d get it as soon as they stopped. “Fuck.” He spoke to the empty room, then shoved at a chair, rolling it on a collision course with the wall. “Fuck.”
***
Mason
Mason strode up the hallway, Fury beside him. Their strides were in sync, boot heels striking in the same cadence, as if this were a maneuver they’d practiced. The church in El Paso was quiet, so each footfall rebounded down the hall, bending back on them in an echo. Their plane had landed an hour ago, and the van Opie had sent to pick them up would be waiting in the parking lot for as long as needed.
Spider was still alive, even if the off-the-clock doc their EMT had brought in didn’t understand how. Alive and mending, picking up strength over the handful of days he’d been laid up in the rough infirmary the church ran for the club. Originally the church had partnered with the Southern Soldiers, something Watcher had set up years ago, an arrangement Juanita fostered, volunteering much of her time here. Human trafficking victims passed through here frequently, brought in by the club as they patrolled what they considered their territory, or by others who knew of the mission. Mason had been here before, when Danger hadn’t been long gone, helping Watcher keep his club together as best he could.
They were on their way to see Spider, Mason agreeing with Fury that a face-to-face would help clear up much of the muddy confusion spread by the man’s behavior. Mason hadn’t liked the man for a while. Not since Spider had been a vocal holdout when Watcher had been balancing on the edge of his decision to bring the Soldiers into the Rebels. Mason still believed Spider was loyal to his old patch, even if he’d put a Rebel skull on his back.
Tucker wasn’t here. He’d been put back together more quickly and was waiting for Mason’s pleasure up in Las Cruces. The bunker under the barn on Watcher’s property was perfect for that kind of imprisonment, deep enough to stay cool even in the heat of high summer, and shallow enough to be accessible. Tucker knew who was coming, and Mason didn’t expect their conversation to go easy. He’d already talked to Slate and Bear, spoken with Bones and Shades. Bringing Fury with him was a calculated statement to the entire membership, but an even stronger message for his officers.
Their treatment of Fury hadn’t escaped his notice, and even if he understood the idea of a change at the national level was unsettling, he’d lose Fury if he didn’t get it under control. So this trip had three goals. Settle the members in his Las Cruces chapter in a way that left no questions about loyalty or responsibility. He knew he’d have to deal with Tucker, and while he didn’t relish the idea, he was ready. The man belonged to a different kind of crew, always had, the kind of outlaws who used the label as an excuse to do whatever the fuck they wanted. Mason knew differently, as did every man he trusted and called brother. An outlaw had to ponder their words even more carefully after taking on the weight of that one-percent diamond. When every move is scrutinized and cataloged, their words recorded and held against them, and all deeds possible leverage against every brother—those in the outlaw community learned fast how to hold their tongues.
That was the first goal. The second was to provide express approval for Fury’s handling of the situation Mason had thrust him into. He could have stepped out of the meet with the Florida boys, easy. He could have made the calls, dealt with the few he would have involved, and been back at the table in less than an hour. No insult was given to Sparks and his crew. But that wouldn’t have lent Fury the opportunity to take the reins. Mason had watched the recording and talked to Myron. It had come down to the two of them, and Myron had bowed to Fury’s words. He hadn’t liked it, but he’d done it, knowing it was what Mason would want. Myron’s loyalty wasn’t misplaced, and Mason treasured how the man felt about who was in charge. But Myron’s attitude was similar to what Spider had done months ago. Fuck of it was, as soon as Mason called him on it, Myron had seen it, face flushing red in embarrassment. So the second goal was to cut off at the knees anyone else who harbored the same doubts.
The third goal was to convince Fury of the same thing. Mason understood him better than Fury knew. They’d both come up through the clubs the hardest way, with blood and bone paving their paths. When a man winds up at the top of the heap using nothing but wits and fists, it’s hard for him to believe he deserves to be there. When a man doubts himself, he begins to see doubt all around him, a vicious circle of uncertainty. The leader of a club like the Rebels can’t afford to be uncertain. Not when mens’ lives depended on them making the right call every time. So Mason’s third goal would see Fury doubled down on himself, transforming the long journey he’d made into a grand win at the end.
