Page 21 of DOG Part 2
“Good.” He worked his mouth around, looking like he was going to say something else. Finally he just nodded his goodbye before turning and exiting, his cronies loping close behind him.
Once the door was closed Banner gave me a curious look. I wanted to ask him what was on his mind, but was suddenly tired and barely had the strength to continue standing. There was a lot to be done, and all of it needed to be enacted swiftly.
“Get our best shooter,” I told Kyle. “We’re going to take care of this tonight.”
Icroucheddown on the dark rooftop, my back pressed against the dirty wall and my heart hammering away. A few yards away, Inigo, the shooter that Kyle had picked, was in position, waiting for the opportune time. Spaced around the rooftop was my team and across the street on the opposite rooftop were four other Rugged Angels.
The street below was light with traffic, not more than a dark-tinted vehicle driving by once every three or four minutes. It was a dangerous part of town, one of the most crime-ridden. It was also one of Chavez’s favorite routes to take. Luckily this was something we already knew. Although before the attack on Banner’s ex-wife it had been years since there had been a flare up of any kind between the Rugged Angels and Arroyos Bandidos, I’d taken precautions months ago to have a spy check up on the movements of the other gang every once in a while.
That pre-planning had payed off, because there we were, possibly minutes away from taking out Chavez. Supposing he wasn’t switching up his routes as a preventative measure following the skirmish earlier in the day.
My throat tightened as my hands did the same around my gun. I didn’t know whose bullet it was that had killed my best friend, but I was intending to make Chavez pay for what had happened.
DiEmanuele flashed across my mind, and I wondered for the hundredth time why he had been acting so nervous. The best guess what that he had thought we had asked him to the clubhouse with the intent of doing him harm. The first thing he’d done upon entering had been to take a quick head count of my team. He’d brought two men with him, but who’s to say that there weren’t more waiting outside of the clubhouse, hiding in the wings just in case their manpower was needed?
I glanced over at Skate, thinking to bring it up with him, but a familiar noise cut through the air.
It was the roar of motorcycles, signaling just what we had hoped for.
I shifted up on the balls of my feet and peeked over the edge of the wall. Eight bikes were coming down the street from the west, Cactus decals on the front two visible enough for those who had seen them before. It was the Arroyos Bandidos, all right, riding right into our trap.
I took a deep breath and darted my eyes across the rooftop, where a dark silhouette moved then ducked down. Everyone was in place should things go gnarly, but we were counting on them not to. If Inigo was as good as Kyle swore he was then he would have Chavez down in just a shot or two. After that the Arroyos Bandidos would likely disperse. If they had half a brain between the whole of them, that is.
Chavez rode a distinguishable bike, a red chopper that glinted beneath the street lights as it glided right in the middle of the gang. I kept my eyes on him, my breath held. Out of my peripheral, Inigo was aiming, following the red chopper with a slow, fluid sweep of the gun.
The first bang hit its mark, and the chopper kept going, sliding down the smooth asphalt and turning on its side without Chavez on it. The rest of the gang swerved, panicking as Chavez rolled over in the street before bumping up against the curb.
Several of the Arroyos Bandidos took off, but most of them veered and headed for cover, jumping off their bikes and ducking behind cars. What they didn’t know was that they were surrounded on both sides. Guns were already going off, filling the air as the Rugged Angels across the street took care of the rivals nearest them.
Someone had spotted us, and as he extended from behind the white van he’d fled to, he fired shots at my rooftop.
“Shit!” someone said near me, and I darted, feeling the searing fire graze against my shoulder. Another bullet whizzed by, so close I heard the actualwhizzas it went by my head. I pressed myself against the ground, army-crawling towards the fire escape.
We had camped out on top of an abandoned building, and the escape was rusty and creaking. Still keeping low, I slipped into it and scrambled as fast as I could down the rickety metal. The fire in my shoulder flared, but I pushed through it, keeping my focus on the ground beneath me.
I was of no help up there on the roof now that we had been found out. I had to get down on the ground; sneak into the fray the back way. The main concern was Chavez. He couldn’t get away. He had rolled off the bike and collided with the asphalt, but that hadn’t meant that he had bit the dust.
Hell, he could have already climbed onto his chopper and ridden away, all while I was shimmying down the fire escape.
I pressed my back against the brick wall, peeking around the corner. Chavez was still in the spot he had rolled to, completely motionless. Behind the white van was the body of the Bandidos member who had been shooting at us. The rest of the remaining bikers were roaring away on their bikes, having realized they were outnumbered and at a disadvantage.
Deeming it safe, I ran across the street towards Chavez. A bang and a kick in my stomach momentarily halted me. I clutched at my torso and kept moving, not dumb enough to let the bullet in me force me to stop. Running out that soon had been stupid, and I needed to get to cover, pronto.
Around the tire of the white van, the biker that I had thought was dead fired another shot at me, missing. More guns went off and his head dropped, the man finally done for.
I fell behind a garbage bin a couple yards away from Chavez and surveyed the street again. The living Arroyos Bandidos were all already gone, the rumbling of their engines fading in the distance as they headed north.
Chavez stirred, his torso moving up and down as he coughed. High above, clattering signaled that some of the Rugged Angels were coming down from their rooftops. Deeming the coast actually clear this time, I stumbled over to Chavez, making sure to keep out of his vision in case he suddenly got enough energy to pull out his gun.
It quickly became clear that the man was in anything but fighting condition. The look of him said that he only had minutes left in this world. I felt bad for him. Almost. He had been responsible for the death of my best friend, but that didn’t do much to dampen my humanity. I had seen my fair share of death, both in Afghanistan and at home, and I had killed more than a decent person is supposed to, no matter the circumstances.
But you never get used to it, no matter how much it comes to surround you. Death is still that inexorable terror that comes to every human in the worst of times.
Chavez coughed again, catching sight of me. He gave a slight chuckle, the laugh ringing out sadly and hollowly. “You still haven’t won,” he gurgled.
I took a step towards him, still carefully watching his hands, but also knowing he probably didn’t even have the strength to find his gun. “How so?”
“You’ve been set up.”
