Page 15 of DOG Part 2
Deuce and I brought the main team, no more, no less. Five was enough. Heck, maybe it was too much. It would have been dumb for me to go it alone, but having the whole motorcycle club there was just asking for trouble. We’d sent our numbers ahead to Chavez, expecting him to play by the unwritten rules and bring the same number of men.
The meeting spot was in the dust across the street from a truck stop that had been around since the Seventies,The Spotted Dog. Chavez and his men were already there when we rolled up, leaning on their bikes and looking as if they had all the time in the world.
Chavez nodded to me, his leathered skin rolling as he did so. The man was something of a legend. He’d been the Arroyos Bandidos’ president for three decades, and tales of his viciousness ran rampant at motorcycle rallies. One urban legend said he’d cut out a rival’s tongue for talking shit about him, and the others just got harder to believe from there on.
I’d never met him, and never felt the need to.
“Rugged Angels,” he said, in a tone that could easily be read as a half sneer.
I walked slowly towards him, stopping a few yards away. Deuce stayed a foot behind me and the others hung back by the bikes.
“Thank you for meeting,” I said formally, as if we were lawyers sitting on opposite sides of a polished mahogany table. Being polite with the man who had attacked my clubhouse and ordered multiple murder attempts on those I cared about nearly killed me, but it was necessary.
“What agreement are you looking for?” he asked quickly.
“A peace treaty.”
Chavez shifted his eyes over my shoulder, checking out the crew behind me.
“What can you offer me?” he asked.
“A cease fire.”
“No,” he sharply replied.
My fingers itched to grab hold of the man’s neck.
“Why not?”
“You have land that we need. It’s fairly simple, no?”
“But is it worth it? How many men have you lost in this war? How many more are you willing to lose?”
Chavez didn’t respond to my question, instead turning to exchange an unreadable glance with the man closest to him. The thug shrugged, his vest lifting to reveal the gun holster underneath it.
An itching feeling crept its way up the back of my neck, making the hairs there stand on end. I’d brought my gun. The whole team packed twenty-four seven, but the one thing we hadn’t come out to the desert with was intentions of using our weapons.
Chavez’s resistance to even humor me was disconcerting. Why had he even agreed to meet if he wasn’t willing to come to some kind of settlement?
The bang behind me answered my question. Quickly, I pulled my gun out and pointed it at Chavez, moving almost purely on instinct. The man was already flying, slipping behind his bike, and the bullet missed its aim.
“Kane!” Deuce yelled from behind me, and I slid backwards, collapsing behind my bike in a cloud of dirt. Deuce was there, scanning the area across the street. Skate, Big Tom, and Kyle were already camped behind their own motorcycles, slipping around the edges of them to fire shots back at the rival gang.
The explosions of battle filled the air and Deuce had to yell even though he was only inches from me.
“Sniper across the street! But we got him!”
A bullet whizzed near my head and I ducked. “Shit,” I muttered.
It had been a trap. We’d walked right into the slaughterhouse the way blindfolded cows would. I bit my tongue, pushing back the disappointment and anger. I’d been so eager to come to an agreement with the Arroyos Bandidos that I hadn’t even wanted to entertain the idea that the other gang could possibly be luring us out to the desert to do us in once and for all.
A gurgled yell came from someone on the other side, signaling that one of my men’s bullets had found its mark.
“We need to make this quick,” I told Deuce, knowing it was only a matter of time before the police showed up. The Bandidos had picked an unfortunate place to attempt a massacre, right across the street from a building full of civilians. Civilians who had, no doubt, already called 911.
Deuce gave a swift nod, his mouth set into that thin, tight line. He nodded over my shoulder, at the fallen down billboard, a crumpled mass of metal, that was only a few yards away.
“I’ll distract them,” he said simply.
