Page 53 of Huge Dynamite
“The Unchained Dogs. Yeah, I ain’t stupid. I know who they are.”
“They around here a lot?”
Lifting his shoulders, he shrugs. “Some.”
Swallowing back my anger, I take a deep breath. “You got a phone?”
“Yeah. What’s it to you?”
“Let me have it.” Holding out my hand, I beckon for him to hand me the phone.
“Aw, shit, man. I just got this. You robbin’ me?”
“No, I’m not robbing you. Now unlock the damned thing so I can give you my number.”
“You giving me your digits?” He unlocks his phone and hands it to me.
“Yeah.” I input my number quickly, and then the number for Hoppa’s Taphouse. Holding his phone out toward him, I show him the new entries. “Anything goes down with the Dogs, or if Holly is in any kind of trouble, you call me first. If, uh…” Clearing my throat, I don’t even want to think of this as a possibility. “If you can’t get me, call the Taphouse. It’s the clubhouse for the Steel Knights. Tell them who you are and that I said to call. They’ll know what to do.”
His eyes light up. “Okay.”
“Now give me your number in case I need you.”
“You gonna need me?” He eyes me skeptically.
“I might. You’re my man on the inside now. You’ve gotta look out for Holly when I can’t be here. All right?”
“A-right.”
After inputting his number, we shake hands and then I rush back to my bike. Hopping on, I glance at Holly’s building. She’s there, peeking through one of the front windows. Looking over, I catch Julius parking himself on her front steps. Revving my engine, I nod to both of them as, all alone, I rush toward enemy territory—the Unchained Dogs’ clubhouse.
Chapter Thirteen
Dynamite
What the hell am I doing? Cutting my engine, I stay back a good distance from the Dogs’ clubhouse, hiding my bike in the bushes. It’s not easy to hide anywhere in Rumble. The town is so old and sunbaked that pretty much any tree or bush you could use for cover has died off. I did find one bush across from the clubhouse, and I’m able to store my bike in the alley behind it. Crouching down, I use the bush for camouflage, but the damned thing has thorns that scratch my face and neck. Using my arms, which have a thick layer of leather from my jacket to protect them, I push my way through the branches to get a closer look. There it is—the Unchained Dogs’ clubhouse. Shit, I swear I can smell the nasty scent of wet dog all the way over here.
The clubhouse itself looks like the first stop you’d make on a tour of Hell. Its faded red façade is crumbling around the edges of its one picture window that’s half-boarded with plywood and half-covered with a large, black plastic garbage bag. Sure, there are run-down buildings in Holly’s neighborhood as well but at least it looks like someone is trying to keep it from becoming decrepit. This just looks like crap, and I’ve got to be crazy to go walking in there alone and unarmed. But if I were packing, it would be an invitation to kill me. Sure, one guy can approach another in neutral territory, like the range or something, but not on another club’s home turf. Taking a deep breath, I have to accept the fact that just for walking in there, I may not walk out again.
Some guy with long hair wearing a Dog jacket comes out of the clubhouse and looks around. Glancing up at the night sky, he swings his arms back and forth. Another guy walks out and bums a cigarette. Shit. I got here during freaking teatime. Ducking down and back into the shadows, I slow my breathing. The only thing I have going for me is the element of surprise. I don’t want to be spotted and blow my chance.
Finally, after chatting it up like two old ladies, the guys hop onto their bikes and speed off. So, this is it. My chance. Standing up, I stay in the shadows as much as possible as I approach the building. No doubt they have cameras everywhere, and I don’t want to be spotted until the last possible second.
Taking a deep breath, I feel a little like a man without a parachute about to jump from a plane. But what choice do I have? They threatened her life, and she doesn’t fully understand the danger she’s in. They have to be stopped, and someone has to pay.
As I approach the last few yards of the road before their sidewalk, I stand to my full height, letting my presence be known. Fuck yeah. Now it’s time to let them see who they’re dealing with.
The door swings open just as I approach. The stench of cigarettes, stale beer, and old piss is suffocating.
“Dynamite.” Some clod I don’t recognize in a Dog jacket steps outside. He meets me on the street in front of the clubhouse. Damn, if I’m over six feet and thick, this guy must be the size of a freaking mountain. He clasps his hands before him, and his oversized shoulders roll forward. One thing about guys like this is when they fall, they fall hard.
“Do I know you?” Raising my eyebrow, I stand tall before him.
“Guys call me Two-Ton.”
“Don’t need to explain that one, huh?” Looking him up and down, I search for the perfect place to strike, and my hands ball into fists at my sides. A kick to the kneecap will bring him down. “I need to see Luther.”
“Luther ain’t got no dealings with a damned Knight. He’s got better things to do with his time.”
