HARDCORE: Storm MC(141)

Damn, but it felt good.



Once he was done, he hopped back on Gooch's bike and rejoined the other Eagles. They'd methodically executed the remaining cartel members, and now they were carefully loading the bodies of their own fallen comrades into the back of the van.



Cain helped Hunter pick up Keith's bleeding body and carry it to the vehicle. “This isn't your fault, Hunter,” Cain said quietly.



“Bullshit,” Hunter retorted. “I was the president of the club, an' I let this happen. I let all of you down.”



“Hey,” Cain insisted, “this isn't on you. This could have happened on anyone's watch, and they wouldn't have done anything differently.”



Hunter opened his mouth to respond, then closed it and shook his head. Cain could see that no matter what anyone said to him, Hunter would blame himself for this for a long time. Maybe even forever.



Once the bodies were loaded into the van, Missy joined Cain and Hunter. She threw her arms around Cain's neck, kissing him. “So now what?”



Cain thought it over for a moment, then stifled a bitter laugh. “Well, I guess now we do what anyone would do after seeing something this fucked-up.”



Missy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What's that?”



“We call the cops.”





Chapter 44



Missy



One Week Later



Cain and Missy sat on the couch in Cain's living room, surrounded by boxes containing everything Missy owned. She'd moved in that afternoon, but she was too tired to start finding places for things yet, so she curled up with Cain to watch the evening news.



On the screen, a well-coiffed female correspondent stood in front of the Teepee Motel, speaking into a microphone with the local station's call letters on it. “The Teepee Motel re-opened today,” she said, “just one week after a violent confrontation took place between members of a drug cartel and officers from the Dipper County Sheriff's Department. There was some confusion in the aftermath regarding the specifics of the shoot-out, but now that the Sheriff's Department has concluded its official investigation, Acting Sheriff Waylon Condell is here to talk to us about it.”



The camera angle widened to include Condell, standing next to the reporter and fidgeting with his new uniform as he peered into the camera nervously.



“He looks good,” Cain said, nodding appreciatively. “Very authoritative.”



Missy scoffed. “Please. I'm just waiting for him to pick his nose on camera or something.”



Cain chuckled, holding Missy closer.



The correspondent continued, “Sheriff, what can you tell us?”



Sure enough, Condell's finger reached up to touch the edge of his nostril before he realized what he was doing and lowered it again quickly.



“Told you,” Missy commented.



“Well, uh, see, what happened is,” Condell stammered, “me an' Sheriff Ham...I mean, Sheriff Hemmick, we received an anonymous tip that a dangerous, er, criminal...gang...was holed up at the Teepee. When we went to the motel to investigate, these, uh, malefactors engaged us in a prolonged firefight that claimed the lives of their own men, and, unfortunately, Sheriff Hemmick as well.”



“Sheriff, I'm sorry, but are you really telling us that you were unable to capture even one of the perpetrators alive?” the correspondent asked skeptically.



Condell nodded. “Yes, well, police work can be a, uh...complicated...thing, y'know? We did our best, but they, um, refused to be taken alive, so...well, that's it, I guess.”



“Silver-tongued devil,” Missy marveled, shaking her head.



“Hey, you think he sounds like an asshole now?” Cain asked. “Wait 'til he has to start campaigning for the job.”



“Once we, uh, inspected the...y'know...premises,” Condell continued, “we found evidence linking these men to a sizeable stash of weapons and narcotics stored up at the old Tibbons farm.”



“Really? And what evidence was that?”



Condell swallowed hard, blushing. “Um, I'd have to, uh, check on that...I believe it was a note of some kind, mentioning the farm house...”



“I'll bet as soon as the interview's over, he's going to write up a fake note he 'found' in the motel somewhere,” Cain jeered. “Something subtle, like 'Hey guys, don't forget we left all our dope and guns at the Tibbons farm. Love, Gaspar.'”



“As long as he remembers to write it in Spanish,” Missy shrugged.



“Amazing,” the reporter said dryly. “And all this from an anonymous tip.”



“Uh, yeah, that's right,” Condell said, looking directly into the camera. “So, um, remember, everyone: If you see something, say something.”