Chapter 4
Keith
Keith looked around the motel room with his gun in one hand and his cell phone in the other, breathing hard. Nostril was gone, and so were the baggies filled with drugs that had been on the bed. Even though he'd been busy shooting at Cain's assailants, Keith knew there was no way he'd have missed Nostril running out the door and away from the room.
He kicked the bed to one side, hoping to find Nostril cowering under it. Instead, all he found was the dried husks of a dozen dead roaches, a pen, and an even older set of stains than the ones on the blanket.
Keith roared with frustration, dashing into the bathroom. As he did, he tapped Hunter's name on his cell phone screen and it dialed the number. Keith yanked the shower curtain aside, but the tub was empty.
Hunter picked up on the third ring. “Yeah, Keith?” His voice sounded moody and distracted.
“We need help, man,” Keith said urgently. “Cain's been fucked up bad.”
Hunter's voice snapped into focus. “What happened? Are you at the motel?”
“The dealer set us up,” Keith said. “Four guys jumped Cain as he was leavin’ the motel room. From the look of him, fuck, I dunno, Hunter, I don't think he's gonna make it...”
“Don't say that,” Hunter snapped. “We'll be right there.”
Keith heard Hunter lower the phone and say, “Bones, get the van. The rest of you, get on your fuckin' bikes. Cain's been hurt.”
There was a murmur of confused and angry Eagles stirring in the background, and Hunter raised the phone again. “We need to know who was behind this. Please tell me you grabbed the dealer.”
“I'm tryin’,” Keith said, looking around the bathroom and wondering what he'd missed. Nostril couldn't have just gathered up his shit, snapped his dirty fingers, and vanished in a puff of smoke.
“Well, fucking try harder,” Hunter spat. Keith heard the van door slam shut and the engine start. “We're on our way.” The call ended.
Just as he was about to give up and head back outside to stay with Cain, Keith noticed a light dusting of paint chips resting on the lid of the toilet. He looked up and saw that just above the toilet, there was a small, narrow window which had clearly been painted over numerous times. It had been slid open.
“Oh, no you don't, you skinny little fuckrat,” Keith hissed, hopping up on the toilet lid and peering out the window.
Nostril was running across the weedy, trash-strewn lot behind the motel, his arms full of baggies. He'd only gotten less than a hundred feet away, and based on the long scrapes on his arms and legs, squeezing through the window had slowed his escape.
Keith knew that there was no way he could force his own 280-pound frame through the tiny window.
But Keith also knew he had six friends along with him, all of whom could run a hell of a lot faster than Nostril.
He stuck his arm through the window, aiming his .357 carefully. Nostril's legs were galloping too fast for Keith to reliably shoot one out from under him. His lower back made a perfect target, though, and his white undershirt made it especially visible in the moonlight.
Keith took a deep breath, exhaled, and pulled the trigger. The massive gun recoiled in his calloused hands, the sound exploding off the tiles around him like a dynamite blast in a mine shaft.
A large red hole appeared at the base of Nostril's spine and he screamed. His arms flailed upward, sending the bags of meth and 'shrooms in every direction. Nostril fell forward and started rolling around on the ground, shrieking and leaving wide, wing-shaped swathes of blood around his body like a child making a snow angel. As Nostril curled up on his side, Keith saw that the bullet had exited through Nostril's belly, leaving a huge, ragged-looking wound.
Missed the spine, Keith thought. Good. We might need him to have some feeling below the waist later if he won't cooperate under questioning.
More than anything, Keith wanted to head back to the motel parking lot and stay with Cain until the others got there. Keith and Cain had joined the Eagles around the same time, and Cain had always been like a brother to him. But Keith knew that if he turned his back on Nostril, the scumbag might somehow find a way to drag his sorry ass away before reinforcements turned up, and they might never learn who made this move against them.
So instead, Keith darted out the door of the motel room, sneaking a quick glance at Cain to make sure he was still alive before going to collect Nostril.
At least no one staying in this motel is eager to be a witness, Keith thought. Most of them are probably into some shady shit themselves and won't call the cops. But the motel's manager certainly will, so we'd better haul ass before this gets more complicated than it needs to be.