“And?” Hunter asked, crossing his arms.
“Safe to say that I don’t exactly have his support. He wants me the hell out of dodge in the morning, chasing up whatever wisps of a lead that I can find in Tucson.”
Hunter shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. “About what I expected. Your Lieutenant’s an idiot. Tucson’s a dead end. What we’re doing here is the best shot you’ve got at finding what you need.”
“I tried to explain that,” I insisted. “He wasn’t having any of it… Hunter, I think my career might be on the line with this one.”
“Then you’ve got a choice to make,” he answered without skipping a beat. “But you’re lucky. Things are moving quickly. It isn’t like Víboras Verde to suddenly launch an operation like this… not unless they’ve escalated things. Set up a cleaner escape point, maybe…”
“Do you know where they’re going, or when?” I asked, following Hunter as he patrolled across the bar, checking his men’s work over their shoulders.
“I know both.”
“And how is that?”
Hunter flashed me a devious smile. “My faithful scout has been in touch. Let’s just say that I know men in some wicked places…”
I didn’t want to work out whatever that was supposed to mean, so I dropped the topic.
As a member of the other side of the law, it was probably for the best that I knew as little as possible about my old flame’s operations.
“Not to sound rude or anything, but your numbers are looking a little light…”
Hunter expected the question. “This is only about a third of the club. The rest were too tired or drunk to lend their assistance. They’re sleeping off a few more hours. What you see are the ones who could sober up.”
I accepted this answer, noting how a few bikers glanced up with bags under their eyes. I could only hope that some fresh midnight wind would invigorate them.
Hunter turned to a nearby biker. He hadn’t pulled his attention away from working with the pistols on his bar top table. “How are we lookin’, Grizz?”
The biker stood up straight. Tall, burly, and intimidating, Grizz flashed his piercing blue eyes our way. Turning with a pistol in hand, he expertly emptied the magazine, bounced the bullet from the chamber, and reloaded the gun – all with his eyes trained on us.
“We’ve got this shit, boss.”
His fierce eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a slight shiver down my spine. He had such an otherworldly feel, but even in his dark gaze I sensed something compassionate and sad…
“Grizz, meet Sarah. She’ll be joining us on our little jaunt in the desert tonight.”
His eyebrow raised, and a faint flicker of a smile crossed his lips. “So, you’re the infamous young woman that I’ve heard so much about…”
Hunter cleared his throat instantly, and Grizz flashed him a grin. “We’re in good shape,” he elaborated, turning to gaze upon the other bikers in the bar as they worked. “We’ll be ready to roll out in fifteen, maybe twenty minutes…”
“That’s what I like to hear,” the biker president nodded. “I need to go over a few things with our… distinguished guest, so I’ll leave things in your rather capable hands.”
“You go right ahead,” Grizz acknowledged, returning to his work. “I’ll give the signal when we’re ready to ride out.”
“Good man.”
Hunter led me towards the corridor, and I noticed the other bikers glance at us as we passed. They seemed to murmur among themselves, although a sharp eye from Hunter put these things to an immediate stop.
“Who was that guy?” I whispered.
“My second-in-command,” Hunter replied softly. “One of my best men, and an expert marksman. It has something to do with those pale goddamn eyes of his. Fucker’s saved my life more times than I can count…”
The sounds of clicking and loading guns receded as I followed him around a quick turn. A moment later, he pulled open an old, dusty door, beckoning me inside with a brief wave of the hand.
“Welcome to our chapel,” he explained.
A single exposed bulb above lighted the decrepit wooden room. It looked like something from below decks on a pirate ship – dark, dirty, and with rudimentary décor and a single large bookcase flowing with old hardbacks. The center of the room was dominated by a large, wooden round table – with large maps of the Southwestern states spread out, scattered with marks and small plastic pieces.
In a glance, I was taken back to the end of my youth – and that fateful last night together. I recalled stepping into a room that was filled to the brink with bikers from two distinct clubs, where Hunter had merely been the latest pawn on the table.