Ride Wild(46)

That wasn't much of a hardship.

Except that, unlike on Monday afternoon, Slider wasn't smiling back at  her today. "What's wrong?" she asked, sensing it before he even said a  word.

He pushed his sunglasses up on his head. "Caine just got a text. The dogfight's been moved up."

Standing beside his bike, her hand on his thigh, Cora frowned. "Okay, to when?"

"Tonight."

Surprise rocked through her, along with a wave of nervous anticipation. "Okay, so . . . What does that mean? Why is that bad?"

Slider sighed. "Because Martin can't get the other jurisdictions in  place within the next two hours on this short notice. These dogfights  can attract a hundred or more people, so the original plan was for the  cops to be in place at least two hours beforehand, maybe more, to set up  a perimeter that would contain all the participants without the Crew  knowing. There's no way to do that now."                       
       
           



       

"Does that mean going this time is off then?" she asked, her stomach  dropping. She'd so been hoping this would all be behind them sooner  rather than later.

"No. Me, Caine, and Phoenix are still going in. Martin and two other  sheriffs are going to give us some backup, but it'll be a smaller  operation than we initially hoped."

Cora gasped, because that sounded really freaking dangerous. "Slider, I don't like the sound of this."

He grasped her hand against his thigh. "Don't worry. The plan's still  the same. Observe. Find out who's running this ring. Get some pictures  of Davis there. Get back out. Hopefully we won't even have to be there  that long, because I am not looking forward to watching dogs tear each  other apart."

Her mind scrambled for an alternative. "Why can't more of the Ravens go so it's not just the three of you?"

"Because, sweetheart, if the 301 Crew perceives us as attacking their  territory, it'll start a war that'll only end when a whole bunch of  bodies are lying on the ground, and that's the last thing we want. We  have to do this low key, and hopefully, they won't even realize we were  there."

"But won't Davis recognize you?" she asked, stepping in closer. He put his arm around her waist.

"If we spot him there, we're going to keep our distance. And we're going  to borrow a page out of his book. Street clothes. Hats. Phoenix even  found an old pair of glasses he's going to wear."

That made her smile, just a little. "I just don't like the idea of you in danger, Slider."

"That's why I gotta do this. It's time to put it behind us." He handed  her a helmet, and too soon they were back at the house so Slider could  change. He came downstairs fifteen minutes later in the same jeans and  boots, but wearing an oversized hooded sweatshirt under a blue and brown  flannel jacket. A Ford baseball cap sat low on his head. And he had a  clean shave.

"You make redneck look good," Cora said, trying to inject a little humor into the situation. But it fell flat.

"Right?" he asked, crouching at the end of the living room couch where  she sat with Bosco at her feet. "The boys will be home in a few, so let  me ask you before they get here and want to interject their opinion.  Would you prefer to spend the evening at the clubhouse or at Dare and  Haven's? Meat had reserved the clubhouse tonight for his fortieth  birthday party, so it might be a little crazy there, but of course you  can grab one of the rooms upstairs."

"Would Dare be okay with us crashing over there?" she asked, not sure  she was up for pandemonium tonight with the way her head already pounded  with tension.

"Yes. He said he and Haven would hang with you wherever you wanted to be."

"Then I'll go there. The boys love Dare anyway."

The bus pulled up just then. "I'll get them," Slider said. And it was  such a normal thing. A dad meeting his kids off the school bus. It was  hard to believe that in just a few hours, that same dad would be walking  into the middle of a bunch of criminals betting on animals attacking  each other, all while also trying to nail a dirty cop.

Cora just hoped with all her heart that he'd be walking back out again, too. And coming home to her.





Chapter 23




"This ends tonight," Caine said, a beat-up John Deere baseball hat on  his head. In baggy jeans and a gray hoodie cinched at the neck to hide  his ink, he almost looked like one of the skate rats they'd seen.

"A-fucking-men," Phoenix said from behind the wheel. A cowboy hat sat beside his lap.

"In and out, just like we talked about," Slider added, hoping like hell that nothing diverted them from the plan.

They rode to the fight in one of the old pickups used for the Ravens'  track business, not wanting to put anyone's personal vehicle in the 301  Crew's sights. The address they finally received was located about  forty-five minutes away, and luckily the early sunset of the season  meant they'd get to go in under the cover of darkness. Martin and two of  his officers followed in unmarked cars, giving them at least a little  backup in case shit went south.

As shit was wont to do.

Which was why they were all riding hot. Slider fucking hated it-hated  the risk of it-but they'd be stupid to go in unarmed with the Crew  involved.

The address led them to a long gravel driveway that cut through a stand  of woods and emptied out into a big field. A barn sat at the center with  maybe forty cars and trucks parked all around, many of them with  trailers attached-likely belonging to people who'd brought their own  dogs to fight.                       
       
           



       

They could hear the barking and howling before they even got out of the truck.

"This is going to suck ass," Phoenix said.

Slider thought about Bosco back at home. Bosco, who would roll over onto  his back to get a belly scratch, and who came running every time Slider  opened the freezer door because he loved to chew ice cubes, and who  often fell asleep with his droopy head propped on a stuffed animal  squirrel the boys had picked out for him. Yeah, this was going to suck.  The last thing Slider wanted to see was an animal getting hurt.

They piled out, Caine and Slider in baseball hats and Phoenix wearing a  brown cowboy hat that hid the scar on the side of his face, cowboy  boots, and a pair of black-framed glasses. They weren't perfect  disguises, but none of them looked like they normally did, and Slider  hoped that would be enough.

Even as they made their way toward the barn, a few more cars pulled into  the field, and the noise coming from inside made it seem like this was  going to be a decent-sized event. That suited Slider just fine, because  it meant a bigger crowd to get lost in.

A blue pickup-a blue Datsun-sat at the end of one row. Satisfaction  rolled through Slider as he nudged Caine's arm and pointed. "Heads-up."  Curt Davis was here, just like they hoped he'd be. Now they'd just have  to be careful about being spotted by him.

"Fucking perfect," Caine said, his tone like ice.

Two men stopped them at the door, small 301 tattoos on their necks identifying them as part of the Crew. "Name?"

"Chuck Mason," Caine said. Their master of new identities for their  protective clients no doubt had a few set up for himself as well.

The men gave the three of them a once-over and waved them in.

"Jesus," Slider bit out under his breath. It was as bad inside as he  feared. Fighting pits filled the barn's four corners. Maybe twenty  square feet, there was nothing fancy about them-they were constructed  simply out of plywood fencing that stood about three feet high. A pair  of dogs fought in three of the pits, and thirty or forty spectators  stood around each one, cheering and yelling and booing. A betting booth  stood at the center, and a concession stand filled the far wall. People  milled around both and wandered up the center aisle.

"Who could eat?" Phoenix said. He wasn't wrong-the stench of animal blood and other bodily fluids hung in the air.

"Come on," Caine said, leading them to stand at the railing of the  closest fighting pit where it appeared a fight was about to begin.  Blending in necessitated acting interested, so Slider braced his arms on  the edge and paid close attention to the two pit bulls being restrained  on leashes in opposite corners. Deep lines had been scratched  diagonally into the dirt in front of each corner.

As they watched, a referee supervised each dog getting washed down with  sudsy water from the same bucket. Listening to the chatter of other  spectators, Slider learned that was to remove any chemicals or poisons  that a dog's owner might put on the coat to make the opposing dog sick,  which just proved how truly twisted this whole thing was.