“So how do we get them out of the shop? We’d have to make at least four trips. It’s too risky.”
He smiles. “Good thing we got a lot of brothers with a lot of muscle. And I know a chapter that’s on probation. This would give them a chance to get their bottom rocker back.” It sucked having a brother smarter than me.
I call Nationals, unsure of my decision only after I have them on the line. “San Antonio is on probation. Rookie and I could use their help with something. I’ll make sure it’s beneficial for the club too. It’ll also give them a chance to prove themselves. It’s nothing they haven’t done before.”
“How beneficial to the club will it be?” Jimbo asks, and Rookie passes me a piece of paper.
“Two keys. At least. And about twenty or thirty stacks.” I wait while the call is muted and they discuss. A few minutes later Jimbo comes back on the line.
“You got the green light. Just don’t fuck up.”
Great. No pressure.
* * *
That night, Rookie and Tank stand guard as I pick the lock and enter the shop. There are only two bottles of liquor in the building, and I empty the contents of the package Rookie gave me inside them. Looking around the shop, my eyes search for the hidden stash of dope and money. Rookie assures me it’s in here somewhere, he just doesn’t know where.
After fifteen minutes of searching, I still can’t find it. Time is up and I walk back into the woods to meet Rookie and Tank. “I couldn’t find it,” I whisper, knowing that if we didn’t, then we would be indebted to Nationals. It wasn’t about the money, it was the promise of getting them something and not delivering.
“Did you check the floors?” Rookie asks, completely calm.
“Concrete.”
“What about the walls?”
“Nothing.” I wasn’t an amateur, for fuck’s sake.
“What about the deer?” My eyes move to Tank, who hasn’t said a word the entire trip. Hell, he never says anything.
“The what?”
“The deer. There’s a deer mount on the wall. Look in the hollow of its neck.” I look to Rookie and he shrugs, again. I guess that’s his answer for everything.
We walk back to the shop, and I start searching the mounts. There are four of them, and the first three have come up empty. Taking a deep breath, I pull the fourth from the wall, noticing how easily it came down. Where the wooden plaque was solid on the others, this one was hollow, leading into the neck of the deer. Inside lay my word to Nationals. And now I have two brothers that are smarter than me.
* * *
Six probationary members from San Antonio arrive the next day. I hardly recognize them in normal clothes, and I even laugh at how awkward it is having all of us together with no patches on. We go over the plan until it’s perfected, then split up into three boats that sit waiting at the riverbank.
We’re silent as we walk through the woods. At ten minutes past ten, Rookie eases up to the window of the shop. Moments later, he waves us over. We enter with pistols drawn, silencers intact. With a wave of my finger, the unconscious bodies are lifted one by one and removed from the room. I grab the last of them, throwing him over my shoulder, and silently thanking my brothers for leaving the smallest one for me.
Slowly but surely, we cross the hundred yards back through the woods and throw the bodies in the boats. Fifteen minutes later, we’re throwing them into the back of the covered trailer attached to the truck Tank is driving. We strip the men of everything but their underwear, before locking the door and driving to the location that is becoming a Death Mob cemetery.
I don’t let myself relax until we’re miles away from any threat to our plan. Now the fun begins. Unlocking the door, we find the men in all different states. Some are pissed. Some are confused. Some have their hands up in surrender. But they all wear a look of fear when their eyes focus on the ten men surrounding the trailer with automatics pointed at them. Just to make them even more uncomfortable, I drag out their impending doom.
“You know what I love about you boys?” Of course they don’t answer, but I give them time just in case. “Y’all are so predictable. I mean a shot after church? Really? What the fuck are y’all toasting to?”
I look around at my brothers, who are itching with the desire to kill. I am too, but the sadist inside me wants a little more. I don’t just want their blood, I want their fucking souls.
“Who are you?” one of the men asks. He’s so brave, I consider letting him live.
“Me?” I ask, feigning shock. “And here I was thinking I was some kind of celebrity.” I move suddenly, propping my leg up on the bumper of the trailer and the man flinches. Well, that sealed his fate. He wasn’t as brave as I thought he was. Now I guess he’ll die too.