Watching someone get killed slowly just a few feet away from me and seeing the life leave their eyes planted a seed of dread deep inside of me. Even though I knew the man had been sent to kill us both, I couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to be strangled to death, gasping and flapping around like a fish that's been pulled out of water. Would they decide to kill me that way, if they caught up with us? Would they shoot me? Stab me? Would they torture me first?
It all felt like a bad dream again, the kind where I'm being chased by faceless murderers and no matter how fast or far I run, they're always just ahead of me, waiting to catch up. I was starting to believe we'd never be safe no matter where we went or how many people Rafe killed. Part of me was so exhausted that I wanted to give up and let them kill me, just so the fear would end and I wouldn't have to run anymore.
But then I thought of my parents. I was their only child. I couldn't let them outlive me. And besides, I had Rafe to protect me.
Even though he scared me, too.
I didn't know why Rafe had asked me about the outlet mall. At first, I thought he was just asking me random questions to keep my mind off the fact that he'd just killed someone. But when we pulled into the parking lot of the mall, he explained.
“We're too easy to identify,” Rafe said. “We need some different clothes.” He opened the dead man's wallet and fished out a bunch of twenty-dollar bills, handing them to me. “Go grab some new stuff for us to wear. I'm a large in pretty much everything. Remember, nothing too colorful or eye-catching. We want to blend in. We'll need some hair dye and some scissors, too.”
“Okay,” I said. “But what about the bike? Won't they still spot us if we're riding it?”
“Leave that to me,” Rafe answered. “Meet me at the west entrance in twenty minutes.”
“Should we have a signal in case you get into trouble, like last time?” I offered.
Rafe gave me a grim smile. “Sure,” he said. “If you hear gunshots, that means I'm in trouble and you should probably run in the other direction.”
As I nervously flipped through the clothes on hangers in the clothing store, I kept listening for shots in the parking lot.
By the time I got to the beauty store and the clerk was ringing me up for the hair dye, I still hadn't heard any. But my mind couldn't stop thinking of knives and poisoned rags and a hundred other things that can kill without making a sound.
Chapter 18
Rafe
When Jewel went inside the mall, I took out the burner and called the Nest. One of the younger Reapers answered, and I asked for Boomer. He got on a moment later.
“Hey Rafe,” Boomer said. “You stayin' alive out there?”
“Barely,” I answered, lighting a cigarette. As I talked on the phone, I walked up and down the rows of cars in the parking lot, looking them over. I saw a wire hanger laying on the ground and picked it up, whipping it around aimlessly. “How are things over there?”
“Same as it ever was,” Boomer said. “Bard was disappointed that you decided to go after Jester, but he wasn't surprised and he ain't angry. Everyone here's wishing they could help you, but...”
“Hey, I understand,” I replied, thinking of Growler. For all I knew, I could be pulling up a wheelchair next to him if this thing with Jester went the wrong way. Hell, that was probably a best-case scenario. “Listen, have you heard anything about the Mancusos making any moves lately?”
“Yeah, I figured you'd be calling to ask, so I kept my ear to the ground,” Boomer answered. “They sent a couple of guys up to Milwaukee, to a place called The Flytrap. No idea why, though.”
“I have an idea about that,” I said. “Do you know who they sent?”
“Uh-huh,” Boomer said. From his voice, it sounded like he wished he didn't. “You ever hear of the Chayner brothers?”
“Nope,” I said. “Must have been after my time.” I spotted a nondescript maroon Saab from the early '90s. That could work, I thought.
“Well, they're bad news,” Boomer continued. “Ever since Jester got promoted and stopped killing people himself, the Chayner brothers have become the Mancusos' star assassins. Between them, they've got a bodycount that's close to the triple digits. Before they hooked up with the Mancuso family, they rode with the Bloody Rippers.”
“Fuck,” I hissed. The Bloody Rippers had been legendary among MCs for their insane love of carnage and their willingness to terrorize innocent people for fun. Even other outlaws had feared them and stayed out of their way. Most of them had been shot to death when they refused to surrender during an FBI raid back in the early 2000s. If these Chayners were really ex-Rippers, I'd rather have gone up against Darth Vader, the Terminator, and a pack of radioactive motherfucking polar bears with missile launchers mounted on their backs than take my chances against those psychos.
“Yeah, fuck,” Boomer agreed. “They're big-time boogeymen. They have their bikes an' helmets painted to look like monsters or something. Sure you don't wanna come back, sew your new patch on, an' forget the whole damn thing?”
“Too late for that,” I said, thinking of Jewel. “Shit got complicated. There's a girl they're trying to whack.”
“So?” Boomer replied. “What's that got to do with the price of gas?”
“Nah, I need her,” I said, untwisting the wire hanger. “She might have info that could lead me to Jester.”
“Well, just be careful out there,” Boomer said. “Girls can slow you down, and believe me, you do not want to be slow with the Chayners on your tail.”
“Thanks,” I answered. “I hate to ask, but I need another favor.”
“Sure,” Boomer said. “Anything.”
“I'm at the outlet mall near the Zion exit,” I continued. “You know the place?”
“Oh sure,” Boomer said, laughing. “I buy all my fuckin' khakis there.”
“Fuckin' wise-ass,” I chuckled, sliding the hanger down the window-slot of the Saab and jimmying the lock. “Anyway, we're switching rides, and I need to leave Rosie in the parking lot. Can you come pick her up?”
“Sure,” Boomer said. “I'll take one of the prospects.”
“Thank you,” I replied. The Saab door popped open and I got behind the wheel. I took out my Swiss Army knife, pulled out the chisel tool, and used it to pry off one of the panels near the ignition keyhole. “Oh, one more thing. You remember Angelo, right? He used to hang around Jester all the time.”
“Yeah, I remember that dickweed,” Boomer answered. “Rolled dice with him once. He cheated like a motherfucker.”
“Do you know if he ever carried around a golden gun?”
Boomer laughed again. “What, like the fuckin' James Bond movie?”
I rolled my eyes as I used the tools in my knife to strip a couple of wires in the dashboard down to their copper roots. “If that helps you, sure.”
“No, he never had no golden gun,” Boomer said. “He'd have looked pretty stupid with one, and he didn't need the help.”
“Okay, cool,” I said. I gave him the number for the burner, in case he needed to get in touch with me. “Thanks again, Boomer.”
“Any time, Rafe,” he answered, hanging up.
I dialed Snoops' number again and he picked up on the first ring. “Hey, it's Rafe,” I said. “I got a burner, so you can use this number to call me if you need to. See anything so far?”
“Nah, all quiet up here,” Snoops said. “No gangsters. Hardly any customers, either, for that matter. How this place even stays open, I have no idea.”
“Well, stay sharp up there,” I said. “Keep your eyes open and your guns loaded.” I didn't know whether Snoops had ever heard of the Chayner brothers, but I figured it was better not to mention them by name in case it scared Snoops off.
“Hey, no need to worry, Rafe,” Snoops insisted. “This ain't our first rodeo, after all!” He laughed and hung up.
Yeah, this may not be your first rodeo, I thought, but that's because you're used to busting bulls and broncos. What we're dealing with here is more like trying to stay on the back of a fucking fire-breathing dragon.
I twisted the copper wires together and the Saab's engine came to life. I shoved the knife back into my pocket and drove the car around to the west entrance, where Jewel was waiting with a couple of shopping bags.
Chapter 19
Jewel
I did a double-take when I saw Rafe behind the wheel of the Saab. I'd gotten so used to seeing him sitting astride his bike that the sight of him inside a car was jarring.
He smiled at me. The corners of his eyes crinkled warmly again, and I felt a tug of lust below my waist. God, he was gorgeous.
“Nice ride, huh? Do I look like a cager or what?”
“What's a cager?” I asked.
“A non-biker,” Rafe answered. “Someone who willfully spends his life confined to a car instead of riding free and feeling the breeze on his face. Cars are cages to guys like me. So, 'cager.' And you should probably hurry up and hop in before the owner comes out and realizes his car's gone.”