“But R-R-Ralph! My husband!” Jewel blurted out. She'd almost said my real name, then stopped herself at the last minute. I was glad she had, but I mentally added the whole “Ralph” thing to the list of items I sincerely hoped the other Reapers would never find out about.
“He's a very light sleeper, and he gets cranky when people wake him up,” Jewel continued. “It'd probably be best if we just waited for the service people, so he won't have to wake up twice.”
Shit, this is getting kind of thin, I thought. For most cops, this would be the exact moment when they'd start to get suspicious and demand to see a license and registration, or go back to their cruisers to run the plate number and vehicle against any recent thefts.
Before the trooper could respond, the radio clipped to his uniform crackled loudly and a voice droned from it. “All units, all units, perpetrators from the attack in Milwaukee have been spotted heading south on I-94. Two males on motorcycles wearing helmets, considered heavily armed and extremely dangerous. All available officers are requested to join the roadblock currently being established near the Gurnee exit. Please respond, over.”
“Holy hell!” the cop exclaimed. “Looks like I need to be going after all, ma'am. I'm very sorry. I hope your service truck gets here soon. As soon as it does, I'd advise you and your husband to get off the highway as soon as possible. There could be some serious trouble up ahead.”
“I understand,” Jewel said. “Thank you very much, officer. You've been very kind.”
The Trooper tipped his hat and got back into his cruiser, hitting the sirens and lights. He got back on the highway and zoomed off ahead of us.
“Good job,” I said. “Now shut the hood, hop back into the car, and get ready to roll if we need to. They should be here any minute.”
As if on cue, I heard the hornet-whine of a pair of sports bikes bearing down behind us.
Jewel raced to the front of the car, slammed the hood, and ducked into the driver's seat, shutting the door behind her. She reached behind the dashboard panel and delicately brought out the wires, rubbing her fingertips next to them expectantly. Her shoulders were hunched, as though she was preparing to scoot down when the shooting started.
I pulled the duffel bag away and thumbed the switch on the side of the rifle, setting it for full auto. As I did, I reminded myself to stick to short, controlled bursts, or else I'd run out of ammo in a hurry.
I glanced out the back window and saw the two bikes coming toward us in a cloud of dust. One look at them and I could see that Boomer hadn't been kidding about the Chayners' look. One was decked out entirely in red, the other in black. Both of them wore stunt-riding overalls embroidered to look like reptilian scales, and the face-plates of their helmets were painted with the faces of snarling dragons. Their bikes were decorated to match, with detailed paintings of coiled scales, claws, and flames.
As soon as I saw them, I couldn't wait to shoot them, if only for wearing corny-ass circus outfits and giving bikers everywhere a bad name.
“Get ready,” I said, bringing the butt of the rifle to my shoulder and sitting up. “This is gonna be loud.” Jewel covered her ears.
I squeezed the trigger and pumped quick bursts of automatic gunfire through the back window of the Saab, directly at the Chayners. I went from left to right and back again, trying to get them both as quickly as possible.
But that's the problem with machine guns. What they give in terms of being loud and intimidating, they take back in accuracy. Even with two hands, controlling them and managing to hit anything can be a real bitch. I mostly tried to hit the road in front of them, hoping to at least take out their front tires.
Instead of skidding to one side in the face of danger or obstacles as most bikers would reflexively do, the Chayners kept coming head-on. Smart. They knew that pulling to one side would present a larger target. Rather than do that, they both reared up on their back wheels, popping wheelies so synchronized I'd swear they really were in the circus after all.
I let off another burst and managed to clip the rear wheel of Red Chayner. His bike spun out and flipped backward. I saw Red use his whole body to kick the bike away from himself so he landed on the pavement on his back as his chopper smashed into the highway next to him instead of on top of him.
As a stunt rider myself, I had to admit that was extremely badass.
Red was already on his feet and pulling out his compact Uzi as Black sped past us and skidded to a stop. I knew that even with an AK, trying to fight two men with Uzis would be a guaranteed loser move. I'd have to handle them one at a time, and quickly.
Instead of fighting in the open, Red opted to dart over to his fallen bike. It was a foreign make and model—a lightweight crotch-rocket, and Red had no problem lifting it up and crouching behind it to use it as a shield.
I thumbed the switch on the side of the rifle to semi-auto, and hoped I hadn't already spit out too many bullets to finish this properly.
“Get down as low as you can,” I said to Jewel. She scuttled down in the space between the dashboard and the seats.
Red was firing his Uzi at me and the rounds were burying themselves in the Saab's trunk and bumper. He was using the gun expertly, going from side to side to spray as much of the target as possible since he couldn't stop and aim.
But I could.
I sighted Red down the barrel of the AK as well as I could, but it was hard to keep focus and not flinch with the hail of bullets coming toward me. Red was also moving the bike up and down in front of him whenever he could to make it harder to avoid hitting it. Worst of all, I knew Black was on his way with an Uzi of his own.
I squeezed off a shot and it buried itself in the red fiberglass of the bike's protective shielding.
Fuck.
Another shot hit the front wheel, leaving a dent in the frame and making it spin around.
Fuck.
The third shot connected with the side of Red's helmet, shattering half the visor in a spray of tinted plastic. I heard him yell in pain as he fell backward, clutching his face.
Goose.
I turned toward Black just in time to see him walking towards us as he opened fire on the front of the Saab. The bullets riddled the hood mercilessly. Jewel screamed from under the front seats, but from the look of it, the shots were getting caught up in the guts of the car instead of going through and hitting her.
I pointed the rifle at Black and squeezed the trigger four more times without taking the time to aim. The first two missed, while the third got him in the left shoulder. He cursed, but held onto his Uzi and kept advancing.
But on my fourth trigger pull, I heard a click.
I'd run out of ammo after all. And I had no time to reload before Black got here and finished the job. I reached for the Glock, fumbled it, and dropped it on the floor of the back seat.
Sure enough, Black strolled up to me, pointing his Uzi with his good arm. His face was hidden behind the dragon mask, but he was nodding to himself slightly, and I was willing to be he was smiling under there. He walked straight up and leaned through the open window, pressing the barrel of the Uzi between my eyes.
This is it, I thought. It's over. Seven years thinking about nothing but revenge, and it all ends here with my brains blown out all over a sunny stretch of highway. At least I didn't die in prison. At least I got a couple days to be free first. At least I got to spend some time with a good-looking woman.
“I don't know who the fuck you are or what the fuck you thought you were doing here,” Black said, his voice muffled under the helmet, “but when you get to the Pearly Gates, you can give them a message from me. The Chayner brothers won't be joining them any time soon, and when we do, it damn sure won't be the work of a bottle-blonde dude wearing khakis.”
Black pulled the trigger and my eyes squeezed shut.
Nothing happened.
I opened my eyes again. Black was holding his Uzi in front of his face and looking at it quizzically, his head tilted to one side.
“Looks like you jammed up,” I said. “Uzis will do that. Know what won't, though?”
I reversed the AK and smashed the wooden stock of it into Black's stomach as hard as I could. He doubled over, dropping his machine gun. I opened the rear door of the car and scooted out of the back seat, prepared to take the fight to him.
But Black was a quick bastard, and a tough one, and he'd already recovered. He attacked me with hands so fast they were almost a blur, punching me twice in the stomach and once in the jaw before I even knew what was happening.
Clearly, he'd had some kind of martial arts training, whereas all I had was years of experience street fighting and surviving prison brawls. I kept telling my right arm to hit him back, but it felt oddly heavy and it wouldn't obey my commands.
Another moment and Black had swept the legs out from under me with a swift kick, sending me to the ground.
“I don't need a gun to end you,” Black sneered. He reached into a pocket of his stunt suit and pulled out a large, curved knife.
A shot rang out and I winced, figuring Red had somehow recovered and decided to save his brother from getting his blade dirty. But a small, round red hole had appeared on the chest of Black's overalls and he was looking down at it.
I looked over my shoulder and saw that Jewel was leaning out the driver's side window with her .22 aimed at Black. Smoke was drifting up from the barrel. Jewel's eyes were filled with tears.