Take Me, Outlaw(84)

I looked behind me and saw that Bard was holding the silenced pistol.



“Lady, fuck your vendetta,” he said. He leaned forward, hocked loudly, and spat on the woman's flaming body. The saliva hit her face and evaporated in the heat almost instantly.



Bard pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and put one between his lips, leaning over to light it off the flames in the doorway.



I looked toward the road the Bonaccorsos were running toward and saw red and blue lights flashing over the hill. Moments later, a caravan of squad cars, SWAT vans, and paddy wagons appeared. Fire trucks and ambulances trailed behind them.



“We'd better get out of here,” I said to Bard.



“I wouldn't be in too much of a hurry to leave,” Bard answered. “These gentlemen are all part of the plan. I couldn't be sure we would kill all of Giovanni's men and I couldn't risk any retaliation from them.”



“Yeah, but working with the cops?” I asked.



“Not just any cops,” Bard said.



The police vehicles stopped. Dozens of cops got out, pointing their guns at the fleeing Bonaccorsos and barking commands. The gangsters stopped in their tracks, dropping their weapons and raising their hands. I could hear their curses and demands for their attorneys from where I was standing. The cops slammed the wise guys down on the hoods of their squad cars, frisking them and cuffing them.



Deputy Superintendent Hollis Grady made his way through the crowds of cops and mobsters, walking over to us.



“Thank you for the tip,” he said to Bard. “It looks like most of the Bonaccorso crime family members have managed to incinerate themselves as a result of a gas leak. And unless they can produce permits for all of these military weapons, I'd say the rest of them will find themselves cooling their heels in Joliet for the foreseeable future. With an arrest like this, there might even be a promotion in my future. The streets of Chicago will certainly be a hell of a lot safer without these greaseballs running around. All in all, not a bad night's work.”



“Now we're really even, I think,” Bard said.



Grady peered at him suspiciously. “Maybe. It's a funny thing, though. I see a handful of capos and low-level soldiers over there, but no one's seen Giovanni himself. I'd hate to think he's still at large. That'd be one serious loose end to leave hanging.”



“I wouldn't worry about Giovanni popping up in the future, Deputy Superintendent,” Bard assured him. “And I'm extremely confident that once the fire in there is under control and your forensics people have a look around, you'll find a badly-burned body that can later be confirmed as Giovanni based on dental records. That should put everyone's minds at rest, don't you think?”



Grady looked at Bard for a long moment, squinting thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded his head. “I'm sure something like that can be arranged, yes.”



Another cop walked up to Grady as though he was about to speak with him. When he saw the Reapers standing in their cuts and holding weapons, he pulled his gun, aiming it at us. “Freeze! Drop your weapons and put your hands on top of your heads!”



“There's no need for that, Lieutenant,” Grady said. “Lower your sidearm.”



The lieutenant stared at Grady, confused. “But sir,” he stammered, “these guys are the fucking War Reapers! They're a gang of criminals and they're at the scene of a major crime. They need to be apprehended.”



Grady turned to look at the Reapers mildly, then answered the cop. “I'm afraid you're mistaken, Lieutenant. The War Reapers are not a gang. They're a law-abiding club of motorcycle enthusiasts. They've chosen to assist us by making a citizens' arrest of these wanted criminals and turning them over to the authorities following what would appear to be an accidental explosion of a natural gas line. I'm confident that all of these facts will be included in your report.”



Bard smirked and I stifled a laugh.



The cop looked like his eyes were going to bug out of his skull. “Sir, with all due respect, you've gotta be kidding me. They've been at war with the Bonaccorsos for months. They turned this place into some kind of free-fire zone and blew the fuck out of this bunker. They're all armed and I'd bet a year's salary none of them have permits for what they're carrying. They need to be locked up!”



“No, they need to have their statements taken, and some of them look like they definitely need medical attention,” Grady snapped, glancing at my injured side. “You, on the other hand, need to holster your goddamn weapon and stop slandering community organizations who are gracious enough to help us do our jobs.”



Grady turned to Bard. “Sir, on behalf of the Chicago Police Department, I apologize for this man's careless and insulting words. It is certainly not the department's official position to cast aspersions on private citizens and the legally-protected groups they associate with. Would you like to make a formal complaint against Lieutenant Hoffhauser?”



“No, I don't think that'll be necessary,” Bard said. I couldn't hold my laugh in anymore. It made my side hurt like a bastard, but man, it was worth it. Lauren laughed too. After everything we'd both been through over the past two days, I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard that sound. It was lovely and I hoped I'd get a lot more chances to hear it.



Lieutenant Hoffhauser looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. He put his gun back in its holster and spat on the ground at our feet, then walked away sullenly.



“You want to get that looked at, kid?” Grady asked, pointing at my knife wounds.



“Thanks,” I said, “but we've got a guy back at the Nest who can do that. Your people probably already have their hands full. Besides, I have a promise to keep to a friend of mine.”



Grady raised his eyebrows. “That's a bit cryptic, but very well,” he said. “Gentlemen.” He turned to Lauren as an afterthought, bowing stiffly at the waist. “Ma'am. I'd better get started on all the paperwork on this. If I'm lucky, I'll finish in time for next Christmas.”



Grady started to walk away, then turned back to look at Bard. “We should get together for a drink soon, Bard. You choose the place, as long as it's not the Devil's Nest.”



“Whatever you say, Deputy Superintendent,” Bard replied evenly, taking a drag on his cigarette.



“That's Hollis to you,” Grady said, walking away. “And put that damn cigarette out. You want to survive all of this shit just to die of lung cancer in a few years? I thought you were the smart one.”



“The man has a point,” I said.



Bard shrugged, tossing the cigarette into the blazing bunker. Then we turned around and I leaned on Lauren and Bard as they helped me back to the War Chariot.





Chapter Thirty-Seven



Growler



Hours had passed since the Reapers went out to their final battle with the Bonaccorsos. I wished I could have been riding with them but I knew those days were done. One eye, okay. One arm, sure, that could work if you customized a bike's controls.



But that was the crowning irony of this whole fucked-up mess I'd been through. I escaped certain death and even managed to keep most of my important body parts attached to me, only to lose both feet to frostbite on my way back so I'd have to wheel myself around in a chair for the rest of my life. I'd never feel the power of a motorcycle between my legs again or have the wind blow through my hair. And who'd done that to me? Tommy Bone-Saw? Giovanni? No, Jack fucking Frost.



I'd have cried if it weren't so goddamn funny. But maybe the tears would come later.



Giggles stayed behind to take care of me, which made sense. He was damn good with a scalpel and stitches, but he'd never been much use in a fight. We tried to play cards, but it turned out that was pretty hard to do without two hands to hold them and sort them. There were some books laying around, but turning the pages one-handed was a bitch too. Listening to music kinda sucked with an ear missing. That left sitting in my wheelchair and watching TV while we waited. And the only thing on was late-night infomercials, which weren't enough to take my mind off my troubles.



This is all my life's gonna be from now on, I realized. A series of shitty discoveries about what I can't do anymore. Like ice cream? Tough titty, dude, your tongue's gone. Wanna jerk off? Not gonna happen. But at least you can still go dancing, right? Sure, as soon as you figure out how to stand up on your fucking stumps.



I hoped the Reapers would be able to take down Giovanni, but I knew the odds were against them big-time. And even if they did succeed, I couldn't see myself having much of a life with them once all this was over. Bard had said whatever I decided was fine with him and it was good to know I'd have his support when it came down to it.



Among the Reapers, suicide was generally seen as a pussy's way out. Even admitting to thinking about it out loud could be enough to lose your cut permanently. But Jesus, anyone could see that a life like this wouldn't be worth going ahead with. It wasn't suicide really—it was a mercy killing. Just a couple of bullets to the back of the head and I wouldn't have to deal with a future of nasty medical shit. I wouldn't have to spend each day looking around at healthy bodies and being reminded of what I'd never have again. I wouldn't have to worry about whether every place I go has handicapped access, or whether I'd accidentally drooled and pissed on myself.