Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC Book 5) (19 page)

“All right. Let me see what I can do.”

On his way out of the hangar, Sax was again waylaid by Santiago Slayer. Now he had at least ten women hanging over him—what
was
the fucking attraction to the polyester-clad lounge lizard?—and he must’ve been having the time of his life, making it doubly strange he’d break all of that up to accost Sax, who was his nemesis after all.

“All right, ladies,” Slayer said with that cap-toothed, ingratiating smile. “Enough. The men need to talk manly things now. Give the Slayer a break for a few minutes.”

The women pouted. “Aw, Slayer.” One hang-around with implants was so scantily clad, her tiny stars and stripes bra was held up by her perky nipples. Normally, this would’ve been the sort of thing Sax was overly interested in, even if it meant picking up on Slayer’s “leftovers.” Today, it couldn’t have been farther from his mind. What the fuck did Slayer want?

Slayer managed to peel chick after chick from his person while walking. They finally found themselves alone by the corner of the hangar. From here, Sax could see if Leo came out of the UXO shed. Slayer held up his hands like a picture frame.

“Mr. Saxonberg. Normally I would not be talking to you like this,
mano e mano.
Normally I would not be talking to you at all. I would be out in the field facing down grave mortal danger in my readiness to slay the dragon, to take down the enemy, to look death in the eye and challenge it to a duel.”

“Rather than partying here with our women.”

Slayer nodded in agreement. “Rather than being here. But I had no choice. You peeled out so fast from the battlefield, my ride was left behind on the Mogollon Rim.”

Sax snorted. “What
is
your ride, anyway? A Beemer?”

Slayer fluttered his eyelashes in annoyance. “A Fiat, which is built for hugging the road at super-fast speeds. But that is not the issue here. It is my duty to express my concern and annoyance with something I just witnessed. I know this is your club, this is your turf, and I respect that.”

Sax rolled his eyes. Was the guy about to complain about Harte, too? For a guy who seemed a little light in the loafers himself, it was like the pot calling the kettle black to be pointing fingers at Harte. And…how many people, exactly, had seen Harte and Dayton going hard at it? “I’m going to talk to him about it. He does need to know that sort of thing is never going to be accepted in most MCs.”

Slayer frowned. “My. I must say I am surprised at your lackadaisical attitude at something so vital.”

Sax held his hands out, palms to the ground. “Look. If he prefers cock to pussy, there’s no brainwashing in hell that’s going to change—”

“What?” Slayer was taken aback, while at the same time guffawing at Sax. “Cock and pussy? While I certainly wish I knew who you were referring to, I am, unfortunately, referring to that completely fake biker who rode in here almost an hour ago. I have not said anything, and no one else seems to have noticed or cared, but it was completely obvious he is working for the
federales
.”

Now it was Sax’s turn to be aghast. “Do you mean…the guy who went into that building with my brother Leo?”

Slayer closed his eyes patiently. “The very same. For one, he had a completely ridiculous helmet on. No self-respecting biker would be caught dead wearing a
cubo cerebro
of such clownish proportions. True, he rode a Harley, a Super Glide with airbrushed tanks. But tell me, what brother would be seen in public with one of those helmets with the built-in microphones? Those things make you look like a pilot about to take off from the runway, a ricer riding a rice burner, or a fellow who smoked too many cartons of cigarettes.”

Sax knew the ridiculous contraptions Slayer talked about, and he agreed. Only regular civilian riding club guys wore those, to talk to each other while out on a run. “Well, that’s hardly a reason to think a guy is a
federale
, Slayer. Was there anything else suspicious about him?”

“Oh, what
wasn’t
suspicious? My sixth sense, my smelling dog’s sense of something wrong went into high alert the second he breezed in here wearing those ridiculous fake colors.”

“Something with the word ‘skeleton’ in it, right?”

“Yes, how did you know? Have you ever heard of The Storming Skeletons MC? It sounds like a bad parody on your name, The Bare Bones.”

It really did. “No. Never heard of them.”

“Exactly. And get this. I immediately ran his plate number. No such plate exists. I got close to him as he parked, blending in with the crowd due to the number of sweetbutts I had clinging to my arms. When he turned off his engine, I heard him distinctly say “Ten four. I’ll have him come in to discuss the relocation,” into his embarrassing little mic. I have no idea what that means, but it’s clear he was talking about your brother, because Leo then approached him like an old friend, and that’s when they went into that little building. Listen, Mr. Saxonberg. I want nothing to do with this
federale
bullshit. If Leo is an inside man, I’d like to be as far away as possible. If they’ve got eyes on Leo, that means they’ve got eyes on me, and that’s the last thing I want.”

“Oh, right, the last thing you want is publicity,” Sax said sarcastically, but he was drinking in everything the vinyl playboy was telling him. “Thanks for the intel, Slayer. I know you’ve got to go your own separate way to find Tormenta and we can’t share intel on that, but I want you to know…” It killed Sax to say this, but it was mostly true. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”
Or at least an amusement
. He just hoped Slayer didn’t try to shake his hand.

He didn’t. Drawing himself up with dignity, Slayer tried to look down his nose at Sax. “I heard you just had another man arrested on a RICO charge. That is grave and serious business, indeed. I wish the best for you and your club. But now I must detach myself from this—
ah!
They are coming out!”

Indeed, the two men emerged from the UXO shed. No longer talking, the fake biker had his fists deeply embedded in the pockets of his jeans. Sax could see even from this distance that Slayer was right on the money about this guy. He had “fed” written all over him. He’d probably been undercover for several years from the scruffy look of his facial hair and the very real tats Sax could make out as he neared. But there was something fishy, something “off” about him. And there was no such fucking thing as The Storming Skeletons MC.

“You’re right,” Sax mumbled. “No real one percenter would wear a fluorescent patch like that, whatever it says.”

Slayer declared, “It says ‘If you need me, I’ll be riding.’ Even
more
mortification! And with that, I am out of here!”

Slayer tried to make his dramatic getaway. But just as Leo and the fed split up and went their separate ways, it became clear that their trajectories were about to collide.

“You!” yelled Leo, pointing an accusatory finger.

Sax and Slayer looked at each other. It seemed neither man could figure out who Leo was currently angry with.

“You fucking bounty hunter, yes, you!”

“Listen, I want nothing to do with this,” Slayer said, but he stood his ground, and Sax knew the quick-draw artist had his iron in its shoulder holster under his white linen jacket.

“I heard you were trying to track down my associate, Mr. Tormenta. I want you to cease and desist right now. This isn’t the old fucking short pants days. You can’t just believe anything a sweetbutt tells you, and take her money.”

Slayer held up his hands. That was his fatal mistake. “Mr. Saxonberg. It is my duty as a professional
sicario
to go where I am most needed. Prejudices and opinions aside, it is strictly my job to—”

Leo didn’t wait to hear the explanation. He just hauled off and sucker-punched Slayer in the jaw.

The former actor flew back against the metal siding of the hangar like a stuntman in a Western. His eyes even rolled up into his skull as he slid down the siding. Ten women came galloping forward, Slayer now taking priority over Leo. Two or three of them even chastised Leo.

“Leo! What are you thinking of?”

“Mr. Slayer is a guest of ours.”

“I don’t care what he did. He’s coming back to my apartment.”

“I’m telling you,” Leo continued to yell as several women vied to be the ones to drape Slayer’s arms over her shoulders. “Don’t go looking for trouble, Slayer. You’ll find it in the most unexpected places!”

It seemed to Sax that Slayer even purposefully dragged the toes of his white vinyl shoes against the asphalt as the women hauled him off. He could have easily walked off under his own steam. Sax had to admire the man’s style, much as he loathed his dramatic tendencies—and his choice in attire.

Leo turned his rage on his brother, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “And you. What the fuck are you doing around here? I thought I made it clear I want you on the road. Gone.”

“Last I checked, these fish fries are open to any member of The Bare Bones and its brother chapters. And the P and E chapter already
has
a decent president. Flagstaff chapter doesn’t.”

Sax could see the color rise in Leo’s already-red face. It was like watching a rain gauge fill with water, the color level climbing his stupid fucking face. “And what exactly is
that
supposed to fucking mean? You’re not even privy to any of the things we put to a vote in our chapel. Don’t you fucking dare to presume you know how to run anything.”

A couple of sweetbutts were still within earshot, but Sax spoke anyway. He didn’t give a flying fuck anymore. “I know that when a fucking patched brother is in cahoots with the ATF, there’s a major problem. For decades, we’ve taken every step to stay out of the ATF’s crosshairs. Suddenly, on the day your sergeant-at-arms is arrested on a RICO charge and you’re thirty miles away in P and E, you invite a fucking federal agent to The Citadel to discuss ‘relocating’? And your own men are so disgruntled they’re about to mutiny, Leo.”

Leo drew himself up impudently. Sax had never wanted to shatter the jaw on that impudent fucking face as much as he wanted to now. Leo truly was an admiral without a ship now, especially with his Number Two wanting to be anywhere other than the Flag clubhouse, and his son so rebellious he’d rather suck cock in the dispatcher’s office than face his father. Sax suspected Leo’s knowledge of his son’s actions was adding to his pissed-off mood.

“Listen, Zane,” Leo steamed. “This is all fucking hearsay, the hearsay of a disgruntled ex-employee. You’re nothing but a fucking moron who got fired from the 7-11 and doesn’t even qualify for unemployment because he wasn’t good enough to be fired with honor.”

Sax was confused. “What? Listen, Leo. How many more good men do you think you can turn into the ATF before your own men lynch you and hang you from the nearest bridge?” He yelled this loudly. Not only were a few sweetbutts listening—they would probably never repeat club business to anyone else—but a few P and E men, Faux Pas, August, Wild Man, they were all within earshot. Everyone in Arizona knew the two brothers had feuded for years, so that was nothing new, but they might listen to allegations of snitching. “The fucking Storming Skeletons MC? Really, Leo? Seriously? Do you think anyone would fall for that fake MC shit? Why don’t you do a favor to the few men who still remain in your club and turn yourself over to the marshals at WITSEC? It’s obvious to anyone with fucking eyeballs in his skull that you were flipped after that bust with the Russian ladies.”

Leo actually started to roll up his sleeves. “Why, you fucking arrogant son of a fucking bitch! Who the fuck
hasn’t
heard of the Storming Skeletons?”

“Well,
me
, for one,” said Faux Pas, inserting himself into the family argument.

“And me,” agreed Wild Man, brave now that a senior patch holder was stating his opinion. “And he had that mortifying brain bucket on. Who the hell wears a microphone?”

The crimson tide in Leo’s face had now risen past his eyeballs, staining them the same color. “Listen, you motherfucker. Why don’t you take your fucking slutty
nun
and leave the premises? Take her far, far on the road where you can’t contaminate anyone with your putrid presence. No one wants to hear your fucking ideas.”

“I do,” said Faux Pas, just as Sax slugged his brother.

His balled fist connected right in the middle of Leo’s jaw. His mouth was still open, flapping its gums away freely, when Sax made contact with the fierce uppercut. Like Slayer before him, Leo went flying, but he had no building to stop his flight. He landed with a
whump
on the asphalt, and a couple people even clapped. Sax went to stand victoriously over his sorry excuse for a brother.

“Leo fights for himself,” he growled. “I fight for all Bare Boners everywhere, regardless of affiliation or chapter. I’m making no distinction or have no
prejudice
”—he uttered that word with particular emphasis, thinking of Harte—“against any patched brother because we don’t patch in just any cowardly, trivial Prospect. We patch in brave men of fucking honor, not mewling little cowards who run to the feds to get out of a rap. Our men stand together with integrity and balls, even when faced with jail or death.”

“Here, here,” said Faux Pas, and several men echoed him.

Sax continued talking to the writhing Prez. “If you want to keep turning in your brothers, you’d best be prepared to take the consequences…
brother
.”

As he turned on his heel to stalk out with pride, Sax saw the faces of more brothers around him. The Prez of the mother chapter himself, Ford Illuminati, was there, his face shining at Sax with honor and pride. Ford’s own half-brother, Lytton, was there, beaming from ear to ear, and so were a couple of the original founding members, Duji and Tuzigoot, reeking of fried catfish. Sax saw countless other brothers who had drifted over at the prospect of a fight. Even guys he didn’t particularly like, such as Papa Ewey and Shady Osborne, had come to show their support for Sax. It was as if they had radar embedded in their skulls, pinging whenever a fight started, wanting to get in on it.

Some men even clapped Sax on the back as he walked by, like running the gauntlet.