Part 10 : Pawel Verzynski
The truck hits on the passenger side. The two cops scream, one in agony cos he's already bleeding out of a trio of bullet wounds down his leg, the other in pure terror.
Glass shatters and I'm thrown sideways. My head cracks the window but then I'm being thrown the other direction because the car's being spun around by the force of the impact and finally my head hits the airbag.
When the ringing in my head subsides, I feel a pain in my temple and see the passenger side rearview mirror lying between my feet in the driver's footwell.
I'm vaguely aware of the truck driver getting out. The spit of automatic fire and his body hitting the asphalt snaps me to my senses and I drop to the left, ignoring the screaming from my neck and back and my fingers scrabble around the fragments of glass and bodywork.
I see a black guy in a purple shirt appear in the driver's door window just as my fingers find my semi-automatic; the colors of the Ballas. I don't wait to see what he's gonna do and put two in his head.
There's a shout then and more automatic fire but then I hear the boom of higher-calibre weaponry, and I realise with an adrenaline-spiking surge of elation that the cops from Mission Row are responding to the incident unfolding live right on their doorstep.
I kick my door open with my pistol aimed out and see cops rushing towards us, lower the gun quick. Automatic fire comes overhead from the other side of the wrecked car. I drop to the asphalt and force the rear door open, pull on the naked cop closest to me. He slides out and yells at me to help him with his friend, so I do and then the three of us are sat in the cover of the Albany. The cops are taking cover amongst abandoned cars ahead of us. I decide to give 'em a show of good faith, crawl towards the back end of my car, lean around and fire what's left of my clip at the attacking Ballas. One of the automatic SMG's falls silent, and the cops use the opportunity to lay down further covering fire as I grab the two naked guys. Propping the injured one between us, we hobble towards the officers and away from the gangbangers. The cops keep us covered and help us retreat back towards the station where further reinforcements are coming out with even heavier weapons and body armor. The remaining Ballas make their own retreat back to their bikes and I carry the two naked cops through the front door where Captain Jones stands in an armored vest, clutching a shotgun, barking out orders. He sees us and puts his deputy in charge of getting us to his office and patched up.
A few minutes later, a blonde girl in a white blouse that's about to get ruined joins us and sets to work pulling shrapnel out of the injured cop's leg.
The deputy gets the two cops uncuffed and the one covered in his partner's blood comes up and puts his arms around me. "Thank you," he gargles through swollen lips and a broken nose. "We would've died there if you'd not come in for us."
We hear someone clearing their throat and separate, see the Captain in the doorway. He shuts us in and locks it behind him. He's angry, I can see it, and his first port of call is the Scotch in his desk drawer. He downs two shots and pours himself a third before he says anything.
"What precinct are you from? Rockford Hills?"
"Yes Sir. Get my Captain on the phone-"
Jones holds up his hand to silence the man. "This does not leave the room," he insists.
"What," the cop demands.
"You two have gotten yourselves tangled into an undercover operation and my…" He looks at me, with some disgust might I add. "Detective here has had to blow his cover to get you two to safety. I can't afford any more light being shed on what was already a very sensitive investigation-"
"Screw that man, you can't keep us-," the cop starts to argue.
"You're lucky I can't afford to call up your Captain and let him know just how incompetent you've been tonight," Jones roars, cutting him off. "If it were up to me I'd be firing the both of you. As it is, word of tonight's little f*** up will not leave this room, and you will be released back with replacement uniforms, a new car and no black mark on your records, you worthless little c*cks*cking sons of b*tches."
Jones is so angry I feel embarrassed just by association. But he's not even got started with me yet. "What part of discreet can you not get your lobotomised brain around," he yells.
"I wanted to catch the car-," I start to explain.
"The car's likely been torched under some flyover. What you should be doing is working out who Harvey's got working with him and why he's stealing personnel files and the Bolingbroke Transit Schedule. Instead you start a god damn freak show right on my front doorstep so before the sun comes up in the morning this place is gonna be crawlin' with f*****g reporters!"
I guess when you put it like that, saving the lives of two cops might not have been the best thing I could've done.
Jones railed for about a half hour while the blonde did a rough patch up job of the injured cop and saw to the worst of the mine and the other cop's injuries, then the three of us were transferred over to the hospital. Mel, somehow, didn't seem very happy to see me. The damage to my head was only superficial; a black eye and a large bruise from where the rearview mirror clouted me, a few cuts from the glass on the other side, and the onset of whiplash that I'm gonna suffer for later.
Worse is to come when I have to tell Cinnamon about the wrecked Albany, so after helping myself to some decent painkillers from the dispensary I check myself out. Well, I walk out the back door anyway. If I went via the front desk, they'd probably have insisted I go back to my ward, at least until they'd got the bill printed out.
Before that, though, I'd gone to see how the cops from last night were getting on. The blonde in Jones' office had done a good job of saving Bailey's leg and he was now sleeping like only a man doped up to the eyeballs on quality meds can. His partner Pearson was sitting in a vaguely comfortable chair by his bedside, and I could see he was running the previous night through his mind again.
"Hey," I greeted him. "Can we talk?"
"Sure," he sighed. He was talking a little easier since his nose had been re-set, but his face was still swollen.
"Apologies for the Captain," I began.
"He's right," Pearson sighed. "It was stupid to get ourselves blindsided like that. Funny thing is, when the b*tch clobbered Bailey, I just stood there. It was all just so surreal, y'know?"
"Can you remember what she looked like," I asked him gently. Normally I wouldn't like him talking about a woman in such a derogatory manner but given all that's happened to him, I let it slide that time.
"Uh, it was dark so I didn't see her so well. Brown hair, I guess. Mirror shades, even though it was night. That should've been the giveaway…"
"Nothing else?"
"No. The guy was-" he started.
"I know about the guy," I interrupted. "He's, uh, undercover."
"Makes sense," Pearson said. "He was as shocked as I was."
Really? Who the hell has Harvey gotten himself mixed up with?
"Puttin' a cop uniform on must've been a mindf***," Pearson continued.
For Harvey? Yeah, it must have been…
I thanked Pearson and then I left.
I half-heartedly wonder about 'borrowing' Lewis' car, but that's not going to help matters any at the moment and anyway, it might still not have any wheels on it.
I managed to convince Jones to let me have a copy of the CCTV that he's keeping close to his chest, so technically I guess I'm still on the investigation, although I'm not sure if my expenses bill is going to be paid anymore. I doubt he'll comp me a car. I'mma have to pull somethin' outta my a$$, but I don't know what and so I walk home.
I open the door to our apartment and sneak in quietly. Our bedroom door is open. No sign of Cinnamon. She's not in the bathroom either. I turn on the coffee percolator, dig out my old laptop, plug in the charging cable and set it up on our table with the USB stick I got from Jones yesterday and the CCTV from Harvey's intrusion at the station last night. I find Cinnamon's notepad and start drawing up my timeline of Harvey's known or suspected movements since his return a few days ago. I'm fed up of always being a few steps behind.
I'd retrieved the police scanner from my car before Jones could have one of his boys look at the wreck and chastise me for having it and I set that up too, then open an Eyefind tab and click for the latest Weazel network news updates. Our shootout is, perhaps unsurprisingly, one of the top stories although it's being sold as a robbery gone wrong on the box truck.
The main news item relates to the theft of a classic car from the Port of Los Santos. It was apparently stolen right off the boat by a couple of well-armed gunmen. The naked cops at Grove Street is also a news item, but is being run as a minor, unrelated story. Jones must have some serious sway.
I wonder who the stolen car belonged to? It looks nice. Unfortunately the news doesn't say.
So, to my timeline. Harvey turns up Tuesday night. Steals a car and goes to see Lieutenant Gray. There's a couple of hours between those points though, so what was he doing in between?
After his fight with Gray and his boys, and shooting one of them in the foot, Madrazo picks him up. Around 24 hours later I suspect he grabs Gray, and then 18 hours later he's breaking into the station to steal... something... with a vicious woman.
I watch the CCTV. The pair of them seem calm enough walking in, but when Harvey sits down at the computer, the pair of them become nervous. I can't see her face because of her hat and the angle of the camera. Harvey doesn't appear to be doing any typing, so he must have plugged in a program that uploaded itself and downloaded whatever he wanted automatically. So, Harvey must know, or be in some sort of partnership with, a hacker. I can barely work the ancient laptop, I know nothing of cyber crime, but I need to see if I can catch up with any of Gray's old buddies so maybe one of the precincts will be able to help me out there?
How on Earth does any of this add up? Harvey comes back to Los Santos just to be involved in another heist? I can't see it. So either the hacker and/or the woman have something on him or they have something he wants and he's having to earn it.
But breaking into a police station, stealing a prison transit schedule and whatever else he got from the computer? He's in way over his head.
I remember the percolator and get up to wash a mug. Then I notice that there are half a dozen of them on the kitchen work surface bearing signs of having recently been used. Either Cinnamon's drank a lot of coffee this morning, or otherwise she's had company.
That's when my front door opens and in walks Martin Madrazo with five of his guys.
"Where's Cinnamon," I demand.
"Five years and that's how you welcome me into your... dwelling," snarls Madrazo. "You say to me 'where's Cinnamon' instead of 'hello Martin, how nice to see you'?"
"It's not nice to see you. Where's Cinnamon?"
Madrazo gives his guys a look, like why haven't you taken care of this already, and they flank me, force me down onto my sofa and hold me there. Madrazo picks our single framed photograph together up from the top of the TV. "Lovely woman, Cinnamon. Shame you're putting her to work Downtown. I could probably put her in a much better position."
I try to force myself to my feet. Madrazo's guys hold me firm, one of them smirks.
"You aren't being polite, Pawel," Madrazo snaps at me.
I have to bite my tongue. Hold my breath until I can say something without screaming it. "I didn't think we were friends anymore after our last… meeting."
Madrazo comes and stands in front of me, still holding the photograph. "Well, now we have a mutual friend. I think we should try to get along. For their sake."
Touch her and I'll kill you I want to say, but that would be stupid. Although, if he has, I will. But I need to put that aside while there's any hope of her being alive and do whatever it takes to keep her that way.
So I say "okay," like the pathetic little weakling he knows I am now.
"You might have heard," he starts. "I hope not, but you might, that I have a… liking for women."
I've heard. His poor wife puts up with his temper while he cheats on her constantly. Oh God, if he's done anything to Cinnamon…
"The Lost have set up a brothel at an abandoned motel in Grand Senora," he says, and I'm completely thrown off.
"What?"
He looks at me, sets the photograph back on the TV. "We have our own operations, and I don't like to think how this one is being run," he says. "If it's not up to standards, the cops will come down on everyone. Can you go down there and take out the bikers. Bring the girl they're using to me, and we will see she's looked after."
"You want me to go and f*** over a whole bunch of Lost MC a$$holes on their own turf?"
"Call it a favor for a friend," Madrazo says. One of his boys chuckles, until Madrazo throws him a stern look.
"They're gonna have some firepower. At least SMG's…"
Madrazo turns back to the still-open door and yells "Esteban."
The guy that comes in is big by Mexican standards, tall as me and well-built. He's carrying a big crate which he puts down on my living room floor and breaks open with his bare hands. Two carbine rifles are inside along with a dozen or so spare clips, full metal. "Esteban will go with you. He'll have your back but you're running the show. Bring the girl, Anna, to my house. You remember the address?"
"Yeah," I say, eying the weapons. "Does Esteban have a ride? My car got wrecked this morning."
Esteban has a ride, and doesn't speak much English. I don't speak much Spanish either, so we don't say very much to each other on the ride out in his V10 Bobcat XL pick-up truck. I managed to convince him to stop off at the Ammu-Nation in Little Seoul so I could buy some more rounds for my semi-automatic that I depleted in my fight with the Ballas, and I've got it strapped in my shoulder-holster that I used to wear when I was licensed to carry it concealed.
It's late afternoon, but the sun overhead is still overbearingly hot. I'd prefer to wait for dusk, but Madrazo wants to catch The Lost while they're off-guard and business will be slower. We get off the freeway and turn right at the top of the off-ramp, heading into the sticks of Sandy Shores.
Esteban yammers something but I don't catch any of it. I'm too busy thinking that I'm gonna have to get this over quick. The Lost are well-armed and vicious, and they've got outposts all over Blaine County. They invaded from the East a couple years back and have been causing trouble on the West coast ever since.
They're running the brothel out of a dilapidated motel. It's still standing, but only just. Parts of it have collapsed and it would be subject to multiple building code violations if any inspector ever dared come near the place
A Lost MC Enforcer and two Prospects stand sweating in the sun out front. We're not stopping, we roll on by, taking the road running West, past the South side of the old motel. They watch us like hawks and the Enforcer has one of the Prospects follow us around as pass, so we try not to be too obvious in paying the place any attention but I'm watching in the rearview trying to note the layout as far as I can see it. There's a wall around the motel perimeter that's about waist-high, shrubs, an outbuilding that's as derelict as the motel itself, and what looks like a large fuel tank all outside.
We keep on going deeper into Sandy Shores until we arrive at an old garage on an intersection that allows us to turn North, and then back East, coming back to the motel on its Northern side. I can already see that's where I wanna get inside; there's a piece of corrugated metal acting as makeshift fence, and an old rotted bus with no wheels sat there, as well as large shrubs and weeds I can conceal myself in.
I point it out to Esteban and he slows the truck down. I reach through the rear window and grab one of the carbines, hook the strap over my left shoulder so that the gun rests under my right armpit. Then I grab four spare clips, gently open the door and gingerly drop myself out of the truck. He picks up speed slightly as soon as I'm down and I hurry over to take cover behind the fence.
I see no movement and hear no noise, other than the Bobcat's receding engine note so I risk sidling around the fence to take cover behind the corpse of the old bus. Still nothing. Moving as quiet and as low as I can, I hurry over to the staircase, aim the carbine up and ascend, delicately, trying my utmost not to make a sound.
I put my back to the Northern-facing wall when I reach the top and edge my way to the end so that I'm on the North-Eastern corner of the veranda. I can hear muffled noises of guys talking from somewhere beyond and I know that down below the Enforcer and his Prospects are still keeping an eye out. As I'm waiting there, I notice one of the Prospects completing a loop around the perimeter, and I duck down in case he should look up.
I edge my way towards the rear of the motel, the Western side, past the staircase I came up and peek round the corner. It hurts like hell with the whiplash setting into my neck, but I can't see anybody.
The first room has no door. I crouch alongside the opening and peer stiffly round over the sights on the carbine. I see the shadows of a couple of guys from the Eastern veranda through the opposite doorway, but nobody's inside the room, so I quietly swing myself across to the opposite side of the open frame and continue along the Western side.
The next four doors are closed and sealed tight, and then I come to a gap for a central staircase. I stop and listen, risk peering out, but I can't see anyone on the stairs. There's sounds of a conversation coming from the veranda at the front. Sounds like just two guys.
Quietly I cross the gap and find the doorway to the next room wide open, the door itself lying, broken, inside the room. I'm about to check it when I hear a biker viciously saying "breakfast time, b*tch."
There's a feminine cry. That must be her. I lean around the door with the carbine. This suite's clear, but there's a great big hole in the wall leading through to the suite next door, and another hole on the opposite wall opening into a third suite.
I dart in and take cover to the left of the first hole, listening, and I hear some more voices, guys encouraging the one I'd heard forcing himself on the woman. I hear the slide of a semi-automatic pistol being pulled, and muffled but futile protests and the guy says "open wide."
Jesus, really? I think about what if someone did that to Cinnamon? Forced her to… to do that, with a gun to her head. What if Madrazo, or someone, is doing that to her right now?
My blood boils. I have to take a slow, quiet, deep breath, exhale gently. This is not a good time to get how I can get.
"Don't need to be that wide," another biker teases, earning an angry "shut up," from Gunpoint Bl*wj*b guy, and chuckles from the rest.
Sounds like four of 'em. At least two on the front veranda makes six, plus the three I'd seen downstairs when Esteban and I had cruised by.
"My turn next," another guy says, Clearly I've caught them early in their day, still half-asleep and off-guard, right according to Madrazo's plan. Good.
I hear footfalls as Me Next approaches and I tense up waiting for the inevitable discovery, but the steps stop and he says "remember to keep your teeth off it."
Hang on, what, he's going to watch? Eww… More footfalls. Sounds like they're all coming for the show.
"Hope you're hungry," Comedy Biker says.
"Will you boys f*** off," Gunpoint Bl*wj*b growls.
"Awww… what's wrong, performance anxiety," Comedy Biker teases.
"Shouldn't you be checking the perimeter or something," Gunpoint demands.
There's grumbling but I hear footsteps as the guys spread out. I let the rifle come to rest under my right armpit. I've got my back to the wall with the hole on my left; to my right, there's a bathroom jutting out which I now quickly slip into.
A few seconds later I hear someone walking past and as I peer around the bathroom wall I see him heading out of the open doorway I'd come in through.
Once he's disappeared from sight, I sneak out of the bathroom and through the hole into the second suite, take cover by the hole in the wall that leads into the third; nobody in there now but Gunpoint Bl*wj*b.
I edge around the wall as quiet as I can until I'm right behind him, and as quick as I can I grab his head to snap his neck. Then with my right hand I put a finger to my lips to urge the poor woman, who looks very freaked out, to stay quiet. She's cowering away, pressed up tight into the corner of the bathroom. Even in this light I can see she's got bruises on her… well, everything.
Once I've gently guided the body to the ground I whisper to her "are you Anna?"
"What? Nn… yeah. Yeah. Madrazo sent you?"
"Yeah," I say. "I'm Pawel, I'm gonna get you out-"
I stop because she flinched at my name. There's clearly a lot more to this than Madrazo's letting on, but I can't worry about that right this second, I need to get the two of us out of here.
I unholster my semi-automatic. "Do you know how to use one of these," I ask. She shakes her head. "Okay. Just stay low and do what I say. Keep an eye on our six and shout if you see anyone coming up behind us, okay? Are there any other girls working here?"
She shakes her head. "No, it's… it's just me," she says. She's starting to shake, so I put a hand on her shoulder, although she pulls away.
"It's gonna be okay," I whisper to her. "Just be ready to move when I say so. You ready?"
She nods. I pull Gunpoint Bl*wj*b's leather vest off his corpse and slip it on, then get up and lean around to check out the bathroom door. The third suite's clear apart from the sleeping bags laid out on the floor, but I can hear more voices now from the front veranda. There's another missing door at the back of the third suite so I hurry over towards it.
The veranda to the right is blocked; the building has fallen in and the path is blocked by a huge piece of the collapsed roof, so I can't go back the way I came. I can't see anyone out to the left so I look back and beckon for the girl to follow. She comes in stocking-feet, carrying her high heels with her. Good thinking.
We're making our way along the back wall then there's a cry of alarm from behind us; somebody's found the body. The next door along is locked, but the one after is open. I swiftly check the room is clear with the semi-automatic gripped in front of me and then pull her in behind me, cross the room to take cover alongside the open door opposite. A guy runs past, heading towards where I left Gunpoint Bl*wj*b dead. I lean out; everyone's attention is on the suite we'd come from, and on making sure we're not going to the North stairway. I look right and it's clear so I pull the woman around behind me as we run towards the South corner. Just in time, because we've just come out of the front door of the room when two guys thunder in through the back. We're making our way across the veranda on the front now, going South, but as I round the corner to towards the South side staircase I come face to face with one of the Prospects that's ran up to join the search.
He already knows I ain't who the name patch on the leather vest says I am, so I punch him hard in the face, force him into the wall and grab his sub-machinegun gun from him. Then, using him as a human shield with the gun to his head, I make for the staircase.
The Enforcer sees us coming and fires at us with a large calibre revolver. No hesitation, kills the Prospect straight out. I try to move out of the way, but it happens too fast. The bullet tears through the Prospect and into my left shoulder, and I scream in agony and drop onto my a$$. The stairs give me a serious poke in my spine that's going to slow me down, too.
The rest of 'em know where we are now and my attempt at a disguise is rendered pretty much useless. I blast at the Enforcer with the dead Prospect's sub-machine gun and the second Prospect comes running towards us with his weapon drawn. Automatic rifle fire takes him out from behind; in the chaos, Esteban has pulled up out front of the motel and is standing out of the open driver's door, leaning over the roof with his carbine. He lays down some covering fire for us as I clamber to my feet and then I see him swap the rifle for a bright orange flare fun which he fires into the sky before dropping back into the Bobcat and putting it in drive to come pick us up.
I grab the woman's arm and force her down the rest of the stairs, towards the perimeter wall I'd noticed when we'd driven past earlier and the both of us scramble over it and drop into a crouch on the other side.
I reach up over the wall and fire the SMG I'd got from the Prospect at the stairway just as the guys on the veranda reach the top of it and they all fall back into cover. I keep firing until the gun clicks empty and then throw it away and bring up the carbine.
The truck comes up alongside and Esteban's already pushed the passenger door open. I shove the woman in and he floors it.
Leaving me behind.
In the distance I can already hear the rumble of motorcycle engines. The Lost MC have either called backup, or another outpost has heard the gunfire. Hope Esteban's counted on that.
I realise that engines are approaching from behind me now, too, and I stumble my way backwards, hoping to make it to the outbuilding before I'm caught in the open.
The engines I hear aren't bikes; it's half a dozen or so SUV's, out of which pour well-dressed and heavily armed Mexicans; Madrazo's guys, come to finish what we started once they knew we had the woman clear. They start blasting at the remaining Lost MC guys inside the motel.
I reach the outbuilding and drop inside, covered by the remains of it and the shadows, and watch the following gunfight. It's a very one-sided affair. The Mexicans sweep in from all sides and make short work of the survivors, darting in and out of suites and taking care of anyone they find hiding or waking up or even just laid there too stoned in their sleeping bags to be aware of what's happening. Barely two minutes pass before they're all dashing back down to their SUV's and the motel begins to blaze. A trio of motorcycles comes past me from the West, bearing down on the motel. The Mexicans open fire, tearing them to pieces before the bikes have even come to a stop.
The fire quickly takes hold of the motel and the whole thing is alight when Madrazo's fleet pulls out and roars past me, ignoring me as I come out of my hiding place to try and flag down a ride.
I start walking the way they went. A second or two later I hear more motorcycles; lots of motorcyles. An entire battalion of The Lost MC, and it's getting louder. It's coming from all sides; the outposts all over Blaine County have been alerted by either the fire or maybe even Esteban's flare.
Oh no...
I quicken my pace. It's too far for me to run the whole way but up ahead I can see the Mexicans' screech their vehicles to a halt to try and mount a fight back as the Lost cut them off from the West, but then more bikes swarm past me coming from the East too. Pillion passengers on their bikes are already firing upon them with sub-machineguns. The Mexicans have superior weapons but half of them are slaughtered inside their vehicles before they get a chance to use them.
Oh f*ck, no...
I scramble into the weeds pushing up out of the desert soil for some cover and aim my carbine at the rearmost of the bikes. The weapon is more powerful than any I've fired before and my left shoulder is useless and screaming at me in pain, joining the cacophony of pain from my whiplash, so I struggle holding it steady but I manage to get a good hit on the front tire of the first bike which sends the rider and the pillion flying over the handlebars as it tips up. Most of the remaining bikes stop to join in the assault on the Mexicans but a couple break off to come straight towards me. I sacrifice the rest of my second cartridge to putting down the first bike, then switch to the semi-automatic and fire desperately at the other. The rider drops back and the bike falls to the ground just as the pistol clicks empty.
The pillion passenger is struggling out from underneath the bike and the corpse of the rider as I quickly approach. I reload my semi-automatic as I run in and fire three rounds at him until he stops moving, then holster it again to reload the carbine while I hurry towards the back of the rearmost SUV, where a couple of Mexicans are still putting up a fight. They're good too; although still heavily outnumbered, they've cut through most of the flanking Lost MC riders. I mop up any survivors as I come in from behind, but the SUV's rear window shatters and one of Madrazo's guys drops dead just as I reach it to take cover. The one remaining Mexi takes a glance over at me, spots the vest and before he can heed my protest, hits me with the butt of his rifle.
I've got a fresh pain in my head as the blackness subsides. I can hear sirens in the distance. That snaps me awake. I discover that I've been bundled into the trunk of the rearmost SUV, but the guy that had hit me is leaning against it, dead. Obviously he'd realised his mistake and tried to get me into safety while I was unconscious.
I can hear motorbike engines in the distance and as I get up and peer around the SUV I come face to face with a horror scene from a war zone. The Mexicans are dead, or near-dead and beyond saving, but they put up a good fight because there's plenty of dead Lost MC thugs strewn across the road and the plains either side too.
The vehicles are bullet-riddled, blood splattered and even if I could get one started, I wouldn't want to drive it. The bikers I'd put down are still where I left them, underneath their fallen machines. I head towards the closest one and pick it up off the ground. I'm not really a fan of ape hanger handlebars but the bike comes to life when I kickstart it and I need to move, now.
I've still got the carbine and two clips for it, and I'm still wearing Gunpoint Bl*wj*b's vest, which would be why the Mexican knocked me out. I grab the sub-machinegun from one of the dead bikers, and the clip out of the other's gun and ease the hog through the carnage to the highway beyond. Once I'm clear of the battle area I gun it.
A few minutes further along the highway, Esteban's Bobcat lies on it's roof. I put the kickstand down and hurry over to investigate. Esteban is dead. No sign of the woman. I hurry back to the bike as whiplash, blood loss and terror make my head swim and my breathing labored.
The road brings me to an intersection, a cheap motel to the left and an old gas station to the right. There's a couple of bikes parked out front of the latter, a pair of Enforcers standing guard.
"Did you get lost," one of them calls to me jokingly.
"Forever lost," I admit and the two guys cheer, which means I've probably inadvertently used one of their catchphrases.
Oh yeah... The Lost MC.
"Everyone else inside," I ask.
"'Everyone else' has split. It's just Smithy and Conner inside, trying to find out why the Mexis were willing to make such a mess just for that b*tch."
All I need to hear.
This is a good time to get how I can get.
"You got any smokes? All mine went up in the motel," I say, approaching them.
"Yeah," says one and reaches behind for his back pocket. I punch the other one hard in the face with my good hand, then headbutt the guy while he's still got his hand in his back pocket, kick his legs out from under him and drop on top of him, aiming my good elbow at his neck with all my weight. The crack would make me sick if I wasn't already sick from everything I'd been through today.
His buddy starts coming round, and I scramble over to him and press down on his throat with my good arm, drop onto him with all my weight.
He puts up a good fight, but on this score my will is absolute and I keep pressing as he gets slacker and slacker until he stops altogether and sinks to the ground. I hold him there for a few seconds more to be sure he's dead and then I stumble to my feet. Adrenaline's starting to wear off and my arm is starting to hurt, my neck and back aches.
But all I need to do to fix that is open the door to the gas station's workshop.
There's two guys in there. I've already got the SMG in my hand and when I see the scene I open fire on the both of them. I don't stop firing at them until the gun's out. Then I shoot through the chains they've got her strung up by and help her stand.
One of them still groans. I kick him over onto his back. Conner, his vest reads. I ask her to help me with the jump cables they'd been using, still hooked to the car battery, and we clamp the black one to his nose, the red one to his d*ck and shut the door behind us.
I straddle the hog. "Are you sure you can ride that," she asks me.
"I'm fine," I groan.
"You're gonna die if you don't get to a hospital soon."
"Madrazo's house," I manage to plead.
She gets on the bike behind me, holds on to the left handle bar, reaching under my useless arm, grips around my chest with her right. I kickstart the hog and guide us steadily away, back towards the city.
"You're a lot of trouble just for a working girl," I say.
"That's what they said," she spits.
I shake my head. "No... I'm not like them."
"I know," she says, softly.
"You're name's not really Anna, is it," I ask after a while.
"No," she admits. "It's Nikki."
Something clicks. "Nikki from the Unicorn," I ask.
"Hold on there Detective," she says, but there's a gentleness to it now.
"There's more to this than anyone's letting on, isn't there," I say. Not a question.
Her grip around me tightens. "Thank you for coming to get me Pawel," she says. "I'm sorry I can't tell you any more right now, but you've really helped me out today."
"Have we met before," I ask her.
"I don't think so," she says.
"But you recognised my name."
She's silent for a while. "You're not what I expected," she says eventually.
There's more that I want to say, but we're in the Vinewood Hills now and we're pulling up to Madrazo's house. There's four armed guys outside. I pull up the bike and Anna... I mean, Nikki, she dismounts, and helps me off. One of the guys says something into his lapel mic and then Madrazo himself steps out of the house and holds out an arm, inviting her to join him inside. I make eye contact with him and he instructs one of his guys to get me in. He hooks an arm around me and guides me into the house. He takes me through to a bathroom, helps me down onto a tiled floor. A minute or so later, Madrazo follows a bald guy in a white coat into the room.
"Madrazo you a$$hole, where is she? Where's Cinnamon?"
"In all honesty, Pawel? I don't f***ing know."
"If you've hurt her," I begin.
He takes a step forward. "If I've hurt her," he asks. "Take a look in the mirror. You are forcing her to sell her body. Your failure as a man is not my doing. It's yours."
"Madrazo-"
He laughs at me. "It really was too easy Pawel. Just like always. Let you think I've picked up your girlfriend. I met her this morning. She was looking forwards to going shopping. Something about you finally earning something again."
Son of a b*tch...
"Why me," I croak.
"Because I didn't want The Lost MC knowing it was me that put their thing out of business."
"That didn't go so well," I argue.
"On the contrary. You think I lost a lot of my men today? That's barely a scratch on the surface."
"But the Lost got away-"
"The Lost led my clean up crew to their real hideout. Do you have any idea how hard it will be to kick-start their motorcycles without any feet?"
"This is gonna be all over the headlines," I say. Again, he seems amused.
"The press has a far bigger story to worry about," he says, and walks out so his doctor can work.
It's dark when I'm able to stagger out of Madrazo's house and gingerly ride the motorcycle down into the city. At 23:34 I finally find her. She's at a spot she hasn't worked for a while, getting into a sedan with a fairly young guy in a cheap suit. I follow them until he pulls into an alley and gets out of the car angrily to demand what my problem is.
"Have you paid her yet," I ask him, trying to keep my voice even. Cinnamon gets out of the car.
"F*** you, you f***ing loser, get the hell outta here before-" he begins.
"Curtis," Cinnamon calls. He shuts up and turns to look at her. "Please, just go home before my boyfriend hurts you."
"Shut up and get back in the car b*tch," he shouts and I grab him by the throat with my good hand.
"Pawel," Cinnamon yells. Repeats it after I ignore her. "Let him go. Please baby, let him go and we'll go home."
It had been a typically bright start to the morning, and I'd been gradually getting used to the raised voices from beyond my bedroom, but this was something else. I crept to my door and opened it a crack.
My father was angry. He was always angry when he was drunk. Mom used to send me back to my room and I'd have to stay there and stay silent but I knew. She tried to hide it, but I knew.
He was doing it again today. He'd broken the lamp. But he normally took the money out of her purse and left. Not this time.
This time the purse was empty. That made him even angrier. That made him pull out his gun.
I knew I shouldn't, but I ran out of my bedroom then. Ran in front of her, just as he pulled the trigger.
I remember hearing her scream, remember the look on his face. And then he walked out as everything went black.
I was in the hospital three weeks and he never came near. On the fourth week, I found him at The Bar. The guys there normally would have been yelling at me to get out, I was after all just a kid, I didn't belong there.
Every single one of the losers he considered his buddies abandoned him in shame. Not just moved away from him; they left.
They knew. He knew.
He thought he could still intimidate me, but after he'd shot me on that day when he'd meant to kill my Mom, before he'd turned and run away like the coward he was, he'd dropped his gun. Afterwards, I dropped it in the sewer and went home. My Mom burned the clothes I'd worn.
I've encountered a lot of them since, but that was the first wife-beater I killed.
I don't want to let him go. I want to squeeze the life out of him or pound his head on the roof of his car until he doesn't move any more. But I do as she says.
I always do as she says.
He makes idle threats as he hurries back to his car, but he drives away quick.
"Damn it Pawel," Cinnamon starts to yell, but she stops when she gets close to me and sees the state I'm in. "Jesus," she gasps.
I put my good arm around her, hold her tight. She embraces me too then, and we stand there for a long time with our faces buried in each other's shoulders.