The experience of riding behind the truck proved even worse than Kozik had feared. On the highway, with the driver shifting gear less often and picking up speed, the level of the fumes they had to breathe had dropped. But as soon as they turned off the interstate and began winding through the hills, the truck started barfing like a sick dog. And if that wasn't bad enough, he and Boots were practically riding blind.
Think about the money, Kozik recited over and over to himself. The thick envelope Clay would press into his hand after they got home to the club house was the only thing making the trip bearable. Even working for Gemma at the fair would've been preferable.
You guys have all the fun. Jax's words echoed in Kozik's mind and he barked a harsh laugh, loud enough for Boots to hear. The other Prospect shot him a strange look. Sure, maybe Happy was having fun, out in front, but Kozik doubted Jax would consider it good times if he were in Kozik's place.
The truck coughed another burst of thick, black smoke as it started up the next hill. Kozik resisted the urge to wave a hand in front of his face; that'd only make it worse.
Think of the money...
The truck belched again and almost as if by unspoken agreement, he and Boots fell back a handful of yards—screw Hap and his orders to stay on the truck's tail. The money was good, but not good enough to risk dying of lung cancer or some such shit. With more space between them and the truck, the air became a little more breathable but they still couldn't see a damn thing apart from the truck's bulk outlined against the star-studded sky.
Think of the money...
Unexpectedly, the truck's brake lights went on, blindingly bright in the dark night. Kozik cursed, narrowing his eyes to slits to not lose his night vision. Fuckin' driver. What the fuck was he thinking, hitting the brakes here? They were on a flat stretch of straight road. But the truck's brake lights kept burning and it quickly became obvious the truck was gonna come to a full stop—smack in the middle of nowhere. Kozik exchanged a look with Boots. What the hell...?
"I'll go see—," Kozik shouted, straining to be heard over the growl of their engines and their own speed snatching the words from his mouth. The rattatat of a burst of automatic gun fire cut his words short. Acting on instinct, he braked fully, slammed down the kickstand, and jumped off the bike while yanking Boots off his own saddle and shoving him to the ground all in a single move. Kid apparently hadn't recognized the sound for what it was.
"Jesus, dude, what—?" Boots' voice was muffled as he fought Kozik off.
"That's gunfire, you idiot," Kozik snarled. He ignored Boots' shocked intake of breath as he rolled away from him and scrambled for shelter behind one of the truck's rear wheels. Where the fuck was the gunfire coming from? And who the fuck was shooting at who?
After a moment, he determined the shots were coming from straight ahead. Made sense, too. He'd bet good money someone had laid a roadblock to ambush them. So—. Shit, what was up with the guys riding in front? Even as the thought crossed his mind, another gun joined the racket, firing off multiple shots. A handgun, by the sound of it. Thank fuck. If Happy and Mouse were able to return fire, maybe they could all get out of this jam.
He snatched a glance in Boots' direction. The kid was pressing himself so tightly to the pavement it looked as if he were trying to burrow into the ground. No help there. Shaking his head, Kozik started to crawl forward alongside the truck, keeping himself as close as possible to the frame. He groped for his own gun in its shoulder holster, silently thanking Tig for providing it. Another round of shots made him duck his head instinctively.
Mouse shrieked, "They shot me! Oh my God, I'm gonna die!"
Kozik crept on and found Mouse slouched against the truck's front wheel, clutching his left arm with his right hand, a trickle of blood seeping through his fingers. Kozik couldn't tell much in the dark, and he didn't want to take the time to check more closely, but considering the amount of noise Mouse was making, he wasn't nearly as close to death as he seemed to think.
"Shut up, you damn fool!" Kozik hissed as he found a spot behind the next tire. "Or d'you want to let 'em know exactly where to aim next?"
Mouse's eyes were round, the whites showing. "N-no. But they shot me," he complained in a softer voice that still held a note of outrage.
Dismissing Mouse from his thoughts, Kozik snaked under the truck until he could squint up at the mirror on the other side, trying get a glimpse of the driver's reflection. He couldn't make out a thing. The guy'd probably ducked under the dash soon as the shooting started. They could check for him— after they'd neutralized the threat.
Kozik shifted his gaze forward, peering around the truck's fender. Happy, gun in hand, was crouched between his own bike and Mouse's. Both hogs were standing upright, which meant the guys had had time to properly put down the stands before the shit hit the fan. The slight angle they were parked at also said that someone—Hap, would be Kozik's guess—had been wary enough to make sure the bikes could offer some cover when they pulled up. The reason for Hap's caution was obvious enough: a dozen or so yards beyond the bikes, a couple busted up cars were blocking the road, jammed tight bumper to bumper, warning lights flashing crazily.
Taking a chance, Kozik sprinted over to join Happy, dropping behind Mouse's Harley. He winced involuntarily as a bullet twanged against its frame. "Staged accident?"
Happy grunted in agreement, throwing Kozik a quick glance before once more turning his attention forward and pulling the trigger again. His shots were calm, measured, and, judging by a cry of pain drifting up from behind the cars, well-aimed.
"Shit." Kozik blew out a breath. Shoulda seen that coming. One of the oldest tricks in the book. On the other hand, there'd been no real indication anyone was gonna try and hijack Unser's truck, in spite of the chief's insistence on a protection squad. Wasn't the first run Unser had hired the club for, either, and from what Tig had said, usually the Sons' presence was enough on its own to discourage anyone from entertaining wrong ideas about who the cargo should belong to.
"Give us truck," a heavily accented voice shouted from beyond the cars. "Then you can go free."
Kozik attempted to place the accent, but he couldn't quite manage it. Sounded European, he reckoned. German, maybe, or Eastern bloc. He tilted his head slightly in Happy's direction. "How d'you wanna play it?" Spotting movement near one of the cars, he fired a few shots from his own gun. The form disappeared, but he wasn't sure if he'd scored a hit or just scared off whoever it was.
Happy glanced around to take in their surroundings, and then looked back over his shoulder. "Where's the Prospect?"
Kozik chuckled wryly. "Pissin' his pants, probably."
Happy showed his teeth in a humorless grin. "Mouse!" he snarled. "Get over here."
"What?" Mouse squeaked. "I'm wounded."
Happy twisted around and aimed his gun at Mouse. "Gonna be dead soon if you don't get your ass movin'."
Grumbling to himself, Mouse crabbed over on hands and knees, confirming Kozik's impression his injury wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be.
"Got your gun?" When Mouse nodded, Happy pointed at the fake wreckage. "Aim and shoot. And fuckin' keep shootin'." He turned to Kozik. "Gotta flank 'em. Drive 'em out. You go right. I take left."
Kozik cracked a grin and raised his gun. "Gotcha. Let's get the motherfuckers."
Happy counted to three, and they both ducked out from between the bikes. Behind them, Mouse started up a barrage of shots as Kozik made for the ditch running alongside his side of the road and dived into it head first. Righting himself, he made sure he had a clear path around the cars, before raising his eyes an inch over the edge of the ditch to check in with Happy. From the far side of the road, Hap dipped his head once; he'd found a route through the shrub too. Kozik returned the nod and then, bending low, jogged along the ditch, doing what he could to stay out of sight until he was level with the cars. Praying everyone was too busy with the intermittent gun fire Mouse was laying down to watch their flanks, he snaked out of the ditch on his belly.
A burst of fresh shots erupted on the far side of the road. Kozik immediately added his own fire to the clamor, despite having no clear target as yet. The result of the counter-attack was very satisfying: the hijackers started screaming and shouting something Kozik couldn't make out but which must've been a string of commands, because, almost immediately , several shapes popped up into Kozik's view. They dashed away into the night before he could take proper aim and he held his fire, unsure where Hap had gotten to and not wanting to risk hitting him. Hidden in the darkness in the direction the figures had fled, a pickup roared to life. Its tires squealed on the pavement as it sped into the distance, lights off.
"Hap?" Kozik called into the silence that descended.
"Yeah." Happy materialized out of the darkness like a ghost, startling Kozik enough that he reflexively shifted his gun to take aim before he caught himself.
"Think they're all gone?"
"Better make sure." Hap's teeth glinted in the abandoned cars' emergency lights.
Together, they wound their way through the wreckage. The first two bodies they found weren't moving, but the third groaned when Kozik nudged it with his boot. Happy hauled the injured guy up by his shirt and shoved him at Kozik. "Take him to the truck."
"You okay alone?"
Happy awarded him a glare and faded back into the night without a word, presumably to check for any other survivors.
"Course you are," Kozik muttered under his breath. He dragged the wounded man past the car wrecks and dumped him on the shoulder of the road near the truck. The man moaned again and the glow from the truck's headlamps revealed a bright red stain rapidly spreading out from a wound close to his groin. The light also showed that the guy was white, with closely cropped dark hair and pasty skin. Probably in his late twenties or early thirties, Kozik guessed.
"That one of them?" Mouse came swaggering over, keeping his left arm pressed tightly against his ribs. "Goddamned sonofabitch!" He raised his gun with his right hand and took aim at the man's head.
"Whoa!" Kozik swatted Mouse's arm away and the bullet thunked into the dirt at the wounded man's feet. "Are you out of your damn mind?"
Mouse's face was twisted with anger. "They fucking shot me!"
Kozik snorted a laugh. "Yeah, you mentioned that."
The next instant, he was staring down the barrel of Mouse's gun. Fuck. He tried to recall how many shots Mouse had fired, but he'd hardly been in a position to count. "Look, you can't shoot the guy, yet," he pointed out. He fought to keep his words calm and reasonable, since he didn't want to startle the fool into accidentally pulling the trigger. Not while he was aiming at Kozik's head. "We need answers. Who. Why. How."
Mouse blinked, some of his fury turning into uncertainty.
"He's right, dude." Boots peered around the truck's front fender. "We're off the main track. How could anyone know the route we'd be taking?" As he stepped out from his cover, Kozik saw his earlier guess had been right on the money: Boots had pissed his pants. He held his tongue. Best not draw attention to it.
Mouse lowered his gun, slowly. "Well, yeah, okay, I guess."
Puffing out a breath, Kozik turned his back on Mouse and Boots and crouched in front of the wounded guy. With the amount of blood still pumping from the wound, the man wasn't gonna last much longer, so they had to hurry if they wanted answers.
Leaning forward, Kozi lightly slapped the man's face until his bleary eyes slowly focused on him. "Hey. How ya doin'? Not so good, huh? See this guy?" Kozik gestured behind him to where he could sense Mouse hovering impatiently. "He's kinda pissed at ya. Would rather put another bullet in you and finish it. Me? I'm a nice guy. I just wanna ask you a few questions. Answer them, and I'll see you get to a doctor. Understand?"
The man's vision cleared a little and, with a sneer, he spat in the dirt.
Without a second thought, Kozik grabbed his injured thigh and squeezed. Throwing his head back, the man screamed. Behind Kozik, someone gagged. Boots, Kozik reckoned.
"Okay, okay!" the man managed to force out around a moan.
Kozik let go of him. He should probably feel more guilty about torturing an already wounded man. Then again, Mouse was right about one thing: this fucker had shot at them. "So, start talking."
o0o
Tig's jaw was tight as he rode beside Clay through the dark night. He'd hardly believed his ears when Hap's call had come in twenty minutes ago. Someone had dared attack a truck protected by Samcro? On their own turf, even? An act like that wouldn't go unanswered. But first they had to deal with the immediate fall-out. Shit, this was so not the night he'd planned.
A pale yellow aura bloomed against the black sky ahead—the glow from the truck's headlamps at the ambush site. Another half-mile and someone was waving them down with a flashlight. Kozik; Tig recognized him easily, though he wasn't wearing his cut, something else that added to Tig's unease. Clay held up a warning hand for the Sons riding behind and pulled to a stop.
"What's the latest?" Clay demanded, raising his voice to be heard over the rumble of a half dozen Harley engines idling.
"Three dead bad guys. Mouse got clipped." Kozik wiped his free hand down the front of his shirt. There were suspicious-looking dark streaks around the cuff of the sleeve. "He'll live, though."
Chibs rolled up from his position in the rear. "I'll take a peek a 'im." Clay nodded, and Chibs rode on to where the truck was parked a hundred yards further along the road.
Tig turned his attention back to Kozik, bopping on the balls of his feet, which made the flashlight's beam dance crazily. Tig frowned deepened. "So what you doin' all the way out here?"
"Turning back traffic." Kozik gestured with the flashlight. "Happy's got Boots on the other end doin' the same. Ain't many people on the road, but we reckoned, the less eyeballs, the better."
"Good thinking." Clay's fingers curled more tightly on his handlebars, readying to get going again. "Unser's on his way. When he gets here, let him through." Kozik dipped his head in acknowledgment, and Clay rode forward, the rest of the club following in his wake.
Tig hung back and let them pass. "You okay?" he asked, once the sound of the Harleys had faded enough he could make himself understood without shouting.
Kozik huffed a laugh. "Not a scratch." Then, as if he realized what Tig was really asking, he hitched up his jeans, ducked his head, and repeated, "Yeah, I'm good. Don't mean nothing, huh?"
"No, it doesn't." Tig slapped a gloved palm against Kozik's shoulder in acknowledgement and rode on. Guy seemed as okay as could be expected under the circumstances.
A few minutes later, he joined Clay who, along with Bobby, was talking to Happy. "Kozik got a few answers outta him 'fore he died," Hap was saying, jerking a thumb toward a blood-covered corpse. "Bunch of Eastern Europeans, come over couple years ago. Said they got hired on for the job."
Tig's brows shot up. A hit for hire? That changed the field. "He say who?"
Happy shook his head. "Bitch croaked on us before we could get it outta him."
"How'd they know where to be? This ain't exactly the usual route to Stockton," Tig pointed out.
"Shit." Clay scrubbed a hand across his face. "Unser picked it."
Tig whipped around to stare at Clay. Unser set them up? But why?
"Wanna ask Jerry 'bout that." Happy pulled back his lips, smiling without smiling. Another jerk of his thumb, and only now did Tig see another man huddled on the ground between the bikes. Mouse was standing over him, gun drawn, while Chibs fussed at Mouse's left arm with a bandage. A frayed ball cap was drawn low over the stranger's eyes, and he was dressed in jeans and flannel, with the flabby gut common to a lot of professional truckers.
Bobby raised his eyebrows. "That the driver?"
"Yup. Fessed up he called 'em from Hayward. They knew exactly where we'd be, and when we'd get here."
"Goddammit! He tell you if Unser knows about this?" Clay's thinking must've been running along the same lines as Tig's. If Unser had sold them out, that'd be bad. Real bad.
"Says no. I believe him." Hap offered another smirk. "Guy saw the way Kozik talked to the other guy."
"Huh." Clay made a noise. "Kozik, eh?"
"Yep." Happy's gaze slid to Tig's, before he turned back to Clay. "Dude did good. More 'n I can say 'bout the other two."
Glancing at Clay, Tig couldn't help the slight smile tugging at his mouth. Hearing words of praise for his old buddy gave him a kick; and coming from Hap, they'd mean a lot to Clay and the rest of the club. Not that Tig was surprised. Boots was a college drop-out, and Mouse some kinda small-time crook, while Kozik was an ex-Marine. They didn't exactly pussy around in the Corps. God knows, Tig should know.
The dull yellow glow of the truck's headlamps were joined by flashes of red and blue: an approaching patrol car. Tig turned, squinting against the glare, and relaxed when he recognized Unser's stocky form behind the wheel.
"What the hell happened?" the chief demanded as soon as he'd hoisted out of the car.
Clay ambled over. "You tell me."
Unser blinked. "What's that mean?"
"Well," Clay slung an arm around Unser's shoulders as if they were the best of buddies. Judging by the concerned glance Unser darted sideways at Clay, he was very aware how fake the gesture was. Wheeling Unser around, Clay continued, "I got an injured brother. Three dead guys from Eastern Europe. And an attempted truck hijack. All on a route you specifically asked us to take..." Clay let his voice trail off meaningfully.
"Goddammit, you think I did this?" Unser ducked out from under Clay's arm. "I suggested this route to throw off any potential trouble."
"You knew something was up? " Clay's eyebrows jumped to his hairline. "And you didn't tell me? Shit, Wayne, I wouldn'ta sent the damned Prospects along if I'd known."
"Kozik'll keep his mouth shut," Tig interjected. He had no doubts about that. "Boots—."
"Boots damn well better!" Clay snarled.
Tig pressed his lips together. "He will." He'd tell Bobby, the kid's sponsor, to have a word with him. If that didn't help—. His hand touched the gun in his holster.
"See what you did?" Clay turned on Unser.
Unser sighed and threw up his hands. "I didn't know, alright. I... suspected. And you know you'd have demanded 'hazard pay' if I told ya. Then, if nothing happened, I'd be out another thousand bucks for no good reason."
"Goddammit." Clay sniffed. "Should make you pay anyway, for all the headache this is gonna cause me."
"Yeah, well," Unser hitched his belt, "shouldn't be too hard to keep shit under wraps. We're still inside Charming, so I'll handle it, okay?"
Tig stepped forward. "What made you think there might be trouble?"
Unser rolled his shoulders. "Underbid a competitor from Modesto on a contract a few weeks back. He didn't much like it." He scratched his balding head. "Not for this particular cargo, but—," he paused, sighing again, "I guess he reckoned I wouldn't make too much of a stink if he snatched it."
"This guy got a name?" Tig asked.
"Markoski. Markoski Truck Lines."
Clay met Tig's gaze over Unser's head. He smirked. "And that gives us the who."
"Still can't figure out how he'd know where to be, though," Unser muttered.
"C'mon." Tig gestured with his head for Unser to follow him. "Someone you should see."
He steered Unser toward where the truck driver knelt on the ground. Mouse was still standing guard, a white bandage neatly wrapped around his left arm. Chibs had disappeared off somewhere. Unset's stride faltered and he gave Tig a puzzled look as he recognized the guy. "Why—?"
Tig dipped his head. "There's your rat. He's the one told the thieves where to be."
"What?" Unser swing back round to the driver. "Jerry?"
Jerry cast them a terrified look. "Sorry, boss. Money was too good. And with Stace's medical bills—."
"Oh, shut the fuck up." Clay had followed them. Jerry's teeth clacked together as he did as he was told.
Unser sighed, turning away. "What'cha gonna do with him?"
"We?" Clay shrugged. "You know what we'd do. But he ain't our rat. Decision's yours."
Unser rubbed a hand over his neck. "Dammit. Ok." He swiveled back toward Jerry. "Get the hell outta here." He flapped a hand in the direction of Stockton. "Oh, and you're fired. Don't bother comin' by for severance pay."
Jerry clambered to his feet slowly. His gaze skittered from Mouse, who'd followed the movement with his gun and was scowling at him along the barrel, to Clay and Tig, and then Unser. "Um..."
"Go on, dude, get goin'," Tig urged him. Without another word, Jerry set off at a lurching jog.
"Oh, hey, buddy." Clay called. Jerry froze mid-step. He turned back, shaking visibly. The terrified expression on his face betrayed he expected to be gunned down any moment now. "Don't you ever show your face in Charming again. If you do—," Clay paused for effect, then flicked a hand at Mouse, "I'mma let him take a real shot."
For a moment, Jerry looked puzzled. Then Mouse shifted the muzzle down a little, and pulled the trigger. A small cloud of dust popped up two inches in front of Jerry's feet as the bullet struck the ground. Jerry leaped half a foot in the air, before turning and scurrying away as fast as he could. Tig laughed out loud. He'd have preferred to put a bullet in the rat's graying skull for putting his brothers in danger, but he didn't think they'd see Jerry again any time soon.
"Now, chief," Clay drew Unser's attention away from his quickly disappearing former employee, "how we gonna handle this shitpile?"
Unser surveyed the debris cluttering the road unhappily: the abandoned wrecks, the bodies, the puddles of blood soaking into the dirt. "Best we make it all disappear, I guess. Nobody the wiser."
Tig had already anticipated Unser's response and was busy digging up his phone from his cut's inner pocket. "I'll get the tow truck out. And the Prospects can bury the bodies." Clay offered him a grim nod of thanks.
Listening to the distant line ringing and waiting for someone to pick up, Tig snapped his fingers to draw Mouse's attention. "You, go relieve Kozik." He flapped his hand. "And tell Chibs to take over from Boots."
Mouse pulled himself up. "Why—?" he began, with that whining note in his voice that was starting to grate on Tig more and more as time went on.
Tig glared. Goddamn dickhead never could take an order. "Need someone to haul those bodies." He arched an eyebrow. "Unless you're volunteering?"
Mouse bent his head down, shaking a No, and jogged off without another word, one hand cradling his injured arm. Tig sniffed, watching him go, until he heard a sleepy "Hullo?" at the other end of the line. Putting Mouse from his thoughts, he set to work seeing the mess got fixed.
o0o
The chapel windows were graying with the light of dawn by the time Tig followed Clay and Unser out into the club house common room. They'd dealt with the most pressing issues from the failed hijacking and, while there was plenty left to do, the rest could wait until they'd all gotten a bit of shut-eye.
With a nod and a grunted comment that he was going home and not to call him before noon, Clay escorted Unser out. Tig yawned widely, not bothering to hold it in. It'd been a fuckin' long night, and not at all in the fun way, with a sweetbutt in one hand and a cold beer in the other.
Kozik was sitting alone at the bar, nursing a drink. Boots was nowhere to be seen. Kid had probably gone home to change. On the couch, Mouse was relaying the story of how he'd gotten shot to anyone still around who'd listen. From the way he was going on, he'd single-handedly turned back the assault while on the brink of death.
One of these days, Tig reckoned, the idiot'd say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and if he got lucky, merely end up with his ass in jail. Tig kinda hoped that when he did, he'd get a cell mate named Bubba. No, he never should've patched Samcro; Tig regretted ever letting him have his vote. But Mouse had sweet-talked them all into givin' him his top rocker same way he used to charm old ladies out of their life savings or swindle businessmen out of their investment funds. Club had reckoned it was a skill they could use—and maybe that was true. Unfortunately, it came in a damned annoying package, and Tig was no longer sure the advantages were worth the headache.
Dismissing Mouse from his thoughts with a shake—with a bit of luck, the problem would take care of itself before it ever blew back on the club—Tig switched his focus back to his housemate. Kozik was scowling into his scotch, tapping a foot against the bar stool rhythmically, and repeatedly rubbing his palms on his knees. Too much fuckin' adrenaline still in his system. Not surprising, but that much juice needed an outlet, or it'd drive a man to serious drink—or worse. Luckily for Kozik, Tig reckoned he knew just the cure.
Surveying the club house, he quickly found what he wanted: a couple sweetbutts were whispering in the corner, heads together. He caught their eye. "Hey you." He crooked a finger to the blonde on the left. She came over, hips swaying, smiling expectantly. "Do me a favor, doll?"
Her smile widened. "Whatever you need, Tig." Her nails trailed down his arm. She looked to be a natural blonde, with big tits and legs that seemed to go on forever before they disappeared under a skirt barely covering her ass, and he hesitated a moment. Maybe he should—? Nah, he brushed off the thought before it was finished. Kozik needed it more. Besides, he'd promised he'd go back to the house to check on the dog.
"See that guy?" He took her hand away from his arm and tilted his head in Kozik's direction. She followed with her gaze.
"The Prospect?"
"He's had a bit of a rough night. Think you can give him some comfort?"
Her eager expression dimmed. A Prospect would be far less of a catch than the sergeant-at-arms. She bit her lip and glanced back at him. "Favor to you, right?"
He smirked. "Yep."
She sighed. "Alright, then."
Tig watched her join Kozik at the bar, leaning against him so those big tits brushed his arm as she whispered something in his ear. Kozik gave a start, obviously having been deep in thought. He was quick enough to return her grin, though, and say something in reply that made her laugh. Putting her hand on his thigh, she jerked her head in the direction of the back rooms, the invitation obvious even from a distance.
Kozik glanced up, seeking Tig's gaze, eyebrows raised. Tig smiled inwardly: dude was smart enough to know Prospects could expect only slim pickings from among the croweaters, and that rank and standing counted for something in the club house. Though Kozik was worth more than Mouse and Boots put together, if you asked Tig.
He gave Kozik a tiny nod—Go ahead—and Kozik's grin widened as he slipped off the stool and wrapped an arm around the sweetbutt's shoulders.
Satisfied he'd done all he could for Kozik, Tig left for home. He likely wouldn't be seeing Kozik again any time soon.
o0o