"Man, this is so wrong." Boots plucked at the stripes sewn lengthwise on his uniform pants.
"Dude, shut up," Kozik snapped. He tugged at his tie, which seemed determined to strangle him, and his tan shirt – a little too tight around his shoulders – chafed as he shifted restlessly in his seat. Of all the things he'd expected to have to do as a club Prospect, dressing up like Charming's finest in a borrowed, too-small uniform wasn't one of them.
There was a tap on Kozik's side of the car and he lowered the window. "You boys all set?" Tig leaned down to look in. "Know where to go? What to do?"
"Christ. You want us to go over it again?"
"Just makin' sure." Tig's smirking face disappeared for a moment as he straightened to check the other guys were getting ready to head out. Then he ducked low again, blocking the light from the compound floodlamps. "Okay, time to go... officers." He slapped his palm on the patrol car roof with a laugh. Tig, at least, was having fun.
Kozik started the engine, put the patrol car in gear, and pulled out. In the rearview mirror, he glimpsed Tig walking over to his bike. Boots was thumping his head rhythmically against the mesh wire separating them from the back seats. The noise worked on Kozik's nerves, and he wanted to tell Boots to cut it out but decided against it; if this was what it took to keep Boots from complaining, he'd rather deal with the nervous tic.
Kozik couldn't say he disagreed with Boots' nerves, either. Unser had made it crystal clear that, although he'd lent the club a patrol car and a couple uniforms, he'd insist they'd been stolen if they were caught. Kozik and Boots would be in some serious shit if they ran into highway patrol or the county sheriff and got pulled over. Which was why Clay had appointed them to execute the first part of the plan. Prospects always got the shittiest jobs.
At least their current task wouldn't leave them filthy and smelly, the way unclogging toilets or digging roadside graves did. They merely had to lure Markoski's transport off the highway and into the trap set by the rest of the club.
As he steered the patrol car out of Charming and toward the state road leading south, Kozik snuck his partner another glance. "You ain't gonna piss your pants again, are ya?"
"Huh?" Boots started jiggling his knees against the dash in an equally unwelcome change from battering the wire grill with his head. "No, I—." It was too dark in the car to see clearly, but Kozik thought Boots was blushing. He sighed, latched a finger under the collar of his uniform shirt and tried to ease it. "I don't know, man. I'm thinkin' about getting out. Turning in my cut, ya know."
Kozik shot him another quick look, before directing his attention back to the road. "For real?" The last thing he needed on this job was an unreliable partner. Bad enough he didn't believe Boots would hold up if they came under fire again. But if the kid was having second thoughts about Prospecting, that could be very bad.
"Yeah." Boots took another deep breath. "This ain't me. Hijacking trucks, getting shot at, all that crap."
Kozik snorted a laugh. "No shit, dude."
Boots sighed again and then fell into a resigned silence while Kozik carefully kept the car at the speed limit and prayed hard they wouldn't run into any real cops.
It was a while later before Boots spoke again. "How do you do it?"
"Do what?" Kozik checked the odometer. Another two miles before he was supposed to pull off the road and wait for Mouse's call that the truck was approaching.
Boots twisted a little in his seat. "Ain't you scared?"
"Right now? No." Kozik could answer honestly. Apprehensive, maybe. Tense. Focused. But not afraid. Not yet.
"No, I meant, when they were shooting at us?" Boots flapped a hand. "They hit Mouse. We could've died, man."
Kozik puffed out a breath. Like he hadn't been acutely aware of that. He didn't react right away, though, carefully considering what to tell Boots. Tig would've cuffed Boots around the head and called him an idiot and a chicken. But truth was, any sane man would rather not get shot at. And—a shudder went through Kozik as he got a flash of memory of that time in Somalia: the screams and shrieks of the crowd, as bullets seemed to be flying every which way; the stink of burning flesh and blood and gun powder.
Damn, he'd thought he was done with all that shit. He'd fully expected not to live through it then, either. But when it was over, he'd still been alive. Out of breath, voice hoarse from shouting, and soaked in other people's blood, but without a scratch on him.
"Hey!" Boots punched Kozik'shis arm, bringing him back to the present. "You overshot our turn-off."
Kozik again looked at the odometer and swore out loud. With another muttered oath, he checked the road was clear and yanked the patrol car into a sharp U-turn, tires squealing. He shook his head, trying to bury the memories back where they belonged. Jesus, and he'd been afraid that Boots would be freaking out? Better keep yourself in check, dude.
A few minutes later, they were parked on a small dirt track, trees shielding them from the main road and ready to pull out as soon as the truck had passed. They waited without another word, Boots' breath rasping in and out a little too fast, while the cooling engine ticked. The sound seemed loud in the silence. The road was mostly deserted, the hour late enough that any rush hour traffic had long since ended, and only the occasional pickup rattled by.
Boots' phone rang, making them both jump. He fumbled with it, dropping it under the dash. Kozik cursed. Boots ducked down and scrambled around for a few seconds while the phone kept ringing, until he finally breathed out a gasped, "Yeah?"
Listening to Boots' half of the conversation, Kozik drummed his fingers onto the steering wheel, relishing the familiar sensation of adrenaline in his blood stream while his body got ready for action.
"Yeah... okay. We're ready. Three miles. Roger." Boots snapped his phone shut and twisted toward Kozik. "That was Mouse."
Kozik bit back the I got that, which sprang to his lips. They were both on edge, and the last thing Boots needed was for Kozik to jump down his throat when the kid was already nervous as hell. "And?" he nudged.
"Truck's right on schedule. Three miles out. Should be here in five."
"Get ready." Kozik straightened, tilting his head so he could keep an eye on the mirror, scouting for the truck's headlights. True to Mouse's promise, a few minutes later twin beams popped into sight. Kozik shifted his gaze downward; he didn't want to risk being blinded by the glare. His fingers folded around the ignition key, tightening. Wait, wait. The screen of trees was thin, and he didn't want the flare of his brake lights to alert the truck to their presence before it was time.
The truck trundled by.
"That's them." Boots was leaning forward, eyes narrowed to slits to make out the markings painted on the load compartment.
Grunting an acknowledgement, Kozik fired up the engine and pulled out. Boots hit the switch for the emergency lights and turned on the siren. The sudden blare made Kozik wince. Boots was grinning like a maniac, now, teeth glinting and the whites of his eyes visible. Well, Boots on an adrenaline high was probably an improvement over him pissing his pants or cowering under the dash.
The truck had been ambling along a few miles under the speed limit and they caught up with it quickly. Kozik passed it and slowed in front of it, signaling to the truck's driver to follow them. The headlamps were too bright, the mirror showing only indistinct shapes in the truck's cab: impossible to tell what was going on in there. For all Kozik knew, that cab was filled with armed men aiming weapons at his head right this second. Every muscle tense, he hit the right turn indicator, squinting ahead. Where the fuck —there!
He puffed out a shaky breath and, hitting the brakes briefly, made the turn. Everything slowed and he held his breath. What would the truck do?
"They bought it!" Boots squealed. He was twisted around in his seat, one knee pulled up, peering back through the mesh of the transport enclosure. "They're coming!"
"I can see that, doofus."
Despite his harsh words, Kozik couldn't keep a relieved grin off his face. Samcro's entire plan had hinged upon the truck driver falling for the ruse. They'd muddied up the lettering on the patrol car, but anyone paying attention would still have noticed it said Charming PD and wonder why Charming cops were intercepting a truck so far outside their jurisdiction.
Looked like either the driver hadn't noticed the words in the dark, or he had no clue about police jurisdictions. Kozik didn't dare think about all the other potential explanations: that they'd picked the wrong truck or this was a legit run. If it was, they'd have played their hand with Markoski and they'd never get another chance. Nobody was fool enough to fall for the same ploy twice. At least he and Boots had done their part; if they had the wrong load, the blame would land on Mouse.
Cresting the hill half a mile from the main road, Kozik slowed and pulled the patrol car into a shallow slant before braking to a full stop and cutting the engine. Not enough of an angle to make Markoski's guys suspicious—or so he hoped—but just enough to make it really difficult for the truck to squeeze by in a hurry. If everything was set up according to plan, Bobby would be in position several hundred yards further on, over the next hill, holding back any late-night traffic heading for the highway. Mouse, following the truck from the moment it had left Markoski's warehouse, should be somewhere behind doing the same thing with anyone who happened to come off the highway.
Nobody was gonna disturb them; time to put the next part of the plan in motion.
Kozik snuck another glance at Boots. "You okay?"
Boots' head bobbed like a bobblehead. He swallowed hard, and Kozik could see his Adam's apple move in the glare of the truck's headlights. "Yeah," he squawked, sounding anything but okay.
Kozik thought about telling Boots to stay put, that he'd handle it alone. He couldn't; it'd look unrealistic, and they both knew it. He gave Boots an encouraging punch to his shoulder. "Don't freak out on me, 'kay?"
Another convulsive head-bob was his response. They were running out of time—those guys in the truck would start wondering what the 'cops' wanted—so Kozik sent up a silent prayer and opened his door. Swinging his legs out, he tried not to look back at Boots, too afraid of what he might see.
If Boots flipped his shit before Kozik convinced those guys to get out of their truck and step into the open, if they tipped their hand that they weren't real cops, they'd be caught right in the crossfire without any cover. Mouth dry, heart pounding against his ribs, Kozik ambled toward the truck, outwardly calm, as if this were nothing but a routine stop. He forced himself to look straight ahead and not scan the sides of the round for the rest of the guys lying in wait. Hearing Boots' door open behind him, he let out a soft sigh. Now, if only the kid would keep it together long enough...
The truck driver lowered his window. "Is there something wrong, officer?" The words were pronounced carefully, and his accent was the same as that of the guys who'd tried to hijack Unser's truck. Kozik suppressed a scowl; either Markoski hired only his own countrymen or he didn't trust anyone else to do his dirty work. Kozik would bet good money it was the latter. Which meant they had the right truck.
"If you could step out of the truck, please, sir." He gestured to underscore his request, aiming for the right mix of politeness and firmness that was part and parcel of every cop's repertoire. He sensed Boots' eyes on him, the kid standing a few feet behind. Christ, he hoped Boots would remember to keep playing his part.
There was a brief instant of hushed conversation inside the cab, the words too muffled to make out, though Kozik suspected he wouldn't have understood them anyway. "Sir?" he reminded the driver. Best not give them too much time to talk about their response or start asking questions. He still had the upper hand, and as long as he did, he needed to get them out onto the road, where Samcro could deal with them.
At last, the cab door swung wide, and the driver planted a boot on the top step. Behind Kozik, Boots let out a long-held breath in a whoosh. A heartbeat later, the passenger door on the cab's other side opened as well. Kozik took a few steps back, so he could keep an eye on both. It would seem their charade was still holding: the three men jumping out looked anxious and nervous—which made sense after being stopped by cops—but they didn't seem hostile. None of them was had a gun in their hands, although Kozik was sure they had weapons stashed in shoulder holsters or at their backs.
"Down! On the ground! Now!" Suddenly, Tig's voice boomed through the dark night.
Though Kozik had been expecting it, his heart skipped, and another shot of adrenaline flooded into his bloodstream. Shadows materialized from among the trees and rose from the ground: dark hoodies and jeans had served to keep everyone invisible until they moved.
Grabbing the nearest guy, Kozik shoved him face down before the surprise could wear off. Tig and Otto dashed forward to do the same to the rest of Markoski's men, while Chibs stayed back, covering the prisoners with an AK. Happy sprang up the steps into the truck cab, gun cocked. He jumped back down a few seconds later. "Clear."
The truck driver spat out a string of incomprehensible words, likely cursing them, before snarling in broken English, "You make big mistake."
One of the other men, face pressed against the road while Tig patted him down and relieved him of the gun stashed in his belt, managed a harsh laugh. "You have no idea who you are fucking with." His English was better than the driver's.
"Some prick from overseas." Tig kicked the man in the ribs and the guy's laughter changed into a groan. "Now shut up."
With the three prisoners secured, Clay ambled over. He lit a cigar as he surveyed the scene. "Well done." The remark was directed at Kozik and Boots and Kozik beamed back at him, relieved and pleased at the same time. Boots looked about ready to faint; his face was the same sickly color as his uniform shirt.
Clay turned toward the three men lying in the dirt. He dropped to one knee next to the driver, and blew a lungful of smoke into the guy's face. "You tell your boss not to mess with Samcro again." Clay kept his voice low and his tone mild. He sounded all the more dangerous for it. "Retaliation will be swift and ruthless. This time, I'mma let you live. Next time—." Clay formed his fingers into a gun shape and aimed it at the driver's head. "Pow. Got that?"
The man nodded his head, though from the way he scowled darkly at Clay, Kozik wasn't convinced he was well and truly cowed. He checked Otto, Chibs and Happy were still keeping a close eye on their prisoners. He needn't have worried: they were all old hands at this sort of thing, and none of them even glanced over when a black van came rumbling up the road from the direction of the main road. It did a u-turn just before it reached them and backed up to the rear of the truck. A moment later, Piney clambered out.
Clay straightened. "Let's get this done." He walked along the length of the truck to meet Piney. Tig followed, beckoning Kozik and Boots to come with him and provide the muscle to shift the contents of the van into the truck. The other guys would take care of the prisoners; even as Kozik jogged after Tig Chibs was shaking loose a length of rope to tie them up.
"Let's see what our two fake flatfoot boys got us." Tig smirked at Kozik, resting his palm against the rear of the truck. Reaching up with his other hand, he drew back the bolt and released the hasp. Kozik craned his neck, curious to see what the cargo was. Mouse hadn't been able to find out but, from what Otto's sister had said, they were expecting either cigarettes or booze.
"What the hell?" Clay, in the best position to see inside as Tig opened the door, almost spat out his stogie.
Startled and alarmed, Kozik yanked out his gun and aimed it at the shadowy interior. Around him, he had other guns being cocked, either also in instinctive reaction or because the guys could see something Kozik couldn't.
Tig, his back turned as he pushed the heavy door further open, swung around. "Jesus! There's fuckin' nothing in there!"
Even in the dim light, it was easy to see he spoke the truth: the truck was empty.
Abruptly, Kozik's arms grew too heavy and he let them fall to his sides. All the tension of the last few hours bled out of him in a single rush and he fought the urge to simply drop down where he stood. This was what he'd risked life and freedom for? What Boots had nearly freaked out over? A goddamn empty truck, with a few crumpled sheets of paper littering the floor and a couple forgotten wood pallets sitting to one side? "Sonofabitch."
No wonder Markoski's men hadn't seemed very intimidated once they discovered they'd been hijacked by Samcro instead of the cops. And before, when they'd still believed Kozik and Boots were real cops, they hadn't been concerned because of their load. No, they'd been anxious because the cops in whatever fuckhole they'd come from weren't known for either being reasonable or fair.
"Goddamn Mouse!" Clay snarled. "Get his dumb ass over here!"
Not waiting for further orders, Boots trotted down the road to where Mouse would be watching for traffic. Otto, Chibs and Happy, having finished tying up the prisoners, also sidled up to take a peek. Judging by their disbelieving expressions, they needed to confirm the failure with their own eyes.
Kozik took a few weary paces back, giving them space to look. From where he stood now, he could see Markoski's men lying in a trussed-up jumble near the front of the truck. One of bastards caught Kozik's eye and snickered, clearly enjoying the obvious disappointment among the Sons. Kozik's hands curled. Christ, he wanted to punch that smirking fuck...
He wasn't the only one. Tig, his face twisted, closed the distance and jabbed a ringed fist down. Bone crunched and the guy cried out. Not satisfied with the damage he'd done, Tig hauled his victim off the ground with one hand and pulled back the other for another swing. Blood glistened darkly on his knuckles.
"Tig!" Clay called. The rumble of an approaching motor cycle distracted them all for a moment. Looked like Boots had delivered the message to Mouse, and had been smart enough—or scared enough—to take Mouse's place to turn back traffic. Tig glowered at the prisoner he was still holding, before he curled his upper lip, his menacing scowl a silent promise he wasn't done, and flung him back among his buddies.
Mouse parked his bike and walked up. "Boots said you wanted me?" Seeing the looks turned on him, he slowed. Kozik hung back; curious as he was to hear Mouse's explanation, he didn't want Clay's wrath turned on him. He didn't feel the slightest sympathy over the ass-chewing Mouse was about to get.
Mouse, frowning now, came to a stop still some distance from the truck. Tig strode forward, snatched him by the collar and hauled him over. He ignored Mouse's squeak of protest and slammed him, chest first, against the cargo bed. "See that, asshole?"
Having learned better than to fight Tig in this mood, Mouse peered into the truck. "See what?"
Kozik sucked in a breath: was Mouse really that stupid? Tig must've been thinking the same thing; he smacked the back of Mouse's head and growled, "Are you dimwitted, or just pretending to be?"
"I don't see nothing," Mouse whined, rubbing his skull where Tig had cuffed him.
"That's the point, dickhead." Clay took a step closer, until both he and Tig were towering over Mouse. "You promised me a smugglin' load. So where is it."
"How should I know?" Mouse swallowed as his gaze flicked from his president to the sergeant-at-arms and then to the rest of the guys. "I'm tellin' ya, this run was out of the ordinary."
"Did they catch you snoopin'?" Otto asked.
"Course not." Despite a faint tremor in his voice, Mouse sounded indignant. "I'm not stupid. Look, I never saw a manifest. Just the schedule."
"Did you set us up, then?" Tig cracked his knuckles. "Work with those assholes?" He jerked his head toward the three captives.
"Christ, guys!" Mouse cringed back against the truck, the whites of his eyes showing as it dawned on him just how much trouble he was in. "No! Of course not. I'm—shit, I don't know what happened, alright?" His voice cracked with fear.
Kozik had been around the club long enough to know that tattling on one's brothers was considered a capital crime. No excuse would ever be good enough, and there could be no forgiveness. He was suddenly glad Boots wasn't here to see what was was going on.
Mouse's gaze skittered around wildly, searching for an escape. His arm shot out, aiming straight at Kozik. "Why don't you ask him? Or the other Prospect? They're the ones made first contact. Maybe they're the fuckin' rats."
"You goddamn little shit!" Kozik took a step forward, angrily shaking off Chibs' restraining hand. He and Boots had risked their fuckin' lives so this asshole could accuse them of being traitors? He no longer gave a shit that Mouse was a patched member and he wasn't. He wasn't gonna stand for—.
"Hey!" Clay's shout sliced through the haze of anger. "You two. Save it for church."
"C'mon, Koz. Back off." Tig put himself between Kozik and Mouse, shepherding him back. "That'd be a dumb move."
Kozik let Tig move him away, though he gave Mouse a black look—this ain't over. Mouse's gaze slid away and he used the distraction to sidle a few steps to the side right and put some distance between himself and the others. Kozik slowly released a long breath, letting it take some of his anger with it.
"Goddammit." Clay punched the truck door. "Someone fucked up for sure, but now's not the time to figure out who. We gotta clean this up."
Tig gave Clay a nod. "Agreed." He fixed Kozik with a last, hard look—you gonna behave?—and pointed at Mouse. "You. Get your ass back to the club house. We'll sort this fuck-up out later." When Mouse opened his mouth to protest, Tig took a step toward him, and Mouse thought better of it. Without another word, he walked off to his bike.
Tig combed a hand through his hair as he watched Mouse go. "Gag 'em and put those fuckers up in there," he ordered, indicating first the prisoners and then the cargo bay. "Then let's get the hell outta here. Someone'll come along to rescue 'em soon enough."
Happy was already hauling the first of their captives to his feet. With a last, regretful glance into the empty truck, Kozik began to walk up to the front of the truck to lend a hand. He stopped mid-stride, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Something wasn't right.
His let his gaze rove over the scene. Was someone coming? Darkness reigned around them, so he couldn't tell for sure, but he didn't think whatever had put him on alert was coming from outside the dim circle of light around the truck. He looked thoughtfully back at the truck's cargo bay. Something about it bothered him, something beyond it being so infuriatingly empty.
"What you lookin' at?" Clay snapped. "Hoping for invisible cargo?"
"No..." Kozik hesitated. If he was wrong and made Clay even more pissed than he already was, he'd pay for it later. Trying not to worry about that, he concentrated on the elusive thought that had snagged his attention. He'd learned long ago to trust his instincts. But what—?
"Hot damn." The words rushed out of him on a whoosh of air. No wonder those bastards had been on edge when he and Boots first stopped them. And no wonder they'd been quietly laughing their asses off once the Sons saw the empty truck and accepted what they thought they were seeing.
Kozik reached out and grabbed Clay by the shoulders, dragging him into the spot Kozik had just been standing in. "Just look."
Clay tried to shake him off. "What the fuck's gotten into you?"
"The back wall." Kozik flapped his free hand. "Look at it. It's too fuckin' far in. Truck's longer on the outside."
After staring at Kozik for a moment as if he thought Kozik had lost his mind, Clay swiveled to see what Kozik was pointing at. Kozik, his hand still resting on Clay's shoulder, felt the exact instant Clay saw it
"Oh, fuck, yeah." Clay looked back at Kozik. "False wall?"
Kozik nodded grimly. "Would be my guess."
Clay dipped his head toward the empty bay. "Check it out."
Kozik hopped up into the truck. Without the benefit of a flashlight, and with most of the glow from the headlamps, it was dark enough he had to edge his way forward cautiously to avoid tripping over the pallets and breaking his neck. He rapped his knuckles lightly against the back wall. A dull, hollow echo answered him. "There's some kind of space behind it."
"Good catch." Clay's lips twitched in a slow, satisfied grin. Whatever Markoski was transporting, if it was important enough to hide from casual view behind a secret partition, it had to be valuable. "Tig!"
Tig came jogging up, tossing a puzzled look in Kozik's direction. "What's up?"
"Your Prospect's got a good eye." Clay quickly relayed Kozik' discovery.
"Goddammit! Guys? Forget about them for a moment." Tig waved the others over. From the bitten-off cries of pain, Kozik reckoned they'd dropped their captives where they stood.
Within seconds, they were all once more gathered at the back of the truck. Kozik's mouth went dry. What if he'd gotten it wrong after all? What if the secret compartment held nothing but air? He'd look as much of a fool as Mouse had.
There was no time to voice his doubts. Tig was climbing in to join him, jerking his head to check out the compartment. A moment later, he and Tig were running their fingers along the seams, trying to find a way to wrench the panels open. "Shit, can't see a fuckin' thing."
Tig guffawed. "You're an idiot, you know that?"
"What?" Kozik snapped back, kneeling to investigate the bottom edge of the panel.
"What you got on that cop belt of yours?"
Kozik froze an instant, and then swore again under his breath, while Tig let out another laugh. A moment of fumbling with the unfamiliar clasp later, and Kozik had snatched the flashlight hanging the Charming PD uniform belt and switched it on.
Once they could see what they were doing, they made quick work of locating the latch. With a soft click, an invisible tumbler fell away and the panel shifted a little. Kozik squeezed his fingers into the narrow crack and pulled until the gap was wide enough to angle his flashlight into the space behind the panel and peer inside.
His breath caught. "Holy crap..."
o0o