Jerry Langton Three-Book Biker Bundle (15 page)

“And not a single casualty.”

“That's how I do business, my friend; better to buy your rival a beer than kick his head in.”

“I wish sometimes I was like you, but I find the best way to beat our enemies is to get rid of the troublemakers.”

“You exterminate, I enthrall—it ends up the same.”

“I only know one way to do business.”

“And that's why you have the job you have. So tell me, what's going on in Springfield?”

“Well, we had some great success. Because Roberts has a good friend in the Marines, we have managed to gain some eleven pounds of C4 plastic explosives and two LAW rocket launchers.”

“I'm sorry, what? Rocket launchers? What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

“For us to succeed, the Lawbreakers must be gotten rid of.”

“Or brought to our side.”

“Sometimes that's not possible.”

“I understand that, that's why our partnership works so well.”

“And I personally know of at least two Lawbreakers from Springfield who will never be brought to our side; you remember Gabe? Fat blond guy?”

“Yeah, yeah, I used to ride with him back when I was with the Horny Devils.”

“You won't ride with him anymore.”

“Should I ask why not?”

“Apparently when he turned the key in, his car—the whole thing went up in flames.”

“Sad, very sad,” said Mehelnechuk. “Keep up the good work, my old friend.”

As they were talking, Tim Collier, president of the Springfield Lawbreakers, was putting his kids to bed. He kissed Troy, five, and Tricia, three, good night and headed to his big armchair where he planned to watch
SportsCenter
. He hadn't quite gotten to the chair when he heard his doorbell ring. He looked out the narrow window beside the door to see who it was. It was a little guy with glasses, long hair, a pizza box and a baseball cap from a regional pizza chain. Collier hadn't ordered a pizza, but he had often gotten mail and deliveries for the Guptas at 24 Chateauguay Circle because he lived at 24 Chateauguay Court, about a hundred yards away.

He swung the door open and started to tell the guy he had the wrong address, when the pizza man dropped the empty pizza box, revealing a sawed-off shotgun. Earl “Geronimo” Hayes pumped two shells directly into Collier's chest. The big man staggered and fell backwards. Satisfied, Hayes threw the shotgun and the pizza hat into the house and ran.

The following day, the regional media was ablaze with stories about Collier's death and how it linked to the other Lawbreakers' murders and disappearances. Jake Levine, a former biker cop turned author, came from Martinsville and was interviewed on both Springfield TV stations. On each he told the same story: Springfield was under the grip of an all-out biker war being directed through the Death Dealers by the man they called the Sons of Satan's national president—Marvin “Big Mamma” Bouchard.

Two days after Collier's death, some of the furor created by it had died down. Lara was starting her first solo day as the
Silhouette
's crime reporter when she received a phone call from a blocked number. “
Springfield Silhouette
; Lara Quinn speaking,” she answered.

“This the crime reporter?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I want to report a crime.”

“Oh . . . okay . . . don't you think you should call the police?”

“That would not be in my best interest.”

“I see,” she said, but really didn't understand why he had chosen to talk to her instead of the police. “So what would you like to report?”

“Well, I can't say exactly, but I can tell you that if you look in the back seat of Frank Vanden Boom's car, you'll get your story.”

“Who?”

“You sure you're the crime reporter?”

“Yeah, but I'm new. Can you spell the name?”

The caller did.

“And, can I get an address?”

“No, I'm not gonna do your job for you,” he said, and hung up.

Ned knew Kelli would be excited about the new place. They'd been dating with increasing regularity since she spent the night over at the apartment before Leo moved in. They were surprised at how much they had in common and really enjoyed each other's company. The fact that her parents really hated him impressed her even more.

Patsy, Leo's girlfriend, arrived before Kelli did. Patsy made Ned more than a little nervous. André had introduced them a few months earlier, and Leo immediately fell for her. She was about fifteen years older than he was gaunt with a leathery, withered face, and had worked as a dancer at a bar André frequented. She made no secret of the fact that she had occasionally worked as an escort—something that instilled great pride in Leo. “It's like being with a porn star, man,” he said enthusiastically. “She can do things you wouldn't even imagine.”

As soon as she walked through the door, Leo was all over her. Ned wasn't crazy about watching them kiss, but when he called her “lover,” it made his skin crawl. He excused himself to get some beers.

Patsy excused herself to the washroom, and Leo went in with her. Ned could hear them laughing and snorting in there. When they came out, they were sniffling and giggling.

“You shouldn't be doing that,” Ned said. “Remember what André said about coke.”

“Yeah, so what does André say about it now? André is gone, my friend.”

Patsy giggled.

“Yeah, I guess you're right . . . I guess I'm the new André.”

“So, boss, what about the coke?”

Ned couldn't say no to his old friend he'd been through so much with recently. “Sure, okay, but keep it under control. Don't let anyone else know about it, and pay for it yourself.”

“Yes!”

Patsy giggled again.

When Kelli arrived, she asked why they were meeting at André's house. She wasn't crazy about André; he was lascivious and vulgar.

“It's not André's house anymore; it's mine,” Ned told her.

“No way! That's awesome!” she shouted and kissed him.

“Hey, yo, you two, get a room,” said Leo, laughing. “What do we have planned tonight?”

“Well, I have some DVDs in my backpack, we could make dinner, and watch a movie,” offered Kelli.

“What kind of movie?” asked Patsy.

“A couple of romantic comedies,” Kelli enthused. “I have that new one with Kate Hudson in it.”

“Pass,” Patsy said, and Leo echoed her thoughts with an imitation of a game show buzzer.

“I think we should have a night on the town, and let you two love birds enjoy your new house,” Leo said, getting his coat.

After they left, Kelli and Ned enjoyed a quiet evening. The following morning, when he asked her to move in with him, she enthusiastically agreed.

When Lara mentioned Frank Vanden Boom to her police contact, she was quickly connected to Mike Clegg, Springfield's ranking biker cop. Clegg told her to tell him everything she knew. After about twenty minutes of negotiation, she got him to agree to let her come along on the call in exchange for her information.

In his car, Clegg explained who Vanden Boom was. “Y 'know the Lawbreakers? The biker gang?”

“Of course,” she said, offended by the idea that she—a crime reporter—hadn't heard of him.

“Well then, you know about Collier and the other murders?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Well, Vanden Boom is . . . I mean was . . . the ranking member of the Lawbreakers in Springfield,” he said. “I don't think he had any kind of title or anything, but he was the only one left who had the nuts to take over; the rest of them are idiots or pussies.”

“Why are you using the past tense?”

“He's dead.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, the Sons of Satan pay their members and associates for murders of their enemies,” he said. “But the only way they can get credit for a murder they claim to have committed is through media coverage.”

“So that's why I got the call, instead of you.”

“Yup, that thing you were supposed to find in Vanden Boom's backseat is probably Vanden Boom—the murderer called you because he was tired of waiting for someone to stumble upon the body.”

Clegg went over to the
Silhouette
's office and picked Lara up. They drove to Vanden Boom's address. Clegg parked in front of Vanden Boom's house and went around back to the garage. There was a black Lincoln inside. Lara looked in the back window. There was something large covered with a blanket. She nodded to Clegg. She tried the back door; it was unlocked. As it swung open, a sawed-off shotgun fell onto her feet. The smell of rotting flesh was strong enough to push her back a few feet. “Whoa!” was all she could say.

Clegg laughed. “Delvecchio puked when he saw his first body . . . and his second and third; I think he fainted on the fourth,” he said. “See that shotgun—that's a Sons of Satan touch—they always leave the weapon at the scene.”

“Why?”

“None of the weapons are ever registered to them, and there's very little chance of getting fingerprints off them, so they're not very meaningful as evidence,” he told her. “But if they got caught with a weapon—especially one that could be linked to a hit—after a crime, they'd go down for good guaranteed.”

Ned's cell phone was ringing. Kelli was getting ready to go to her parent's house and Ned was in the shower, so she picked it up.

After she said hello, a voice on the other side asked: “Who the fuck are you?”

Taken aback, she stammered: “I'm Kelli . . . Ned's girlfriend.”

“Put him on.”

She went into the washroom and handed Ned the phone. She went back into the bedroom, but she could still hear him apologizing for letting her answer the phone and promising never to let it happen again.

After he was finished berating Ned, Steve told him he had a job to do. After Ned took over André's position, he learned about a few complications. André wasn't just a drug dealer. He was a biker. In fact, he was what's called a prospect for Steve's gang, the Death Dealers. A prospect, Ned found out, is someone who works with or for the gang, but is not yet a full member. André had been a full member of another motorcycle gang, the Chain Masters, but was bumped down to prospect status when they were taken over by the Death Dealers.

That didn't just mean Ned got a leather jacket with a patch on the back. He also had to learn to ride the Harley. Little John told him that the motorcycles were more than just a symbol; they also made the Death Dealers a legitimate common-interest club and much harder to prosecute under organized-crime legislation.