The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club (29 page)

Trigger laughed, “Cheers.”

The two men banged the cans into each other with no care for spilled beer.
 
Trigger had been right, the beer was warm, but after a half hour of hard work, they didn’t care.
 
The two took a break and drank their beers in silence.

When both cans were tossed into the guts of the building with the rest of the rubble, Trask grabbed onto the hook and pulled up the trapped door.

“Fuck me.”

“What is it?”

Trask threw the door open all the way, and Trigger saw the problem.
 
Water from putting out the fire was halfway up the stairs.

Trigger looked at Trask, “You gonna be able to get to the safe?”

“Getting to it’s not the issue.
 
I need to be able to see the combo to open it.
 
If that’s under water, well.
 
Fuck.”

“I’ll find a bucket or something.”

As Trask took each step, sinking into the brown water, he yelled up, “Yeah, you’d better.”
 
He flipped on the flashlight app on his phone, “It’s about six inches under the waterline.
 
We’re not done workin’, yet.”

***

For another 15 minutes, Trask bucket of water and handed it up to trigger. The water inside the cellar moved down at an imperceptible rate of speed. Both men were dripping sweat, again. The sun was beginning to rise, and the temperature was following. Bucket after bucket was lifted and handed to trigger. He would step over the rubble and sling the bucket over what was left of a wall.

Trigger got down on his haunches and handed the bucket back, “God damn, are we getting anywhere?”

“Two inches to go. I just need to be able to see the top of the spinner.” Trask grabbed the bucket and dunked it under the dirty water once more. As he lifted it up and handed it to trigger, more water splashed over his body. Trask was soaked in the cool water, but he was determined to get to the safe and get the cash. The wetness and aching in his muscles didn’t even register in Trask’s mind.
 
The physical labor was keeping him warm enough for the moment.

Trigger took the bucket and followed the same path he had done nearly one hundred times. This time, though, he didn’t hurl the water from the bucket. “Shit. We’ve got company.”

“Who is it?”

Trigger crouched down, setting the bucket in the rubble.
 
“Fuckin’ cops.”

“How far?”

“Not far. You afraid of the dark?” Trigger was coming back towards the trap door. There was no way they could get out and to the pickup truck in time to get away. Trigger figured that if one of them was going to get arrested, it might as well be him and not Trask.

Trask knew what his partner was thinking. “Close the door, put some shit on top of it. Don’t let them see the trap door. “Trask backed down the stairs, deeper into the cool water.
 
He let out an angry sigh; they had been just a few minutes from getting to the safe. At the very back of the corridor, Trask was waist deep in the water. Trigger closed the trap door, and all Trask could do was listen as his partner piled crap on top of the door to conceal it.

“Ditch your cut.
 
If they find out you’re a Rising Son, they’re gonna know you’re up to something.”

Trigger responded in a half whisper.
 
“Got it.
 
Be right back.”

Trask pumped a fist into the ceiling of the cellar and listened as Trigger climbed back towards the kitchen.
 
Trask turned his attention to the ceiling above him. Using the light from the phone, he looked for a place to stow it so it wouldn’t get wet and die. The wood beams that supported the bar floor didn’t give many good spaces, but one of the beams had electrical wires running across it. Trask wedged his phone between the wires in the wood. The phone gave no impression that it would slip out and drop into the water. The biker closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing.

Trigger made it back to the kitchen area just ask the cops pulled into the parking lot. They parked directly behind the pickup, ensuring it was blocked in. When they got out, trigger saw that neither of them were in a good mood. He gave them a friendly wave, anyway.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” the cop on the driver side asked. Trigger could see the top already had his hand on his
 
holstered gun.
 
He sighed.
 
Nothing was easy for bikers, that was fore sure.

Trigger kept the forced smile on his face, and he made sure to keep both his hands visible. “Just heard about the bar burning down, and I wanted to take a look for myself. Lots of good memories here.”

The cop on the passenger side slammed his door and walked around the pickup truck. ”Boy, this here’s a crime scene. You are currently breaking the law, and I would love nothing more than to slap some cuffs on you and take your picture.”

“I’m sorry officer, I didn’t realize.” Trigger kept his hands up, his tone friendly, doing everything he could to keep the cops from doing something stupid.

“
Bullshit.” The driver said.
 
“Why don’t you step over here and put your hands on the hood? I want to see some ID.”

Triggered it is the man ordered.
 
He fished out his wallet with deliberate slowness, laying it on the police cruiser’s hood.
 
“Of course, officer.”

The driver came up behind Trigger, “Any weapons or sharp objects on you?”

“No, sir.”
 
As the cop patted Trigger down, the other one looked through his wallet and pulled out Trigger’s ID.
 
He called in the license plate on the truck, too.
 
Trigger glanced over, hoping to God they wouldn’t go rooting around inside the wrecked building.
 
The thought struck Trigger that they already knew about the safe.
 
If they started sniffing around, Trigger would have to create a distraction.

The driver cuffed Trigger and spun him around, not trying to be gentle about it.
 
“Play nice, and this will only be a cautionary measure.
 
Do I have permission to search your vehicle, sir?”

Trigger’s blood was boiling.
 
He knew what was going on, and so did the cops.
 
“No sir, you do not.
 
And since you have no probable cause, it would be unlawful of you to do so.”
 
Trigger knew he should have played it cooler, but he was being fucked with, and Trigger hated that more than he hated cops.

The driver started walking back towards the pickup truck, despite Trigger’s explicit instructions.

“Hey, asshole, I thought I told you to stay away from my truck.”  

“DuBois, throw his ass in the squad, I’m getting sick of listening to him.”

The other cop grabbed Trigger by the cuffs and pulled him towards the back of the squad car.  Trigger looked back to the burned out building.  The sudden realization hit him that Trask wouldn’t be able to get the trapdoor open by himself.  If Trigger was sent to jail, it could be hours before he could get to a phone and send someone to free Trask.

He changed his attitude in a heartbeat, “Alright, there’s no need to throw me in the back of the black and white.  You can search the truck.  I’ll even save you some time.  There’s a handgun in the glovebox.”

The driver turned around, a shit eating grin on his face, “Oh, now you want to play nice?  Well, alright.  If you can keep your dumbass mouth shut, you can stay.”

The other cop stopped, and Trigger breathed a sigh of relief.  He didn’t know how long he’d be able to stay, especially once Trigger couldn't produce the permit for his gun.  All he could do was stand by and watch.

The cop pulled open the passenger door.  He reached for the glovebox without looking at anything else.  The cop pulled out the handgun and checked the slider.  Trigger felt lucky that he didn’t have a bullet in the chamber, not that it would make much of a difference.

The cop came back and laid the gun on the hood of the squad car.  He gave Trigger a look.  “Naughty boy.  I’ll bet you a cool hundred bucks, DuBois, that this greasemonkey can’t provide the proper paperwork for this firearm.”

“Only a fool would take that bet, Officer Hargrave.”

Trigger’s heart raced.  The cops were dragging things out.  They were being dicks and would only arrest him if he gave them cause.  The two cops wouldn’t go through the hassle of the paperwork over trespassing or not carrying a permit.  Trigger felt like the clock was running out.  He had to get rid of the cops and get Trask out from the cellar.

“Look, officers, you got me.  I don't have the permit with me.  If you’d be willing to hold onto the pistol for me, I would be more than welcome to go home and get the permit.  I don’t want any trouble.”  Trigger was doing something he detested: he was begging.  It wasn’t in his voice, but it was in his words.

The driver, Hargrave, looked for a long time at Trigger.  Trigger could tell when he was being read.  Had he been too eager?  Too quick to give in?  He didn’t recognize either cop, and without his cut, he was just another redneck in a pickup truck with a curious streak.  trigger’s forehead prickled with sweat.

“Well, DuBois, there’s not a mess of copper wire in the bed of this truck, so I guess we showed up a little too early to catch this scavenger red-handed.”  Hargrove looked Trigger up and down.  Trigger could hear the cop thinking it over, but he was leaning in the right direction.

His partner wasn’t as eager, “We can easily take him in for the firearm.  Up to you, I guess.”

Trigger looked back and forth between the two cops. He must’ve thought the sweat was visible, and he would’ve done anything to have a free hand to wipe it away. He looked at Hargrave and gave an innocent shrug.

“Nah, I’m not wasting my time with this punk. Uncuff him.” Hargrave waived Trigger away like he was a fly.

Again, his partner wasn’t satisfied. “You sure? We don’t even know what the hell he was doing here, And I smell beer on his breath.”

“ Oh, he’s just another god damn redneck looking for scrap to sell. Just uncuff him. Let’s send this hayseed away.”

Trigger’s heart raced as the cop unlocked the handcuffs. He kept his mouth shut what he realized that the police wouldn’t leave before him. Once his hands were his own again, trigger reached for the gun.

Hargrave stopped him, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now, you know I can’t let you take that pistol with you.” Triggers hand froze in place. “If you can come on down to the station with the proper paperwork, I’ll have no problem handin’ your firearm back to you, but something tells me I’ll never see you walk in the front doors. Prove me wrong, you dumb hick.”

Trigger was filled with rage. It was exactly what the cop wanted, and he knew that. It didn’t make it any easier. He knew the cop was trying to goad him into doing something stupid. Any other day of the week, it would’ve worked. Trigger had no problem spending a night in the drunk tank if it meant one punch from the biker to a cop. Trigger took the big step of thinking beyond himself. He had Trask to worry about, and he had the club to worry about.

“Thank you very much, officer.” He tried not to speak through clenched teeth. Neither cop moved, and he knew they’d never leave before him. “If you would be so kind and back your patrol car up, I’ll be on my way.”

Hargrave walked past trigger and got in the car, giving the biker a dirty look as he passed. Despite triggers raging heart, he nodded at the cops, fired up his pickup truck, and left the parking lot and Trask behind. It was one of the hardest things he’d done, but he already had the asshole cop’s face, name, and badge number memorized.

***

 
Trask tried his best to listen over the sound of his shivering, but it was useless. The water was only up to his waist, but he was soaked up to his chest. The cellar had cooled the water to 65 degrees, and Trask feel it sucking the body heat from him. Ripples sailed over the water from his shaking body to the walls around
 
him. With clenched teeth, Trask tried to think of anything but the cold. The sound of trigger’s pick up pulling away didn’t help matters.

When the display of his phone lit up, he grabbed for it. Trask’s fears were confirmed when he saw the text from trigger.
Cops searched me, took gun, still there. Sit tight.

Trask tried to think of some way to get the cops away from the bar, but his mind was blank. Even if he could come up with an idea, his shaking fingers would have struggled to type out the message. He replied with a simple
K
.

 
Wedging the phone back into the wires running along the rafter, Trask heard voices. He moved with a slow stiffness into the far corner, backed against the safe. The soaked and cold biker clinched every muscle in his body to keep from shaking. The voices were getting clearer along with tentative footsteps through the debris.

“You really think he was just some junker looking for scrap?”

“Fuck no. I know biker scum when I see it. Five’ll get you ten he’s a Rising Son.”

Trask Look up into the darkness the footsteps and voices grew nearer. He knew his body was still shaking, and he had to control it or risk them hearing the water splash. Trask closed his eyes, put a hand on either side of the cellar wall, and pushed.

The cops were still wandering around inside the ruined building, occasionally tossing a piece of wood out of their way. The one Trask guest was the leader spoke, “I fucking knew it. Look at this.”

Trask didn’t need to look to know what was. They had found triggers cut. The cold wasn’t the only thing making Trask shake. His veins were throbbing, his heart thundering in his chest.

“Well, God damn. He did a pretty piss poor job hiding it.”

“They ain’t too smart, that’s for damn sure. The fuck was he doing snooping around here?” Trask heard the leader getting closer as he spoke. There was too much curiosity in the cop’s voice; Trask didn’t like it. They were getting too close, and trap door had been covered that well. Trask’s hands moved up the wall, and his right hand bumped into a hose line. Trask wasn’t sure if it was drainage, or connected to the kegs. He ran his fingers around it, said a small prayer, and when footstep fell would floor right above him, Trask yanked on one end of the hose line.