Ryan screams, “That’s what you get, son! That’s what you get!” He falls to the ground, clutching himself by the waist. I can see the red oozing out of him through his fingertips. Ryan grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around.
The four men are done, and the garage is completely unguarded. I whisper to Ryan, “I’m going in, but Chris has guns in there, at least he did the last time I paid a visit. Go cover me.” I slink in through the garage doors, my boots treading lightly on the smooth concrete. The last thing I want to do is get ambushed by Chris. It’s better to know your killer than be surprised, so I call out to him in his hiding place, “Chris! This is your last fucking chance. You give us our money, all of it, and we let you go. We spare your sorry ass. You already crossed us once when you tried to take me out a few weeks back, but now you’re dealing with the Coyotes. That’s not gonna bode well for you.”
“Fuck you Cal! The Coyotes are protecting me now, you stupid fuck. You touch me or their business, and you’re going down!” He’s shouting at me from somewhere to my left.
I spin around and see it: the black hole of a gun. I duck quickly behind a car, just barely missing the first shot. He shoots another, this one landing on my shoulder, cutting through my leather jacket. The searing pain from my shoulder wounds hits me instantly as I slump back down to my hands and knees. I try to inhale, concentrating on Maddie. If I’m going to die here in this shitty little shop by that double-crossing bastard, I’m not going to be thinking of him. I’m going to be thinking of my daughter. In my head, I whisper a goodbye to her as I hear Chris laugh to himself. I shut my eyes tightly---
…
…
Click. Click. Click. I hear the sound of a man pulling a trigger over and over and over again. I can hear Chris’ breathing pick up as he stands in complete and utter disbelief. He slams the handgun onto a wooden surface before darting off. I listen helplessly as I hear him pass me and then hop into one of the cars near the back of the shop. It speeds off, the tires squealing and screeching.
I use the car I’m ducking under to stand to my feet. I notice how absolutely useless my arm is as I remove my jacket. The leather is sticking to the wound, but I manage to peel it off and tie my bandana around it. This will have to do until I can have the club’s doc take a look at it.
In the distance, I hear the familiar roar of a motorcycle rev up and take off after Chris. He’s not going to catch him, at least not during the day. But at least he’s trying. The rest of my men are still patrolling out back, searching for Chris’ hidden stash of weapons and drugs.
I don’t join them. Instead, I walk slowly towards a large tank of gasoline and fill up a couple of red plastic containers. I head back towards the end of the garage where Chris just sped up and I splash the first canister on the ground and on one of Chris’ antique hobby cars. The crude, chemical smell tinges my nostrils as I pour the second in Chris’ office and in the front of the building.
When I’m finished with the canisters, I go back to the tank of gasoline and twist the nozzle on the siphon to the left and then set the hose down on the floor. The puddle of the clear liquid grows quickly as I walk through it towards the front entrance.
Ryan is outside smoking, talking to one of the junkies. The men in the car are laughing as Ryan points towards the garage and at the pile of the four bodies still lying on the ground outside the shop. My stomach turns as I try to process this scene. Ryan should have been there. He and the others should have had my back like I asked. But instead he’s having a chit-chat with these coke heads?
I’m more than angry as I pound my boots in his direction. He turns to see me grasping my hand to my shoulder. He shakes his head disappointedly as he says, “You let that bastard get away.”
I stop inches from his face, staring him down before I bark back, “Yeah, Ryan. Today he fucking got away.” I pull him towards me using the collar of his jacket. “Go do your own fucking job, and then we can talk about who let who get away. You understand me?”
Ryan nods a few slow times before I let him go. He hops towards his bike, leaving the other three men waiting for my orders. I point towards one of the enforcer trainees, “You got a light, kid?”
The young boy quickly feels the pockets of his blue jeans before pulling out a bic lighter, “Yes, sir!”
I point back towards the building, instructing him, “Go light it up, kid.”
“What? Light it up?” He stares at me unsure of what I am saying is real. This kid hasn’t even gotten his feet wet before us Mustangs probably told him to be an accessory to murder and now arson. I feel for him. Hell of a start.