Shooting Dirty Page 25

  “I love you,” he said, choking out the words.

  She signed it back.

  He met Shawnee’s eyes as he straightened. “Thank you,” he said to her. Then his vision blurred and he left the room abruptly. The guard wisely stepped aside to let him pass. Ace continued out the door and into the mirrored elevator, which reflected his watery gaze.

  Fuck.

  He pressed his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, trying to staunch the tears. He’d have plenty of time to cry in his cell. Right now he had to hold it together. When the doors opened to the main casino floor, he took a deep breath and stepped out.

  Jigsaw was waiting for him by the entrance. Ace’s phone chimed in his pocket. He removed it with a sinking feeling. He didn’t like the messages he’d been receiving lately. There was no possibility of good news at this point.

  Sure enough, the text was another threat from Jester. I’ve got her boy. Salvation Mountain.

  He meant Jamie. Ace’s gut clenched at the realization. He couldn’t believe Jester would stoop to this level. Children were off-limits in White Lightning and every other MC. Jester was willing to do anything, even get his club excommunicated, to win this battle. He didn’t give a damn about the consequences.

  Ace swore under his breath, filled with cold fury. Salvation Mountain was on the outskirts of Slab City. The religious shrine was an odd location for a showdown. He forwarded the text to Bill and kept walking, steeling himself for more violence.

  If Jester wanted blood, so be it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  For the next hour, Janelle tried to track down Jamie in the usual places.

  First she called her mother, who was on her way home, and asked her to drive by the trailer park. The thought of Jamie being there unsupervised made Janelle’s blood run cold. She should have warned him about the attack. If he’d known what happened to her last night, he’d have been more careful.

  Next she left a message at his school, in case he’d missed his bus. She paced the front yard and started making a list of his friends. Tiffany didn’t offer any reassurances this time. Jamie might have been intercepted by White Lightning members. When Janelle’s cell phone rang, she scrambled to pick up.

  It was Ace.

  “My son’s missing,” she said, smothering a sob.

  “I just got a message from Jester.”

  “Does he have Jamie?”

  “I think so. I’m going to meet him right now.”

  “Where?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t want you involved. It could be a trap.”

  She clutched the phone in a death grip. Jamie was her son. She was already involved. “Tell me where he is.”

  “Stay there. I’ll call you back in ten minutes.” Then he hung up.

  “Motherfucker!”

  “He didn’t tell you?” Tiffany asked.

  Janelle shook her head, distraught. She didn’t know what to do. Despite her aversion to the police, she’d call them in a heartbeat—if she had any information. They wouldn’t sound the alerts for a boy who’d been missing an hour. They’d just question her about Ace, about Shane, about last night.

  “Look,” Tiffany said, grasping Janelle’s arm. Ace’s motorcycle buddies were leaving the church parking lot.

  “Should we follow them?”

  Tiffany let go of her arm and raced to her car, jumping behind the wheel. Janelle got in the passenger seat. She slammed the door as Tiffany reversed into the street and took off like a bat out of hell.

  “Not too close,” Janelle warned, putting on her seatbelt.

  “They’re going really fast.”

  She cringed as Tiffany turned a sharp corner. Tiffany couldn’t slow down and risk losing them, so she punched it through the residential neighborhood at top speed. Janelle gripped the safety bar, holding on for dear life.

  “I think they spotted us,” Tiffany said.

  Janelle watched in horror as they came to an intersection. Both motorcycles ran the red light and cut off a school bus, disappearing into light traffic. Tiffany slammed on her brakes to avoid a deadly collision.

  “Damn it,” she yelled, bouncing in her seat. The bus made a slow turn in front of them. One of the kids inside tossed a half-eaten apple out the window. It tumbled across Tiffany’s hood and rolled into the street.

  By the time the intersection cleared, the Dirty Eleven members were long gone.

  “Those sneaky bastards,” Tiffany said.

  “Where do you think they went?”

  Tiffany pointed east, the opposite direction of the highway. There was nothing in that area except...

  “Slab City,” Janelle said, feeling a fresh stab of unease. She hadn’t been there since she’d danced at that awful motorcycle club rally. The men who’d refused to pay had been White Lightning members—she was certain now, though she’d been drinking, and her memories of the incident were fuzzy. It was one of the worst nights of her life. She never performed outside of the club again.

  Tiffany headed toward Slab City, drumming her fingertips against the steering wheel. Janelle called her mother to let her know where they were going. Then she sent a text to Ace with the same information. He didn’t reply.

  Hands trembling, she put her phone in her pocket. Tiffany drove down the gravel road that led to the off-grid trailer park. It wasn’t as scary as Janelle remembered. In the harsh light of day, the dusty trailers and recycled-junk artwork looked sad, rather than sinister.

  They didn’t find Jamie, or any boys his age. There were some younger children kicking a soccer ball across one of the concrete slabs that gave the community its name. Tiffany slowed to a stop and rolled down her window.

  “Have you seen any motorcycles?” she asked the group. They were sweaty-haired and smiling, brimming with energy. The smallest boy gestured to a dirt road leading up the hillside. Then they continued their game.

  “I don’t know where that road goes,” Tiffany said.

  “Salvation Mountain is on the other side. Maybe it connects.”

  Tiffany continued forward to check it out. The road was full of potholes and small boulders, so it was slow going. Clearance between the rocky slopes was narrow. After about a mile, they passed a red truck that had been parked behind a large boulder. Janelle’s pulse jackknifed at the sight.

  “That’s the same truck from last night.”

  Tiffany glanced in her rearview mirror. “Shit. It’s following us.”

  Unfortunately, there was no escape. Up ahead in the distance, there were three motorcycles parked at a dead end.

  Janelle stared at Tiffany, frozen with indecision.

  Not just frozen. Trapped.

  “What do we do?” Tiffany cried. The red truck was behind them, blocking the only escape route, and her car didn’t have 4x4 capabilities. Although they were sitting ducks inside the vehicle, getting out seemed worse.

  “I’m going to make a run for it,” Janelle said. “He’ll chase me, and you can get away.”

  Tiffany didn’t agree to this plan, but there was no time to argue. Janelle opened the passenger door and hopped out of the car, bolting down the dirt road as fast as her cowboy boots could take her.

  * * *

  Salvation Mountain was about forty miles from the casino.

  Ace borrowed a motorcycle from another Dirty Eleven member and pushed it to the limit. He drove at a breakneck speed down Highway 111, passing Courtney’s crash site without blinking an eye.

  The other guys were supposed to meet him on the outskirts of Slab City. Jigsaw and Fish were following close behind. Easy and K-Rail were coming from Janelle’s house. If Jester brought his usual entourage of a half-dozen, they’d be outnumbered.

  Ace didn’t like those odds.

  Dirty Eleven was a
n independent club with no major affiliation, so they couldn’t count on the support of powerful allies. Its members were smalltime guys. The club’s rowdy young felons had matured into family men with blue-collar jobs. They raised a little hell and sold a little dope on the side, but who didn’t?

  White Lightning, in contrast, was a well-connected club of hardcore criminals. They were a Chapter of the California Desert Mongrels, so they had friends in high places, including the Aryan Brotherhood. Jester was a special kind of psycho, committed to ultra-violence. He thought he was doing some Clockwork Orange kind of shit.

  When Ace arrived at the rendezvous point, the two guys who’d followed Janelle home were already there. Easy told him that Janelle and Tiffany had tried to tail them from Niland.

  “Did you lose them?” Ace asked.

  “Yeah, but they just drove past.”

  Ace checked his phone, cursing at Janelle’s text message. She was in Slab City, less than a mile away. Of course she hadn’t stayed home. That would be too fucking safe! She had to rush into the most dangerous situation possible instead of heeding his warning.

  Goddamn it.

  If she got hurt, he was going to paddle her ass.

  Ace sent Easy to look for Janelle and Tiffany. The other Dirty Eleven members he’d been expecting caught up with him shortly, and they continued to the parking area in front of Salvation Mountain. It was deserted. Maybe Jester was just fucking with him, sending him on a wild goose chase.

  They dismounted their bikes to search the grounds. Salvation Mountain was basically a giant mound of plaster and paint on the side of a hill. It was a minor tourist attraction, like the art garden in East Jesus, with an extra helping of religious zeal. Ace had always thought the place resembled an illustration from a Dr. Seuss book. There were swirling colors and strange contraptions decorated with Bible sayings.

  It was an eyesore, in Ace’s opinion, but he was no connoisseur. Most of the art in the Slabs struck him as off-balance, even deranged. He recognized too much of the dysfunctional residents in the pieces.

  There was no sign of Jester on the colorful heap, so they scattered out. Jester would probably stay on the boundaries of Slab City, rather than venturing inside. Many of the community’s residents were proud gun owners, and outlaws themselves. They didn’t appreciate club members coming in to wage war on their turf.

  Ace prayed that Janelle and Tiffany wouldn’t be seen by anyone in White Lightning. If Janelle ran into Jester, she’d be right back where she was last night, held against her will in a terrifying place.

  “Fuck,” Ace said, racked by guilt. He’d brought this trouble on her, and on her son. She’d been right to call him on it earlier. He’d pursued her relentlessly, and drawn his enemies to her like moth to flame.

  And for what, a few nights of pleasure? He’d chased after her because he was a selfish bastard. Because she’d haunted him. He’d fantasized for months about the way she’d looked in the shed, her wrists bound and her pussy bare. He’d felt guilty about jerking off to the memory, over and over again. So he’d made her complicit in his crimes. By forcing pleasure on her, he’d eased himself.

  He hadn’t meant to fall in love with her. Maybe that was his ultimate punishment, to watch her suffer for his sins.

  Gritting his teeth, Ace climbed to the top of Salvation Mountain for a better look. Beyond the painted hills were unpainted ones, mounds of dirt and rock-strewn sand that led to a flat stretch of ground. People used the open space for target practice. The area was protected by hills on three sides, and flanked by empty government land. Not only was it ideal for shooting, it was ideal for killing. He heard the telltale pop of gunfire in the distance.

  Ace continued forward, pebbles shifting beneath his boots. When he reached the next summit, he spotted Jester and Rex standing in the sandy flat below. Jamie and another boy were shooting BB guns at empty beer bottles. They appeared to be having a grand old time. Rex took a turn, hitting five of five targets from an impressive distance.

  Ace crouched there for several seconds, evaluating the scene. Jamie had been lured here, rather than dragged against his will. There were White Lightning sentries lying in wait on the opposite hilltop. Ace climbed back down the way he came and gestured for Jigsaw. Ace brought him up to speed and formed a quick strategy.

  “I’ll go in alone,” Ace said. “Have one of your guys cover each of the watchmen. Jester will probably let the kid walk away if I surrender. As soon as the boy is safe, take him and get the fuck out of here.”

  “You don’t want us to stay for you?”

  Ace shook his head. “Just worry about the kid, and Janelle.”

  Jigsaw agreed without arguing. It was a suicide mission, but there were no alternatives. Ace had to act fast before Janelle stumbled into the fray. He didn’t want a shootout or any more blood on his hands.

  This was the only way.

  “Give me back my Colt.”

  Jigsaw passed him the weapon, which was freshly polished and shined like justice. Ace tucked it into his waistband. They said goodbye Dirty Eleven style, with a handshake and a one-armed hug. Then Ace ascended the hill again. He walked down the other side and approached the group with his palms up.

  Jamie set down his BB gun, appearing contrite. His friend did the same. When Ace got within ten feet of the group, he stopped, keeping his arms raised in surrender. Jamie stared at him in confusion. He had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.

  “You’ve got me now,” Ace said to Jester. “Let the boy go.”

  “I’m not holding him,” Jester said. “He can leave if he’s scared.”

  Jamie was like most boys, full of bravado and reluctant to show fear. He might have wanted to leave, but he didn’t move. His friend was a year or two older, and he seemed more astute. He muttered something about having to get home and hurried away. Ace guessed that Jester or Rex had recruited the boy to invite Jamie here.

  Rex frowned as if he didn’t approve of Jamie sticking around for the festivities. No one with any sense of decency would.

  “Search him,” Jester ordered.

  Rex strode forward to check Ace for weapons. Ace stood still, cooperating. Rex removed the Colt from his waistband and studied the pistol with open admiration. It was a gunman’s gun, and he recognized the craftsmanship.

  Ace wondered where Rex had come from. He didn’t have the look of a down-and-out desert rat or a hardened professional, despite his experience. Rex passed the Colt to Jester and continued patting Ace down. When Rex was finished, he secured Ace’s wrists behind his back with a plastic zip tie.

  “You can go now,” Jester said to Rex.

  A muscle in Rex’s jaw flexed, but he voiced no objections. He climbed the opposite hill and disappeared over the top.

  Jester pointed the Colt at the bottles. Instead of firing the pistol, he offered it to Jamie. “You want to try this one?”

  Jamie didn’t take the Colt. He glanced from Ace to Jester, moistening his lips. Ace figured that Jester wanted to toy with him, and there was nothing Ace could do about it. Jester had plenty of protection, and Ace’s hands were tied, literally. If he tried to escape or fight back, one of the other White Lightning members would shoot him.

  “Let me tell you about this gun,” Jester said, showing it to Jamie. “You might be interested in its rich history.”

  Ace’s gut twisted with unease. Now he understood Jester’s game.

  “This particular piece has been involved in a number of fatal shootings.”

  “Stop it,” Ace growled. “Don’t torture him.”

  “Am I torturing you?” Jester asked Jamie, feigning surprise. “I thought we were having fun together.”

  Jamie refused to answer.

  “Let him go,” Ace repeated.

  Jester held Ace’s gaze and placed his silver-ringed han
d on Jamie’s shoulder. “This gun killed your father.”

  Ace swallowed hard, his heart aching. He felt nothing for Shane, or any of his other targets, but he regretted taking the boy’s father away. It was the first time Ace had been forced to confront the secondary victims of his crimes.

  Jamie’s face went pale. “You—you killed my dad?”

  “Answer him,” Jester said, training the pistol on Ace.

  “Your dad was supposed to deliver a bag of money to me,” Ace said. “He didn’t, so I had to track him down. I found him with your uncle. They were fighting.”

  Jamie nodded, hanging on every word.

  “Your dad raised his gun and pointed it at Owen’s chest. I thought he was going to shoot, so I shot first.”

  “What a load of crap,” Jester said. “You were paid to kill him.”

  Ace couldn’t deny it. He probably would have killed Shane no matter what. Shane’s fate had been sealed when he’d decided to go off the rails and steal the cash.

  “How do you feel about Mommy dating Daddy’s killer?” Jester asked.

  “Does my mom know?” Jamie asked.

  “Good question,” Jester said.

  “She knows,” Ace said, his voice hoarse.

  “Take this,” Jester said, putting the Colt in Jamie’s hand. “Take this and make it right.”

  Jamie accepted the pistol clumsily.

  “Leave him alone,” Ace said from between clenched teeth. “Shoot me yourself, you fucking coward.”

  “I’m giving you a very special gift,” Jester said to Jamie. “You have the opportunity to avenge your father. You can pull the trigger and become a man, right here and now. Or you can refuse and walk away, a scared little boy. It’s your choice.”

  Ace glanced at the hills nearby, aware that rifles were trained on him. Even if his Dirty Eleven friends were already in position, they couldn’t fire. No one but Ace was accurate enough to hit Jester without risking Jamie, and Ace would die anyway.