Read Online Deep Cover by Edward Bungert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Edward Bungert
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wasn't prepared to get shot just to make a weapons buy. One minute I couldn't believe my good fortune, and the next I was wondering what the hell I was doing there. Integrity and brains. Roger Wolfe used to say to me when I was a kid, "Integrity will guide you to make the right decision. Brains will help you survive."
We drove for about forty minutes, discussing our favorite ways to waste somebody. I boasted of my skill with the niner and baseball bat. I must have sounded convincing, because the other bikers all seemed eager to boast of their own killing abilities. The method didn't matter much to Savage. If he had to choose, he preferred to work with explosives. A skill that he'd mastered while in the Army. Savage occasionally instructed chapter members on how to rig a remote-controlled bomb, using only dynamite and parts found in any common radio-parts store.
Iron Man loved the niner, the .38, and the ball peen hammer, which he always carried at his side, the way a carpenter carries his tape measure. One blow in the head from the likes of this psychopath could kill a man instantly. Dog, on the other hand, preferred to kill people with bad jokes.
"Hey, yo, listen. Why do bitches have two holes so close together?" Then, without waiting for our reply: "So when they get too fucked up you can carry them home like a six-pack."
The dock was vacant when we arrived. We were about ten minutes early, so Savage and I walked from the van to within eighty feet of the warehouse. He carried the suitcase with the cash. We positioned ourselves directly in line with the back doors of the van. In case something went sour, Dog and Iron Man would have a clear shot.
The Mexicans were punctual. Three of them piled out of the cab of a red pickup and approached us. A paunchy, dark-skinned man in his early forties walked in front. The other two, in their early twenties, if that, lagged behind.
" Buenos dias , hombres ," said the Mexican.
I nodded, saying nothing. Savage stood motionless.
"May I see the money, señor ?"
" May I see the guns, muchacho ?" Savage responded.
"Of course, señor . They are in the back of the truck."
"Wait here," Savage said, handing me the suitcase.
"Your friend is not very trusting, señor ."
"Neither am I," I said. I trusted this guy less with each passing second. His eyes sparkled with greed. His toothy smile was forced. I looked over toward the pickup, and Savage had already opened one of the crates. He gave me the thumbs-up. I knelt on one knee and opened the suitcase so the Mexican could see the cash. As I slowly handed the case up to him, I noticed a small, round metal object behind the dumpster near the warehouse. It looked very much like the nose of an Uzi. The Mexican noticed the direction of my glance. He looked at the dumpster. Then at me. Toward the dumpster again. I rose to my feet. He reached behind and grabbed a gun from his belt.
" Matalos !" he shouted, as he took aim at my head. I dove toward his legs and brought him down. An explosive strike to his nose with the heel of my palm put him out. The doors of the van opened. Dog and Iron Man sprayed the two other men with machine gun fire. They were still reaching for their guns as their bodies were riddled with bullets.
The two men crouching behind the dumpster came out firing. Savage fell. I hit the ground and took out one of them with a shot to the head. Dog and Iron Man got the other one.
I picked myself up and, holding my gun outstretched from my body, moved slowly in a circle. Iron Man jumped from the van and picked up Savage. He was bleeding from the chest and leg.
"It's not bad," Savage said through gritted teeth. "How'd we do?"
"We got all the fuckers," Iron Man assured him. He then turned to me. "Doc, take the pickup and meet us at the clubhouse." Dog helped him lift Savage into the van. I grabbed the suitcase. We left five stiffs behind. I wondered if it had been a set-up from the beginning. Or had I simply discovered two extra
We drove for about forty minutes, discussing our favorite ways to waste somebody. I boasted of my skill with the niner and baseball bat. I must have sounded convincing, because the other bikers all seemed eager to boast of their own killing abilities. The method didn't matter much to Savage. If he had to choose, he preferred to work with explosives. A skill that he'd mastered while in the Army. Savage occasionally instructed chapter members on how to rig a remote-controlled bomb, using only dynamite and parts found in any common radio-parts store.
Iron Man loved the niner, the .38, and the ball peen hammer, which he always carried at his side, the way a carpenter carries his tape measure. One blow in the head from the likes of this psychopath could kill a man instantly. Dog, on the other hand, preferred to kill people with bad jokes.
"Hey, yo, listen. Why do bitches have two holes so close together?" Then, without waiting for our reply: "So when they get too fucked up you can carry them home like a six-pack."
The dock was vacant when we arrived. We were about ten minutes early, so Savage and I walked from the van to within eighty feet of the warehouse. He carried the suitcase with the cash. We positioned ourselves directly in line with the back doors of the van. In case something went sour, Dog and Iron Man would have a clear shot.
The Mexicans were punctual. Three of them piled out of the cab of a red pickup and approached us. A paunchy, dark-skinned man in his early forties walked in front. The other two, in their early twenties, if that, lagged behind.
" Buenos dias , hombres ," said the Mexican.
I nodded, saying nothing. Savage stood motionless.
"May I see the money, señor ?"
" May I see the guns, muchacho ?" Savage responded.
"Of course, señor . They are in the back of the truck."
"Wait here," Savage said, handing me the suitcase.
"Your friend is not very trusting, señor ."
"Neither am I," I said. I trusted this guy less with each passing second. His eyes sparkled with greed. His toothy smile was forced. I looked over toward the pickup, and Savage had already opened one of the crates. He gave me the thumbs-up. I knelt on one knee and opened the suitcase so the Mexican could see the cash. As I slowly handed the case up to him, I noticed a small, round metal object behind the dumpster near the warehouse. It looked very much like the nose of an Uzi. The Mexican noticed the direction of my glance. He looked at the dumpster. Then at me. Toward the dumpster again. I rose to my feet. He reached behind and grabbed a gun from his belt.
" Matalos !" he shouted, as he took aim at my head. I dove toward his legs and brought him down. An explosive strike to his nose with the heel of my palm put him out. The doors of the van opened. Dog and Iron Man sprayed the two other men with machine gun fire. They were still reaching for their guns as their bodies were riddled with bullets.
The two men crouching behind the dumpster came out firing. Savage fell. I hit the ground and took out one of them with a shot to the head. Dog and Iron Man got the other one.
I picked myself up and, holding my gun outstretched from my body, moved slowly in a circle. Iron Man jumped from the van and picked up Savage. He was bleeding from the chest and leg.
"It's not bad," Savage said through gritted teeth. "How'd we do?"
"We got all the fuckers," Iron Man assured him. He then turned to me. "Doc, take the pickup and meet us at the clubhouse." Dog helped him lift Savage into the van. I grabbed the suitcase. We left five stiffs behind. I wondered if it had been a set-up from the beginning. Or had I simply discovered two extra
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