Read Online The Wizard of Death by Richard; Forrest - Free Book Online

clubhouse.”
    â€œJunior?” Rocco asked.
    Murdock stood up. “Hell, how would I know? I wouldn’t let two of my men go into that place alone. That’d be like feeding them to the sharks. Come on, I’m taking a double backup crew down there to raid the joint.”
    The Krauts’ M.C. clubhouse was located on Route 92 on the outskirts of Breeland. Three years earlier the peeling frame building had been an inn, with rooms for rent upstairs, and a small bar and grill on the first floor. The property had been condemned for a highway widening and was slated for destruction later in the year. In the interim, the Krauts had taken occupancy. Its windows were mostly shuttered, and a half dozen Harleys were neatly aligned in the overgrown parking lot.
    Seven police cars with twice as many uniformed officers had formed a circle around the building. Murdock stood with a bullhorn near the wooden steps leading to the front door as Rocco swerved his cruiser to a stop near the side of the building.
    â€œThis is Captain Murdock. We’re coming in and don’t want trouble. All you in there, against the wall and take the position. I’m coming in on five. One …”
    â€œI have the feeling they’ve been through this before,” Lyon said.
    â€œI hope they don’t decide to relocate to Murphysville,” Rocco replied.
    â€œâ€¦ five. All right, here we come.” Murdock, followed by several uniformed officers, clumped up the remaining steps and with a shattering kick opened the front door.
    The splotched wooden bar was cluttered with empty beer cans. A man was stretched out on a cot in a far corner, and three other Krauts were playing pool on an ancient table. The police officers milled around the room as a pool player glanced uninterestedly in their direction and then back to the table to take his shot.
    â€œI told you, against the wall,” Murdock said to the pool player. “You hear me, Wiff?”
    â€œI heard you, Captain. Get off our backs. We haven’t done nothing. We got rights, you know.”
    Murdock stood directly in front of the club’s leader, providing a sharp contrast to the tall, heavy-set man in the cut-off sweat shirt. “You shouldn’t talk like that to the establishment, Wiff. It’s not nice.”
    The captain’s fist slammed into Wiff’s solar plexus and knocked him back against the pool table. “Put ’em against the wall and see if they’re clean,” a police sergeant bellowed.
    Wiff waved his pool cue toward Murdock. “I told you, Murdock. Lay off!”
    â€œYou want a trip downtown, Wiff?”
    â€œFuck you.”
    â€œI ought to bust your goddamn head.”
    â€œCome on, Fatso.”
    â€œWhere’s Junior Haney?”
    â€œDon’t know the gentleman.”
    â€œTake him,” Murdock said to the waiting officers.
    Six men hung back for a moment and then began to move in a tight semicircle toward Wiff. Wiff backed against the wall, the pool cue held to his front like a protecting lance.
    â€œTake him now!” the sergeant yelled as they closed in on Wiff.
    â€œWait a goddamn minute,” Rocco’s voice echoed through the room and froze everyone. “He’s mine.” The chief moved through the attacking officers until he stood before Wiff with the tip of the pool cue an inch from his chest. “Take it easy, son,” Rocco said in an even voice. “You and I are going to talk for a few minutes.”
    â€œOff you, pig.”
    â€œNow, now.” Rocco’s mammoth hand closed over the pool cue, wrenched it effortlessly from Wiff’s hand, and then snapped it in two. The two pieces fell to the floor with a clatter that sounded across the quiet room. Rocco stepped forward, placed both hands on Wiff’s shoulders and turned him against the wall. He quickly and efficiently searched the leader of the bike gang, then turned Wiff back to face him.