Chapter Fifteen #2
“I’m going to call him.” I get out of the Jeep, pacing as I hold the phone to my ear. Theo answers quickly, listening as I relay the information. I finish with, “Matthew and I could take care of it tonight. But not without risk.”
“He has enemies. Ex-cons who may want revenge,” Theo says. I hear the subtext: the Saints wouldn’t be the main suspects for this murder, for both the cops and the Fivers.
“None that got out recently.”
“One second.” His end goes quiet, and I continue to pace, eyes trained on my feet. Finally, Theo speaks again. “There’s enough out and in town. Four of whom have violent records. We can ensure at least two of those don’t have alibis.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. Or we can wait.”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “There’s no reason to put it off.”
“Do you need backup?”
“No. I think Matthew and I can handle this.”
“Okay. Give me another hour before you make your move. I’ll text you when it’s clear.”
“Any specific methods?” I ask.
“None were serials with obvious patterns. Although using a metal pipe and taking his wallet wouldn’t hurt.”
“Got it.”
We hang up, and I return to Matthew to share the plan. I don’t think the guy has ever killed someone, but he doesn’t show any fear or hesitation. Still, I offer an out. “I can do this alone. Or call one of the guys.”
He shakes his head. “I’m in. This will make Levi’s life better inside too. I want to help.”
“Alright. Then let's get going. We should use the unregistered bikes. I don’t want my jeep anywhere nearby.”
The Saints have a half dozen bikes without license plates or identifying features we use when we want to fly under the radar.
Two are stored at the clubhouse, but the other four are kept on a private property south of Tucson.
The owner is an older woman, Sierra Maddox, whose late brother was the vice president before me.
Sierra’s loyalty to her brother’s old club extends just far enough for us to use her empty garage.
Other than that, she wants nothing to do with the Saints.
Thankfully, her place is much closer to the prison than the clubhouse. By the time Matthew and I have switched to the bikes, leaving my Jeep in the garage, Theo sends the signal. We’ll hopefully have several hours to finish the job so our patsies won’t have alibis.
We return to the prison and wait for Barnes to leave.
When he does, we’re careful to follow at a distance.
We almost lose him once when we have to avoid a cop car.
They’ll pull us over for the lack of license plates, then arrest us for riding unregistered motorcycles.
Thankfully, we find Barnes’s car again just as he turns onto the street of his usual bar.
“I’m not this predictable, am I?” Matthew asks.
“How many times has Krissy texted you to ask if you’ll be home for dinner?”
“Goddamnit,” he curses.
“We’re all predictable,” I say, even as I think about Sadie and how often she has surprised me. Not a feat many people have managed but one she excels at.
We follow two cars behind Barnes as he pulls into the closest parking lot, driving slowly as he searches for a free space. The hope is that he doesn’t find one and has to park several blocks away. Then he’d walk past alleys where we could hypothetically ambush him and make it look like a mugging.
“There goes plan A,” I mutter. A small sports car backs out of a space in front of Barnes, who quickly claims it. The silver lining is the spot is at the very back corner of the lot.
“I liked plan B more anyway.”
“That’s because you’re lookout.”
Barnes locks his car, attention on his phone as he crosses the street to enter the bar. Someone honks, but he ignores them.
When we don’t find our own space, we exit the parking lot to look for street parking. “We could go in too,” Matthew says.
“Cameras.”
“Don’t we have someone for that?”
“It’s not a magic button that lets you erase the feed of any security camera you want.
” I don’t truthfully know how it works, but I know Maple would be able to do more than Ace could if we needed her to.
She could probably turn off the entire block of cameras, and she’d help Sadie if she asked.
But that would involve going to Sadie again, and I still haven’t replied to her last message: Don’t you want to know what Maple said?
Yes I do. But limiting my interactions with Sadie is more important right now.
“Just being in the same bar as him wouldn’t be suspicious,” Matthew says.
“I don’t care. We’re not going in.”
“So, we just wait for hours?”
“Yes.”
He grumbles something under his breath that I ignore.
We stop off the main street a block away, using other parked cars to block our unregistered bikes from view of passing cops.
I stay with the bikes when he leaves to complete part one of our plan.
I wanted to go, but I’m far more memorable than him.
Matthew is a pretty average looking white guy, with his few tattoos hidden under clothes and short brown hair.
I, on the other hand, am taller, covered with visible tattoos, and a ginger with a thick beard.
Twenty minutes later, he returns. While there’s no one around, we keep our helmets off so we can talk normally.
“Done?”
“Had to wait for the coast to clear, but yeah. All set.”
“Good. Now we wait.”
Matthew straddles the bike and leans back. Not an hour later, he says, “Crime involves more waiting and doing nothing than I thought it would.”
“And Luna was complaining that it was too stressful last week.”
“I’ll switch with her, because this is boring.” He gets off his bike and paces on the sidewalk. Then he stops and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”
Say no. The smart voice in my brain is loud, and I want to listen to it. But then Matthew lights a cigarette, the smell reaches my nose, and I can’t remember why I’m trying to quit. There’s no one in my life I need to quit for. No baby. No ol' lady.
Fuck it. “Sure, thanks.” I join him on the sidewalk and lean against the building wall. The nicotine overshadows all guilt for giving in so easily.
We chain smoke for the next two hours, Matthew ignoring calls from Krissy and me attempting to mentally lock away thoughts of Sadie. Unfortunately, she’s fucking persistent, even in my own mind. It’s goddamn annoying.
Then the tracker Matthew attached to Barnes’s car starts moving.
We return to our bikes and follow the little dot as it heads out of the city.
If he lived in the suburbs, this wouldn’t work, but he’ll be off the main roads in a few miles, just in time for the loosened valve stem to finish leaking air from the back tire.
“You sure he’ll get out of the car? He’s with criminals every day, he might not fall for this.”
“His pride is stronger than his wisdom,” I reply. “He won’t wait in his car for triple A to come. He’ll want to change the tire himself.”
The tracker comes to a stop five minutes later. He’s parked on a back road, and we slow as we get closer. I stop before he’s in view and quickly start the walk to his car. Matthew keeps going so Barnes doesn’t get suspicious that the sound of an approaching motorcycle randomly stopped.
“I’m backtracking now,” Matthew says.
I’m still wearing my helmet, so I reply with, “Perfect, I’m in view.”
Slowing my approach, I listen as Matthew stops his bike near Barnes.
“Hey! Saw you stopped. Need any help?” he calls.
“No!” Barnes answers. He’s squatting by the back tire, examining for the cause of the flat.
“You sure?”
“Yes, now fuck off!”
“Damn, okay, man. Just trying to be nice!” Matthew replies. He starts to close his visor, but I’m not close enough for the first hit. Noticing this, he shouts, “I know a thing or two about cars! I don’t mind helping.”
Barnes stands and turns, probably to yell more obscenities. I take the chance to close the distance between us at a run, raising a piece of rebar.
Somehow, even with the exhaust fan on Matthew’s bike running loudly, Barnes must hear my approach, because he spins back around, hands curling into fists.
He sees me just as I’m swinging the rebar.
He lifts his arm, taking the impact against his ulna rather than his skull. With a shout of pain, he staggers back.
I swing the rebar again, and this time Barnes’s hands close around it. He tugs, but I don’t let go. Instead, I follow the pull and tackle him to the ground.
“Fuck!” he shouts.
“James!” Matthew yells.
I can’t reply, because Barnes manages to land a blow to my side, knocking the air from my lungs.
Grabbing his waist with my knees, I twist, rolling us so I’m on top.
He continues cursing and trying to hit me with one hand while tugging at the rebar with the other.
From the corner of my vision, I see Matthew looking for an opening to join the fight.
“Stay!” I order. Then I jab with my elbow, leveraging my body weight to add power behind the move.
My elbow hits his mouth, likely knocking a tooth free.
He releases the rebar and grabs my arm instead.
Letting him pull me, I roll forward, exposed skin scraping against the asphalt of the street.
When we stop moving, Barnes is on top, and I'm sure he thinks he’s just earned the upper hand, but all he’s really done is secure his fate.
Theo had suggested a metal pipe as a murder weapon, but Sierra didn’t have any in her garage. So, I’d grabbed this rebar instead. Sturdy, made of metal, cylindrical, close enough. The only major difference is how small in circumference it is.
Now, though, I’m thankful for the change. Because a metal pipe wouldn’t have fit through Barnes’s eye socket.
The rebar, however? No resistance. I aim and slam it through his eye. His howl is full of agony, and he instantly falls off me. I follow, the new position offering better leverage. After the eyeball busts, I push harder, feeling bone break.
Barnes goes silent.
Matthew gags. “I’m going to throw up.”
“Don’t!” I shout. “DNA.” Looking down at the body, I realize that ship has sailed for me. There’s no saying how much of my DNA is now all over Barnes.
“Goddamnit.” I bend over, grab the man’s ankles, and drag him off the road. “Stay here,” I tell Matthew before jogging back to my bike.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting this mess cleaned.”
At this rate, the Saints are single-handedly keeping Actaeon in business.