CHAPTER ELEVEN
Blue—
It’s fifty-five miles and takes almost an hour to ride from Las Cruces to the drop site in El Paso.
There are mountains in the distance on our right and nothing but the baking desert on our left.
When we hit civilization again, its newly built subdivisions until we come to a grocery store. A little further down the road there’s a chicken place, a coffee shop and a Mexican diner.
We follow Highway 54 south through El Paso, past an RV park and a high school, and eventually cross I10 then pick up 375 at the Rio Grande and the border.
We take it southeast. They call it Cesar Chavez Border Hwy, and it runs along the fence.
On the other side is Juarez, Mexico.
If I ever think we’ve got a tail, or if I’m just feeling cautious, I’ll pick up Alameda Ave to the east and avoid going near the border and fence line altogether. That way we come in from the east instead of the west.
Our destination is a landscape company that sits a mere 600 ft from the border.
The place holds stone and gravel of all grades and a line of dump trucks that haul it to various construction sites around town.
I don’t know how they move the guns across the border, but I suspect there’s a tunnel somewhere.
That or they get them across buried deep in the gravel trucks.
In reality, I don’t give a fuck how they do it as long as the money tallies correctly at the exchange. It’s a dangerous business both in terms of getting arrested and for getting ripped off.
Both Bandit and I were there the night Rio and our club tried to make a deal like this near the border in Santa Teresa.
It was the first time any of us had been to New Mexico.
It didn’t go so well that night. In fact, we got all our money stolen, and two of the Ramirez crew who were meeting us ended up shot in the head.
Not by us, but by their rival, the Morales Cartel.
I know what I’m risking. I know all too well the chances I take every time I make another run, but the pay is too damn good to pass up.
If I want my own chapter someday, I need a nice little nest egg to set myself up.
It’s sunset when we arrive.
The exchange doesn’t take long. I eye the men, and they eye me and Bandit. It’s just the two of us, and that’s the way I want it. The fewer men, the fewer guys I have to share the cut with.
Nerves are high, but it goes smoothly and before the last traces of gold leave the sky, the two of us are back on the road roaring north down the highway.
We don’t run into any problems, and as we leave El Paso and cross into the empty desert, I’m thinking we’re home free. That is until I spot three headlights in my side mirror.
They’re obviously motorcycles by the way the lights bob around. They’re too far back to hear the rumble, but I look over at Bandit. He nods, and we hit our throttles, our bikes surging forward beneath us.
Between the two of us, we’ve got almost forty grand hidden in compartments under our seats. If anyone checks our saddlebags, they’ll find nothing.
As fast as we speed into the darkening desert, we can’t shake the bikes and they’re soon closing in on us.
Up ahead there’s one lone gas station named The Oasis, and having made this trip several times, I know it’s the last bit of civilization for miles. If we don’t stop there, there’s nothing but barren desert ahead of us for miles.
I lift my chin toward the lights shining in the distance like an island of light.
Bandit nods, easing on his throttle.
With the pumps all full, Bandit and I park near the door to the busy convenience store. It seems every trucker on the highway has stopped here tonight.
The place is crawling with activity like any place that has no competition in sight.
We both stand and light up smokes, our eyes on the highway as three bikes slow up and make the turn into the lot. Almost before they round the pumps, I know who they are, but a glimpse of the patches on their backs confirms it.
Fucking Devil Kings.
“What the fuck are they doing this far south?” Bandit hisses under his breath.
“Goddamn it. You think they know about the drop we just made?”
“I’m pretty sure the Ramirez crew didn’t tell ‘em. Not unless they’ve got a rat.”
“Could be they’re working with the Morales bunch,” I murmur.
“Fuck. I hope not.”
“Guess we’ll find out just what they know in a second,” I mutter.
“Two against three. Poor bastards won’t stand a chance,” Bandit teases, bringing a grin to my face and a shake of my head.
“You recognize any of ‘em?” I ask, watching them park their bikes on the edge of the lot.
“Nah. You?”
“Nope.”
A trucker walks out of the doors with a Peterbilt hat on his head and pauses, whistling.
“Nice bikes.”
“Thanks,” I reply.
“That a Road King?”
“Nah. It’s a Super Glide.” I give him a smile, thinking he might be just the thing we need to even the odds. “Got it in a poker bet,” I lie.
“No shit? Cool.”
“Yep. What are you hauling?” I ask.
“Got a load of onions. It’s good money, but they make my eyes water.”
Bandit and I chuckle at his joke.
The three DKs approach, and the first one spits on my bike.
I lunge for him, and all hell breaks loose. We get a little help from the trucker, and before long the station owner comes out with a shotgun and orders us off the property.
The trucker points at the Devil Kings. “They fucking started it.”
The owner swings the double barrel at their leader. “Well, I’m ending it.”
Bandit and I get to our feet and watch the three pull out, heading toward El Paso.
I spit a mouthful of blood and shake out my right hand, the knuckles split and bleeding. Bandit and I exchange a look.
“They go for backup, we’re screwed,” he murmurs.
Nodding, I turn and shake the trucker’s hand. “Thanks, man. Owe you one.”
“No problem. They were fucking assholes. I should run ‘em down with my Betsy.” He gestures to a huge Peterbilt tractor trailer, and I pat his shoulder.
“I’d steer clear of them. You don’t want that kind of trouble.”
“Guess not.” He shakes his own hand out and rubs his jaw, then grins. “Sure was fun, though.”
I chuckle and climb on my bike.
Bandit and I roar off the lot and onto the highway headed north to Las Cruces.
I keep a worried eye on my side mirror, but don’t see anyone, and after about twenty minutes, I relax.
When we hit the Las Cruces city limits, I make the turn and head toward the Saints Garage.
The glass doors are rolled up, and Rio is there to meet us when we pull into a bay. Someone rolls the doors down, giving us privacy. I’m stiff from the ride when I drop my kickstand and straighten.
Flipping up the seat, I pass him the bag of money.
His eyes hit my bloody knuckles and the cut above my eye. I’m sure my face is a battered mess.
“What happened?” he growls.
“Ran into three Devil Kings. They jumped us at the gas station just north of El Paso,” Bandit says.
Rio’s eyes shift between us, and he sighs. “Goddamn it. Where are they now?”
“Gas station owner ran ‘em off with a shotgun. They headed toward El Paso, and we headed north,” I reply.
“Did they know about the drop? Were they following you?” Zig asks.
“I don’t think so. I think they were as surprised to see us as we were them. We picked ‘em up in our rearview just before we hit The Oasis. You know the place?”
“Yeah,” Rio replies. “I remember it. Last place before there’s nothin’.”
“Exactly.”
Rio lifts his chin. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
“Nah,” I say. “Got someplace to be.”
He nods. “Okay. I’ll settle your cut of the deal later at the clubhouse.”
“Thanks.” Climbing on my bike, I feel the eyes of my brothers as I pull out. Zig and Bandit may suspect who I’m going to meet, but I don’t think Rio does.
Heading across town, I aim for the little house two blocks from the Basilica in Mesilla.