Chapter 10
The instant he opened the door, he heard the rumble of motorcycles approaching. By the time they got weapon-ready, the rumbles were vibrating throughout the house and had invaded Dane’s gut.
A flashback to the vision of his high school sweetheart lying on the floor of the surf shop with Dag on top of her and blood oozing from a knife cut on her face steeled him. The loud rattling sound of the oversized hogs pulling into his driveway didn’t shake him.
Three motorcycles had pulled onto the crushed shell drive.
One of them—the one who’d pulled ahead of the other two, wore the Mongols jacket with the leader patch that Dane had noticed Dag wearing at the Lucky Parrot.
The man shut down his engine while the other two kept theirs running.
As soon as the man stepped off his bike, with his helmet still on, and walked toward Dane’s back door, Dane signaled Jake to get out of sight.
Dane slid back into the kitchen and put his back to the wall next to the door. Jake was positioned behind the counter with a sight around the corner at the door.
The adrenaline pumped his heartbeat to the ready-go state where Dane needed to be. Before he took his next long, controlled breath, the back door was kicked in as Dag stepped inside, Sig Saur P320 RX in hand and aimed straight ahead. At no one.
Dane silently slipped his Glock G43 9mm from his back waist and lowered the AK-47. No need for overkill in close quarters. As Dag took a step forward, Dane shot his arm up and shoved the barrel into the bottom of his neck, wedging it under the helmet.
Smart of him to keep the helmet on for protection. Dane would have sacked him in the head with his Glock if he hadn’t been wearing it.
He didn’t have to tell the man to stop. Dag froze in his tracks, but his weapon was still raised.
“Drop it.”
Dag let his melodramatic Sig Saur drop to the floor. Jake stood up, weapon aimed at the man’s center mass and retrieved the weapon. Dane was all too aware that Dag had backup waiting outside and they were probably not waiting long before they would come inside.
“Take off the helmet.”
The man didn’t move and, after a beat, Dane grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around, shoved him back against the refrigerator and aimed the Glock at his crotch.
“Take off the helmet.”
“Don’t shoot. I’m taking it off. Damn–” His voice was muffled, but he reached up and grabbed the strap and pulled it loose.
Jake aimed steadily from five feet away. Close enough for deadly accuracy and not close enough to get his weapon taken away.
Dane stood closer. Dag could have reached out and tried for it, but he wasn’t stupid enough for that. He pulled the helmet off his head.
It wasn’t Dag.
The man, whoever he was, rammed the helmet up and tried to bash in Dane’s head with it.
“Shit.” Jake moved on him from behind.
Dane ducked to the side and raised his arm enough so that he got caught on the forearm. At the same time he forced his AK-47 up and in spite of the bulkier awkward shape, he succeeded in bashing the Dag imposter across the head. The man fell in a heap.
Jake wasted no time getting the man’s wrists bound behind his back with plastic ties.
Dane went to the door and aimed his Glock at the rear tire of one of the motorcycles.
He didn’t get a chance to take the shot before the two bikers reared up, turned, and roared off in a nifty move that they couldn’t have pulled off if choreographed, but there was nothing like a gun to make a body move.
He turned back around to see that Jake had the man sitting in a chair, slumped and held into place with his arms looped around the back.
“What happened?” Jake stood and stepped back.
“Curiously, they didn’t shoot at me. I’d lay odds that Dag insisted on being the one to kill me.”
“This whole set-up smells.”
Dane reached for a glass with his non-gun hand and filled it with water.
“Let’s see what we can find out.”
He threw the water into the man’s face.
The mystery man, who looked like he was in his sixties but was probably at least a decade younger, startled and focused.
Dane took a step closer and raised his Glock.
The man blinked twice and then gave Dane an ugly snarl.
It wasn’t hard since he had several teeth missing and the rest were rotten.
Dane thought he ought to give the guy a bar of soap to go with the splash of water.
“I ain’t giving you my name.”
“I don’t give a shit what your name is. Tell me where Dag is right now.”
Dane lowered his gun so it was aimed at the man’s crotch.
Jake stirred. He stood behind the guy and looked uncomfortable but not panicked. Not yet at least. But Dane was counting on him knowing all about playing good cop, bad cop. Problem was Jake had never played with Dane before and had no idea exactly how bad Dane might really be.
Dane smiled.
“I ain’t telling you nothing. Dag said you wouldn’t shoot me. Said you were close to the law. Soft—”
Dane took aim and shot the floor next to the man’s left foot. He jumped and took the chair with him, then toppled over, hitting the floor hard.
Jake jumped too. “Jesus Christ. What the hell are you doing?”
In the process of lifting him from the floor, Dane noticed a small flesh-colored earbud in the guy’s ear. Shit. The man was wired for sound at the minimum.
Dane nodded at Jake and touched his ear. Jake nodded back.
When the Dag-double was upright in his chair again, Dane stood toe to toe and reached for his ear. The guy flinched so Dane smacked him across the jaw with his Glock, not hard enough to knock him out, and then ripped the bud out of his ear.
He tossed it in the sink and turned on the faucet.
“We’ll need to do a full body search for any more hidden surprises.”
“Swell.”
They covered the man from head to toe and found nothing else. Dane ran over him with his detection device to make sure.
“I should have done this first.”
“You’re lapsing.” Jake took Dane aside then and said, “How the hell are you going to get this guy to talk? We don’t have all day. ATF is going to show up at some point and check on us.”
“I think you’re right. He looks like a tough old hag. I’ll have to reach into my arsenal of tough-guy tricks.”
Jake gave him a wary look. Dane didn’t bother reassuring his friend. He had no idea what lengths he’d go to himself. If it meant getting to Dag before Dag got to his mother or Shana or anyone, then he would do it. The stakes had never been higher. A sense of urgency shot through him.
He’d learned not to ignore these feelings and in the past that had saved his life.
He opened a drawer and took out a large, mean-looking pair of pliers. Then he turned to the tough guy to see how tough he was. His boots and socks were off.
The man didn’t flinch but Dane could see the worry in his eyes. With any luck, it would only take one toenail to get him talking.
“How would you like a pedicure? It’s the Dane Blaise special.”
The guy started kicking. Dane went around back and said, “Let’s go for the manicure. I didn’t want to touch your feet anyway.”
“No—you’re damn crazy.” The man struggled and tried moving his chair.
“Jake, bring me the chains.”
Jake said nothing, but he went into the office where they’d had the rest of their equipment and brought in a long thick iron chain and started wrapping it around the man’s ankles, but not before he had to knock him on the knee and shin a couple of times with his gun to stop him from kicking.
When Dane pulled up a stool and sat in front of the man, a funny but not completely unexpected thing happened.
The Dag-imposter started crying. Hard sobs, in between which he begged for mercy.
After listening to him for about fifteen seconds while Dane went through the motions of preparation, he stopped and looked him dead in the eye.
Then he backhanded him across the face and said, “Stop. Tell me where Dag is and I’ll forget about the pliers.”
Jake leaned in and Dane could feel his friend’s relief when the man nodded his head furiously and started talking.
“What’s the plan?”
“He’s going after your mother—after he gets you.” He spat blood and returned to his nasty attitude. “Dag wants to make you suffer, wants you to watch your mother die.”
Dane’s heart punched the wall of his chest like it was trying to get out, fast and furious. He heard nothing else the man said after that. Until he felt Jake’s hand on his shoulder.
“We need to get out of here—the ATF are on their way. Cap sent a text. We only have a few minutes before they come through the door.”
Dane stood.
“I need to talk to Sam and have him check out the location this perp gave us. For all we know it could be another set up. Especially since we ditched their audio.”
“Where is Sam?”
“Hell if I know. He’s been out looking for Dag.” Dane slipped his phone from his back pocket and punched in Sam’s speed dial number. It went straight to voicemail. No big surprise.
There was no friendly voice telling him to leave a message and Dane didn’t bother. With any luck, Sam would find Dag and follow him if and when he left his hideout.
“We can’t trust this rotten animal. He’s playing us,” Jake said.
“Could be, but if all’s quiet on the home front, I’m paying Dag a visit at his house.”
He eyed the guy. “And if he’s not telling it straight. I’ll be back.”
The guy laughed. Dane backhanded him.
Jake said, “Whoa, boy. What do we tell the ATF?”
Dane heard a car stop out front and went to his office to look between the slats in the blinds out at the street. “I’m not bothering to tell them anything.”
“Shit. You think they’ve been watching the house? They knew Dag was supposedly inside here?”
“Sure. It’s their style. Let us dangle until something falls from our pockets. If they were watching, they didn’t exactly rush the house once they saw the guys on motorcycles descending.”
Dane snatched another quick look out the window.
“The ATF are descending now. Fully weaponized.”
He rushed to the front door and threw it open and put his hands in the air to avoid getting shot by an overly ready agent.
Dane was met by Agent Simpson leaping up his front steps and stood aside as the man rushed through the door. He heard a commotion at the back where Jake had a similar greeting from Wilton, he presumed.
“What the hell’s going on here Blaise?” Wilton shouted from the kitchen. He probably wanted to know about the slightly beaten and bloody guy sitting in the chair.