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CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Silver DragonsMC was based in Twin Falls, Idaho—about five hundred miles north of Laughlin. With virtually nothing of note between the two points but desert, the Bulls and friends rode out within two hours of the Tulsa call and crossed the state line into Idaho by nightfall.
While they were on the phone with Eight, he’d put Apollo on as well, and the Tulsa tech officer had laid out everything he knew. Then he’d sent Zach some images tracking the cargo’s progress as far as he’d been able to, and maps marked with key info like the locations of the Dragons’ clubhouse, Wash’s house, and their stash house.
Zach and Ben had both tried to call Lyra and tell her they were all riding out and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow night, but she hadn’t picked up. She finally returned their texts shortly before they were ready to head out. Despite how much of their relationship had so far happened via text, exchanging texts as he was heading toward likely violence was cold and unsatisfying—especially since he couldn’t give any kind of details. But by the time she’d replied, there wasn’t time for a call.
So all Lyra knew was they were going to be gone for more than a day, assuming everything went smoothly. Big assumption, that.
After talking with Eight and Apollo, the men at that cheap glass table had sat there and essentially convened the first church of the Laughlin Bulls. They’d quickly decided that the six of them were not enough if the Dragons had fucked them over. They needed to arrive in Idaho with a force that said the Laughlin charter was already on its feet and ready to rumble.
So Ben had called his buddy Lonnie, who’d called his nephew Kai and another Fort Mojave citizen named Geno. All three rode, all three could shoot, all three were in on forming up with the Bulls for a road trip to Idaho and the chance to possibly fuck up some double-crossing sons of bitches, and all three were interested in more than that. After Apollo ran the world’s fastest background checks and gave Cooper a green light, they figured out a plan for a few different scenarios, and everybody geared up, mounted up, and headed north.
Zach wondered if he was riding with the first full table of the Laughlin charter: Cooper, Gargo, him, Ben, Reed, Lonnie, Kai, and Geno. Eight men. Not a big charter, but big enough.
With Caleb, they were nine on this run and outnumbered the Dragons by two.
What awaited them in Idaho, nobody knew for sure. It could range from the Dragons having some kind of issue—though in that case Wash should have called Eight and let him know—to the scenario everybody at that table today figured was most likely: the Dragons were trying to fuck over the Bulls, and the Volkovs, for pushing them out of the runs. Niko had had to lean on Wash twice to get the Dragons in line with the changes; maybe he hadn’t leaned hard enough.
Now the Bulls would have to lean the rest of the way, before the product was lost and word got out that the new Bulls charter had been rolled before they’d even put a new rocker on their kuttes.
That was the main reason for choosing speed over certainty. Those background checks were a fraction of Apollo’s usual thoroughness, and the plans for what they’d do when they got to the Dragons had been whipped up in minutes, when Apollo usually ran every angle he could imagine and set up countless contingencies. But they had to get to the cargo before the cargo got gone, and they were already at least a full day behind. If the Dragons had arrived in Laughlin with a plan already in place to steal the cargo they were picking up, then it might be too late already.
If so, if Niko Volkov lost more than a hundred grand in munitions to a club the Bulls had recommended, a club he’d never fully trusted—that would be a huge problem for the Bulls in both Tulsa and Laughlin.
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~oOo~
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Just shy of the TwinFalls town limit, Cooper pulled off the highway and found a fairly secluded place to stop. It was a small gravel lot in a lightly wooded area. Too big to be vista turnout, if there even was a vista around here. Sort of reminded Zach of the little ‘commuter’ lots he’d seen here and there in Tulsa. But he didn’t think Twin Falls was big enough to have a big commuter population.
Whatever it was, the lot was off the highway, shielded by a stand of skinny pines, and without even a single sodium arc lamp. There was moonlight, but they were all wearing black, and this location was probably the best camouflage they could expect. Zach had to figure it was dumb luck they’d found this lot.
Their plan was to get in and out of Twin Falls without being noticed by anyone but the Dragons, and them only when the Bulls were ready. Riding nine bikes—seven Harleys, an Indian, and, courtesy of Geno, a Triumph—down whatever Twin Falls called its Main Street would definitely get them noticed, so they’d worked out a plan for them to separate into four groups, recon the likely sites, and reconvene when they found the van.
Van first, Dragons second. Their priority was reclaiming the cargo if they could. Once they had that secured, then they’d deal out some justice.
Despite the speed they’d worked to get everything moving, they’d prepped some contingencies, and on their one stop to fill their tanks and drain their pipes they’d run through said contingencies again. Now Coop was going through them a third and final time.
“Zach and Kai, you two take Wash’s house.”
Zach looked at the map on his phone, showed his screen to Kai, and they both nodded. “Got it,” Zach said aloud.
