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From a non-personal standpoint, death also best served the interests of the club. It was time to embrace the rep of ‘crew killers.’ It was time to make it extremely clear—without actually leaving evidence behind that could hurt them—that to fuck with either charter of the Brazen Bulls MC was to write your own death warrant.
Not everyone at the table had been wholly in agreement, but no one disagreed strongly enough to resist Cooper’s will. It went to a vote; the vote was unanimous. Glenn Cooney would die. Before he did, though, he’d give them some information.
So while Cooney remained unconscious, the Bulls set the scene.
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~oOo~
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Cooper shoved an openbottle of ammonia under Cooney’s nose, and the man sputtered to wakefulness. Cooper stepped back a bit and crouched before him, watching him come fully aware, look around, take stock of the seven men facing him, where he was, in what condition. Finally he turned to Cooper, his eyes wide, his pores already leaking flop sweat.
“What the fuck are you doing? Where’s Freddie?”
Ignoring those questions, Cooper asked one of his own. “Do you know who I am?”
How had Cooney connected the Bulls—and Cooper specifically—with what had happened to his nephew? Only one way Cooper could see: the sheriff. Hoss Harridan was playing ‘little green army men’ with the crews in southern Nevada, pitting them against each other for sport. He was also on the take with all of them, and obviously nobody could trust him to honor the agreements that came with those payments.
Cooper had Hoss Harridan on his hit list. He’d move carefully, and wait for his moment, but that motherfucker, if Cooper was right, was a very dead motherfucker walking. He wanted confirmation from Cooney.
“Yeah, I know who you are,” Cooney said, doing a good job of sounding like he wasn’t scared, despite the obvious physical signs of his fear. “The guy who killed Rob. My family.”
“See, I’m not. I never even met the man. So I’m wondering where you got your information.”
“Fuck off.”
Cooper laughed. “Maybe I knocked your head too hard. You do see the situation you’re in, yeah?”
Tied to a post in the Nevada desert. Now, in the deep of the night, the temperature was pleasant, even a bit on the cool side. But come daylight ...
“I see it, and you’re not gonna scare me. You think you’re gonna do the old injun move with me, leave me out here to turn into jerky. Probably that asshole over there with the ink thought it up.” He nodded in the direction of Kai. “So fuckin’ do it.”
He was talking a big game, but his voice had picked up a quaver here and there, and the sweat ran freely down his fleshy face despite the cool of the night.
“You’re wrong, my man,” Cooper said. “That’s not what we’ve got in mind for you.” He nodded at Zach, who turned, picked up an old truck tire and carried it over.
That got Cooney’s attention. “Wait! Fuck! No!”
Zach dropped the tire over Cooney’s head. Then Cooper said, “The way I figure it, you came at me thinking I’d done this to your kin, which I did not do. You almost killed my family burning me out. Seems to me I should go ahead and do what you came at me for.”
“Where’s Freddie?” Cooney asked, now fully terrified. “What did you do with Freddie?!”
“No need to worry about him. Freddie went out easy.” Cooper stood, walked right up to Cooney, and crouched again. “This is how your night goes. Tell me how you got my name, who told you to target me, and you go out with a bullet, just like Freddie. Or don’t, and you go out like Rob.”
Cooney’s face twisted into a mask of defiant contempt. “Fuck. You. Wetback motherfucker.”
Cooper laughed. “Okay, Boomer. Pulling out the oldies but goodies, huh? Guess you decided.”
He nodded again at Zach, who picked up a five-gallon gas can and shoved the spout in at Cooney’s back. Cooney yelled and writhed, but there was nothing much he could do. For a final flourish, Zach dumped out the last of the gasoline over Cooney’s head, making him sputter and spit.
“I’ll tell you,” he gasped. “Just stop, and I’ll tell you!”
Cooper put up his hand, and Zach stopped.
“It was Harridan. The sheriff. He came up at the funeral and told me it wasn’t a cartel like we all thought, but it was you guys. The new MC down in Laughlin. He gave me your name and address. It was Harridan. Please don’t do this! Please!”
Zach flipped the lid closed on his Zippo, then glanced at Cooper.
