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“Stun-gunned him,” Eddie explained. “This is Roach. Say hello, Roach.”
There was a muffled groan from the floor.
Eddie bent over and checked the biker’s pockets, then flipped him over and patted down his jacket. “Where’s your cell phone, Roach?” he asked rhetorically.
Roach just moaned again.
“Fine, be that way.”
Eddie picked up a gun off the floor and a wicked looking knife from Roach’s jacket, then set them neatly on the dresser. I shuddered as I looked at the razor-sharp edge gleaming in the dim light.
Eddie ripped the keys off the chain attached to Roach’s pants. “Good thing I parked my bike a half mile away; looks like I’m going to have to clean up after you.” Eddie stood back up and looked over at me. “Lou must really hate your guts, because he sent one of the most fucked-up assholes in the club after you. Multiple rapist, five suspected murder charges – never proven, mind you. And never fully investigated by the Richards PD, either.”
My stomach turned.
Rapist.
Five suspected murder charges.
Jesus, what had I been thinking when I came here undercover? Just how stupid was I?
Suddenly a car rrrrRRRRed into the parking lot.
“Shit – ” I cried out, pulling my gun.
“No – stop – they’re with me,” Eddie said, holding out his hand.
The car stopped smoothly in front of the room, headlights off. It was a black sedan – non-descript, with tinted windows.
Two guys in polo shirts and sports jackets jumped out. They left the engine still running.
“Eddie,” one of them said in a casual sort of greeting as he leaned over Roach and rrrrrClick cuffed his hands behind his back. The other bagged the gun and knife separately in plastic evidence bags.
“Thanks for the backup, guys,” Eddie said. “And you can tell them they can stop jamming.”
“You got it.”
“You happen to see a bike when you drove up?” Eddie asked.
“Yeah, there was an old piece of shit parked by the side of the road as we drove in.”
“Where, south of here or north?”
“South, about a tenth of a mile. It’s not yours?”
“Hell no,” Eddie said. “I ain’t livin’ on my salary – I got undercover funds.”
The two men laughed as they lugged the still-quivering biker out like a sack of potatoes and dumped him in the back seat of the car. One gave Eddie a flippant salute as he opened the driver’s side door, and then the sedan was gone as quickly as it came.
“What the fuck just happened?” I asked, still in shock. It had taken less than 60 seconds.
“You got the best protection Uncle Sam has to offer,” Eddie replied. “Which you will continue to get if you work with us.”
I was slightly horrified that the government could just do that – yank you off the street and make you disappear in less than a minute flat. “Where’d they take him?”
“Secure location.”
“They didn’t read him his Miranda rights or anything!”
