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BLAM!
I screamed and flinched, waiting for the blinding light of a bullet through my brain –
But it didn’t come.
Apparently, Lou had fired into the ceiling, because a small shower of sheetrock dust filtered down through the air.
The gunshot was far enough away that it didn’t deafen me.
It just scared the ever-living shit out of me. I began to cry and shake.
Apparently it startled the club members, too, because there was a lot of cussing and shouting, then muttering.
The gun barrel pressed against the back of my head again. I could feel the heat through my hair, could smell the odor of burnt gunpowder.
“The next one goes in your skull,” Lou said behind me. “One more time: are you in any way connected to the DEA or anybody else?”
I didn’t dare look up, for fear of giving away Eddie.
If I told them about Eddie, Lou would kill both me and him.
If I told them I was innocent… I didn’t believe Lou would buy that.
The only way out that I could see was to give him the truth.
Or most of it, anyway.
“Don’t shoot me,” I sobbed. “I’m a private investigator from Los Angeles. My cousin, Alison Levitt, worked for you as a dancer. She got shot here in Richards a year ago. I went undercover to find out who killed her. I’m not DEA, I’m not FBI, I swear to God I just wanted to find out who killed my cousin, that’s all.”
I glanced up through my tears at Jack.
The look on his face was horrible.
There was shock.
Hurt.
Anger.
“Well, well, well,” Lou drawled. “Whaddaya know. Seems she wasn’t telling you the truth after all, Jack.”
I had to look away from Jack because it was too painful.
Clack… clack… clack.
Lou walked around in front of me and put the revolver under my chin. Raised it up so I was forced to stare into his eyes.
“Ten years ago we’d’ve killed you for that. But these days we’re… kinder,” he said, his voice full of mocking contempt. “Gentler. Weaker.”
Lou suddenly wheeled away from me and addressed the crowd. “That’s right – Jack Pollari has made us weaker. Weaker as a club… weaker as men. Hell, the Midnight Riders aren’t men anymore; we’re castrated little bitches, at least under Jack Pollari. We used to be men. We used to take what we wanted, when we wanted it. We used to fuckin’ run this town.”
The bikers were warming to what he was saying. Now that the shock was over, they were getting more and more into it. Plenty of Yeah’s and Fuckin-A’s filled the air.
“But now we don’t even fuckin’ retaliate when a Santa Muerte nearly kills one of our brothers. Excuse me; Jack Pollari doesn’t fuckin’ retaliate when a Santa Muerte nearly kills one of our own. I sure as hell did.”
The crowd roared. They were getting furious now.
Jack looked at Lou with hatred. But I noticed he avoided looking at me at all.
