Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(55)
Sax’s jaw fell when the guy abruptly stopped laughing. The sagger’s eyes turned to bowling balls, although the mirthful look was still frozen on his face. Now he dropped his piece to the ground beneath the boulder. His torso jerked once, and he pitched face-first onto the grass next to his iron, one of his unlaced shoes flying the opposite direction.
Sax’s first instinct was to leap to retrieve his own piece. Had someone shot the sagger with no noticeable bullet hole? The answer became apparent as Sax straightened up. A taller, thinner silhouette stood in place of the BG. The guy leaped down from the boulder in one graceful motion, Sax readying his own pistol at the shadow.
“Sax,” Harte said, as though he killed a man with a Bowie knife every day. He was sheathing the bloody knife. Who brought a knife to a gunfight? Well, it had certainly worked.
Sax gestured impatiently with his Glock. “What the f*ck, Harte? This is a f*cking showdown, not a f*cking video game. What are you doing here?”
Harte pointed at the dead sagger. “Does this guy look like he’s playing a video game?” He stooped to pick up the BG’s piece, which he shoved into his waistband. Harte looked uncombed, unwashed, as though he’d been partying, not taking care of himself. His white T-shirt wasn’t even tucked in. He had to lift the hem to shove the piece into his pants.
“No, I mean, thanks for saving my ass. But you’ve got to get out of here. How long have you been following us?”
Harte’s face twisted. “Since I found out my f*cking father is a f*cking snitch for the ATF, that’s how long! I was too busy hoovering meat—yes, I know you saw me—to bother wondering what my dad was doing meeting with a f*cking guy with a microphone in his brain bucket, and look what happened! It took you to out the *! We all took a vote, and Leo is out bad, man. There’s just no saving himself from this mess. And yes, before you ask, I’ve been drinking. I can’t handle all the revelations that’ve come down the wire. Now let’s f*cking get up there and get Tony Asshole Tormenta.”
Sax would’ve protested more—Harte was in no way ready for a major shootout like this—but there was some powerful bellowing coming from the mesa. Sax pivoted and had taken several strides when Wolf came crashing into the bush, clanking like The Tin Man.
“No one else is coming out of the hatch—oh, hey, Harte—even though I tossed another grenade down there. But who was that shooter aiming for, Tobiah?”
Sax suggested, “Maybe Slayer got him? Haven’t heard from either one of them in a few minutes. Let’s head toward Slayer. You. Harte. Stay the f*ck here.”
“I’m not about to. I need to prove my value to this club some f*cking way. I’ve been relying on being Leo’s son up till now. That’s not going to cut it anymore.”
That part was true, and Sax didn’t have time to argue, so the men made their way from flat boulder to flat boulder, leaping in the direction Slayer had been yelling. Pride welled in Sax’s chest at the idea that he was on a job with his son. Harte was standing up for his sweetbutts, and that was the way it should have been from the start. The family that shoots together stays together.
It didn’t take long for Slayer to appear, but this time someone had an arm wrapped around his supermodel throat, a gun barrel pressed to his temple.
Tony Tormenta. It had been years since Sax had seen the sociopath in person. Now, Tormenta wore barely any bling, and was clad in a LeBron James jersey with an Oakland A’s cap setting jauntily on his square head over his do-rag. Tormenta shouted, “I’m going to shoot your gay boy associate if you don’t let me get away, you gabachos!”
Sax yelled back. “Pinche guey! Go ahead and shoot him! He’s no f*cking associate of ours!” He was taking a risk, calling the guy’s bluff. And with the pinche guey’s background in murder and mayhem, the only thing stopping him from burying Slayer was the knowledge that the three Bare Bones men would bury him the second he did that.
Tormenta seemed to be aware of this. He started backing away from the bikers, apparently heading toward some getaway vehicle. “I let no one stand in my way! Especially not you gabacho motorcycle men with your ugly, scraggly women!”
“Don’t listen to this pinche guey!” yelled Slayer in a tremolo. “I am willing to sacrifice my life for the betterment of others, if it means you get to take down this gilipollas!”
Sax advanced quicker than Tormenta could retreat, closing the gap between them, his weapon at the draw. “Not a chance. In case you didn’t notice, Slayer, it’s three of us against one of you.”
“Yeah!” yelled Harte, a few paces behind Sax. “Who’s to f*cking stop us from—”
Sax didn’t know if it was an accident, but Harte’s piece went off, hitting Tormenta in the shoulder. Tormenta twisted to one side, but didn’t lose his grip on the former actor. Mayhem ensued, the air suddenly full of flying rounds.
The lone shooter toward the water tank made himself known, squeezing off so many shots that his location was obvious. Sax shot blindly in that direction as rounds whizzed seemingly through his cut. He knew he might be hit and not even know it with all the adrenaline racing through his nervous system. Wolf, too, took a position to nail the shooter. Eventually they did—Sax never knew if it was he or Wolf who took out the sniper, who after all wasn’t that good if he couldn’t kill them all. But when the bullets dispersed, the guy was lying flat on his back.