Chase Baker & the Humanzees from Hell (A Chase Baker Thriller Book 8) Read Online Free PDF Page A

I say.
    “You heard what I said,” the biker says.
    Hillary interjects, kicking some dirt into my face as I lay bleeding on the ground. “He doesn’t sound Russian, though. How long have you been in the States?” she says.
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say. “I’m from New York.”
    “New York? Just as bad,” one of the bikers says to the amusement of his buddies. “You probably fit right in there with your commie friends.”
    Did I teleport back to the 1950s? What’s with the Cold War talk?
    “Guys, I’m no Russian, and I’m definitely not a communist. I don’t get where you’re coming from with this,” I say, wincing in pain.
    “Prove it,” Hillary says. “Prove you’re not with the Russians.”
    ‘With the Russians?’ This just got interesting.
    “What’s there to prove?” I say, using the wall to shuffle to my feet. “All I wanted was to see the Minnesota Iceman. Next thing I know, I’m in here getting my ass kicked by you people. After my lawyer is done with you, the Russians will be the last things you need to worry about.”
    For the first time since I stepped foot in here, Hillary’s expression turns concerned. Truth be told, I don’t keep a lawyer on retainer, and my literary agent isn’t licensed to practice criminal law. She doesn’t need to know that, though.
    “But the way you asked those questions back there, you sounded like you were with them,” Hillary says with an oh-shit look on her face.
    “Them? Them who?” I say.
    “The Russians,” Hillary says. “They said they’d come back.”
    I put the pieces together and nod a bloody nose toward the bikers. “I take it you hired the Hell’s Angels here for protection?”
    One of the bikers grunts. He says, “The fuck you talking Hell’s Angels for? We’re Bandidos.”
    Bandidos? I should’ve recognized the patches on their vests. No wonder they didn’t take the Hell’s Angels comment lightly. The two outlaw clubs went to war not long ago. I read about it in the newspapers when their conflict escalated into a tragically public shoot out. The club certainly lived up to its motto, “We are the people your parents warned you about,” on that day.
    Other than the typical drug running, gun smuggling and human trafficking that accompany one-percenters, the Bandidos offer an extra dollop of scumbaggery with their fascist political initiatives. Members take an active role protesting anything that doesn’t fit within the perfectly square boundaries of the Confederate and Nazi flags they flaunt during the ripest opportunities. Racist. Xenophobic. Homophobic. You name the –ism, they’re for it. Which, I suppose, also makes them an excellent deterrent for keeping allegedly nefarious Russian activity at bay. Hillary probably pulled an Altamont and hired the Bandidos to provide protection from…actually I have no idea. But I bet the missing Iceman has something to do with it.
    “Humor me,” I say and point a gnarled finger toward Hillary. “Russian agents stole the Minnesota Iceman from your museum and held it for ransom. You hired a biker gang, the Bandidos , to kick their asses when they came looking for the money. You mistook me for one of them. Did I get that right?”
    “ Club . We’re a club, not a gang,” one of the bikers says.
    For a bunch of tough guys, they sure do get butt-hurt pretty easily.
    “It wouldn’t be right for me to say,” Hillary says. “This isn’t any of your business, and I’d hate for you to get caught up in it.”
    I’d laugh but it’d hurt too much.
    “Your hired goons here just shaved six years off my life expectancy. The least you can do is offer an explanation,” I say.
    Hillary gnaws this over, but I can tell it’s all for show. She’s not considering what I just said. She’s thinking about whether she can weather a lawsuit.
    “Fine, but I have to warn you, Mr. Baker. What I’m about to tell you will sound strange. But I can assure you, it’s all