Speed Metal Blues: A Dan Reno Novel Read Online Free PDF

resumed their positions.
    I stepped up to Tom as he scrambled to his feet. “You sure you want to push this, buddy?” I said. “I don’t like your odds.”
    “HCU takes care of its own, dickhead.” He curled his lips in a snarl and his nostrils flared. But the belligerence of his tone was one more interested in saving face than fighting.
    “You’re starting to piss me off, Tom. Haul your sorry ass out of here,” I said.
    “I—I gonna kick your ass!” Rabbit said suddenly, one eye full of rage and the other fixed in its socket. “Right, Tom?”
    Tom led Rabbit back to the Buick and waved his partners to the car. Once they were safely inside, Tom started the motor, but a moment later he opened the door. He stood, grabbed his crotch, and shot us the bone. “Have a nice night, pole smokers!” he yelled. Then he slammed the door shut and mashed the gas pedal, the gangbangers hooting and gesturing at us as they lurched forward in a shriek of burning rubber and tire smoke that left a single black strip down the street for as far as I could see.
    “Come on, our dinner’s getting cold,” I said.
    • • •
    We finished eating and I cleared the mess of cartons and paper plates from the table while Cody sat at my desk, typing with two fingers and scanning the Internet for information on Hard Core United.
    “Interesting little gang,” he said. “They’re based on the East Coast, and claim to be against drugs, alcohol, and racism.”
    “Against alcohol? They’ve been drinking like fish when I’ve seen them.” I was on my couch, clicking back and forth between a boxing match and an old action movie starring Charles Bronson. “What do they do for money?”
    “Here’s a new one,” Cody said, his eyes locked on the screen. “Their main gig appears to be shaking down heavy metal concerts. Not Led Zeppelin or Metallica, but the real death-rock stuff. Hardcore metal, they call it. Apparently hundreds of these bands are touring, and the local chapters of HCU offer protection to the clubs, or auditoriums, or whatever venues they play at.”
    “So they tell the people running the show, give us a cut, or else?”
    “Yeah, something like that. They’ve even gone as far as enforcing where bands can play. One of the promoters, a band manager, didn’t cooperate and got the shit kicked out of him. They put him in a wheelchair for life.”
    “Anybody do time for that?”
    “Six HCU members were arrested, and evidence showed they all were involved in attacking him. But it was unclear who actually delivered the blows, so no one was convicted. They all skated.”
    “You know what doesn’t jive—”
    “Wait, there’s more. They killed two guys in Philly last year. Gang beating is their specialty. It’s how they typically go after their enemies. They know it’s almost impossible to prosecute if it can’t be specifically determined who committed the murder.”
    “Why would they bother with South Lake Tahoe, Cody? The only place here that would host a death-rock concert is Zeke’s, and it could hold maybe a hundred people. I don’t think that’s enough to make for a decent payday for HCU, no matter how deep their cut.”
    “Huh,” Cody said, rubbing the scruff of his beard. “They must have some other income source. I’d be surprised if any of those punks are working a legit job, especially that one guy. Was he mentally retarded?”
    “They were the B-team. Some of the other dudes I saw at Zekes wouldn’t have been as easy to handle.”
    “You got any names?”
    “Why?”
    “These guys come stir up shit at your home and you ask why?”
    “Maybe they’ll forget about it,” I said, but the lack of conviction in my voice was plain. Cody stood and walked in front of the television. “Dirt, you shot one of them and now he’s on his way to a federal penitentiary. They’ve already tried to mess with you twice, once at your bar and again at your house. Come on.”
    “What are you suggesting?”
    “We