that mean Chelsea was in El Paso? Of course it did.
Son of a fucking whore!
This fucked everything up. Chelsea was in El Paso, and the White Wolves were here to pick her up in force. Tomas had no doubt that every one of them was well-armed and licensed. When he got the chance he was going to spit on Stewart's grave. "Yep, weekend-warriors, every man-jack one of them. Fucking asshole."
He didn't care at this point if they recognized him or not during his drive-by. They were going to plan as if he knew exactly where Chelsea was—they'd be stupid not to, and the man he faced down at the Log Cabin was not stupid. So instead of doing something to make himself look harmless, like turning down the frontage road or going to the gas station on the other side of the Interstate, he just crossed the over-pass and went right back down onto the highway, thinking fast and dialing his cell phone.
He told the man on the other end of the line the change in plans, and asked how many men he had available.
"You are talking about a war, mi amigo," the man said. "I'm thinking maybe this is too hot for something that doesn't mean squat to us."
"Fifty grand," Tomas said. He had only a little more than sixty at his house, and the seventy-five available at the other three stash houses.
"Shit." The man chuckled. "That ain't near enough for what you'll need to go up against forty some hard asses. Men are going to die. It was one thing when it was five of them, but forty? Please."
Tomas cursed silently. "Alright, one hundred."
The man was silent for a bit. "You got that on you?"
"No, I don't, but I have it in cash back in Houston. Clean bills. I'll pay up as soon as the job is done," he told him.
"When is the job done?" the man asked.
"When Chelsea Shore is dead. That's the only goal. If you got a sniper that can get in position and take her out, fine. I don't care how it is done. But if she reaches Houston, the deal is off," Tomas told him.
This time the silence was longer before he replied. "You have any idea what part of the city we are talking about?"
"It's not that big of a fucking city," Tomas said, feeling the edge of impatience growing inside his skull and throbbing.
"Don't curse at me, amigo, or I'll just hang up the phone and go back to bed. This is not anything like what you called me with earlier. You have no idea where they are going, how they are getting there, how good the men are at what they do, what fire power they brought with them, and you have no fucking money to pay up front with. So, keep your fucking fucks to yourself."
Tomas clenched his teeth. One more asshole, just one more, and I'll fucking start skinning people, starting with this cocksucker. "Fine, sorry. I'm a little tense. I wasn't expecting this at all."
"Good, I'm glad we can understand each other and can handle this like civilized people. Now, it sounds like we'll have to pick them up on the freeway and follow them into the city, while staying out of sight until they get where they are going, while having enough men close enough to respond as soon as they stop. That sound about right to you?"
"Forty bikers roaring through the city shouldn't be too hard to follow," Tomas offered.
"No, not normally. But they are bikers. They know they are easy to follow. I would think they would have a plan for this, don't you?"
The idea that the group would split up and send out red-herrings had not crossed Tomas' mind, and he cursed himself for this lack of foresight. With this size of group, they could easily use such a tactic. Shit!
"So," Tomas asked, "If they break up in to decoy groups, can you handle them?"
"Well, trying to ambush them on the freeway when they are heading back with this Chelsea Shore doesn't sound like a profitable idea for either of us. So, I guess I'm going to have to handle that possibility. Do the White Wolves have a chapter in El Paso? I don't think I
Son of a fucking whore!
This fucked everything up. Chelsea was in El Paso, and the White Wolves were here to pick her up in force. Tomas had no doubt that every one of them was well-armed and licensed. When he got the chance he was going to spit on Stewart's grave. "Yep, weekend-warriors, every man-jack one of them. Fucking asshole."
He didn't care at this point if they recognized him or not during his drive-by. They were going to plan as if he knew exactly where Chelsea was—they'd be stupid not to, and the man he faced down at the Log Cabin was not stupid. So instead of doing something to make himself look harmless, like turning down the frontage road or going to the gas station on the other side of the Interstate, he just crossed the over-pass and went right back down onto the highway, thinking fast and dialing his cell phone.
He told the man on the other end of the line the change in plans, and asked how many men he had available.
"You are talking about a war, mi amigo," the man said. "I'm thinking maybe this is too hot for something that doesn't mean squat to us."
"Fifty grand," Tomas said. He had only a little more than sixty at his house, and the seventy-five available at the other three stash houses.
"Shit." The man chuckled. "That ain't near enough for what you'll need to go up against forty some hard asses. Men are going to die. It was one thing when it was five of them, but forty? Please."
Tomas cursed silently. "Alright, one hundred."
The man was silent for a bit. "You got that on you?"
"No, I don't, but I have it in cash back in Houston. Clean bills. I'll pay up as soon as the job is done," he told him.
"When is the job done?" the man asked.
"When Chelsea Shore is dead. That's the only goal. If you got a sniper that can get in position and take her out, fine. I don't care how it is done. But if she reaches Houston, the deal is off," Tomas told him.
This time the silence was longer before he replied. "You have any idea what part of the city we are talking about?"
"It's not that big of a fucking city," Tomas said, feeling the edge of impatience growing inside his skull and throbbing.
"Don't curse at me, amigo, or I'll just hang up the phone and go back to bed. This is not anything like what you called me with earlier. You have no idea where they are going, how they are getting there, how good the men are at what they do, what fire power they brought with them, and you have no fucking money to pay up front with. So, keep your fucking fucks to yourself."
Tomas clenched his teeth. One more asshole, just one more, and I'll fucking start skinning people, starting with this cocksucker. "Fine, sorry. I'm a little tense. I wasn't expecting this at all."
"Good, I'm glad we can understand each other and can handle this like civilized people. Now, it sounds like we'll have to pick them up on the freeway and follow them into the city, while staying out of sight until they get where they are going, while having enough men close enough to respond as soon as they stop. That sound about right to you?"
"Forty bikers roaring through the city shouldn't be too hard to follow," Tomas offered.
"No, not normally. But they are bikers. They know they are easy to follow. I would think they would have a plan for this, don't you?"
The idea that the group would split up and send out red-herrings had not crossed Tomas' mind, and he cursed himself for this lack of foresight. With this size of group, they could easily use such a tactic. Shit!
"So," Tomas asked, "If they break up in to decoy groups, can you handle them?"
"Well, trying to ambush them on the freeway when they are heading back with this Chelsea Shore doesn't sound like a profitable idea for either of us. So, I guess I'm going to have to handle that possibility. Do the White Wolves have a chapter in El Paso? I don't think I
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