“Moves had to put a stop to a few things. Las Balas was trying to steal from us. He put a few clips in their crew.” Yoda had relayed the tale over a few drinks at Blue Dog Saloon.
“What happened to Moves? I never talked to him about it.”
“He got hit. A few of the other guys had to back him up. We lost two in the fight, but at least Las Balas knew we were a force. That they couldn’t fuck with us. Ryder was there too.”
“Man, that’s crazy,” I mumbled.
“Sure was a crazy time, but Padre set it straight and it came to a mutual truce between us as gangs. But we’ve always had a little beef with them. We’ve always been ready to strike if necessary. I wouldn’t trust Las Balas as far I could throw them,” Yoda lamented.
That was then and this was now. Ready to go to war again. I wanted Misty to be safe. My body and mind were torn. I wanted her with me so I could protect her if what she said was true. On the other hand, I wanted her away from me so she wouldn’t be a part of what was going on.
Hours passed as I ran the checklist of possibilities through my mind. None of them included giving these suckers the money. Looking at them online, I would take my chances that both of them would fold under pressure. To me they were amateurs.
The promise of daylight broke through around five a.m. The navy-blue sky lifted to slate-gray as I poured a cup of coffee and waited for Ryder to arrive. The almighty purr of the motorcycle engines came through, lifting me from my erratic thoughts. Three loud thumps sounded off at the door. Grim-faced, I rose from the kitchen table and opened the door. Ryder with his wiry build and mangy beard was equally grim-faced.
“Hey, wassup, man.” Ryder dapped me with a tap on the back. Yoda, Trainer, Moves and Vlad walked in. If Vlad and Moves were here, then I knew it was serious business.
Vlad stood an imposing figure at six-feet-five, tattoo sleeves running the length of both of his arms, stopping at the wrists. He was heavily muscled from top to bottom, taking up most of the door frame when he entered. He dapped me after Ryder and entered my house, making it look small. Even his face was muscled and his eyes held the energy of a killer.
“Vlad. How you doin’, man?”
“Good, good.” A man of few words, he looked around my place and peeked his head around the corners. “Nice place, man. Good for you, you come here. We got some business to take care of, huh?” Vlad gestured in his disjointed Russian accent.
I kneaded the muscles at the back of my neck. “Looks like it. A ransom is on my head.”
Vlad nodded and looked to Ryder. “Can we pay?” Obviously Vlad hadn’t been briefed on the non-payment arrangement.
Ryder shook his legs out from the ride. “No. We ain’t paying shit, Vlad.” The defiance in his booming voice made it ultra-clear. Vlad nodded in respect at the answer.
“Where can we get breakfast around here? Let’s talk.” Ryder switched the subject swiftly.
“Up a little further they got breakfast spots, or close to the warehouse. If we head there, we can keep an eye on things better.”
“You're right,” Yoda said. He was already at the door, ready to go.
I grabbed my jacket from the couch and led the guys back out the door.
Ryder pulled a cigarette from his pocket and put it in his mouth, cupping his hands around it as he used his lighter to spark up. He took a puff and the smoke released from his nostrils like a dragon.
Vlad put his fists together. “I got a nice knuckle sandwich for these fucks if they try it.”
Moves chuckled as he headed over to his black, sleek Harley. His motorbike was custom-fit just for him. His bike was laced with shiny black chrome with a Jaguar spray-painted on the side.
Ryder slid his helmet on and looked at me. “Lead the way, brother.”
I signaled and all engines purred at once as we headed to my favorite breakfast spot. We hit the road and pulled up in the gravel parking lot. A few people came out of the diner and stared at us heavy. We all ignored them. I swung in the door first and headed to the counter.
“Hey, Marcelle, how you doin’ this morning?”
“We good. How are you, Diego? I see you brought your crew with you. Big boys. Time to eat, I see.” Marcelle was an older Spanish lady who cooked a mean bacon and egg sandwich. Not too bad with the pancakes as well. I turned sideways and all the boys were looking at the menu up above.
“Yes, time to eat,” I replied simply.
We pulled up at the biggest booth and started talking strategy.
I spoke first. “Look, this might not be Las Balas. There’s a possibility these two are operating by themselves on the fly. They’re just using the Las Balas name.”
Ryder replied gruffly, “How do you know that?” Marcelle came out with two jugs of juice and put them in the middle of the table.
