“Probably not. But it’s a hell of a risk. If the Chicago crew don’t respond well, something could flare up, and that could get out of control fast.”
Jericho pulled off the road and turned his lights off. He hadn’t been far from his assigned spot, and now he was ready. Waiting. And northwards, a stream of headlights was approaching, flowing toward town. “They’re in sight,” he reported. “Still a couple klicks out.”
“The feds were watching the compound and are following from a distance,” Kayla said. “The bikers are likely aware of them, but maybe not. You’ll be the first uniformed presence they see.”
“Me and a couple troopers,” Jericho said as two state highway patrol cars pulled up on the opposite side of the road from him and turned around so they were facing the right direction.
“Okay, so you’ve got some backup. Use their radio frequency if you need to coordinate with them. Otherwise, just stay cool. We want the bikers to see you, but that’s it. You’re a silent reminder.”
“We got an idea of how heavily armed the bikers are?”
“Those on bikes aren’t packing too much. Handguns, probably. But they have a couple vans with them.”
Jericho unlocked the M4 from the rifle rack and fit his key into the glove box to find the extra ammunition. The confrontation couldn’t be allowed to come to a shoot-out—if it did, especially in town, he’d have already failed. But there was no sense in being unprepared.
“Most of the businesses around the motel are closed, and we’re evacuating those that aren’t,” Kayla reported. He could tell from the noise in the background that she was at the motel, probably directing traffic. “The feds are with the Chicago crew, those who we know about and who would answer their doors, and they’re working on protective custody, although shockingly, the visitors aren’t too interested. State officials are aware, and we’re getting a helicopter up here. But it’s taking time.”
Great, so the bikers could assault the jail instead of the motel, or even worse, catch the out-of-towners and the deputies all in transit between the two locations. There was nothing wrong with the plan; there just hadn’t been enough time. If the bikers got into town now, they’d catch everyone at their most vulnerable.
The headlights were close, too close. Jericho took a deep breath, then put the cruiser in gear and pulled it across so it partly blocked the road. He turned the flashing lights on and saw the troopers’ surprised faces in the blue and red glow.
“Our orders are to let them pass,” one of the cops yelled out his window. “We’ve got nothing to arrest them on, and we don’t have the manpower to arrest them all anyway.”
“I’m not trying to arrest them,” Jericho shouted back. He got out of the cruiser and walked around to the passenger side, then opened the door and made sure the M4 was on the seat, ready to go. He shouldn’t need it. If he needed it, he was screwed, given the numbers he was facing, and he’d be taking the state cops down with him.
So he had to make sure this didn’t escalate.
The pack had slowed when he turned his lights on, and the first two bikes had stopped now, about thirty feet from the cruiser. Jericho felt naked leaving the relative shelter of its protection, but he made himself do it. He’d started this stupidity, so now he would have to finish it.
“Mike,” he said as casually as he could, nodding to the biker on the left. “Mr. DeMonte,” he added, hoping he was correct as he saluted the other leader. “Sorry for the stop. I was just hoping we could have a quick talk.”
“We’re a little busy at the moment,” Larry DeMonte said dryly.
“I appreciate that, and I’ll try to be quick.” Jericho was close enough now that he wouldn’t have had to raise his voice if it weren’t for the rumbling engines. Close enough that he’d be an easy target if one of the bikers decided to draw on him.
He needed to keep the interaction relaxed, so he forced himself to lower his shoulders. This was a couple of friends having a chat on the road, that was all. “I was just, well, I was just thinking about a conversation Mike and I had the other day. We were talking about how I saw my job, you know? What I thought was important? And the thing I said was most important was protecting locals. I don’t give a good goddamn about out-of-towners, especially the ones who come here hoping for trouble. But I truly do hate the idea of any locals getting caught in the middle of a violent situation. You know?”
“A conversation you and Mike had?” Larry asked, and he didn’t take his eyes off Jericho, which meant Jericho couldn’t look at Mike. Shit. Had Jericho set off another episode in their power struggle? Not a good time.
“Just casual,” Jericho tried. His shoulders were raised again, his legs almost aching with the instinct to run. “We went to school together, you know.”
“I believe I was told about that, yeah.” And finally he broke eye contact, turning to Mike and saying, “But I don’t remember hearing that you two had talked about hopes and dreams and career ambitions.”
“Granger said—” Mike started, but stopped when his uncle raised a hand.
“Under-sheriff Crewe, as I said, we’re busy right now. And none of us are interested in playing your games. Are you going to try to stop us from getting past your car?” Larry spoke as calmly as if he were asking whether the daily special at the diner came with fries.
“No, sir, I have no reason to detain you. But as a courtesy, I was hoping you might let me know where you’re heading. It ties in with that ‘protecting the locals’ idea.”
“We’re not planning to do anything to the locals,” Larry said, with just the slightest stress on the last word. Not enough to make it sound like a threat against anyone, unfortunately. Nor would having grounds for an arrest give Jericho any ability to actually perform an arrest, not with this many bikers to deal with.
“I’m a bit worried about some getting caught in the cross fire.” Jericho realized he was using Wade’s slow, laconic cadence. It was strangely calming, at least until he remembered the damn“Granger said”that had come out of Mike’s mouth before his uncle cut him off. “Is there some way I could help you, maybe? If you let me know what you’re planning, I could try to—try to smooth the path. Try to keep things as low-key as possible.”
Larry gave him a long stare, then said, “We’re just going for a ride, Under-sheriff. I don’t think we need any smoothing for that, do we?”
“Well, there are a lot of you, and it’s dark, so drivers might be less likely to see you, and we all know that in a car versus motorcycle accident, the motorcycle is the one that comes out hurt.” Yeah, he was trying a traffic-safety argument. If he got out of this alive, he’d laugh about it. Maybe. “I could escort you through red lights, if you wanted.”
Larry’s expression was unreadable. “We’re fine on our own, Under-sheriff.”
