Page 51 of Wheelie's Challenge
Tucker laughed again. “Russ gave me ten thousand up front. I can’t believe he gave me that much.”
“Well… dumbasses tend to flock together.” Wheelie went over to the dresser and picked up several plastic cups then took out a bunch of shooters he’d put in the pockets of his leather jacket. Animal and Puck took shots out of their pockets too and handed them to Wheelie.
“What’re you doing?” Tucker asked as Throttle got off him.
“It seems like Wheelie’s taking your offer to kill the sonofabitch,” Throttle said.
Tucker’s lips spread into a wide grin. “Really? That’s great. I never liked Elmore.”
“In true biker fashion, we’ll drink to it with whiskey,” Animal said, still standing on the side next to the bed.
Tucker sat up and rested his back against the headboard. “So, how much are you paying me?”
Wheelie clenched his fists then opened them. “We’ll talk about that after we seal the deal with a few shots of Jack.”
“I can’t believe you guys carry your own shooters around with you. I’ll have to remember that.” Tucked laced his fingers together and put them behind his head, staring at the bikers. “I’m sure glad we could reach an agreement.”
Wheelie sprinkled the crushed pills into the cup and poured three shots of Jack into it, stirring it with his finger. He handed each of his brothers a small plastic bottle and walked over to Tucker.
Reaching out, the hired killer took the cup from Wheelie. “Damn, that’s what I call a shot.”
“Most dudes don’t know shit about drinking whiskey,” Puck said then downed two shooters in quick succession.
As if to show off, Tucker gulped down the drink then grimaced.
“Didn’t you like it?” Wheelie asked, taking the cup from him and placing it on the nightstand. He passed around a plastic bag and each of the brothers threw their empty shooters in it.
“It was bitter as fuck. What was the brand?” Tucker wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Jack Daniels, of course.” Wheelie pulled out a chair and sat. Throttle went over and turned on the television, and the woman with the silicone tits bounced and jiggled as the man with a twelve-inch cock slammed into her. The men laughed, and Throttle sank down in one of the cushy chairs while Smokey, Puck, and Animal sat on the bed.
“It was that big-titted waitress at the diner who told you I was looking for you, wasn’t it?”
“Brenda watches out for us,” Wheelie said, staring at the sweating man.
“That was pretty stupid of you to ask around town without trying to cover your tracks. And you used your real name to register at the motel. Fuckin’ dumb,” Smokey said as he stared at the screen.
After a nervous laugh, Tucker answered, “I thought with a town this size I’d find you easy and already be back in San Diego.”
Puck nodded, his eyes fixed on Tucker. “Yeah… dumber than fuckin’ dirt.”
The tension was palpable: No one was speaking. The only noise in the room was the AC unit humming and the grunts and squeals from the actors in the movie.
Tucker cleared his throat. “Are you guys hot? I mean temperature-wise.” He laughed nervously again as he took the sheet and wiped the perspiration streaming down his face.
“I feel cool,” Wheelie answered, his gaze going over to Throttle. “What about you, bro?”
“It’s perfect in here,” Throttle said.
“I think it’s even on the cold side,” Animal added.
Wheelie looked at the asshole; he was sweating like a pig. He glanced at his phone: 3:30 pm.He should be dead by six thirty or seven.
“I don’t feel so good,” Tucker said, tugging at the front of his T-shirt, which was drenched. “I need a glass of water.” He tried to swing his feet over the side of the bed, but he couldn’t and instead fell back. “What the hell did you put in that drink?” he slurred.
Wheelie just stared at him while the other bikers watched the television. Soon Wheelie noticed Tucker’s breathing was slowing down, and his limp body twitched and jerked on the mattress.
“You going to the club tonight?” Smokey asked Wheelie.
