Page 12 of Retribution
CHAPTER SIX
Cobra
Cobra stood infront of the motel dumpster because it had the best vantage point of the place. Nothing could be left to chance, even if he was back in Steel Devils’ territory and the brothers had the place on lock. His attention hovered over the parking lot as he clamped the phone to his ear.
Cobra heard a rustling then breathing with laughter faint in the background. “Yeah?” he said.
“Fuck, dude. How’re things?” He heard the familiar baritone of the Steel Devils’ president.
“Not too bad.”
“Where the fuck are you?” Grinder asked.
“Philipsburg.”
“How long you been there?”
“Couple of months.”
“And you’ve waited this long to call. Fuck, man.” The connection crackled. “You talkin’ outside?”
“Yeah,” Cobra replied.
“The connection’s shitty.”
“Yeah.”
“We’re havin’ a party on Saturday. Satan’s Legions are gonna be there. When’s the last time you saw any of them?”
“Sturgis, I think.”
“Fuck … has it been that long?” Grinder asked.
“Yeah.”
“So get your ass to Missoula and party with us.”
Cobra swallowed and his mouth went down into a frown. He’d been pushing away from the MC for a while now—going nomad and making his own way in the world—but now with whatever the hell was happening with this drug situation, he had to drag in the other guys for a little gab session.
No point in wasting time on small talk.
“Can’t make it. You’ve got outside sellers in your territory, Prez. I knocked a few heads together earlier today. I caught them trying to date rape a girl at Duffy’s and they were using Liquid X. The pussies gave up their source after a couple of blows. The head honcho is a dude who goes by the name of Big Pat. Ring any bells?”
“Fucking hell,” Grinder breathed out.
Cobra could just imagine him lighting a hand rolled joint and taking a long drag.
“You’re sure that was the sonofabitch’s name?” Grinder asked.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t forget such a fuckin’ lame moniker.”
There was breathing on the line, and then Grinder said, “Thanks for letting me know, bro. It’s been like chasing fuckin’ rats around a maze, trying to herd these new fuckers who keep cropping up. We got a handle on it in Missoula, but some of the other towns in the area are so damn vulnerable. There’s no fuckin’ way we’re gonna let this asshole sell on our turf. We ran the fucker outta Lolo, and now he’s set up shop in Philipsburg?”
“You’ve gotten soft, Grinder. You shoulda exterminated him.”
The president’s raspy chuckle seeped through the line. “We need you back, dude. You’re the only enforcer this club’s ever had who never batted an eye when he took someone out.”
“I’m just surprised you let the fucker go.” A brown spider scurried across the pavement, crossing in front of Cobra, and he squashed it with the toe of his boot.
