Chase drove the Chevy Impala station wagon out of the town of Sprague, population 110. The town’s business district consisted of five buildings, three on the main street, the other two sitting on two adjacent corners. The hub of community activity took place at The Saloon, where the locals jawed about the war being fought in Vietnam. Bob, the owner of the tavern, had a black and white TV just beyond the bar, and the moment a news announcer came on its screen, patrons would listen to reports about the war taking place thousands of miles away.
Chase said, “George Kramer, Rusty Hicks, and Hob Nash all had sons drafted into that war. George and Rusty were proud fathers, too, bragging up their sons fighting for the US Marine Corp. Hob, however, does not condone a war that has nothing to do with America. He was not pleased that his son was being made to serve in the jungles of an Asian country. Thirty-thousand lives so far, and for what?”
Chase gunned the old wagon. The rolling farm fields passed by in a blur. With summer fast approaching, those fields were dotted with farmers planting seeds on their John Deere tractors. Chase passed by the place of the accident. The school bus had been hauled away and someone had hauled Jack Holland’s mangled Harley out of the ditch. Rain figured that the Den took it so that someone could repair the damaged beast. Five miles down the road they passed by the Bluestem, a favorite fishing spot for most locals. Rain and Jessie had camped out there many weekends during summer breaks. The lake made Rain think of his little brother. “You should have seen Jessie, Dad. He hardly cried at all with that bone sticking out of his arm. It must have hurt him something awful, but Jessie sucked it up.”
Chase glanced over at Jessie. “I want you to be honest with me, son. Big Mike locked Ben up in jail for driving intoxicated—”
“No, Dad!” snapped Rain. “It was Jack Holland who caused that wreck! Ben lost control when he tried to avoid running him over! Jack attacked Ben with a knife. Before he disappeared in Miller’s field, he poured whiskey all over Ben to make it smell like he’d been drinking.”
Chase said, “Keep that truth to yourself. If Jack was to blame, Daws is gonna be gunning for anyone who can testify about what you just told me. Outlaws have enough trouble right now. Hell, one wrong word to the Guardians of Omaha, and the Elder’s Den will crush the Outlaws. Keep quiet about Jack Holland. I know you and Jessie consider Ben your friend. In the past two summers, that Indian taught both of you boys a lot about dogs. But I’ve always thought Ben off balance the way he talks to dogs while breaking them.”
“He doesn’t break them,” Rain said. “He repairs the wild in them, inviting them to reinvent themselves, using powerful medicine to still the whirlwind within them. Oh, I get it. Let the drunk Native take the blame? Because everyone will believe that story! That just ain’t right!”
Chase slowed as he approached the road into town. “Biker protocol demands silence. Ben is facing some serious charges! Motor vehicle homicide. The Morris boy? The one who broke his leg? The bone in his leg pierced his artery and he bled to death!”
Rain felt dizzy. The same sick feeling that overcame him back on the bus when he’d seen Jessie’s bone sticking out of his arm stole up over him. Chase snapped his fingers, causing Rain to lean back in his seat, out of the range of his dad’s fists. Rain admired his little brother then, for Jessie dared getting smacked when he snapped, “What the hell, Dad? Last summer you wanted us to work with Ben, and now you’re refusing to help clear him of any wrongdoing?”
Chase stopped the car in front of their two-story house. Rain climbed out of the car, opening the front door for Jessie, being careful not to bump his cast on the door as he exited the front seat. “Do your chores,” Chase said. “I’m heading to the pit to prepare it for church tonight.”
Rain said, “Dad, could we sit in?”
Chase said, “Church is club business. See to your brother’s meds.”
Chase then drove the car into the driveway, past the Nelson house, and continued down into the wide, open field beyond. As Rain joined him on the porch, Jessie said, “That was ballsy, asking Dad about us attending church, my brother.” When they entered the kitchen they found Molly and six of her pups sprawled on the floor next to Jack Holland, who aimed a .22 pistol down at Molly. Jessie bolted forward, but Rain used one arm to keep him in place. Jessie sobbed as he leaned into Rain for support.
Jack said, “You boys need to keep your mouths shut. Since that Morris kid died, Ben’s gonna be nailed to the wall. It’s you two punks that could sink my ship.”
Rain glanced up over Jack’s shoulder. Jack glanced back, alarmed by the look in Rain’s eyes. It was at that moment that Rain snatched up the cast-iron frying pan from the nearby stove. He brought it around in a full swing, catching Jack in the side of his head with the heavy pan. Jack collapsed in an unconscious heap in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Leading Molly and her pups outside to the front yard, Rain took them over to the barn, placing them in her kennel. He then led Jessie to the field where the council fire burned bright against the night sky. The boys crept along the hedges there blocking them from the view of the crowd in the field. The two managed to remain unseen as they took cover behind a stockade fence. There, only twenty yards from the fire, they found peepholes in the rotten boards of the fence and settled onto their knees to watch and listen as the Outlaws attended church. Chase stood between the fire and the gathering of sixty club members seated in lawn chairs. Chase explained that a cold-blooded psychopath might be stalking them, and Fat Ferg and Bear got into an argument. As the shouting match continued, Chase spoke in cryptic tones that soon resulted in a respectful silence. “There are rumors about this Nomad. Some say he’s a ghost, striking down unruly members of clubs across the country. Others claim he bleeds his victims out, leaving them incapable of moving, while he slowly drains them of blood. The fact is, he is a hired assassin, who has killed over sixty bikers in his career. We don’t need him here.”
He tossed his head like a startled deer as loud thunder came from the road leading into town. Hidden behind the fence, Jessie and Rain peered in alarm at Daws Holland and a dozen bikers coming up the road. Chase came from around the side of the house, not pleased to see members of his rival club rolling up in the street. Daws and his Den members killed their engines. “I am looking for my son,” Daws said.
Chase had just opened his mouth to respond when suddenly from inside the house there came a loud thump. Chase and the rest of the Outlaws wheeled around to see Jack hobbling toward the front screen door, struggling to come outside. He gave one clumsy lurch forward, and he and the screen came exploding out onto the front porch. Daws leaped off his bike and passed through the crowd of Outlaws to reach his son sprawled on the porch. “He broke into the house, Dad!” cried Jessie. “He had a gun! He was going to kill Molly!”
Chase growled, “Is this true, Jack? You threatened to kill their dog?”
Daws and Jack stood frozen as the Outlaws closed a tight circle before them. In desperation, Daws said, “Chase? You best call off the dogs!”
The twelve Elder’s Den placed their kickstands down, preparing to back their president. Things were about to turn ugly. And later the Outlaws would pay the ultimate consequence. If it didn’t happen after this, it would, somewhere down the line. Chase decided to shift the blame for what was going to happen in the near future on him. Only on him.
“Stand down!” he thundered. “Let Daws and Jack walk off that porch!”
Daws sighed in relief. The big golden-haired biker president led his son off the porch and wove his way in between the enraged Outlaws. It was just as the Hollands passed in front of him that Chase reached out and latched onto the front of Jack’s blood-stained T-shirt. Chase struck so fast that Jack found himself landing hard on his back, blood running from his busted nose. Chase then let loose with a flurry of punches that sent Daws catapulting off his feet. He landed heavily, falling on his tailbone and then sprawling flat on his back.
Jack grunted, “You’re gonna pay for this, you cold-hearted bastard!”
To which Chase said, “Yes, I suppose I am.”