Page 90 of Sweet Pea

Sweet Pea

We arrived at the former location of the High Stepper Gentleman’s Club at ten o’ clock sharp to find Wolf and two other Spiders already there. Since sit downs were unarmed, it was tradition to bring lieutenants as backup just in case anything jumped off. So far, both sides appeared to be playing by the rules.

The “Stepper,” as it was known back in the day, was run by a low-level gangster named Arnold “Cliff” Clifford, and was the hottest strip club in Portland. It also served as a neutral meeting ground for rival clubs to hash out disputes without spilling blood. At least it was until Red Dog, one of the founding Saints was beaten to death by a rival club in the parking lot. Our world began to change around that time and the new breed of bikers, like Wolf emerged.

The empty lot where the Stepper used to stand was located near the airport, next to the Red Letter Hotel, whose construction had been halted and abandoned in 2008. The huge lot was sparsely lit and completely exposed on all sides, except the one facing the hotel. It was a good strategic location with high visibility of incoming threats, which is precisely why it was used back in the day. Given its checkered past, I couldn’t tell if Wolf choosing this location was a good or bad sign. Either way, I just wanted to get the feds what they needed and get the fuck out of here.

“You good?” Minus asked.

“A-fuckin’-okay,” I replied

“Remember what Jaxon said. Stick to the script and use the signal if you feel unsafe,” Minus said.

Since I wasn’t wearing a wire, the F.B.I. would not be able to hear anything that was happening during the meeting. I had been instructed to give a hand signal as soon as I had Wolf’s admission, and the team would come in to make the arrest. The problem was, the remote location Wolf chose meant the team had to park at a distance that would take them at least thirty seconds to reach us. This meant I had to give the signal without tipping off Wolf and hope the incoming arrest team didn’t spook him or his goons. If Wolf caught wind of the operation, I’d only have Taxi to serve as my backup, and I had no idea if he’d be any help at all.

“What’s to feel unsafe about?” I joked.

“I mean it, Pea. Give the signal if you feel like shit’s goin’ sideways. Even if you don’t have the recording. You hear me?”

“None of this means shit unless the feds get what they want,” I said.

“You ready?” Clutch asked.

I nodded and said, “Time to roll the bride down the aisle.”

Minus and Clutch stepped out and opened the side door before the van’s automatic wheelchair lift lowered me to the ground. I had just enough meds in me to keep from being in agony while still staying as lucid as possible. I was weak as fuck, and if Wolf were to make a move on me, there was little I could do about it. Tonight, I’d have to beat him with my brains instead of my fists, and hope the plan worked.

“Looks like the stories of your death may not have been that exaggerated after all,” Wolf bellowed as we approached. “You look like a sack of shit.”

“A one-ton sucker punch tends to do that to a person,” I said.

“You’d know,” Wolf snapped. “You’re the sucker-punch expert.”

“Is that what this is all about? Did I hurt your feelings when I hit you for betraying our club?”

“Is clocking me how you earned that?” Wolf asked, pointing to my Road Captain patch. “Your kutte goes great with that hospital gown by the way.”

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