Brick met the man’s eyes with a hard stare. “I could kill you here and add your body to the pile for disposal. That ain’t gonna do nothin’ but start a war between your people and mine. They’ll just send more men with more guns and more people will die. I aim to avoid that. I give you my word, I’ll get your money. Then we’re through. This club is done runnin’ for you. The men who ran this club before, including my father, are gone. You and I? We have no agreement save for me getting to you what’s yours. You understand?”
Raul ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it back to its slick shape. Brick noticed his hand still trembled, but he looked braver now that he knew he was safe. “I don’t know if that’s possible, amigo, but you get the money to me, I’ll see what I can do.”
A while later, Brick heaved the last dead body unceremoniously in the back of the old truck. Walrus came to his side and placed a hand on Brick’s healthy shoulder. “I’m sorry ’bout your daddy, son. He was a good man to have at your back. I’m sorry he lost his way when your mama passed.”
Brick pressed his lips together and held back another rush of emotion. “I gotta go find Deuce and get him to show me where he hid the money. Then I gotta find Betsey and make sure she’s all right. She’s probably madder ’n hell I ain’t made it to the diner yet.”
“She’ll forgive you. Bet he's gone back to his house to get his stuff and bug out. Start there. Good luck, Brick.”
“You too, Walrus.”
They shook hands and left the clubhouse. Brick watched as Walrus climbed in his ancient truck and drove off, his heavy three-wheeler in the back with the bodies of the dead cartel men. The faint sound of sirens echoed in the distance. Nothing like bullets and blood to get the cops moving fast.
Brick’s back had gone numb, and he was pretty sure the bleeding had stopped. He mounted his bike and disappeared into the night.