Page 14 of Joker's Ghost
Just as Cobra predicted, the morons are hunched over a table in the living room doing lines.
“What the fuck?” They both jump up, toppling the table, leaving a dusting of coke on the wood floor.
“Don’t you know getting high before a job ain’t smart?” Cobra advances, and I nod at Rattler and Mamba. They pull two wooden chairs into the center of the room and slam theNomads into them while Python and Boa duct-tape their wrists behind their backs and their ankles to the legs of the chair.
They’re in their late twenties, one skinny with a long, dark braid down his back, and the other guy has bulk but no muscle.
Cobra eyeballs them as Python retrieves a baseball bat from the closet and swings it wide like a major leaguer. Python loves to swing the damn thing, especially since the Nomads’ eyes are now the size of dinner plates. We all know how this is going to end, but it’ll be up to Cobra as to how.
Cobra waits another few minutes just to make them sweat, then says, “Not a good idea stealing and hijacking a shipment from the Serpents.” He motions to the coke scattered over the floor. “Also not smart letting that shit cloud your judgment.”
“We didn’t know it was yours,” the skinny guy stammers.
“Bullshit!” Python bellows, swinging the bat only inches from their heads.
“No, really, we were just out riding, and we came across this shack with your stash of guns, but we didn’t know it was Serpents territory.”
“More bullshit.” Python slaps the bat against the back of the chair, making both of them jump. “Now, why don’t you start spitting the truth, and maybe we’ll end you fast. Keep up with the bullshit, and this bat is gonna smash you piece by piece.”
Python takes his job as sergeant-at-arms very seriously. You could say the man loves his work.
“What are you doing so far from home?” I still didn’t totally trust the meet with Arrow and Blade. Maybe these two would spill some valuable intel. Nothing like being duct-taped to a chair to bring out all the lies and secrets.
“Just out riding, that’s all.”
“Seven hours from your own territory?” I look at Cobra. “I’m thinking maybe you got in some deep shit with your club, and they sent you down here on a suicide mission.”
The two Nomads look at each other and then back to me.
“I’m also thinking since you were dumb enough to get caught, your club brothers, including your grandfather, threw you to the wolves—or in this case—the Serpents.”
“You talked to Warrior?”
“Yup, and he wasn’t pleased,” Cobra adds. “He would’ve taken your asses out himself, only the Shoshones don’t off their own, right?”
The skinny Nomad zones in on me, his black eyes laser-sharp. “Killing us would be a bad idea.”
Mamba barks out a laugh. “And what the fuck are you gonna do about it?”
Mamba and Rattler exchange some shit talk, but the Nomad focuses on me. “You receive a package yesterday?”
My heart misses a beat, and a cold sweat circles my neck.
“Little package with a black stone?” he adds.
“What about it?”
“It’s a Shoshone warning. A way to redeem yourself before something bad happens to?—”
“Shut the fuck up.” Python lands the bat against the Nomad’s shin, and he screams out.
“Killing us would be a huge mistake for your family,” the Nomad hisses through the pain. “You still have time to stop this, but once we die, the curse begins.”
“Enough of this bullshit.” Cobra motions to Python and Mamba, then orders, “Get this done—now.”
Cobra and Boa head for the door, but I’m glued in place. Ninety percent of my brain knows he’s fucking with me, but the other ten percent is making my palms sweaty and my heart race.
“I’m guessing weird shit is already happening to you,” the Nomad yells. “But once our spirit leaves this world, you can’t stop the curse.”
