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The man continued to thrash about, flopping like his life depended on it.
“Maybe we ought to poke some breathing holes in that tape, huh?”
“Unless we’re tryin’ to kill him,” I responded.
“Still got that pen?”
“Where’s yours?”
He shrugged. “I dunno.”
I pressed my hands to my pockets, realized I didn’t have my pen, and then remembered it was still in the key switch of the Softail in the garage. “It’s in the fuckin’ garage. Be right back.”
I sauntered to the garage, retrieved the pen, and returned. Pee Bee was standing over the man with his arms crossed, staring down at him.
He nodded toward the motionless man and shrugged. “He quit.”
“Quit what?”
He pressed the sole of his boot into the man’s hips, pushing him across the floor a few inches. “Moving.”
“How long’s it been?”
He narrowed his eyes and stared back at me. “How long’s what been?”
I knelt down, poked two holes in the tape where I expected his nostrils to be, and waited. “Since he fuckin’ moved.”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Fucker was floppin’ when you went to get the pen, then he just stopped.”
I took his pulse.
Nothing.
I sighed. “Fucker’s dead.”
He returned a stare of disbelief. “Are you kiddin’ me?”
“Nope.” I shook my head and stood up. “Dead as fuck.”
The plan was to steal the two motorcycles as payback for what Satan’s Savages had done. I was a firm believer in an eye for an eye. A theft on their part deserved a theft in return. Murder wasn’t out of the question, but it definitely wasn’t something I had planned on when Stretch dropped us off.
I cleared my throat. “Gonna call Stretch and have him drive around to the block west of here. The way we came in. We’re gonna toss this prick in the back of the truck and haul him to the shop.”
“Why don’t we just leave him here?”
“His dead ass is proof we committed murder. If we take him, it might be a couple of days before Whip calls it in, and even then, it’ll just be a missing person report. See if you can find his cell phone, we’ll take it, too. And we’ll need to wipe this place down, anywhere and anything we touched.”
“Got it.”
“And we’re leaving the bikes,” I said.
“What the fuck for?” he snapped. “We need some get back for what these bastards did.”
“If we take ‘em now, it’ll sure look to Whip like it was the work of the Fuckers. If we take the dead guy and leave the bikes, Whip ain’t gonna suspect shit. And I think killin’ Whip’s brother is enough get back for stealin’ a bike.”
He nodded. “Good call.”
I grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom and wiped down the bikes, door handles, the garage door, and the bathroom. After convincing ourselves the entire place was free of our fingerprints, I pocketed the dead man’s cell phone and grabbed the baseball bat.
