Out West chapter 8


Charming, California

Five days had past since the Indian Hills Attack. The sun would rise within the hour.

Olivia Evans sat on the bench tables near the boxing ring, smoking a joint to ease to the pain. To her relief, Tig had been able to buy a whole kilo of Nine Lives. It was of the Indica variety, which was calming, sedating and relaxing.

She hadn't survived through an abusive relationship and uprooting her life to move across the pond to end up a fucking oxy junkie.

To her surprise, Shelby, the Sgt. for the HCMC Bakersfield charter, and two other Hell Cats had made the trek to deliver the goods and solicit a request.

"We have three big rigs in need of fresh rims. Can you help us out?" She had asked Olivia. Olvia had called Clay out, and Shelby asked him the same question.

She had been around long enough to know what that meant. That all three charters of the Hell Cats needed AKs.

Clay used Shelby's phone to call Sabrina, and gave her the update she wanted. A natural businessman, he had gotten La Madrina to stand down for a few more days with the promise she would be the first one he'd call when the Vipers were found.

Apart from that, Oliva had spent her time recovering from the gunshot, and had praised Shelby and the Hell Cats for their amazing weed.

"You're starting to look like a Cali Hippie, Liv. It's a good look for you."

Olivia turned to see Jax approaching her, "Get your own joint, Jax. You're not so charming or silver tongued that you could get whatever you want from a woman whenever you want."

"The memory of us on the pool table and your legs wrapped around me says different."

"Yeah. Speaking of that, how did it feel to walk in on Tig buggering your new slag right after he got out of prison?"

Jax mockingly held a hand to his heart, "You're killing me, Liv. That scarred me for life."

"Turn about is fair play."


Las Vegas, Nevada

Coyote and Cricket had already received their new motorcycles and they wasted no time in breaking them in. Coyote's Road King was minimalist and dark black with T bar handlebars and highway bars. Cricket's Fat Boy was dark red and chrome accents, which included the chromed ape hangers.

On the fifth day, Cricket received a call from a local Vegas attorney. She'd been asked to receive her father's last will and testament. To her surprise, Coyote was also asked to come, as his name had been added to it, the day before the attack happened.

The lawyer introduced herself as Amelia Boca, and was SAMVEN's attorney. She started the meeting off with, "Ms. Perez, you have my deepest condolences for your father. He was a good man."

Cricket only gave a thin smile in response.

She pulled out the needed paperwork, and said, "All you have to do is sign on the dotted lines."

They did in silence, and Coyote finally asked, "What did he leave us?"

"To you, Mr. Cortez," she began, looking it over, "He left his sizeable gun collection, save for the ones he already promised his daughter."

She handed them both the lists, and both of their eyes widened at the amount of guns he'd left. The one listed that caught Cricket's eye was the Desert Eagle, in 50 Action Express. It reminded her of Palma and the Mojave trip during her Prospecting period.

"Those are at the SAMVEN clubhouse. And there are a few other items of interest as well."

She pulled out a pair of manila envelopes and handed one to Coyote, and the other to Cricket, "It was a personal request to give you these."

"What is it?" asked Coyote.

"I have no idea. He only asked me to hold on to them for safe keeping," She got up, and with a large duffel bag, and walked around her desk and handed it to Cricket, "There's also the matter of your inheritance, Ms. Perez."

She opened it immediately, to be face with stacks of money, wrapped in airtight cellophane.

"One hundred thousand dollars exactly. It's already been laundered," Boca sighed and continued, "It doesn't come close to compensating what you lost."

"No. It doesn't," Cricket said in an even voice.

Before Cricket could start crying...again, Coyote asked, "Is there anything else?"

"No. And again, I am very sorry for your loss. Rodrigo was a dear friend of mine," Boca looked to Cricket and said, "He talked about you all the time. And he was very proud of the woman you had become."


Pahrump, Nevada

The border town of Pahrump was small and unassuming. It was the ideal place for Felix Garcia to meet with Marcus Alvarez. They didn't come alone, as they each had six men each with them.

Pleasantries weren't overlooked in spite of everything that had happened, and they were both leaned against a Lexus, smoking cigars.

"What did you find out from Galindo?" asked Marcus.

"Someone in his organization was blinded by greed and ambition. Roberto Cadena. He made a full confession to my colleague from New Mexico and myself," Felix replied. And if everything panned out right, he'd be dead within minutes of the Vipers being wiped out.

"Do you know where the Vipers are hiding, Felix?" asked Marcus, blowing out a puff of smoke, "There are a lot of people calling for their heads. I know you're one of them."

"I'm being thorough, Marcus. When I spoke with Jose, I had my suspicions," Felix began, looking to the Mayan, "But what I feel, and what I can prove are two very different things.

"What do you suspect?"

"One can't serve two masters. Someone clearly believes this to be true and will do anything to make this truth evident."

"Does this person have a name?" Marcus asked.

Felix sighed. "Until I have enough to put him down, he has no name." There was so much he wanted to say. But if he made any accusations, he needed to have proof to back them up. So, changing the subject, he asked, "When are the funerals?"

"In two days."

"Three days from now, I'll have a wake for all four clubs. Meet at the campgrounds of Yosemite National Park," Felix said, "You'll have the grounds for two days, fully catered and paid for. Compliments of Jose."

"Thank you, Felix. I'll let the others know."

Before Marcus could leave, Felix asked, "Marcus...what do you know about Devante Cano?"


Las Vegas, Nevada

It took everything in Cricket to hold to hold it together on the ride back. And the minute they were inside, she buried her face in Coyote's chest and cried, unleashing everything she had pent up inside her.

About an hour later, they had fallen asleep in his bed. Two hours after that, she slipped out of bed and walked to the kitchen in Coyote's bathrobe. Something had woken her up. The smell of freshly rolled weed.

She hadn't rolled anything.

"Don't soil your panties, hermana. It's not the first time I smoked the mota."

Sitting at the table was Palma, with a blunt the size of a Cohiba cigar.

"Palma, how are you...?"

"Queirda, it'll take a lot more than being dead to stop me from bossing you around," Palma replied, blowing a cloud of smoke at Cricket, "It's the life we chose. I'm sorry you had to learn it this way."

"I thought we'd grow old together. You, me, Chayo and Mariposa riding the roads together, in the club for life."

Palma's ghost was quiet for a few seconds, before she started laughing.

"Save that bullshit for your man. Coyote's the one who will buy that, not me." Then she stopped laughing, "I think we both know what has to come next."

Cricket nodded, "Yeah. I do."

Palma leaned in close, and said, "When the time comes, don't flinch."

Without another word, she vanished into thin air.


A/n: Coming next: Three funerals and a clandestine meeting.