Ink could go down for it alone. No way would L.J. be caught with him, not if he could help it.
Once he’d made that decision, L.J.’s path seemed so ridiculously obvious he almost couldn’t believe he hadn’t broken away from Ink sooner. He’d leave his old cellie; Ink would never know where he’d gone. Then he wouldn’t be tied to this nightmare, this…this violent nut job. After the gunfight that had just occurred, Ink wouldn’t make it till morning before they dragged his ass off to jail.
Picking up speed, L.J. put more distance between them. But it wasn’t that much easier for him to run. He’d been shot in the left shoulder. He had no idea how bad his injury was, but he knew it hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced before. Pain radiated through his whole chest, and blood flowed down the front of his shirt, causing the fabric to stick to him. With his luck, he’d lose too much blood and be unable to continue moving at all. Then Ink would catch up and kill him for trying to get away. He was already making guttural threats as loudly as he dared.
“You leave me behind, you little prick, and I’ll kill you. I swear to God I will. If I have to hunt you across the entire country, I’ll be there someday when you least expect it.”
Those words terrified L.J., which only made him run faster. He’d seen what Ink could do, how casually and carelessly he killed whoever stood in his way. Ink was so twisted he made L.J., who’d always been the badass of his neighborhood, feel like a choirboy.
He wanted to turn around and scream, “You can eat shit and die, sucker!” and continue charging through the forest. But as they left the highway behind, with all those headlights zipping past, it was getting too dark to see. There was no telling what he might run or fall into; his legs were already wobbling.
Besides all that, Ink had the keys to the truck, and the truck was an absolute necessity. They couldn’t escape on foot. Even if the cops didn’t find them, they couldn’t travel fast enough, wouldn’t have enough food and water to reach a safe place, especially with him bleeding all over. It wasn’t as if they could stumble into a gas station and ask to use the bathroom so he could clean up, or go to a hospital. Their future well-being hung on getting to the truck before the police discovered it, and driving to their cabin where they’d have the privacy to recuperate and live until everything went back to normal.
Ink had him again. If he kept running, he’d probably die in the forest. Or the police would find him and send him back to prison. His only real hope was to head to the truck with Ink and try to reach the cabin.
Slowing to a stop, he bent over to catch his breath. The air rattled painfully in his lungs, and his heart pounded. It seemed to vibrate through his entire body, which shook uncontrollably.
“What the…hell were…you thinking?” Ink said as he came scraping up from behind. “You thought…you could…leave…my ass?”
He’d been thinking he’d risk almost anything to do just that. But this was not the time. “I wanted—” he dragged some air into his lungs “—to get farther…from the…the cops.” He felt for the hole in his shoulder, found a small circle below his collarbone. “I’ve been…shot. Don’t know how long…I’ll be able to…keep running.”
Ink was gasping, too, but this seemed to pacify him. “You were…hit? Where?”
“Shoulder.”
Ink gave no indication whether that mattered to him or not. He grabbed L.J. by the back of the shirt and shoved him forward. “We have…to keep moving.”
Dizziness threatened to overwhelm L.J. Even worse, the darkness of the surrounding forest suddenly seemed too forbidding, too impenetrable. He felt as if his feet were five times their normal size. He could hardly move. He wanted to lie down, to somehow rid himself of the anvil crushing his chest.
“Do you…know where…we’re at?” Because he didn’t. He couldn’t remember. He could only feel the pain.
“Yeah. Truck’s not…far,” Ink said, “Get going,” and gave him another push.
It was a nine millimeter, not the most powerful gun around, but that was the best Rex’s friend could do on such short notice. And it could certainly be lethal, especially at close range. A nine millimeter wasn’t going to stop someone as big as Horse, not unless Virgil hit him in just the right place. And it wouldn’t be worth much if he wound up facing an army.
As he drove the car he’d rented at the airport past Horse’s illegal club on sixtieth and Vermont, Virgil hoped he wouldn’t have to confront The Crew en masse, but it didn’t look promising. Although he’d hoped to arrive early, before the nightly activities really got under way, he’d spent too long getting here. He’d had to pick up the car, rendezvous with Rex’s friend, who’d taken him to meet another friend, and buy the gun. Then he’d messed around trying to get a silencer, to no avail. And after that, he’d had an hour’s drive on freeways that were almost as congested at night as they were during the day.
Already the club was packed. Cars, trucks and motorcycles lined both sides of the street; groups, mostly men with a few hookers thrown in, congregated on the sidewalks, some smoking weed, some buying harder drugs. Inside, he knew he’d find rooms where these men could take the girls for just about any activity they chose, including a gang bang. There’d be slot machines and other types of gambling, gun sales, whatever a guy could want.
He’d called Rex a few minutes ago, reaching him as he was going into the hospital, and gotten Mona’s number. She was still cliqued up with The Crew, still one of them. But she liked Rex, and Rex trusted her. Virgil hoped to God he could trust her, too, because she’d agreed to be his eyes and ears tonight. According to her last text, he’d beaten her to the club, but when she eventually showed up she was supposed to scope out the place, report on who was inside, who else they were expecting, what they were doing, where Horse was and when Virgil might have an opportunity to get him alone.
His plan, simple though it was, sounded feasible in theory. But Virgil couldn’t be sure Mona would provide reliable information. She could get high and forget the whole damn thing. He also had no guarantee she’d want the money he offered more than what Horse might provide if she turned on him instead. She could decide to tell Horse he was sitting outside, lure him right into a trap.
Trusting her was a high-risk venture. But he had to trust someone. Without intel, he’d have no chance whatsoever.