Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

The cab of Brandenburg’s truck rumbled as they traveled westward along a county dirt road, the sun glaring off the side-view mirror into Wolf’s eyes.

“I read you were sheriff down there, but now you’re the chief detective?” Brandenburg looked over at Wolf.

“That’s right.”

Wolf sipped his coffee from the paper cup, enjoying the cinnamon notes of a foreign blend, looking out the spotless window of Brandenburg’s department-issued Ford truck at passing trees. The sheriff kept the interior of his vehicle clean. A car air freshener dangled off the center shifter, filling the cab with a pleasant scent. Wolf had been in much worse vehicle interiors before.

“What happened there?”

Wolf kept his eyes on the passing forest. “I got beat in the election when the counties merged.”

“But…I’m talking after that. You had another stint as sheriff, didn’t you? ”

“They appointed me when MacLean decided to leave. I decided not to run when the elections came up the following year.”

“Ah.” Brandenburg adjusted his rearview mirror. “You must really not like being sheriff.”

Wolf smiled. “Nope. No offense, of course. It’s not my calling. It’s probably a lot less political up here. Or is it?”

“I don’t have much opposition with the county personnel. We all tend to get along.”

“Lucky you.” Wolf took a sip from his cup.

“You grow up in Rocky Points?” Brandenburg asked.

“Yeah. You from here?”

“Born and raised down in Craig. Had a stint after the academy in Southern California, but that didn’t last. Too hectic. I wanted to move back home, so when they were hiring here in ’92, I jumped at it. Been here ever since.”

Rumbling stuffed Wolf’s ears as they traveled over a section of washboard dirt.

When the road smoothed out, Wolf asked, “You were hired by this man, Aldridge?”

“That’s right.”

“What happened to him?” The night before, he’d done some Googling on Doyle and come across an old article about the former sheriff’s memorial service.

“The man liked his whiskey and cigarettes,” Brandenburg said. “That’s what happened to him. I think he’d tell you he had a long, full life. His wife passed ten or so years prior, and he was always one foot out the door after that.”

Gravel pinged off the bottom of the truck. There were puddles and potholes, with the occasional large rock jutting up from the ground .

“Not exactly good roads for motorcycles,” Wolf said.

“That’s what I always say.” Brandenburg shook his head. “And if it’s raining, it gets muddy and dangerous. That’s how my cousin shattered his hip, falling on his hog on a dirt road in the rain. You ever ride motorcycles?”

“Not really.”

“I used to have myself a Wide Glide…”

For the first time, Wolf realized the man was talking with nervous energy like soldiers often do when heading into battle. He looked over and watched him talk. Sweat ran down the side of his face, his eyes glued ahead.

“…but I could never justify having it after that. Just too much hassle.”

Brandenburg went silent as they drove through a narrow canyon of trees and emerged into a clearing, this one the biggest so far. Mountains rose three hundred and sixty degrees off the horizon.

A side road ahead cut up the mountain to the right, disappearing into the trees. Way up high, almost at the top, a set of rooftops poked out of the woods.

“Yep, that’s it,” Brandenburg said.

They slowed and turned, the truck bouncing through a rut as they started up the hill.

The road started out flat, then climbed and turned left, punching back into dense woods. Just before entering the forest, two trucks came into view.

Brandenburg let off the gas. “What’s this?”

Each behemoth of a truck was parked on opposite sides of the road, creating a pinch-point they would have to drive through. As they rolled closer, two men armed with rifles across their chests and holsters on their thighs climbed down from open tailgates to the gravel .

“Welcome to the Sons of the Void compound,” Brandenburg said quietly. “They’re normally not down here like this, though.”

Wolf remained silent, feeling the adrenaline pump up his heart rate.

One of the bikers, heavily muscled and tattooed, had a bald head tanned the color of tobacco spit. He wore leather and denim, sunglasses covering his eyes. The other man was considerably thinner, with a head of long hair, also wearing a pair of sunglasses.

The long-haired guy put up a hand, and Brandenburg slowed his truck to a stop.

“Is this private land we’re on?” Wolf asked.

“Yes. Starting at the turnoff down the hill. Like I said, they have a hundred or so acres.”

Wolf unclipped his seatbelt. “Well. I guess this is our stop, then.” He opened the door and stepped down onto the gravel.

Brandenburg shut off the engine, meeting Wolf at the front bumper and facing the bikers, who now stood twenty paces away.

“This is private land,” the long-haired biker said.

“Hey there,” Wolf said. “How’s it going?”

“You’re trespassing on private land,” the man said. “Please turn around and vacate the premises.”

“We’d like to talk to Snake,” Brandenburg said. “Is he around?”

Wolf scanned the forest next to him, his eyes stopping on a camera mounted high up a pine tree. It was painted brown to blend seamlessly into the bark of the wood. A tuft of fake pine needles sprouted from its housing. A few minutes earlier or later, he would have missed the light glinting off the lens.

“…so you can turn around.” The bigger of the two men were talking now. “We’re not buying any Girl Scout cookies today, gentlemen. Goodbye.”

Brandenburg turned to Wolf, hands upturned. “I don’t know what we can do here.”

“Who’s Snake?” Wolf asked him.

“He’s the leader. When he’s around.”

“I wasn’t listening. Is he here?”

“Yeah. But they said he’s not seeing anybody. You’re not listening? What are you doing?”

Wolf turned to the two men. “We need to see Snake.”

The bald guy took off his sunglasses and propped them on his head. “Maybe you’re deaf. We just told him, who just told you, we’re not taking visitors today.”

“My name is David Wolf. I’m chief detective down in Sluice-Byron County. Two days ago, we found two of your brothers shot and killed down near Ashland. We know they were Sons of the Void members.”

The two men said nothing.

“That’s two killings down in my county to add to the four you guys had up here,” Wolf said. “We’re in an emergency situation. Would you not agree to that?”

The men remained silent.

“I’d say so,” Wolf said, answering his own question. “We have a killer on the loose. Public safety is at risk. Which means we’re going to have to confiscate any and all footage from your cameras.” Wolf pointed up the tree.

The two men stared back at him like he was a talking elk.

“Right now,” Wolf said .

“You need a warrant for that,” Bald-Guy said.

“No, we don’t.”

Brandenburg cleared his throat but offered no words.

A blast of static came from one of the trucks' open windows, and the bald guy turned away, plucking a radio from his hip. When he turned his back, he displayed a patch sewn onto the leather vest he wore—an insignia of a skull with fire and a bleeding bullet hole in the center of its forehead and the arched words reading Sons of the Void. He spoke into the handset and, a moment later, turned back around. He said something to the longhair guy, and they both split, walking back toward their respective trucks.

“What’s going on?” Brandenburg asked under his breath.

The two men climbed up onto their tailgates.

“He’ll be down in a minute,” Bald-Guy said.

Wolf scanned the edge of the trees some more and thought he spotted another camera overlooking the road about fifty yards beyond the trucks. He couldn’t be sure without getting closer.

Brandenburg spat on the ground. His chest rose and fell quickly.

“What’s this guy’s name?” Wolf asked.

“Snake.”

“That’s his real name?”

Brandenburg opened his mouth to respond but stopped when, high up the mountain, they heard a Harley-Davidson firing up. It revved sporadically at first and then let out an angry blast of noise as it shifted through the first three gears.

“His name?” Wolf said.

“Huh? Oh. I don’t know his real name. Listen, Wolf. You don’t want to antagonize this guy. They don’t call these guys one-percenters for nothing. They don’t respect the law like 99 percent of the rest of us.”

“Sounds like they respected you when they called for an ambulance the other night,” Wolf said.

Brandenburg remained silent, turning his gaze up the road.

Wolf looked as well, focusing on a right turn that emerged out of the trees two hundred yards beyond the trucks.

The engine noise grew louder until a motorcycle came around the bend, going suicidally fast. Sliding on both tires, the motor revving high, the biker wavered to the edge of the road, his rear wheel almost overhanging a drainage trench. The pitch of the pipes changed, and the biker righted himself, centered the motorcycle on the road, and began accelerating.

“Jesus,” Brandenburg said, shuffling in place.

Wolf watched, listening as the bike revved higher still, continuing straight at them. At a hundred yards out, it had to be going sixty or seventy miles per hour. Another fifty yards, a blink of an eye later, and it was going faster. No way it was going to be able to stop in time, gravel or not.

“Shit!” Brandenburg stumbled backward, then fell down on his back side.

Wolf remained where he was, crouching to jump either way. The logical part of his brain told him there was no way this guy was looking to kill two cops.

And then the biker drifted sideways a few degrees, and it was clear there would be no collision, just a psychotic flyby at top speed.

The noise rose to a deafening roar and then punched Wolf’s eardrums as the bike passed. Wind laced with pebbles and dust whipped over him as he shut his eyes, ducking against the onslaught.

He spun on his heel. Brandenburg picked himself up off the ground, spitting dust.

“You alright?” Wolf held out a hand and helped him up.

“Yeah, yeah.” Brandenburg patted himself off. “Damn it. God damned psycho.”

“Who was that?” Wolf asked.

“That’s him. Snake.”

Snake was in the process of downshifting through all the gears as he rounded the bend behind them. A few seconds later, slowing to a crawl, he turned around and came back their way.

Safely on the far side of Brandenburg’s truck, they stood by the bumper and watched as Snake drove back toward them at a leisurely pace.

The apparent leader of the local Sons of the Void compound was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, with muscular arms painted dark in tattoos. Every inch of skin from chin down was covered in serpents: scales, fangs, and coiled bodies.

Snake rolled past and parked between the guard trucks. He put down the kickstand, stepped off the bike, turned, and began walking toward them in one impressive motion.

He was pure muscle under the tattoos, his limbs moving easily and powerfully. He raised a pair of sunglasses showing eyes the color of steel, and his gaze locked on Wolf. Without slowing, he walked all the way to Wolf and stopped a few inches short.

Wolf remained still, taking in the scent of cigarettes and hard liquor coming off the man .

“Snake, I take it?” Wolf asked.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Detective David Wolf. Sluice-Byron County. We found two of your men down in Ashland.”

Snake’s eyes remained still.

“Benny Cruz and Jack Whitcomb. Benny was riding his brother’s bike, which was registered here.” Wolf shrugged. “So, here we are.”

Snake’s tongue ran over his teeth beneath his closed lips. His eyes still latched onto Wolf’s. The man hadn’t blinked yet.

Wolf continued. “We found a duffle bag and a GPS unit that had been smashed. Our forensic team found money fibers inside the bag. It’s clear this guy stole some money from you guys, and you went after him, but he got the jump on your two men.”

Snake said nothing.

“Who is he?” Wolf asked.

Snake looked to Brandenburg, then back to Wolf, but still remained silent.

“Okay, then we’ll need the footage from your security cameras from the night of the shooting here.”

“You can’t do that,” Snake said. His voice was low and menacing. “We have Fourth Amendment rights against unreasonable search and seizure.”

“We have four people murdered in cold blood right here on this property, another two down south in my county. The killer in question is at large and a danger to the public. This is an emergency circumstance in which I have the right to seize your surveillance footage so we can do our job in protecting the citizenry.”

Snake’s lip curled into a snarl, and his eyes telegraphed violent thoughts. He let his gaze probe Wolf’s face, a scientist looking at a skull specimen.

“I tell you what,” Wolf said. “You can refuse, and we’ll come back with an FBI search team and a warrant. I can see that camera right there, hanging on the tree. I can see another one up the road on that tree.” Wolf pointed. “Either get us the footage we need, something that shows exactly who this guy was and what vehicle he was driving, right now, or we’ll be back with that warrant. Then we’ll do a thorough search of the premises, and we’ll take what we need.” Wolf shrugged. “And maybe we’ll find a few other interesting things in the meantime.”

Snake smiled wider now, and then he stepped away. He walked backward, pointing at Wolf. “I like this guy! This guy’s got some balls!” He snapped his fingers, pointing at Brandenburg. “You see how a real cop acts, there, pudgy? You see that?”

“We don’t want any trouble, Snake,” Brandenburg said.

“Trouble?” Snake stopped. “You ever get any trouble from us, Mr. Sheriff?”

Brandenburg shook his head.

“That’s right.” Snake grinned, showing yellow, tobacco-stained teeth. “We’re model citizens up here. We’re squeaky clean, isn’t that right?”

Brandenburg looked down at the road and folded his arms.

Snake dropped the fake smile and looked at Wolf. “Okay, pigs. You two sit tight. We’ll get you your footage.”

“Thank you,” Wolf said.

“You’re welcome. Now, don’t you say I never did anything for you!” He walked away in good cheer. “Don’t you forget it! I sure won’t! ”

The bike fired up as he swung a leg over, sounding like an AK-47 on full auto. He revved twice, kicked up the stand, and cranked the throttle. The motorcycle remained in place, spitting gravel back at Wolf and Brandenburg.

They turned around against the onslaught of needle-like projections. A few larger rocks hit Wolf in the back of his legs.

Snake rode away at the same speed he came in.

Wolf and Brandenburg went back to the truck and climbed inside. It was warm and smelled of the coffee they’d left in the cupholders.

“I tell you what, I’ve had just about enough of you Rocky Points assholes.” Brandenburg fumbled with his seatbelt, let it go, slapped his thighs, and then sat back, closing his eyes. A considerable amount of sweat clotted the hair at his temples. “You guys don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

Wolf smiled. “I guess not.”

“You think that’s funny? I don’t need this type of shit happening right now.”

Wolf could have said a lot at that moment but decided not to. The man was obviously worked up and needed to cool off.

They spent the next thirty minutes in tense silence, sitting in the same spot in the center of the road, listening to country music coming out of the speakers. The windows were down, letting in warm breezes from outside, smelling of pine and dust.

The two sentinels sat outside on lawn chairs in their truck beds, unmoving, sunglasses reflecting the forest. Finally, one of them picked up a radio and said something into it.

“Looks like something’s happening,” Wolf said .

Brandenburg grunted.

The man talked some more into the handset, and then a few minutes later, a motorcycle fired up somewhere high on the mountain. The sound grew louder until a bike came around the bend ahead. It was going much slower this time, at a sane speed, and as the man drew near, it was clear it was not Snake but somebody else.

“You recognize this guy?” Wolf asked.

“Nope.”

“Got my back?” Wolf asked, opening the door.

Brandenburg grunted again, opening his as well.

Wolf walked to the front bumper and waited patiently as the man came up, slowed, and swung in a half-circle in front of him, stopping the motorcycle a few feet away. The man wore mirrored sunglasses the color of fire. He had a beard that hung down to the gas tank. He reached into a vest pocket, produced a USB drive, and handed it over to Wolf.

Wolf nodded his thanks, and he and Brandenburg got back in the truck.

“About time,” Brandenburg said, putting on his seatbelt. He turned on the engine, reversed, and turned around. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

A few seconds later, they were coasting down the road back toward Doyle.

Wolf looked in the passenger’s side-view mirror and caught the three men huddled in the road, watching them leave.

“That better be some damn good footage,” Brandenburg said.

Wolf frowned, looking at the sheriff, wondering why the man had such an aversion to doing his job .

Twirling the thumb drive in his fingers, Wolf looked down at the tiny device and saw a skull and crossbones drawn in red ink on one of the sides.

“What?” Brandenburg asked.

“Nothing.” Wolf slipped it into his pocket and settled back in the seat.