Chapter Nine

Daniel Riggs ran a hand through his headful of curly white hair. He still had a full head of it even though he was nearing seventy, the age most men were retiring, moving to Boca Raton, and planning to spend the rest of their years playing golf and chasing pretty young things in short white skirts around the golf course.

Not him. He’d spent his entire life building up the Red Wattle Clan from the ragtag band of a few odd, misfit bikers his father had handed to him into the fiercest bird mafia family in the south. It had cost Daniel everything—his wife, his kids, any semblance of life other than that of a Red Wattle Prime Rooster and Don. Martha and the kids had moved back east to live with her mom thirty years ago. He hadn’t talked to any of them since. None of his progeny wanted anything to do with the Red Wattles, which was fine with him. None of them were strong enough to take the leadership from him anyway. He couldn’t retire even if he wanted to. There was no one to take his place as don. It seemed his life was one long string of disappointments.

First, he’d had high hopes for Rodney, the street rooster he’d brought into the fold. One of the few he’d allowed in without a recommendation from another member. But Rodney had shown himself worthy; he’d fought along side the Red Wattles, did Daniel’s bidding without pause or question, and clawed his way up through the ranks, pecking and spurring all the way to the office of consigliere.

Until that one day when Rodney’s true colors had seeped through the macho fa?ade. The day Rodney kissed him. Kissed him! On the mouth! Rodney’s brown eyes had looked at Daniel with a needy hunger in them that set Daniel’s teeth on edge. How dare he! Well, Daniel had shown him what a don did to a fag hiding in Red Wattle clothing. He was only sorry he’d let Rodney go at the hospital, even though he’d thought for sure Rodney would never survive. He would have much rather watched him die in agony.

Then, later, he'd held hopes for Gideon, his sister’s boy. Against his better judgment, he’d brought Gideon into the Red Wattles at an early age, much younger than any other member had been allowed entrance. Gideon hadn’t even been old enough to drink. But still, Daniel had promoted him up through the ranks quickly. Maybe too quickly, he thought now. Maybe he should have forced Gideon to prove himself before making him capo. Maybe Daniel was too blinded by his own hopes and dreams for a blood successor to see Gideon’s failings.

And fail Gideon had. Miserably.

“Why do you even care about Gideon, boss? I say good riddance to both of them!” Rambo said. “The way we figure it, is Rodney killed Gideon. So what? You were gonna off him anyway, right?”

“Stupido!” Daniel cried and backhanded Rambo across the face. “I have been looking for Rodney for decades! Now that I finally found him, I send my most trusted man, my capo, my blood , to get him and what happens? Either Rodney killed Gideon or converted him into hating the Red Wattles and took him into hiding. If Gideon still breathes, then he is a traitor, worse—he mocks the Red Wattle creed. If he’s dead, then Rodney has robbed me of my right to retribution. Tell me, Rambo, was there any indication that Rodney was not at the rodeo?”

“No, Don Daniel. I guess not. I mean, we didn’t see him or hear anything about him. Are you sure he’s there?”

“I have it on good authority that a one-eyed rooster lives and travels with the rodeo. No rodeo would allow a regular rooster to peck and harry its residents the way this one does. It must be a shifter. How many one-eyed rooster-shifters do you suppose there are?”

“Um… just a few?” Goze said. It earned him a backhand of his own from Daniel that rocked him on his heels.

“One! The answer is only one! Rodney Randall Cogburn is living at that rodeo, and he either is sheltering my no-good nephew, or has killed him. Either way, I want Rodney found! Gather the men. We will go tonight, now, to the rodeo, en masse, all of us, and I want us armed. We will find Rodney, and I will have his ugly one-eyed head mounted to my wall by morning or know the reason why! And if my nephew is found alive, I don’t want him touched—I am the one who will kill him.” Daniel slammed his fist onto his desk. “Go! Gather the members! I want a full contingent when we ride. When we’re done, the only thing left of the Darque and Knight rodeo had better be splinters from the wooden seats in the arena!”

He waited impatiently, chain-smoking and tossing back a few glasses of single malt Scotch until the hum of motors outside the building told him Goze and Rambo had assembled the troops. It’d taken longer than he would’ve liked; the sun was going down. He hadn’t wanted to have this fight in the dark, but he refused to wait another day. The rodeo might break down and bust out of town, and God knew how long it would take for him to hunt it down again.

Not to mention that if Rodney was there and got wind of Goze and Rambo’s visit that day, he might be gone already. If Daniel didn’t have Rodney in his hands by midnight, that meant Rodney was in the wind again, and it might be years—or never—until he was found. Then Daniel’s only comfort would be to have Goze and Rambo’s balls for cufflinks by dawn.

He would not be riding a bike tonight. His bike, a 1951 Vincent White Shadow, was worth nearly half a million and reserved for a few very rare rides. He could have had his pick of a half dozen other cycles, but he felt too nervous, too excited to drive. Tonight, he’d ride in the sedan, chauffeured by Goze. This way, when they captured Rodney, he could sit comfortably in the back seat and torture his victim all the way back to the bar and enjoy every scream of pain along the way. Even better if they found Gideon with him.

Failure didn’t even occur to him. He didn’t get to where he was by failing. He didn’t even consider losing Rodney and Gideon failing… it was more like a postponement of the inevitable. If Gideon was already dead, well, he’d make sure Rodney paid for that death in blood and feathers.

He walked outside and to the car where Goze was dutifully waiting with the rear door open, and slipped inside the Mercedes. It was a lush car with plump leather seats, a newer model that hadn’t yet lost its new-car smell. He’d ride in style while plotting the demise of his oldest enemy, Rodney.

His car would lead the procession of fifty roaring bikes, mostly Harleys, and their Red Wattle riders, all of whom, he knew, were armed to the beaks, and none of whom, he also knew, would be shy about using those firearms.

The rodeo was set up about twenty-five miles east of town, on an empty field adjacent to a strawberry farm. It was strange that after all the years that had passed, he’d finally grab Rodney in a place so close to his home base he could practically spit and hit it.

The sedan and the bikes roared down the road, blowing through town at cruising speed, not bothering to stop for the single traffic light hanging at the crossroads of the only two major roads that cut through it. No one would say anything—Daniel had the chief of police and the mayor in his pocket. It was one of the reasons he chose to stay in town. Running his drug and money-laundering businesses was so much easier when he had the cooperation of the locals. Let the human mafia keep the big cities like New York, Chicago, and Vegas. He was content in Bumfuck, Nowhere.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to an apparently empty field. There was a foggy haze about fifty feet off the main road. That would be the spell the rodeo used to keep it cloaked from prying human eyes. Only paranormals could see and visit the Darque and Knight rodeo. Daniel knew that as well as anyone.

The sedan and the bikes pulled onto the field, and as they drew closer, the fog lifted, exposing a large rodeo complete with a midway set up on the field. They pulled to the front of the parking lot, one after another, forming a long line across the entrance, idling until Daniel got out of the sedan. That was the signal for the rest of them to dismount and follow him into the attraction. He slipped his right hand into his pocket, where he held his revolver.

Oddly enough, there was no one in the ticket booth. He thought he’d probably shoot the first person who tried to stop them from entering, but no one did. Weird. Had someone tipped them off about tonight? He turned and looked at the men following him. None had any expression other than excitement of the hunt registering on their faces. He trusted all them implicitly anyway. None of these birds would rat him out.

No, something else was going on. But what? From what he’d heard, no one liked Rodney. In fact, he was more surprised no one had given Rodney up for a payout. Surely over the years, word had gotten out that Daniel was looking for Rodney.

He motioned to Rambo and the rest to proceed cautiously, keep quiet. The wide path past the ticket booth that led into the rodeo was empty. Not a single soul could be seen. Daniel’s skin prickled with unease. He felt like he was walking into a trap.

“Feels like a trap, don’t it?”

The voice was familiar, even though Daniel hadn’t heard it in decades. He turned toward a booth selling souvenirs. There, leaning against the booth as if he hadn’t a care in the entire fucking world, was Rodney. Eyepatch and all.

“You fucker! What the hell is going on here?” Daniel shouted and drew his gun, pointing the business end at Rodney.

“That won’t do you any good here, Daniel. There’s magic afoot, as they say. We have some of the most powerful warlocks in existence working for the rodeo, and they’ve cast a protection spell for our benefit. Look at your men. They’re frozen in place.”

Daniel risked a look behind him. Sure enough, not one man, not Goze, not Rambo, none of the others either were moving. It was as if he’d been accompanied by an army of statues. “What’s going on here?”

“Uncle? Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

Another familiar voice drew Daniel’s attention. It was Gideon! And he was standing next to Rodney so closely it suggested they were very familiar with each other. “You traitors! The two of you! I don’t give a shit what magic you say you’ve got going—it won’t stop a fucking bullet!” He pulled the trigger on the revolver. And again. And again.

Nothing happened. No bang, no flash, no nothing. He almost turned the muzzle around to his face to see if he could find the problem, but hesitated at the last minute. For all he knew, it would go off and he’d shoot himself in the face.

Looking at Rodney and Gideon again, Daniel realized they weren’t alone. There were several large figures standing with him—a gargoyle, a huge, hulking dragon, and… was that a hippopotamus? There were other people standing with him as well, all shifters, or psychics or some other sort of paranormals.

“This is going to end tonight, Daniel. Just not in the way you thought it was,” Rodney said. He took several steps toward Daniel.

He could see Rodney was unarmed, but he took a half-step backward anyway. “What do you plan on doing? My men are frozen. Where’s your sense of fairness?”

Rodney barked a laugh. “You’re a fine one to talk about fairness! What fairness did you show when you took my fucking eye just because I kissed you? A ‘no thank you’ would’ve done just fine.”

“You fucking pervert! I couldn’t let you get away with that! How could my men respect me if they knew I let another man kiss me and walk away?”

“Daniel, you’re an idiot. And a thief. And a drug dealer. And a murderer. And an all-around rotten excuse for a rooster-shifter. But unlike you, I am reasonable. I believe every man is entitled to a fair fight. So this is what’s going to happen. You and me, we’re going to go at it. We’re going to shift, and fight it out right here, bird to bird. Winner takes all.”

Daniel felt an icy sting of fear shoot into his spine. “Cockfighting is illegal here.”

“Not when the cocks are both sentient and willing participants,” Gideon put in. “Besides, you’re guilty of that too, or didn’t you think I would find out about the backroom fights you were running? It’s one of the reasons I left and tried to off myself. I may not have had anything to do with it, but my hands felt bloody just the same.”

“You do have a choice, you know. We don’t have to fight. There’s always a choice among honorable men—unlike yourself,” Rodney said. “You can give yourself up to the paranormal police. They’ll take you in, see you get a fair trial. Otherwise, shift, and we’ll go beak to spur.”

“You can’t do this!” Daniel bellowed. He began to sweat profusely when he realized people had encircled him and his frozen men. He was surrounded, with no escape. “I’m an old man! You’re still in your prime.”

Rodney shrugged. “Maybe, but I’ve only got one eye. That ought to count for something. Besides, monsters like you don’t grow weak with age. You’re like cheap wine—you get vinegary and sour with age, but you don’t dry up.”

“You’re a dangerous man, uncle. We can’t let you walk away to do more damage to other people. In fact, I’m calling this farce now. You’re not going to fight Rodney. That was his idea, and I went along with it, but now I see it’s just not going to work. You’re going to spend the rest of what life you have left in jail.” Gideon motioned for a few people to move forward.

“Oh, come on, Gideon! He owes me that fight!” Rodney protested.

“Let it go, Rodney. I just want to live our lives in peace from now on.”

The paranormal police were uniformed and wore badges, and Daniel was absolutely sure their sidearms would work if they chose to fire them. Before he knew it, he was handcuffed and the police were cuffing the rest of his crew as well.

“Gideon, don’t do this. You’re my nephew! I took you in, gave you a job, took care of you—”

“And ordered me to murder someone just because of a fucking kiss,” Gideon said. “Because you carried hate in your heart for twenty years. Think about it—if Rodney was going to say something about the Red Wattles, he could have turned you in twenty years ago!”

“You can’t do this!” Daniel cried again. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Yup. You’re a loser. And now you’re going to be somebody’s bitch in prison,” Rodney said.

“Come on, Rodney. Let them take him away. I don’t want to look at his fucking face anymore,” Gideon said and turned his back on his uncle.

“Oh, wait! There’s one thing your uncle should see before they take him away and lock him up,” Rodney said, a small, slick smile turning his lips. Then he took Gideon in his arms and kissed him deeply.

With Daniel sputtering and cursing, they walked away and left the Red Wattle Clan behind them forever.