Cobra Clearance (24 page)

Turning back to Eric, she asked, “Well?”

He mumbled something while his eyelids fluttered. Then he nudged her and said, “Okay, do it…”

Barely able to believe her good fortune, she eased the plunger in until he moaned and writhed in pleasure. But when he gasped and shook his head rapidly, she bore down harder. His eyes rolled wildly. He pawed at her hand and croaked, “Enough.” But it was only half the dose. Cursing silently, she withdrew the needle and waited until his eyes glazed over, then got the needle into a new vein and drove the plunger home.

Two hours later, she made another dose. This time she went for his left arm. He struggled weakly, forcing her to try three veins before she got a good stick. Then biting gently on her lip, she injected him while he squirmed and groaned. She was almost done, when all at once a hand clamped down on hers. She gasped. “Wha…?”

“What're you doing?” Brian said.

She turned and saw him standing naked behind her. “But he needs it. I…”

“That ain't what I mean. You're pushing it in too fast. That's why he's fightin' you.” He moved next to her. “Do it slower.”

“Oh. Um, you mean, like this?” She eased down on the plunger.

“Yeah, good. Now keep going.” His forehead wrinkled. “Uh, oh. He passed out.” Brian put a finger on Eric's wrist. “Pulse is thready.” Running his fingers along Eric's needle-riddled arms, he grimaced. “We'll wait, then give him the rest.”

Brenda pulled the syringe out and set it aside. When Brian didn't move away, she touched his leg. “How come you know so much? You do smack?”

“No. Never. But my older brother was a junkie, same as him.” He indicated Eric. “Danny's hands would shake. So he taught me how to give him a needle.” Brian cleared his throat. “One day I wasn't 'round. He slammed by his self. OD'd. Died.”

“I'm sorry. Were you close?”

“I loved him.” He studied her. “Eric's lucky to have you. You take good care of your man.” After a pause he stepped closer. “I wish
I
was your man.”

Brenda wiped away a sudden tear.
If only I'd met him earlier. If only
…But she hadn't. Wanting to take control of her life though, she grazed his bare bottom with her fingertips, then undid her robe and stared at him. “I'll be your woman,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said while checking Eric's pulse again. “Yep, he's good.” After a brief silence he touched the heart-shaped tattoo at
her breast. Then he took her hand and led the way to the couch. After they lay down he lit a Marlboro, and its tip glowed bright when she cuddled against him.

They talked while he chain-smoked. At intervals he examined Eric and finally found him awake. “I'm gonna give you the rest of your fix,” Brian said. After injecting the last of the dope he padded back to Brenda. Their eyes met, and when she nodded he opened her robe and locked her in his embrace. There were no words, no noises—all perfect, innocent—two people clinging to each other, nothing more.

But Nature ultimately kicked in. They began kissing, then groaning and twisting. She felt drunk from his scent—a mix of clean water and lusty earth—and when his body sought a union with hers she urged him on, barely breathing while he slid a hairy knee between her smooth thighs and opened them, then slowly rolled his hips forward. She winced and whimpered but he was gentle; patient. Finally he claimed her naked body, and for the next half hour the only sounds were the hushed
creak creak creak
of the couch and their stifled groans. She marveled at the pureness in his eyes, gloried in his superb rhythm, and felt consumed by sensuality as their bodies glided over a film of perspiration. Brian brought her to ecstasy twice and had her at the cusp again, when without warning he stopped and lowered his head. “I love you, but I can't do this to Eric. Not no more.” She clung to him and tugged at his dog collar, but he broke free to caress her instead, and to tell her all the things she needed to hear. Later, she nestled her head on his shoulder, and listened to his rhythmic breathing as he dozed off.

As the sun rose Brenda heard a cough and opened her eyes. Eric's triangular face was inches from hers, his pupils unsettled. Panic
gripped her until she remembered going back to bed. She got up on an elbow and saw Brian sprawled across the couch, one foot sticking from the sheet, eyes bright against his pierced face. “Morning,” she said, and felt something genuine when he smiled. Then she jabbed Eric's ribs to rouse him further.

Sitting up, he stared at the black lines that pointed to three of the eight bruised needle marks in his arms. “I got tracks! Friggin'
tracks
!” He glared at her. “What'd you do—use skag 'stead a the good stuff?” All at once his face turned pale, and he lurched into the bathroom to vomit.

She watched Brian light a cigarette and stare at the ceiling while blowing smoke rings. When the shower began running she went to him and lifted the blanket. He clearly wanted her but shook his head, so she kissed his lips, put on a tight blouse and jeans, and crouched at the stove to peek as he got up and pulled on his pants. He went commando like Eric. She liked that. He was also tender, and she knew instinctively that he'd be faithful—unlike Eric who blatantly banged babes in her own bed. All at once she recalled two women in the bar bragging about a threesome they'd had with “some stud in one of the cabins,” and it clicked.
That scrawny son of a bitch
!
That's three he's brought to my bed. At least
.

The stud emerged from the shower a minute later and dressed. He gave her a look but said nothing, so they sat at the table for breakfast. She wished she could be with Brian and stole furtive glances at him, but after they finished she watched helplessly as he and Eric started for the door.

But Brian stopped and turned to Eric, his face solemn. “Listen. Last night I got to sittin' with your woman. We, um…that is, I…”

“Later,” Eric said while guiding the young man out the door.

Barely able to breathe after Brian's pre-empted confession, Brenda's heart skipped a beat when Eric closed the door behind
their guest. Leaping up, she retreated into a corner and drew her knees to her chest for protection.

He loomed large with cruel eyes and said in a voice wrapped in ice, “If you ever slam me like that again…”

“Damn you.” Holding up a forefinger and surprising even herself, she looked sideways at him. “You made it clear—you wanted me slippin' you needles. You even told me, ‘go ahead' last night. Now go on. Hit me, you son of a bitch.”

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and stomped off.

The instant the door closed she revised her plan. She'd slip him a roofie and shoot him up, and keep him strung out for a few days. Afterward, she would hand Brent a
fait accompli
in the form of a relapsed junkie. That would get him out of her life. She called Kruger. “Eric screwed another bimbo last night. An' he's back to doin' smack.”

L
evi chided himself again as he approached the compound. He'd side-stepped the dance girl but not the second bowl of hash. He got stoned and vulnerable, and Brenda had the needle in before he grasped what she was doing. When he saw that Brian was awake, he locked onto that as a valid excuse not to slam. Levi thought he told her to pull it out, but once she began injecting him it was too late. She nailed him with a dosage meant for habitual users, and the next doses sealed his fate as the drug's prior bonds kicked into overdrive. He understood heroin's seductive power now—and wanted more. Even worse, he put the mission in jeopardy. Kruger would hear about it, and Levi's progress could all turn south. But there was nothing he could do now, and even Prefontaine stumbled over hurdles, so he thanked God for Brian's benign intervention and filed it under lessons learned. However, as he passed through the gate he sensed trouble. He felt it in his gut and saw it in the faces of the tattooed sentries. Nursing the throttle, he drove to the barracks. When Brian pulled alongside, Levi said, “You'd better stay here.”

They were waiting for him. He stepped inside the dingy barracks and found Kruger standing with folded arms. Potts wore a revolver, and Bronk's Swastika was creased by his stern forehead. Then there was Jackson, standing to one side in a black T and woodland cammies, and cowboy hat pulled low.

Kruger looked at Levi with dark eyes and growled, “We have a rat among us.”

Potts pulled out a set of handcuffs and advanced on Levi. “Hold out your hands.”

Levi made an instant assessment. He would take out Potts first, then Kruger. He wasn't worried about Bronk—he'd take him down hard and fast. And Jackson posed a zero threat. He thrust his hands forward to lull them into inattention.

Potts' pinched face was within inches of Levi's when he said, “Put these on Jackson,” and dropped the cuffs into Levi's hands.

Jackson cried out, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Kruger's menacing voice cut him off. “You've been running your mouth.”

Levi decided to handle things as they played out, and snapping the cuffs on an open-mouthed Jackson's wrists, he stepped back and waited.

“Here.” Kruger tossed him his truck keys. “Carbine's inside.” Then he pointed at Jackson and said as if discussing the weather, “Take him out in the desert and kill him.”

Levi squared his shoulders. “Right away.”

Jackson's face showed genuine fear. “
Brent
. Have you lost it?

I—I haven't…”

“Shut up!” Kruger's eyes bulged. His hands became fists.

Levi glared at Jackson. “You're dead, scum bag.”

Jackson lost bladder control, then his legs collapsed beneath him.

Levi pounced on him, his lips drawn back as he kicked Jackson's thigh. “Get up, you bastard. You talked! Now you die.” Levi's face turned red with rage as he yanked Jackson to his feet with superhuman strength.

Kruger produced a butcher knife from inside his jacket. “Bring back his head.”

“Yes, sir.” Levi had Jackson almost to the door when he stopped. “How 'bout if Bronk comes along? Shooting's too good for this bastard. We'll stomp him to death.”

Kruger smiled. “Excellent.” He pointed a bony finger at Bronk. “Go with him.” Bronk was already moving when Kruger said, “Hold it.” Then he smiled. “Mr. Potts?”

Potts tossed a handcuff key to Levi. He executed a casual midair catch and turned to Jackson, who had gone pale and looked about to faint. Levi urged him to the wall and rested him against it while he unlocked the cuffs.

Kruger began applauding. “Very good, Eric. Very good indeed.” He looked at Potts as if to say, see?

Levi thought, this was a loyalty test. His chest heaved from labored breathing caused by unspent adrenaline. He wouldn't have killed Jackson, of course. That's why he wanted Bronk along. He'd have incapacitated both men and taken them to the nearest Bureau field office, then applied for search warrants for the raid that would have been required when he failed to reappear with Jackson's head. Levi took consolation in kicking Jackson against the fleshiest part of his thigh; though it appeared bad to onlookers, Jackson would only suffer a bruise. Levi asked, “Well? Do I kill him?”

Kruger said, “No. But you were prepared to kill, and to do so for the club. That's all that matters. There is no greater honor.”

Levi nodded but felt numb. He
had
killed before—the rapist, and Tucker's Baghdad attacker. He saw no honor, only duty. But he said, “I'd a done it, too.”

“I see that, and now I know you'll kill for us when the time comes—and that will be soon.” Kruger turned to Bronk. “Take that blubbering bag of crap out of here, and bring the others back.”

Kruger stood mute until Bronk returned with Brian and a dozen others, including Pete—the club's massive tattoo artist. Kruger announced, “Eric is now a full member.”

The men cheered, whistled and made cat-calls until Kruger silenced them with an upheld hand. Turning to Levi he pointed to a chair against the wall. “Sit.”

Levi removed his jacket. Fortunately he was wearing a long sleeve shirt, and as he sat, Pete moved in with a set of clippers. Two minutes later his heavy auburn hair lay on the floor. After Pete produced a straight razor and shaved him clean, Levi went to the lavatory mirror and ran a hand across his rubbery scalp. “Damn.”

Kruger said when he returned, “Now that you've got your fresh cut you can wear our tatts on your authentic Aryan body.” Kruger turned to Pete. “Give him the first few. Call me when you're finished. Everyone else may resume their activities.”

Kruger met with Potts in his office. “Well?”

Potts pressed his bloodless lips together until their color matched his khakis, and bobbed his head like a turkey. “Impressive response.”

“Everyone trusts him.” Kruger made a steeple of his fingers and held them to his chin. “Your recommendation?”

“We incorporate him into our plans.”

“I agree.” Kruger let his steepled fingers collapse.

Pete said when they were alone, “We'll start with our ‘barbed-wire' special.” He spread a blanket on the floor and told Levi to take off his shoes.

But Levi said, “Wait one. I gotta go to the can.” He'd planned for this eventuality. Allergic to peanuts, he had been carrying a small bag of them in his pocket. As soon as the lav door closed behind him, he ingested six nuts. Time and a little ink would take
care of the rest. He might acquire at least one tattoo, but it would be the only one. When he returned, he took off his shoes and socks and stretched out on the blanket.

Pete shaved the hair from Levi's left ankle and grabbed his tattoo machine. When it buzzed to life he said, “This'll pinch but it ain't gonna hurt. Much.”