Chapter 9

The run had been just what they had all needed, a chance to get away from the telephone and all of their responsibilities and let it all hang out. It didn't take long for that damned telephone to start nagging them again after they arrived back home. They had barely returned from the run when Michelle listened to the messages in their machine.

It was only natural there was an emergency message for them. "Mark Whitley from Liberty Bail bonds called while we were gone. He said it was an emergency and you need to call him right back, immediately!"

"It's always an emergency when it's their money at risk." Snowman quipped. Liberty bonding was one of the large bonding firms they frequently bounty hunted for. "I'll call him. Did he leave a number where he'd be or was he at the office?" Snowman asked Michelle.

"The office, he said. I wrote the number down on the pad by the phone to save you some trouble." Michelle had been efficient and thoughtful, as she almost invariably was.

Snowman thanked Michelle and dialed the number; he was pleased to hear Whitley answer personally. "Liberty Bonding Company, your freedom's our business, Mark Whitley speaking."

"Yeah, Mark. It's Snowman. What's the big emergency now?"

"Please don't hang up on me this time, Snowman!" Whitley pleaded. "I know how you hate going after a runner when someone has already botched the job." Snowman's temper instantly flared and he slammed the phone down hard on its cradle! He was thinking if Mark knew he hated those jobs why the fuck did he keep on offering them?

Rick had been idly watching as Snowman made the call. "What's up, Bro? What did Mark do now?" He asked in concern. Luckily for everyone around him, the dangerous Snowman was normally a very controlled and disciplined individual. Of the two of them, Rick was the one who was most likely to be the loose cannon on deck in stormy seas.

"That damn Mark wants us to straighten up someone else's screw up again." Snowman seethed. The phone rang again almost immediately. Michelle looked questioningly at Rick and Snowman. Rick looked back at her and nodded reluctantly and Michelle picked up the phone.

Michelle laughed and then she spoke very sweetly and apologetically into the receiver. "I think you'd better make it interesting fast this time, Mark! I don't believe Rick and Snowman are happy with you right now." Michelle listened for a moment, then she spoke into the phone again. "An extra five percent?" Her impossibly blue eyes widened perceptively as she repeated what Mark had told her for the men's benefit. "He said he'd give you an extra five percent on this one, Rick." Michelle looked over her shoulder with an inquiring look on her pretty face.

Michelle watched Rick closely for his reaction, then she handed him the phone when he reluctantly reached for it. Rick pressed Mark hard while he had him on the ropes. "And all of our expenses paid, Mark. Make it fast or I'll hang up, too."

"Alright, damn it, all expenses paid." Mark agreed quickly before Rick could hang up the phone receiver.

"Okay, fill me in on the basics of the situation and we'll decide whether we want to fuck with it." Rick returned. He listened closely to Mark's worried explanation of his company's problem for several minutes. He took a few notes, he asked a couple of terse questions, then he told Mark, "Give us a few minutes to discuss this and I'll call you right back and let you know if we'll take this one or not." Rick replaced the receiver.

"How bad is it?" Snowman characteristically wanted to know the worst part immediately.

"This one's about as bad as it could get, Brother!" Rick informed him. "They sent J. C. McClain after a fuckin' runner a couple of days ago and he was dumped in a river, and found crawling onto a highway and admitted into the hospital in Fort Worth last night." J. C. McClain was their major competitor; Rick had heard J. C.'s actual given name was Jesus Christ.

J. C. had been named Jesus Christ at birth because of his Bible-pounding father's faith and he'd been raising hell the rest of his life trying to live it down. He'd been in the bounty hunting business for over forty years and he was legendary for being an extremely tough and very competent individual.

"Mark told me he'd refused to go this guy's bond, because he didn't like the smell of the deal, but his boss overrode his decision because the man apparently had the collateral. The guy skipped and the titles they were holding turned out to be for stolen sports cars which the cops confiscated, naturally!"

They laughed at the blatant stupidity of this deal, then Snowman asked, "How much was the bond, Brother?"

"They got taken for a hundred big ones!" Rick said. Michelle and Cat stopped laughing and whistled. The standard percentage for bounty hunting was twenty percent; with the added incentive bonus the reward would be twenty-five thousand.

Twenty-five thousand American dollars would buy them several cases of 50-weight Harley oil, pay up the rent, and still leave them enough change to throw one hell of a classic party! "Who is this jerk that's worth twenty five grand?" Michelle wanted to know. "Which one is it, Godzilla or King Kong?"

"No, it's not anyone quiet that big." Rick chuckled. "His name is Clark Meadows Junior. His dad is some oil millionaire up in Fort Worth. That's why the local judge set the bond so high on the advice of the Harris County District Attorney. The old man has let his son hole up on his ranch and his lawyers are preventing the cops up there from getting a search warrant with his political pull. From what Mark got out of J. C. on the phone, the old man is about fed up with the boy, but not enough to stop his son from ordering the old man's body guards to bust up J. C." Rick said sarcastically.

"This job sounds like it will be super tough. You're aren't actually going to take it, are you?" Cat Woman asked.

"The money's good." Snowman said. "Plus, if we could bring back a runner J. C. couldn't, it would make us legends in our own time among the industry instead of only in our own minds."

"Michelle and I could get some shopping done in Fort Worth and we'd be right there to help you if you needed us." Cat said hopefully. She cuddled up to Snowman and winked conspiratorially but openly at Michelle.

"Excuse me!" Rick asked Cat incredulously. "Did you hear me just now when I said these people put the legendary bad ass Jesus Christ McClain in the fuckin' hospital?"

"Then you two will have to keep a very close eye on us." Michelle matter of factly told them.

Rick rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in frustration. "Now they're ganging up on us again, Brother! Whatever happened to the good old days when a biker's old lady did nothing but fetch the booze and the dope and watch the snotty-nosed rug rats?"

"Neither of you use much in the way of dope and we don't have any children, but I'll mix us all some drinks if you'll let us go, too!" Michelle headed for the bar; she wasn't any too proud when it came to trying to wheedle her way into a great shopping trip.

"If you two really wanted some curtain climbers we could bring some home..." Withering glances from Michelle and Cat cut off Snowman's rash words. "Bad idea, I guess." He said meekly.

"Bad idea, Bro!" Rick agreed. "Well, are we going to take this job?" Rick quickly turned the conversation away from dangerous territory and back to the serious business at hand.

"The money's good." Snowman repeated. "Baby always needs a new pair of shoes, and it's been a while since we spent any time in Fort Worth. Let's do it. We can go and get the details from Mark and pick up the warrant while the girls pack their things." This decision caused Michelle and Cat to squeal excitedly.

"I sure do love to make you squeal, Baby!" Rick teased Michelle. "I'll call Mark back and tell him we're taking the job. Pack your stuff in the truck please, Ladies. Going that far from home we'd better take it and drag the bike trailer, so we can be sure to take all the equipment we may need." Rick and Snowman had recently bought a new diesel dually 4x4 for their thriving business.

With their new truck, the bikes, Rick's old truck, and Michelle's car they had plenty of transportation since the two couples rarely went anywhere separately anyway. When the men got back from Mark's office, the women had their suitcases packed and in the back seat of the extended cab truck. The men loaded all the equipment they could possibly envision using on this job, they hooked up the bike trailer, loaded their bikes and headed north.

While the countryside along the interstate highways on the way to the Dallas-Fort Worth area was mildly scenic, it was a long way from being awe-inspiring. Rick was still flushed with the success of his last efforts at dreaming up diversions so he instigated another lively game, which he enticed the girls into playing to liven up the trip.

They made up the rules as they went along and came up with an interesting game that was part strip poker and part out of state license plate spotting. Before it had gone on very long the game included nude chair, or in this case, seat dancing. The lenient and ever horny management waived the normally strict strip joint rules about the dancers having no physical contact with the customers.

A diesel rig passed them closely enough that the driver could see some of their rowdy game and his wide eyed relief driver lunged for his radio mike. By the time they'd gone another ten miles, they had accumulated an escort of truckers that stretched for miles! The truckers jockeyed their big trucks for position while trying to get a better view of the proceedings.

When Rick noticed the convoy following them and called the other's attention to their eager fans, Snowman turned on their truck's citizen band radio and tuned it to Channel 19, the channel that's normally used by commercial truckers. He asked for a break and when he identified himself as an occupant of the six-wheeler everyone was looking for, the truckers cleared the channel for him and he handed the microphone to Cat.

Cat glibly introduced herself to their rapt radio audience as Cat Woman then she introduced Michelle to them as Foxy Lady, which was the road name Rick usually used for her. She gave the drivers a quick rundown of their improvised game rules, and the current dress status of the players, then she handed the microphone over to Snowman.

He began a running play by play description like a sports broadcaster and kept the cheering drivers posted on the game's current score. The drivers spiritedly contributed to the game by reporting the whereabouts of any out of states cars and trucks ahead.

When a roving television news helicopter that had been monitoring the channel took up their trail and hovered over them, they knew they'd really hit the big time. A sudden emergency transmission came from the chopper after it momentarily swung over the rear of the long convoy, "Break 19! Break 19! Break 19 for a smoky report. There's a state black and white running hot back here!"

An approaching Texas Department of Public Safety vehicle, with its sirens wailing and red lights flashing, interrupted their fun. The truckers did an expert job of running interference for them so even the girls were more or less fully clothed by the time the officer got close enough to pull them over. Since they were fully clothed when he saw them and they cooperated fully with him, the officer had no choice but to let them off with only a warning and a thorough chewing out.

He accused them of nearly causing several accidents and of disrupting the normal flow of traffic over hundreds of square miles of the northeastern portion of the state of Texas!

"Somehow, I knew we were having way too much fun again!" Rick quipped as he pulled the truck back up onto the highway. The drivers, as the professional truckers call themselves, were disappointed the erotic diversion from their routinely dull trip had been broken up and several of them, including the helicopter news crew, offered to buy the fearless foursome's lunch at the next truck stop.

Rick thanked everyone for their enthusiasm, but he told them they'd have to ask them for a rain check, citing the important business awaiting them in Fort Worth. They found the description of their vehicle was still being talked about by radio all over the state. Almost every diesel rig that passed them gave them thumbs up signs and raucous blasts on their air horns.

When they reached Fort Worth, Rick stopped at a convenient liquor store and bought J. C. a carton of cigarettes and several quart bottles of whiskey. He'd never seen the man without a cigarette either in his hand or in his mouth and a whiskey bottle within easy reach. He knew from painful past experience that even for a born scrounger, smokes and booze were at a premium or unattainable in most stateside hospitals.

Rick drove directly from the liquor store to the hospital to see McClain. It took some creative circling of the parking lot before he found a long enough space to legally park the truck and bike trailer. The women went in with the men to avoid having to run the truck engine to provide them with air conditioning in the scorching heat.

They were informed at the front desk J. C. was in intensive care, and Doctor Sullivan had ordered he receive no visitors other than his immediate family. Michelle nudged Rick away from the desk and handed him a small overnight bag she had carried in from the truck. "Go into that men's room over there and look in the bag." Michelle whispered to the men. "I had a hunch they might restrict J. C.'s visitors if he were badly injured."

Rick and Snowman followed her instructions. They ducked into the men's room and came out a few moments later wearing doctor's smocks and surgical head covers over their street clothes. Rick was very complimentary to Michelle. "You did great, Baby! I would have had to steal some of these."

"A nurse is supposed to always be prepared for anything. You look very professional, Doctors." Michelle told them. She reached into the bag and pulled out a clipboard filled with medical forms and handed it to Rick. "I've already asked about the Intensive Care Unit, it's right this way." She led them to the elevators, up three floors and down the hall to the door of the I. C. U.

The two men walked authoritatively through the door and confronted the first nurse they saw. "We're looking in on..." Rick glanced at the blank chart on his clipboard as if he were actually reading it, "J. C. McClain. Doctor Sullivan asked us to consult with him on this case."

"Right this way, Doctors ... Feelgood and Dooley." The nurse read from the black nametags on their chests. Rick made a mental note to discuss the choice of Doctor's names with Michelle. The nurse was all business, but if she'd noticed anything odd about their names, she made no mention of it. She showed them directly to the proper room.

J. C. was a mountain of a man who looked like a younger, larger, much meaner version of Santa Claus. He was swathed in bandages and casts from head to toe. Only his right arm was free of casts. He was conscious and seemed to be reasonably alert; his eyes told them he'd recognized them. He kept quiet as the nurse checked him over then left.

As soon as the nurse left the room, J. C. started right in on them. "God damn it. I never thought I'd be this glad to see you two bastards!" J. C. rasped as they shook hands. "I was hoping Mark would have the good sense to call you in. Hell, you didn't have to sneak in here. If you would've let me know you were coming, I'd have crawled down that hallway to see you if I'd had to!"

Rick answered him cheerfully. "You sound awful rowdy, but you do look a little under the weather, J.C."

"Under the weather, be damned. That fuckin' Meadow's three bodyguards stomped me into a mud hole for a good twenty minutes, then they carried me off and dumped me in the river to drown. His son Clark was helping them, and it was damned unprofessional. If I hadn't crawled out of there and a hundred yards to a road I'd be buzzard bait. I've roughed up quite a few people in my day, but those freaks are really sick!"

"We thought we'd see if you'd found out anything that might help us get that fucker out of there, J.C." Snowman said.

J. C. rocked forward painfully in his bed; he grimaced from the pain and asked, "Either of you boys got a smoke?" Slick produced the carton of smokes; he tore open a pack and lit one for J. C.; J. C. eagerly took it from him and inhaled the smoke luxuriously. "Damn, that tastes good!" Rick pulled a quart bottle of Jack Daniel's out of his bag and J. C.'s face lit up like a kid's at Christmas!

Rick twisted the cap off the bottle and handed it to him and J. C. took a long chug out of it. He let out a deep, appreciative sigh then he handed the bottle back. Rick recapped the bottle, and he stashed it in a duffle bag in J.C.'s closet as well as the others he'd brought. "Genuine, world famous, Jack Daniel's Tennessee Sippin' Whiskey!" J. C. drawled. "Thank you, Slick, I owe you guys a big favor for this."

The big man rocked back in his bed. "The first thing I did was throw some money around in a bar I found not far from the ranch. I located and bribed a former maid of Meadow's. Her name is Carmen Blancas. You can get her number from Mark, if you need it. The security system is a standard Brink's on all the lower windows and doors. There are no perimeter alarms. The three tough guys are all in the ground floor bed rooms."

"The old man and his young wife are in the upstairs rear and the son is in the upstairs front. The maids, butler, and ranch hands are all in the cabanas and bunkrooms out back. The maid must have ratted me out to them because they were waiting for me with guns drawn when I climbed through an upstairs window. Oh, while I'm thinking about it, they took my engraved .45 Colt auto, if you see it, it's worth five grand to you guys, it was the last present my late wife bought for me."

"That's a lot of help, J. C. We'll keep an eye out for your Colt, and if we get Junior we'll cut you in for a percentage." Rick assured the patient.

J. C. got very indignant at that! "When you get him, I don't need or want a red cent of your reward. I've got my business and despite what these dumb assed sawbones say, I will walk out of here. What I'm asking you to do in return for the information I gave you is for you to give these psychos back a healthy dose of the same shit they gave me!"

Snowman was busily stashing J. C.'s remaining cigarette packages in accessible hiding places around the room. He looked up and told the big man. "Sure thing, J. C.; you got it."

J. C. inhaled deeply off the cigarette and resumed talking, "One of my people will be in to see me in a few hours, I'll give him instructions in no uncertain terms my office is to give you their full cooperation. If you need men, cash, equipment, or even a fuckin' airplane, call them! With me in here, most of them are only sitting on their fat asses drawin' my pay."

"Thanks, J. C., we'll be sure to do that." Snowman assured him. "You hang in there. You should be hearing some good news back from us within a few days." Rick and Snowman shook hands with him again; they accepted his profuse thanks for the whiskey and the smokes, and then they headed for the hospital exit.

Michelle and Cat were talking quietly in the waiting room; they looked up as the men approached. "How is he, Baby?" Michelle asked. She had never met J. C., but she had a lot of natural compassion for anyone.

"The assholes nearly killed him, but he's one tough old bastard!" Rick asserted. "He'll be back on his feet in a couple of months. Let's go find us a motel and scope out the area around the Meadow's ranch, then we'll pay Machete a courtesy call." Machete was the president of the Fort Worth chapter of the Desperados and a good friend of both Snowman and Rick's.

It was standard policy for all traveling members to pay a courtesy call to let the local officers know whenever they were in town. As they walked through the lobby, the two men removed the surgical smocks they'd worn and Michelle stashed them back in her overnight bag for later use.

When they left the door of the hospital, Rick immediately sensed someone was watching them. He moved closer to the girls to shield them from possible gunfire. "Do you feel them, Bro?" He asked as he glanced at Snowman. Snowman had already moved in on the women, he'd loosened his revolver in its holster, and he was alertly scanning the adjacent area of the parking lot and the surrounding rooftops.

Both men were keeping their hands loose and close to their weapons. "Ah, hell. Look at that!" Snowman said. He was pointing at the roof of the building containing the emergency room and trauma center. There sat the "Eye in the Sky", the freakin' news helicopter!

The video crew had trailed them to the hospital; they were trying to get a closer shot of the infamous Foursome. They had gotten clearance to land at the hospital heliport and were busily filming. The four fugitives stopped and the girls waved exuberantly and jumped up and down like high school cheerleaders while Rick and Snowman both pulled up their own shirts to give the newsmen a tit shot! Then all four of them broke and ran the rest of the way to their truck and got the hell out of there before the helicopter could take off!

Mark had filled them in on the location of the ranch. They found it and circled the boundaries of it on the rural farm roads. The front gate looked crash proof by anything smaller than a tank, and the fence was seven foot tall and made of native stone. The rear entrance of the ranch was blocked with a huge ornate metal gate but the actual fence was only a barbed wire fence across a deep ditch from the road. They had both noted the absence of streams or ravines in the area. "With this truck we can easily make it across that ranch, Bro." Rick remarked. They found a fairly nice motel a few miles away from the ranch and checked in, then they called Machete's phone number.

After they'd identified themselves, they were told Machete wasn't in, but he was expected to be back at any moment. They were invited to ride on over to his pad. Machete lived in a huge sprawling ranch house in a modest subdivision on the north side of town. They took their bikes off the trailer and headed to Machete's home. When they arrived they saw about a dozen bikes parked in the yard, which were being alertly guarded by a prospect. The sentry recognized their rags and welcomed them; he went to the door of the sprawling house to announce them.

"We must have gotten here on a meeting night." Rick told the others as they dismounted. Michelle was busy taking off her scarf and sunglasses but a really righteous sight caught her attention. "Wow. Look at that cool trike." Michelle pointed at an awesomely painted yellow custom Harley trike with two bucket-seats in the rear.

"That's Machete's. Isn't it great?" Cat interjected. "You'll see why he built it like that in a minute." Machete met them at the door with open arms. He was a tall, lean Latino with wavy black hair in a single braid down to his waist. Instead of a shirt, he wore a brown leather vest with the club colors on it that revealed the lavish tattoos on his powerful brown chest and arms.

Machete embraced them like a Mafia Don. "Snowman, Slick, come on in, my Brothers! It's been too damn long since I've seen you guys. Excuse me for being slow to come to the door, we were watching some crazy bikers on the Six O'clock News, you wouldn't believe what these crazy dudes and their old ladies were doing."

Snowman informed him, "We wouldn't, Bro? You must have missed the close up shot. We'll have to watch it again at ten o'clock."

"You don't mean that was you? Why you crazy sons of a bitches. I should have known it had to be you!" Machete laughed and embraced them again as they laughed about their crazy game. After being introduced to Michelle, Machete took her hands in his and backed up at arm's length. He slowly looked her up and down and then he told Rick, "Hey Bro, I endorse your taste in women a hundred fucking percent!"

Machete then looked around in indignation. "Could somebody please show some fuckin' Tejano hospitality and bring our visiting Brothers a fuckin' drink?" They introduced themselves around to the members and old ladies they didn't know and greeted the ones they did. Michelle received her usual lioness's share of attention from everyone.

The Bros looked Michelle over with honest and open admiration. Rick took their appreciative comments and appraisals of her beauty as he always did any polite comments about her. He considered them to be compliments on his taste in women, he was too sure of Michelle's love, devotion, and loyalty to be jealous.

Michelle was a little shocked when she met Carla and Darla, Machete's old ladies; they were fantastic looking young twin sisters. Machete had taken them into his home when they were little more than children and he'd finished raising them to suit himself. They made premium money dancing together as an act and they supported him in fine style.

The twins were genuinely sweet people. They were already good friends with Cat and they took to Michelle like thirsty ducks take to water. The women disappeared into the twin's bedroom to look at their jewelry, their street clothes, and their skimpy dancing costumes.

After the amenities and drinks had been politely attended to Machete asked, "You Bros in town on business or did you come to see me?"

"We came to see you, of course, but we are doing a little job while we're up here." Snowman maneuvered diplomatically.

"You are going to stay here with us, aren't you? We've got plenty of room." Machete offered.

"We already rented some motel rooms." Rick told him. "We didn't want to impose on you, Machete."

"Well Brother, you can unrent the fucking motel rooms, before you hurt my sensitive fuckin' feelings!" Machete insisted loudly. Rick considered Machete's generous, if slightly vulgar, and insistent invitation.

"Hmm, it would simplify the problem of security for the girls while we're working. We don't have any idea as to how long the job will take." Rick admitted

. "Then shut the fuck up and give me your motel and truck keys and I'll have a couple of my prospects check you out and bring your truck and trailer back here. Meanwhile, we can have a few drinks while you tell me all about this job." Machete helpfully told them.

Rick looked at Snowman and Snowman agreed, "That sounds good to me, Bro. I don't see any reason why we shouldn't." Rick handed Machete the keys and a large denomination bill to handle the room rentals. The motel's name and address were on the key chains along with the room numbers. Machete called over two capable looking prospects and instructed them in what their next errand was.

One of the prospects looked at the keys and then he gave Rick his money back, saying he was in tight with the people who ran the motel and there would be no charge. He assured them he would be back with their truck and trailer in less than an hour.

As soon as the men left, Machete rocked back in his chair and stretched, then he looked intently at Snowman and Rick. "Now you two wise-ass gringos can quit blowing smoke up my fat greaser ass and tell me what you're really doing in Fort Worth." Several drinks later, Machete was still asking questions about their current mission. "This fuckin' bounty hunting is legal too, huh?" He asked.

Rick explained. "There's a definite need in our legal system for us, so most judges tend to turn their heads if we bend a few laws when we're hunting a runner. By accepting our employer's bond money the people have already agreed to be released to our custody and they've more or less waived their civil rights, so we've actually got a lot of leeway in hunting runners the police don't have."

Snowman kicked in a few thoughts. "There's also an old law that was enacted in the 1800's and is still in effect that says that bounty hunters don't need search warrants. If old man Meadows tries to charge us with trespassing on his land, he'll probably be slapped with charges of harboring a fugitive and obstruction of justice."

Machete seemed to be intensely interested in their job; he offered them some assistance. "Do you need any help in getting this Meadows dude off of this ranch? I could provide you with some muscle right now if you think you'll need them, or hell, I'll ride with you myself."

"I don't think so, Machete." Snowman diplomatically refused. "But we do appreciate the offer. Rick and I should be able to handle this Clark and the three bodyguards. For one thing, we'll be going in tonight. They won't be expecting anyone to be organized and moving in so soon after J. C. was nearly killed. They may not even know he survived the beating and being dumped in the river. If an opportunity doesn't present itself tonight, or we decide we need more or different equipment, we'll go back in again tomorrow."

"Sounds good, Bro. It sounds like you Brothers know what you're doing, but let's have a few drinks first." Rick and Snowman had tentatively agreed to make their move about one in the morning. They partied for a while longer and everyone enjoyed watching the news and helicopter video shots again at ten o'clock. This time they also saw the shots from the hospital. They called the women into the den to watch it.