“How did you find out about this video?” he asked.
“Dexter got drunk, and he showed it to me one night,” she said. “He told me that if I didn’t behave, I’d end up with the women in the video.”
“You mean you’d end up a slave.”
“That’s right. One of the girls was my friend.”
“You know one of the women in the video?”
“Yeah. Her name is Lexi. She used to dance in the club, and we got to be friends. One night, she didn’t show up for work. The other girls figured she’d gone to another club, but when Dexter showed me the video, I knew otherwise.”
That explained the eleventh woman in the video.
“Did you tell anyone about what happened to Lexi?” he asked.
Echo shook her head. It angered him, and he gave her a reproachful look.
“I didn’t want Dexter to hurt me. Or my baby,” she explained.
He had heard enough. They went into the next room, and Echo grabbed a paper bag off the dining room table that he guessed contained the things she wanted to take. As they moved to leave, the strung-out woman by the TV began to shriek.
“What’s her problem?” he asked.
“I’m all she’s got,” Echo said.
No further explanation was forthcoming. But he could assume. The woman was an addict, and without Echo paying her to babysit the kid, her income would dry up, along with her ability to score the drugs that kept her going. He crossed the room and shoved money into her face.
“Take it,” he said.
The woman fell silent. She held the bills up to the light, checking to see if they were real. Her face filled with bliss.
“Thank you so much,” she whispered.
He returned to where Echo stood holding her baby and her paper bag. The apartment window was open, and outside he heard the roar of a convoy of motorcycles entering the apartment parking lot.
“Stay behind me, and do exactly as I tell you,” he said.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“Don’t be.”
He opened the door and stuck his head into the hallway. It was empty, which he found surprising. The smart move for the bikers would have been to send members of their gang into the apartment building before making the ruckus outside. He would have been hard pressed to defeat a gang of men in close quarters, especially with Echo and her baby nearby. But the bikers hadn’t done that, which told him that they were amateurs.
He had dealt with their ilk before, and knew what to do. As he walked down the hallway toward the stairwell, he drew the SIG. Outside, the motorcycles were revving their engines, the bikers waiting for him. It reminded him of lions roaring at the zoo.
Reaching the stairwell, he glanced at Echo, who was trembling in fear.
“Say the word Hooyah!” he said.
She stared at him, not understanding.
“It’s a battle cry, and will give you courage,” he explained.
“Hooyah,” she whispered.
“Say it like you mean it.”
“Hooyah!” she said, much louder this time.
“There you go. Hooyah!”
Fear was contagious, and had cost more than one brave soldier his life. He gave her his best smile, and she found the courage to smile back. Pointing the SIG at the ceiling, he headed down the stairs.
Chapter 24
It was like a scene out of the old biker movie Easy Rider.
The bikers were in the parking lot, racing their hogs in a circle, making it all but impossible for Lancaster to get to his car and escape with Echo and her baby. In a way, it was a smart move, since they weren’t breaking any laws, except disturbing the peace.
Lancaster stood at the apartment building’s entrance, watching through a crack in the door. He put the gang’s number at fourteen, although that was just a guess, since they were moving too fast to accurately count. It was a big number, and it gave him pause.
“What are we going to do?” Echo asked, her voice trembling.
“Maybe we should call an Uber,” he suggested.
She looked ready to cry. They had run out of options. Even if he had decided to shoot them, his SIG had only ten bullets, which would have left four bikers for him to deal with. He could hold his own in a fight, but Echo and her baby were a handicap.
Without a word, Echo started to walk past him.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m going to go talk to them,” she said.
“That won’t work. They’re animals.”
“Do you have a better idea in mind?”
Out in the parking lot, one of the bikers had popped a wheelie, and was driving on his back wheel, grandstanding for his friends. He drove a hundred feet, brought the front wheel down, then spun around, and raced the bike back the same way he’d just come while doing another wheelie. It was illegal to drive a bicycle without a helmet in Florida, but not a motorcycle, and the biker’s long hair flapped in the wind.
The rest of the gang stopped to watch. It looked like fun, and a second member popped a wheelie and rode alongside his friend on one wheel. It wasn’t long before the rest of the gang joined in, and rode back and forth on one wheel.
It was grandstanding, and it changed his opinion of them. Either they were drunk, high, or just plain stupid, and because of this, they didn’t feel threatened. That was a huge mistake. During his training to become a SEAL, his rigorous schedule had included classes called evolutions. Only when he passed the necessary tests could he evolve to the next level. One of his first classes had taught readiness, and how a SEAL could never let his guard down, no matter what the situation. The bikers had let their guard down, and the first rule of warfare was never to do that.
“Hide behind me,” he said.
“What are you going to do?” Echo asked.
“Just do as I tell you. Okay?”
“Are we going out?”
“Yes, we’re going out. On the count of three. One, two, three.”
Holding the SIG at his side, he marched out of the apartment building with Echo right behind him. His steps were fast and deliberate as he went down the brick path. The outside lighting was poor, and he didn’t think the bikers would see his sidearm right away.
Reaching the end of the path, he halted. One of the bikers roared past on one wheel, and flipped him the bird. It was the wild man who’d greeted him and Daniels at the clubhouse in Saint Petersburg. He tried to remember the guy’s name.
Dirty Pete.
He lifted the SIG and aimed at Dirty Pete’s rear tire. He squeezed the trigger, and the tire exploded, sending shards of rubber into the air. The motorcycle flipped backward, and landed atop Dirty Pete, pinning him to the pavement.
Lancaster stepped into the parking lot. The rest of the gang was still showboating. As they swerved to avoid hitting him, he shot out their rear tires. It was like shooting ducks in a barrel, and their bikes either flipped in the air, or spun wildly out of control.
The carnage was intense. One bike crashed into a parked car, and sent the driver airborne, his arms flapping like a bird. Another bike skidded across the pavement, and took out several other bikes before crashing, its driver howling that his leg was broken. Not one bike stayed upright. The four bikers who did not get their tires shot out had their own problems. Two crashed into other riders who were lying on the pavement, while the other two smacked into each other and caused a pileup. No one escaped unscathed.
Echo hovered beside him. He put his arm protectively around her shoulder, and led her to his vehicle. Her baby hadn’t made a sound. Great kid.
“Oh no,” she said.