Of course, Crunch didn't strike me as being particularly reckless.
Not like Mad Dog.
“You believe this shithead?” Tank asked, turning toward me. I kept my eyes on Crunch, although Tank was making me nervous. He was a hothead and I didn’t need to get shot.
“Quit waving that thing around,” I said.
“The evidence,” Crunch said. “It’s all online. I've got everything, the paper trail that shows it’s Mad Dog who’s been stealing from the club. April knows. He’ll kill her and MacKenzie. I was going to bring it to the club. I was just waiting until I had everything. I confronted him about it.”
"April and Mac will be fine," I said.
I shouldn't be making promises I couldn't keep, I thought. If Crunch had stolen from the club, April was about to be in a world of hurt. It wasn't going to be fine, not for her or MacKenzie.
If Crunch had stolen from the club.
Was I sure? Sure enough to take him out?
I knew Crunch. At least, I thought I did.
“Look,” Crunch said. “The bank statement- there's a copy in my pocket. Take it out. You’ll see I’m telling the truth. I’ve kept it on me since I confronted Mad Dog.”
“You believe this shit? This is pissing me off. I should shoot you right now,” Tank said. “I can’t fucking believe I vouched for you to get you into the club.”
“Get it out of his pocket,” I said, then when Tank just stared at me stupidly, “Do it. I’m not going to fucking shoot him if he’s telling the truth." I was loyal to a fault, but Mad Dog had more and more faults lately.
Tank reached in Crunch’s pocket, still talking. “Why the fuck would Mad Dog want to get out from under Benicio and set us up with the Mexicans if he’s taking money from Benicio? It makes no fucking sense.” He pulled out the paper and handed it to me.
I looked at the numbers, feeling tightness in my chest as I tried to make sense of it. “Jesus Christ. Over eight hundred grand.”
“What?” Tank asked. “Let me see that. Fucking A. Where did Mad Dog get that kind of cash?”
"Where'd you get the statement?" I asked.
Crunch looked at me like I was an idiot. "I'm a hacker," he said. "I can get anything. It’s not me. It’s Mad Dog. He’s the one stealing from the club. All the evidence - I've got it. I just need internet access and I can show you.”
“Shit, man,” Tank said. “You feel right about this? Taking him out this way?”
“I -” I didn’t have time to answer, as the rumbling of motorcycles outside interrupted us. “What the hell is that?"
Then everything went crazy. Automatic gunfire erupted from somewhere out front, and I saw Tank go down, right before a flash-bang grenade came rolling inside.
“Jesus, get down!” I yelled, taking cover behind a large metal canister that began spewing out a fog of something when it took a hit. I couldn’t see shit through the haze, but I felt Crunch beside me. “Tank!” I screamed.
No response. I could barely make out his figure, lying motionless on the ground. I handed Crunch my second piece, as if our handguns were going to be any match against automatic weapons. There was another burst of gunfire, and then the unmistakable "whoompf" sound of a barrel of something igniting.
Crunch followed close to me as we ran for the nearest cover, a vehicle service pit in the floor. Tank’s body lay a few feet away, and I stopped, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. I bent down to drag him with us, but then I saw an explosion from the corner of my eye.
I left him behind.
All around us, the building crackled and burned, loud even over the din of the fire alarm.
“Fuck, man, we’re going to die in here,” Crunch said.
“Shut up. Get your bandanna around your face. The smoke is going to get you before anything else. We need to get to the back exit.”
“You mean, where whoever’s out there is waiting for us?”
“Better than being burned alive in here. But we need to go now.”
Then we climbed out of the pit and ran, chaos reigning down around us. Just like it had when I was in Ramadi. The adrenaline took over.
There was no way I’d survived Iraq just to die in a shithole warehouse.
When by some miracle we got out of the building, I yanked the handkerchief away from my mouth, sucking in deep breaths of air and choking on the smoke, my lungs aching. Crunch was doubled over, coughing. There was no sign of anyone back here, so whoever had been shooting at us sure weren’t professionals, or anyone with military experience. They fired on us, set the place ablaze, but didn’t bother to cover the back exit?
So they were novices or sloppy.
“Shit, man,” Crunch said, coughing. “We need to get out of here before the cops and the fire department show up.”
I nodded. We followed close to the side of the building, Crunch behind me, weapons drawn. I could feel the heat from the interior as the place burned, and silently prayed the whole place wouldn’t blow until after we got out of there. When I reached the front, I stood motionless, watching three guys ride off on bikes.