Page 90 of Griz Rides Tall

“Do you think this is deep enough?” Griz said.

“Yeah, fuck it,” Ripper said. “Let’s just dump them and be done with it.”

They lifted the two bodies out of the wheelbarrow as they’d put them in, tossing them into the hole like sacks of grain. Ripper kicked a little dirt on top of the bodies afterward.

He didn’t say anything and didn’t move for a little while, staring down into the hole silently. Griz figured he was working up to saying something, and sure enough, just as Griz thought it, Ripper decided to speak.

“You know, you did have a point there, Griz,” Ripper said. “Going up against AKs with pistols is a real bad situation.”

“You’re talking about the guns, again,” Griz said. “The cartel.”

“I am. Look, I get it that you don’t like the idea of the cartel. Really, I don’t like it that much either. But I think it could be a real solution to our problems.”

“Maybe,” Griz said.

“All I know is, Death’s Head keeps coming out here, with more firepower than we have, and we need to level the playing field. We can get more guys on deck if we call in the other charters, but even then, we need the tools to do the job.”

“You have a point,” Griz said. “I was shooting back with my pistol in the cabin and I felt like I was throwing spitballs.”

“Exactly. I have no doubt that any one of ours is worth ten of theirs, but if they’ve got heavy guns and we’re making do with pop guns… well, it ain’t going to work out in our favor, brother.”

“What are they going to want in return, though? The cartel?”

“Hey, we can make it happen on our terms. That much I know.”

“Maybe,” Griz said.

He didn’t like it. There was something wrong about it, something basic and primal scratching at the back of his head. Maybe Ripper could set up some sort of deal where they could get guns from the cartel and not end up with some undesirable entanglements, but they’d always avoided the cartel like the plague and it seemed wrong to take a chance on changing that now. It felt desperate, reckless, unwise.

He knew his dad would never have gone for it. But then, his dad was in a coma and the rest of the MC was at war, and Griz needed a way to win it.

Plus, it kept feeling like Ripper was trying to capitalize on the situation to push the MC in the direction he’d always wanted. Even as Griz thought it, Ripper must’ve sensed his concerns.

“Listen, I know you don’t trust me on this,” Ripper said. “So don’t trust me. Go do the deal yourself, and if you don’t like what you see, walk away from it. I’ll leave it up to you.”

It was almost like Ripper was reading his mind. And Griz had to admit, it was hard not to trust Ripper. If he hadn’t shown up when he did, it was unlikely either he or Becca would be alive right now.

And yet. It was all so convenient.

“I’ll fill this in,” Griz said. “I need time to think.”

“I get it. Look, watch yourself out here, man,” Ripper said. “We’ve already got two brothers who have been shot, and this was a close one. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Thanks again, Ripper. I mean it.”

“Ain’t nothing,” Ripper said. “I’ll dump these guns, and then I’ll see you at the clubhouse later.”

Griz stared down at the two bodies lying in the grave as Ripper disappeared into the woods. He waited for a good few minutes after Ripper had gone, and then climbed down into the hole.

He looked the bodies over carefully. One of the men had been shot in the side of the head, right near the temple.

That lined up with Ripper’s story. He’d said that he came up on the two Death’s Head members while they were distracted with shooting up the cabin, and shot the one in the head before he knew what was happening.

The other body had a half-dozen holes in the front of the torso, which also lined up more or less with what Ripper had said. After shooting the first man, the second had turned to face him, out of ammo and trying to reload, and Ripper had unloaded his pistol into him.

Griz supposed that all that was consistent with Ripper’s story. Ripper wasn’t a great shot, but he wasn’t a bad one, either. At that distance, and unloading a full magazine at the second shooter, he’d probably get six hits or so.

So that all made sense. But where had these guys come from?