The skin over El Ojo’s knuckle pulled taut as the Ex-Kahn squeezed the trigger. Erlan’s senses surged with exquisite clarity, desperate to send their final messages to his brain. He heard a whispering rush of wings as a shadow dropped out of the rafters, smelled the swirling passage left behind in drifting cigarette smoke.
The Magnum roared and El Ojo fell backward, cursing and clawing at the fluttering shadow. A gust of wind swept past Erlan’s head as the bullet trimmed his hair. His ears rang, his nose plugged with the stench of burning cordite.
A hundred more shadows dropped from the rafters, cawing and swooping onto the crowd. Everyone dove for the floor, except Erlan, who stood there surprised to still be alive.
El Ojo screamed and the raven broke away. It flew up and circled the room. Erlan choked back a startled sound as the raven banked toward him and landed on his shoulder, its talons sharp in his skin.
An eyeball dangled from its beak, the brown iris staring sidelong at Erlan’s face. The bird looked around deliberately, waited until it had the attention of the entire room. Then it tossed the eyeball up and swallowed it whole.
The raven gave another slow look around before uttering a single defiant caw, and launched itself silently into the air. The crows followed it back into the rafters. Erlan caught a glimpse of an old scar and a notch out of its tail before the raven disappeared. Seconds later, only swirls of tobacco smoke and a single black feather floated above the frozen crowd.
El Ojo lay on the floor, uttering a horrible “uh, uh,” sound as his bloody fingers explored the empty eye socket.
Erlan looked at the whiskey in his hand. He tipped the bottle at the rafters, filled with a sinking realization. He had just been placed on the Branch throne by a raven and a mob of crows. In death, Keylor Moss was proving to be the real thing, and his ghost wife’s children would not be denied.

If Erlan went back east and never returned, he’d leave a vacuum behind that must be filled. The Branch, the MC, even the patch-over clubs would have to close the issue of his claim, permanently. It would be him and Alli alone against desperate people who were a law unto themselves. At least if he took the job, they’d have the Alder Boys to watch their backs.

Erlan couldn’t see any choice.

“On your feet." Erlan’s voice broke over the rising murmur of the crowd. He raised the bottle of whiskey, waiting until they put away their weapons and collected their bottles. Impressively little liquor had spilled during the altercation.

“To Keylor Moss,” Erlan said, “Our father!”

He held the bottle high, looking at the clear amber glow of the whiskey. He’d been dry for five years. No looking back.

Erlan took a big pull. The room followed suit, gasping and cheering. God, the stuff burned even better than he remembered.

Erlan turned and shot Boxer a look. "Thanks for hanging me out to dry."

Boxer chuckled. "You did good, kid."

“Did good? I didn’t do a thing.”

“Sometimes that’s what it takes.”

Erlan grabbed the smaller man’s vest and pulled him close. "Did you put Alphonse up to this, Boxer?"

"Hell no. I knew somebody would test you eventually, but I never figured anything this crazy." Boxer pushed himself back. "Could have been a complete blood bath."

Erlan opened his fist and smoothed the wadded fabric with his hand. He pressed the whiskey against Boxer’s chest. “Good. How about a few words?”

Boxer turned to the crowd. He pointed the whiskey at the knot of Ex-Kahns kneeling around their fallen leader.

“Left him his head,” Boxer said. “More than Keylor would have done. Let’s have a toast to the new Alderman’s generous nature!”

As the crowd cheered, a couple of big XKs carried El Ojo to a table in the rear, the X-Kahn president staggering and shaking from shock. Was this the worst of the bloodshed required to secure his position? Somehow Erlan doubted it.

Luscious took the bottle next. “The Alderman is dead. Long live the Alderman!”

The big VP passed the bottle and clapped a huge hand on Erlan’s shoulder. "Nicely done, boy. You are your father’s son."

Last thing I wanted to hear, Erlan thought.

And the thing you need the most, his bad half said.

Sapphire caught up with him as he pushed through the crowd.

"I’ll keep an eye on things here," she said, shaking her head. “No pun intended.” She pressed a cell phone into his hand. "An early birthday present. I’ll call if the Kahns get up a lynch mob and head your way."

Someone else lifted a bottle and shouted a toast. Erlan ducked out the back door past the bathrooms.

#

Long mountain shadows covered the hard-packed dirt outside the Roadhouse and reached far across the plains to the east. The first stars glimmered in the darkening sky. Maggie sat on her bike, a gun-metal chopper with a small California faring and a duffel bag lashed on the back, watching the mob of crows disappear into the west. A forgotten cigarette burned in her hand.

The hyper sensitivity he had experienced when he’d faced El Ojo’s gun still lingered. He heard every chip of gravel under her boot as she shifted her weight, smelled the cigarette from 20 feet away, her hair from 10 feet.

She dropped her gaze from the departing mob and turned to look at him. Erlan pointed at the tattoos on Maggie’s long fingers. "I thought straight-edge types didn’t smoke."

"We don’t" she said, dropping the cigarette and crushing the butt under her heel. "What happened in there?"

"Things got a little Hitchcock again for a minute or two."

When he didn’t go on, Maggie looked exasperated. "Care to fill in the blanks?"

"Well..." Erlan considered the events. "I brought a chess board to a gunfight, but it worked out somehow."

"Come on. What happened? You’re killing me."

An ambulance wailed in the distance, no doubt summoned for Alphonse. Erlan considered bailing out on this mission. He was the new Alderman, anointed by the Ghost Mother’s children. He could reinstate Maggie on the spot. No need for her to move, no need to get pulled into his mother’s schemes.

Boxer and Luscious opposed her, however, and for all intents and purposes, they ran the club. His father could overrule them, but Erlan was in no position to make unpopular decisions until his figurehead status turned into real power.

He shook his head. “You’ll hear all about it soon enough. "Let’s get your stuff moved while everyone’s distracted," Erlan said, and headed toward the van. "You lead, I’ll follow."

His boots crunched across the gravel. Everything had a glow to it, like the trees and brush and hills felt glad to be alive. Maggie kicked her chopper to life behind him. One of the tappets in her engine whispered discordantly, a micron out of tune. She rumbled around the parking lot, coasted to a stop in the club’s drive way and put out one long leg to support the bike. Her leather pants stretched tight around the elegant curves of her ass and thigh as the muscles took the big Harley’s weight.

“Down boy,” muttered Erlan as he climbed into the van.

Looking’s for free, his bad half whispered.

Next Chapter: Good Samaritan