Outlaw MC

By Dwayne Clayden

As an explosive war between rival motorcycle gangs takes hold of the city, Sergeant Brad Coulter and his partner struggle to maintain law and order.

The war spins out of control in the streets. At stake is domination of the city’s profitable drug and prostitution trade. No one is safe—not children, not judges, and definitely not cops. Coulter is about to find that out the hard way.

The violence is destroying the city, but the solution to stopping the war may bring an even greater threat. With everything to lose, Coulter and his team take the fight to the streets and face devastating consequences.

Outlaw MC is a bestselling action-packed thriller that will have you reading until the early morning hours.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dwayne Clayden
• Release date: Feb 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005099824

Dwayne Clayden

Dwayne Clayden combines his knowledge and experience as a police officer and paramedic to write realistic crime thrillers.Crisis Point, Dwayne’s first novel, was a finalist for the 2015 Crime Writers of Canada, Arthur Ellis Awards.OutlawMC, Wolfman is Back, and 13 Days of Terror are the next novels in the Brad Coulter Thriller Series, which continues April 22, 2021 with Goddess of Justice.In August 2020 Dwayne released the first novel in a new crime thriller series, Speargrass-Opioid. The second in the series, Speargrass-Vengeance, will launch in Fall 2021.In his 42 year career, Dwayne served as a police officer, paramedic, tactical paramedic, firefighter, emergency medical services (EMS) chief, educator, and academic chair.The co-author of four paramedic textbooks, he has spoken internationally at EMS conferences for the past three decades.Dwayne is a past member of the boards of the Crime Writers of Canada, and Alexandra Writers Centre Society and leads the Calgary Crime Writers.Dwayne is a popular speaker with writing groups and writing conference attendees.To learn more, visit him at www.dwayneclayden.com“Clayden’s writing is crisp and his characters jump from the pages. His novels allow me to delve into the depths of the villain’s mind but experience the goodness of Brad Coulter.”JJ Reichenbach.

Book preview

Chapter One

Calgary, Alberta, Canada

The van, headlights off, coasted past a playground, cozy bungalows and manicured lawns, and silently stopped in front of the house. Two men got out and slid balaclava’s over their faces. Pistols at their sides, they ran up the sidewalk to the front door. One of the men, tall and built like a tank, kicked the door with a heavy boot. The door swung open. They rushed inside, moving quickly through the living room to the kitchen. A man and a woman stared back, wide-eyed. The man opened a drawer and reached inside.

I wouldn’t do that, Russ, the big man said.

What the fuck do you want? Russ pulled the woman behind him.

It’s about what you did to us.

I didn’t do nothin’.

The big man laughed. You know exactly what you did. We thought you’d get the message when your brother disappeared.

You fuckers don’t scare me.

Well, we should. The big man nodded at his partner who took two steps and swung the butt of his pistol against Russ’ head. He dropped to his knees as the partner kicked him in the ribs. Russ rolled onto his face. Plastic fasteners zipped around his wrists. They jerked him to his feet and shoved him against the fridge.

The big man walked to the woman. Russ, you got a mighty fine lady here, too good for you. His big hand reached out and tore her blouse. Yup, too fine for you. He spun her around until she was bent over the counter then put plastic fasteners on her wrists.

Let her go, Russ yelled. She’s got nothing to do with this. Let her go . . .

A baby screamed.

Ah, isn’t that nice, the big guy said. You two playing house. He grabbed the woman’s hair and pulled her upright. Where’s the kid?

No, please . . . she begged.

The big guy pushed her toward the crying. His partner pushed Russ along behind.

The baby stood in his crib, screaming.

Both of you, kneel.

When Russ attempted to fight, the big guy punched him in the head. Russ slumped next to the woman.

Face the crib, the big guy said. Time for you three to go to hell.

Two gunshots echoed through the small room and the woman fell over.

No! Russ screamed. Two more shots silenced him.

What about the baby?

We’s told to kill Russ and his piece of ass, the big guy said. That’s it. Leave the kid.

Won’t it get hungry or something?

Like I give a shit. The big guy turned to the door. A teenage girl stood there, her hands over her mouth. Well, what do we have here?

Chapter Two

Brad Coulter sprinted along the winding path through the woods. At each curve, he caught a glimpse of the fleeing figure. The early morning sun peeked through the poplars, casting shadows across the trail.

His body screamed for him to stop, to quit, to admit defeat. But he couldn’t. He pushed past the pain, picked up speed, and closed the gap until he was mere yards behind.

They rounded a corner and broke free of the trees into a parking lot, racing to the vehicles by the park entrance. If he pushed hard, he’d get there first. Then his body quit. His lungs screamed for oxygen, his muscles cramped, and he slowed to a jog. Too little, too late.

Brad reached the truck and put his hands on the door, gasping for breath.

Looks like you’re out of shape, boss.

Brad glanced at his partner, Sam Steele. The runs through Weaselhead Park were part of fitness for the Tactical Support Unit. They ran the five-kilometer route several times a week. Brad missed some workouts because of meetings with the police brass.

Screw you. Brad kept his head down, sucking in the cool morning air. I let you win so you wouldn’t pout.

That’s hilarious.

Brad leaned against the truck. His breathing was still fast, but at least the cramps had subsided. He wiped the sweat pouring off his face with his shirt sleeve. He straightened, inhaled deeply, and exhaled. His heart rate slowed and his breathing returned to normal.

Steele pulled his duffel bag out of the truck and set it on the gravel. He took off his T-shirt, pulled out a towel, and wiped away the sweat. Sam Steele had been Brad’s partner since they joined the TSU together two years ago. Steele saved Brad’s life when they cornered ex-military bank robbers. Although seriously injured, Steele shot one gunman, giving Brad time to shoot the other. Brad’s promotion to sergeant hadn’t affected their friendship.

The rest of the team jogged into the parking lot. Charlie Zerr, ex-US Army Ranger, led the way, followed by Earl Knight and Randall Ames. Jimmy Nichols arrived last, gasping for air.

Zerr, holding his chest and gasping, staggered toward Brad. You’ve still got it, Sarge. I wanted to beat you, but I couldn’t catch up.

Not sure why you couldn’t, Steele said. He’s an old man now. Lost a step, for sure. Steele shot him a wry smile.

Brad shoved Zerr as he walked past. He straightened. It’s a miracle. Zerr raised his arms to the sky. The boss cured me. Halleluiah!

Brad rolled his eyes. You’re both asses. Brad pulled off his jogging clothes, toweled off, and changed into his uniform. The others were doing the same, with generous amounts of antiperspirant.

Nichols, I can’t believe you let old man Ames beat you, Zerr said. I had to detour around his walker. He’s got ten years on you.

I’ve got a cold.

Brad shook his head. Nichols had an excuse for everything. He was the weak link on their team.

We’re heading to the Barlow truck stop for breakfast, Zerr said. You coming, boss?

Not today. I have to drop off some requisitions at HQ. We’ll meet you at the airport. See you in ninety minutes or so.

Roger that, Zerr said.

Brad slid into the passenger seat and joined Steele.

Where to, boss? Steele pulled out of the parking lot.

Head downtown, Brad said. I need a coffee to get going. Then we’ll stop at HQ.

Remind me again whose idea was it to start our shifts at six a.m. with a six-mile run through Weaselhead?

If we left our workouts until the end of the day, you guys would bolt for the door heading home. It makes sense to start early with a good workout, then hit the street.

Steele smiled. If the workout is so good, why do you need coffee?

Are we playing twenty questions already? Just get me to a damn cup of coffee.

You’re a grump before you get caffeinated! Steele laughed.

The radio beeped, and the dispatcher said, All units, Bankview area. Reported shooting. 2413 Nineteenth Street Southwest.

That’s close. Brad grabbed the mic. Tactical Support 110 responding. ETA two minutes.

Roger, TS 110. Unknown situation. Hold back for backup.

Roger, dispatch. Brad turned to Steele. Screw that. Keep going to the house.

All units, dispatch said, the neighbor says two dead from gunshots. She took a baby to her house, 2416.

Roger that, Brad said. Anything about the shooter?

Negative, 110. I have zone cruisers and other tactical units en route.

Our team went for breakfast in the other direction. Steele sped up. They’ll be ten minutes at least.

Just you and me then, Brad said.

Steele turned into the street and parked a few houses away.

110 on scene. Brad tossed the mic on the seat. They exited, drawing their guns as they jogged across lawns to the side of the house. Brad peeked into the living room window, turned to Steele, and shook his head. He pointed to the front door, and they advanced. They stopped on either side of the open door. Brad listened for sounds. Hearing none, he gave Steele a hand signal, and they entered the house. Brad stepped inside to the right, and Steele to the left.

Brad worked his way through the empty living room, Steele joined him from the kitchen and shook his head. They crept down a hallway, checked a bathroom and two bedrooms. Clear. They stopped at the last bedroom doorway, and Brad peered into the room. He’d seen too many crime scenes to count—this was one of the worst.

Two bodies—male and female—lay crumpled on the floor between an empty crib and the door. The female’s arm was under the male’s. She was shot first. Small entrance wounds formed a star pattern on the backs of their heads. Thick, congealed, almost black blood pooled around the bodies.

Shards of bone littering the floor, reflected the light from the window. Dark blood, skin, and hair covered the pale blue walls. Brad took a deep breath—mistake. The coppery taste of blood competed with the smell of shit and old diapers—the shit winning.

Thin white curtains fluttered in the breeze from the open window. Brad removed his ball cap and scratched his head. This crap happened too often in Calgary lately. Just when he thought he’d seen the worst, someone took it to another level.

Steele peered into the room. Ah, jeez. This is messed up.

Yeah. Not messed up. Fucked up. He’d never erase this scene. These graphic images would join the others. Sleep would not come easily tonight.

Let’s check the basement, Brad said.

They carefully stepped down the stairs into the undeveloped basement. Their flashlight beams lit storage boxes, toys and all sorts of junk. In a far corner they found a room. The door was closed, but unlocked. Brad opened the door and they stepped inside to see a long work table, scales, boxes of baggies, and dried green leaves.

Workroom for marijuana distribution, Steele said.

Sounds about right, Brad said. Let’s go. No one here.

Back upstairs Brad pulled the portable radio off his belt and keyed the mic. Dispatch, TS 110. We are okay on the scene with a double homicide. I need a perimeter set up. Send K-9, Ident, and homicide.

Roger, 110.

Have K-9 search the yards and alleys for other victims—or suspects. Oh, yeah. Might as well notify the medical examiner.

Roger.

Brakes screeched, and boots pounded on the steps.

Constables Tina Davidson and Steve Gunther stormed the house, guns drawn.

Brad held up a hand. It’s okay. Guns away.

We didn’t hear from you, Sarge, Gunther said. We didn’t know if you were okay.

Brad pointed to Gunther’s portable. If you had your radios on you would have heard me.

Right. Gunther switched on his portable radio and peered down the hallway. What do we have, Sarge?

Double homicide.

Really? Gunther headed to the bedroom.

You don’t need to see that, Brad said.

Bad? Gunther halted.

Not good.

Gunther shrugged and kept walking.

Brad shook his head.

Gunther exited the bedroom, pale and a little green.

Was it worth it? Brad asked.

Gunther didn’t answer. His pace increased as he neared the front door. Outside, he leaned over the porch railing and puked. Brad shook his head. He didn’t have time for this.

Rookie? Steele asked.

Pussy. He’s been my partner two years, Davidson said. He still pukes every couple of months. You get used to it. I ignore him.

Brad glanced toward Gunther and frowned. Davidson, stay here. Babysit your partner and keep a log of everyone who enters and exits. I’m going to talk to the neighbor. Steele, when the homicide geniuses get here take them inside.

Brad stopped on the first step and scanned the neighborhood. Nice area. House maintained. The grass mowed. Kids’ bikes and toys littered several lawns. The peaceful neighborhood everyone dreams about. The horror inside was out of sync with the tranquility outside.

Two cruisers raced up the street. Cops jumped out.

At least they didn’t use their sirens.

Brad gathered the cops. Let’s not contaminate the crime scene. It’s a double homicide. Nobody goes in unless I say so. Split up and canvass both sides of the street. We need to know everything that happened in this neighborhood since late afternoon yesterday. The 911 call came from 2422. I’ll go there.

Chapter Three

A faded blue Dodge Duster entered the cul-de-sac and parked behind a cruiser. The driver got out of the car and scanned the scene.

Detective Tommy Devlin had a scraggly beard and his long hair was tied back in a ponytail. He wore ripped jeans, a faded gray T-shirt, a jean vest, mirror sunglasses, and black boots. Devlin and Brad had been teammates in TSU until early this year when Devlin went back to narcotics.

Devlin ambled toward Brad, taking the last pull on a cigarette.

Hey, dirtball. Get back in your piece of crap car and take off. Brad stood, arms crossed and legs spread.

Why don’t you kiss my hairy butt, you Nazi Stormtrooper. Devlin glared at Brad.

Neither spoke. Neither blinked.

Then Brad broke the silence. What brings you out before dark?

Your vics. I know them.

You mean knew them. Why do you care?

Devlin pointed to the house. Narcotics is interested.

Do tell.

Devlin slid his sunglasses up onto this head. Who arrived first?

Steele and me.

How?

We were the closest.

You have backup? Devlin asked.

I don’t need frickin’ backup.

Devlin laughed. Yeah, I bet you don’t. You like to live on the edge. He pointed to the house. Bet it’s Russ and Denise Sutton.

Brad shook his head. No bet. That’s the names the neighbor gave dispatch.

Russ and his brother Nelson were bikers and drug dealers.

"Bikers? In this neighborhood?"

That was Denise’s idea. Better for kids—better schools, I guess.

Brad cocked his head. What club?

Gypsy Jokers. Full-patch members.

Badasses, like a Mafia family.

Yeah, that’s the short version.

Where’s his brother Nelson? Brad asked.

Missing.

What?

About six months ago, the brothers decided to freelance in the southwest, Devlin said. Not much drug activity here. Within three months, they had high school kids distributing drugs. Then Nelson goes missing two months ago. Gone. No note. No nothing. No Nelson. Russ doesn’t get the message and increases drug sales competing with the Jokers. Two weeks ago, he spread the word he’ll pay two thousand dollars for information on his brother. Jokers spread the word anyone tries for the two thousand, they’ll disappear like Nelson. Then a week ago, Russ ups it to four thousand. Devlin glanced at the house. What’s it like inside?

Not good. Follow me. Brad headed to the house. Devlin’s boots crunched on the gravel a step behind. Brad led him past Davidson to the baby’s room, then stepped aside. Devlin stepped into the doorway.

I assume you tried mouth to mouth.

Of course. Society can’t afford to lose citizens of this caliber.

You’re a better man than me, Devlin said.

Brad waited in the hallway—the images already seared into his memory.

Headshots, Devlin said. Execution style. They made a show of it. Wanted Russ and Denise to think they were gonna kill the baby too. They killed Denise first. Her arm is under Russ.

Yeah, I saw that too. Brad leaned against the hallway wall. They wanted Russ to know he’d screwed up big time.

A message to other bikers—cross us and this is what you can expect.

Brad and Devlin climbed the front steps of the neighbor’s house. A face peeked from behind the living room curtains. Brad knocked on the door.

A short, thin man in his mid-sixties pulled the door open and stood aside. He blinked and pointed to the living room. Mornin’, officer.

They stepped in. A heavy-set lady about the same age stood by the window, holding a sleeping baby in her arms.

Good morning. I’m Sergeant Coulter. He pointed to Devlin. This is Detective Devlin.

I’m Eloise Gable. She gave Devlin a once-over. Her eyes narrowed, and her chin rose. You’re a detective? Dressed like that. You look homeless.

I work undercover.

We’d like to talk to you and … Brad peered at the man.

Elmer. Eloise rocked the baby in her arms. This is Bobby. She pointed to the couch. Brad sank into the soft cushions. Devlin sat down with more caution.

Elmer flopped into an overstuffed chair. Eloise stood, rocking Bobby.

What made you think something was wrong? Brad asked.

I’d finished my coffee and glanced out the front window. I’m not normally at the window—

Elmer coughed.

Their car was still parked in front of the house. Russ always leaves early. I thought maybe Bobby was sick. He’s a good baby, but sometimes he’s cranky at night, so I take him during the day so Denise can sleep. I told Elmer I was going to the house.

What time was this?

About 7:30, I guess.

Brad made a note. Go on.

The front door was open. I called in—no one answered. I walked to the baby’s room, Bobby was crying. I saw them, Russ and Denise, on the floor. Blood everywhere. Bobby was screaming. I grabbed him and ran. Then called 911.

We didn’t see any footprints in the blood, Devlin said.

Eloise glared at Devlin. I’m not a complete idiot, you know. I spent my life as a nurse. Seen lots of trauma, I have. More than you, I expect. I stayed against the bedroom wall. Got Bobby and left. Didn’t touch anything. Did you … did you find Annie?

Who’s Annie? Brad asked.

Denise’s daughter. She hasn’t been there long, maybe a month. She’s sixteen, seventeen. From another marriage or another guy or something. Is she …? Oh my God, no.

Brad held out his hands. Take it easy. She’s not in the house. Do you know where she’d be?

Maybe wherever she came from last month. A foster home of some kind.

Do you have a phone number or address? Brad asked.

No. Denise didn’t talk much about it. She was happy having her daughter living with her. Probably for the live-in babysitter.

Did Denise have problems with Annie?

She used to. When Denise was using drugs, Annie would run away. That’s what landed her in foster care. I don’t think there were any problems lately.

Did they get along? Brad asked.

I think so. But I never liked Russ and told Denise that.

What didn’t you like about Russ?

He was shady. One of those bikers, you know. Denise deserved better.

What about last night? Devlin asked. Anything suspicious?

Eloise turned toward the window, pointing to the street. A van parked there late last night.

Brad glanced out the window. In daylight, she had a good view of the street. At night, not so much. What time?

She turned back. They drove up about 10:30.

What type of van?

I didn’t see much. I mind my own business.

Elmer coughed again.

Anything you saw might help us, Brad said. This is important.

Well, I only caught a glance, but it was white, like the Ford van Elmer drove as a plumber.

Anything else about the van?

As I said, I only peeked out the window for a second.

Brad waited for Elmer’s cough, but it never came. Guess he figured two coughs were enough.

Nothing else? Brad asked.

Well, when they left, the van passed under the streetlight across the street. I saw something on the side—a picture.

A picture of what? Brad asked.

A lightning bolt.

Anything else?

Eastmont Electric.

She could have mentioned that sooner.

Who was in the van? Devlin asked.

Too dark to tell.

How long did they stay? Devlin asked.

Fifteen minutes. About that long, eh, Elmer?

How would I know? You were the one glued to the window.

Eloise turned her back to Devlin. Yes, I’d say about fifteen minutes. I almost didn’t see them leave.

Why?

They didn’t turn on the headlights when they drove away.

One more question, Brad said. Does Bobby have any relatives we can contact?

Not that I know of.

Brad stood. Thank you, ma’am. We appreciate your help. I’ll call Child Services to get the baby.

Devlin followed Brad out of the house. They stopped on the front lawn.

The bikers have the girl, don’t they? Brad asked.

Yeah. If they have her, she might wish she was dead.

We need to find her, fast. I’ll send Davidson and Gunther. They can track the social services angle, but that’s probably a dead end.

Steele approached. Homicide is on the scene now. K-9 came up empty. No bodies in the alley or any of the yards. They got a track from the front door to the curb. Could be the killers, or us.

I’ll see what I can find out about Eastmont Electric, Devlin said.

Tuesday Evening

The TSU building, a former warehouse by the airport, provided an apparatus bay for their vehicles, storage for their guns, ammunition, equipment, and office space. The large overhead door opened to a secure parking area for their cars. Devlin paused and flicked a cigarette butt towards the parking lot and entered by the back door.

Brad was doing bench presses in the corner at the makeshift weight room.

Devlin sauntered across the bay area past the Suburbans and stopped beside an armored personnel carrier gathering dust. Two years earlier, when the Canadian Armed Forces downsized, Deputy Chief George Collins convinced them to donate the APC. TSU had used it once. It had stalled, belched black diesel smoke, and gassed everyone inside. It hadn’t moved since.

Devlin rubbed a hand on the Calgary Police Service decal on the side.

Brad wandered over. A dinosaur from another time.

Just like the deputy. I’m surprised you’re still here.

Busy all day helping you. My workout had to wait.

You could skip a workout now and then, Devlin said.

I gotta keep up with the young guys.

Sure, cuz you’re so fuckin’ old, Devlin said. What? Twenty-eight?

Thirty-one last week.

Devlin lit a cigarette. When you reach your mid-thirties, it’s harder to keep the weight off.

Brad glared. Really? You’re gonna smoke that here? Right after I work out? When did you start smoking?

It’s part of the undercover image. I kicked it for TSU. Now I’m hooked again.

You know we like it clean and smoke-free.

All right. Devlin pinched the end and put the cigarette back in the package. Any word on Annie?

Davidson and Gunther didn’t get anywhere locating her, Brad said. She left the foster home one month ago to live with her mom. I guess social services thought a clean house and a nice neighborhood meant everything would be okay. I’ll bet they didn’t check too hard on Russ. Annie didn’t go back to the foster home today, and social services haven’t heard from her. Dead ends. Not at school either.

Shit, Devlin said. I need a favor.

Of course, you do. I was doing your work all day, you might as well take my night too.

I got lucky on that Eastmont Electric Van, Devlin said. It was stolen three nights ago. This afternoon I put the plate number out over the radio. Just got a hit. About that favor …

Chapter Four

A half dozen Suburbans, lights out, drove down the gravel road toward the outskirts of the city. There were no streetlights in this rural area. They passed farmhouses and other buildings from the early 1900s, now designated for demolition for a new subdivision. The road wound along the Bow River, through opens fields, and then dense brush. The red maplight cast an eerie glow. Brad traced their route. Pull over here. Steele pulled to the side of the road, the other trucks falling in behind. They were about a half mile from their target.

Brad glanced at the sky. The full moon played tricks on his eyes, making it hard to sort reality from imaginary. He closed his eyes to refocus. He opened them, then checked his watch. 0100 hours. Nothing good ever happened after midnight. He pulled his gear from the back of his truck and loaded his rifle. The team did the same and met at Brad’s truck. Sergeant Luke Garelli and his German Shepherd, Neiko, caught up to them.

You ready? Brad asked.

You bet, Garelli said. "We’ll start