Free Deep Cover by Edward Bungert Page B

look that said What do you think , stupid ? He nodded in silent acknowledgment. Monk wasn't much of a talker. In fact, it was his habitual long periods of silence that had earned him his name.
    He had joined the club ten years ago when The Henchmen had absorbed his old club, The Warlords. The Warlords had over forty members then. Only twelve had the mettle to become Henchmen. The others just drifted away from the outlaw scene. Monk liked to think, to philosophize. He believed in reincarnation, and was certain that all The Henchmen had been Greek or Roman warriors in a past life.
    Monk parked the van in front of Mike's. "Let's go," he said gleefully, "the fresh brew is waiting." As we walked into the bar my thoughts drifted. How , during an all - night party , am I going to check in with Base I ? They must be shitting by now . Five corpses left by the docks , and no call from the man inside . Deep inside , and getting deeper by the minute .
    "Hey, Monk!" shouted Sam from behind the bar. "What's happening?"
    "Give me a couple of kegs, Sam."
    "Party tonight, boys?"
    "Yeah. You know us, Sam. Life's a party, right, Doc?"
    "You know it," I said, as I gave Monk the high-five. Sam brought up two kegs from the basement. He must have been pushing sixty, but he handled those kegs effortlessly. He was rock-hard, although the tattoos on his huge arms were fading with age. That and his white hair were the only things old about Sam.
    Monk told me that even some of The Henchmen wouldn't have wanted to take Sam on. He'd been a middle-weight contender back in 1957, fighting out of Los Angeles. The story goes that Sam beat the shit out of two members of The Outcasts when he was in Arizona one summer. Apparently the two bikers got in an argument with Sam while they were drinking in a local tavern. Sam put both of them in the hospital that night. From the looks of him, I didn't doubt the story.
    "You hungry?" asked Monk, as he placed the kegs in the back of the van. "How about grabbing a slice of pizza before going back?"
    "I need to call my parole officer first," I said. "I'm two days late in checking in, and he's a real prick about shit like that." I had to take the chance. There was no telling when I would get a chance to call again. Henchmen parties often lasted three days or more. If Monk didn't buy that parole officer line, it was all over for the operation.
    I started walking toward the pay phone near the entrance to Mike's. Tension was building in my gut. "I'll go with you," he said. I couldn't read him. Why did he want to come with me? Had I blown it? Or was I just being paranoid?
    No sooner had I picked up the receiver than Monk grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. He reached inside his jacket. Should I move on him ? was my immediate thought. He pulled out a quarter. "It's on me, man. I know how those fuckin' ballbusters can.
    "Thanks, Monk," I said, letting out the air I had stored in my lungs. This wasn't going to be easy. With Monk standing right there I couldn't talk freely. I punched in the numbers rapidly, too fast for him to memorize all the digits.
    "Base One." Thank God , I thought. It was Leverick. Of all the people involved in the case, I felt the most comfortable with him. After all, he'd trained me for this assignment. He knew me better than anyone else.
    "This is Randall," I said.
    "What? Martin, is that you? Are you all right?"
    "Yeah, yeah, sorry, man. I forgot," I said, knowing a parole officer's first question would be why I hadn't called. I looked at Monk and rolled my eyes in disgust. Monk snickered.
    "You're not alone, are you?" said Leverick
    "Right, I looked for work. Nobody's hiring, man, what can I tell ya?" Again I looked toward Monk, this time motioning with my hand near my crotch to further mock my fake PO. Monk started laughing.
    "Okay, Martin. I guess you're all right. We received word of what happened with the Mexicans. Did they try to rip you off?"
    "Yes. I'll call on time from now on." I placed the