Sonatorrek: Reginsmál - 2

[x-dominion.livejournal.com]

Kane and Brand arrive in Aitkins and meet the Chief of Police.



There was no airport in Aitkins, although the older maps that Kane had looked at indicated that there was an airfield operated for crop dusters and forest fire fighting planes. Instead, they had elected to drive from Milwaukee, despite Brand’s suggestion to stay over. It was a sign of how low Kane was getting that he’d actually considered it for a half second. The fiasco with Jennifer had been so unlike him that he couldn’t explain what had happened; just the feeling of panic that had turned into crippling isolation in the wake of the incident.

Instead, they drove mostly in silence, with her on her phone and him fiddling with the radio. There wasn’t a hell of a lot out here; a mix of country stations and oldies. The Animals came on as they passed the town population sign, and Kane muttered along as he caught sight of the police station. “and lord, I know, I was one...”

He pulled in to see the chief standing out in front of the building, smoking a cigarette and staring out into the sky at the circling flock of ravens.

"How... picturesque," Brand remarked dryly as they climbed out of the car. "Sheriff Snorinsen, I presume?"

"It's Chief, actually. Which sounds impressive but still means I can't smoke in my own damn office." He snubbed out the cigarette and came around to shake hands. "I guess you're the Feds I was told to expect. Jack Keller said he made the call, but didn't know if they'd just send a couple of agents or park half of SHIELD up my ass."

"Don't worry, Chief Snorinsen. We're not here to throw our weight around."

"Arnie. C'mon inside." They followed him into the small police station. A deputy was on duty at the front, but the rest of the desks were deserted. In a small town like this, most of those on duty would be out cruising around, covering their territory and interacting with the state troopers. He doubted that there were more than a baker's dozen working for the department in total. Arnie waved them towards the coffee pot as they got to his office, and sat down behind his desk. "So, you're here about Donald Blake, right?"

Brand nodded as she picked fastidiously over the coffee mugs until she found one that suited her standards of hygiene. "We got reports that he might be a mutant, so we were sent down here to investigate. A mutant-powered biker war could be... unpleasant."

"Unpleasant applies to any biker war. This one has the chance to be a flaming shitstorm. Pardon my french." He said, leaning forward on his desk. "The Valhallas have been in Aitkins since the 50s. Originally, it was started by Blake's grandfather, Willmot. Mostly veterens with a fetish for bikes. His son Deke took over after he got back from 'Nam, short one eye and any tolerance for authority. I know they run some dope and pills, provide cover for smuggling down from the border. Before you get into it, it's small potatoes."

"You're saying you condone it?"

"I'm saying that starting a war with Deke Blake and ripping the town apart isn't worth it for the piddly-ass crimes they commit to keep afloat. I've known Deke a long time, and I know the lines that the Valhallas won't cross. Trouble is that some of our other motorcycle enthusiaists don't have the same boundries. Used to be that a deal kept them out of Aiktins and the surround territory, but now it's like they're daring Deke to challenge them. Call themselves the Sons of Hel, and they are bad boys. They run guns and heroin, and that mutant shit- Kick."

"More Norse mythology." Brand finished pouring her coffee and took a seat, crossing her legs with a calculated gesture. "These Sons of Hel - any indication they might have mutants in their ranks?"

"Not that I've seen. But they do have a new President. Some creepy fucker in one of those tinted visored helmets. So far, no one's seen him take it off." He gave a snort of contempt. "The Sons are scum - mostly racist fucks running around spouting off this Nordic Viking purity bullshit, while at the same time running automatic weapons down for black gangs in Chicago. ATF has been after them for years and is always just this close to nailing them. Pushing on Aitkins doesn't make a lot of sense for them - more attention they don't need. But every since Donny went weird, the Valhallas want to push back and he'd ready to do it."

"OK, Don Blake. Define weird."

"In a Sons ambush, they hit him with a truck and then unloaded an AK into his gut. Donny not only shrugged it off, but he ripped the truck in two. I got a sister who married a scrapper in Chicago. He's got industrial machines that can't do to a car what Donny did with his bare hands."

"That sounds like a mutant to me."

"About the Valhallas... how are they going to react to a couple of Feds walking in asking questions?" Brand asked. "Obviously I'm not expecting flowers and champagne, but will we need the bullet proof vests?"

"As long as you're smart about it, no. Don't get me wrong, Deke's gang are criminals, and crossing them the wrong way is just asking to get the shit kicked out of you in a parking lot. Deke especially hates authority. You know what a LRRP is?" It sounded like a frog noise - lurp. "Long Range Recon and Patrol. Deke spent three tours out in the bush in 'Nam, way inside enemy lines for weeks at a time, with no support or backup. On his last patrol, some REMF changed his coordinates at the last minute, and sent him through a fire zone for US bombers. Got caught in a blast that threw him so hard he was actually impaled through the right shoulder against a tree.”

"REMF?"

"Rear echelon mother-fucker. The kind of asshole at command that gets humps killed. Anyway, Deke lost an eye, broke a dozen bones - spent nine days trapped there, catching rain and eating bugs from the tree trunk he could catch. Patrol that found him thought he was dead 'til they tried to take his tags." Arnie shook his head. "The REMF who made the mistake covered it up, and Deke got cashiered for not following orders using the path he'd been given. Yeah, he doesn't like the authorities much. But he also loves his son, and he's not stupid. I think he'll talk to you, but I wouldn't suggest playing the heavy with him. If he thinks you're there to take Donny away, he'll fight."

“So, push the concern, back off on the hard line. Good to know.” Brand sipped her coffee meditatively. “What about Don’s mom? She still in the picture.”

“Died in a car accident a couple of years after Donny was born. Don’t ask about her. Deke took her death hard.”

“So here’s the thing, Chief, it sounds to me like the best thing we could do is to break the Valhallas, and when the Sons overreach, drop the ATF on them like a hammer.” Kane said, pushing Arnie.

“You won’t get the conviction.” Arnie responded, squaring up Garrison’s stare. “The Valhallas are locals. Folks around here might look down on our criminal element, but they won’t testify against them. More than one family has been helped out during a bad winter by them, and some of what we would call the grey areas of our legal system have been made a little less grey. I’m not saying that they’re a both of Robin Hoods or some shit like that, but the Blakes have been here for almost a hundred years, and the feds haven’t.”

Kane held the look for a moment and then nodded. He wasn’t naive and the RCMP wasn’t ignorant to similar arrangements. Sometimes you let the little crimes pass in order to focus on the big ones.

“I told you this was a crappy job,” Brand remarked to Kane. “Let’s just get this done and get the fuck out of here.”

“Brand is the diplomatic one here.”

“So I see.” Arnie quirked a smile, before he reached for his keys. “You can follow behind me. Deke and I go a long ways back. He should at least talk to you. Maybe.” He admitted, putting on his hat, an old time stetson.

“Sounds good. Is there a motel around here?”

“Dave Foster has a place down the road. I’ll take you there after the Valhallas.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. This is a small town, Agents. The rules are very different here. Just keep that in mind when you talk to people. Otherwise, you’re going to find that people around here are very good at being uncooperative. Long winters with only a couple thousand people to interact with makes them look after each other, even if they are greasy bikers the rest of the year.” He hitched his belt and headed off, leaving them to follow in tow.