[center][h2]A Bigger Game[/h2][/center] Rules was rules. Rules was what kept the MC in order. Rules was what made the coin flow. And after finding one of their own dead in the alley outside the Twirling Rabbit, it was rules what kept them all alive while they sussed it out. The Headhunters’ clubhouse was in full lockdown. Husbands and wives, girlfriends and boyfriends, not to mention an army of kids, had been shuttled from their beds into the direct protection of the MC. For hours, the air was filled with the smell of breakfast cooked for dozens of innocent mouths whose owners all wondered just how long they’d be stuck in this place. In the table room, Root and his lieutenants hashed out their next moves, and waited for news from their eyes and ears all over Khao Yai. Momma Ellsbeth had handed over the bar’s security capture. The biker chief and his war council studied the images again and again. “I know Lip didn’t help himself none,” Roach was saying, “but we all been around enough to spot a man lookin’ for a fight.” He backtracked the scene. “See right there? Dude’s sizin’ up his marks.” The image froze. In the bottom corner, Lip, the gang’s money man, jostled for a place at the bar. Not four meters away stood the dark stranger, eyes locked on their brother’s polo shirt with deadly intent. Root pulled on his cigarette. “So this wasn’t a hit.” Cheesedick spoke up. “I’m with Roach. None of the other MC’s was out. The Mau-Maus were throwin’ a divorce party for their V-prez and his old lady, and the Chupacabras were layin’ low since Booth got a few of their three-strikers out of stir. This guy,” he pointed toward the screen, “was a one-off.” “Who is…this guy?” Root studied the face, a murderous intensity on the big screen. “Nips? We pickin’ up any cortex chatter?” “Not a word,” she replied as she pushed some image prints across the table. “I put the capture out to all our friendlies and anyone who owes us. Hit all the banger turf, the port, and we got a couple barefoots watchin’ the jungle trails. He sticks his head up,” she continued, “we’ll know.” The biker chief grunted his acknowledgment. “Word from the funeral home is ‘closed casket.’ Not enough of Lip’s face left to rebuild.” He straightened in his chair. “Til we got this guy, we’re buttoned up. Four man rides to check leads. Full pressure on the streets.” A quick knock at the door announced Ellsbeth. The old woman entered, and settled into her customary seat along the wall. Though she didn’t warrant a place at the table, her confident presence was undisputed among the outlaws in this room. Root offered a grim, deferential nod to his mother. ‘Whatcha want us to do when we find ‘im?” Roach asked. “Make an example, or a quick kill?” “Lip wasn’t patched,” the boss rubbed his jaw, “but he was still one of ours. Unless our boy’s runnin’ with a crew,” Root answered, “take him down where you find him. Blood for blood.” “Copy that, Prez.” Root’s eye landed upon a silent lieutenant. “C-mouth, pick three and saddle up. Sun’s up now. Cover every inch of ground around the Rabbit. I want to know…” A persistent chirping interrupted the leader’s command. “Sorry, boss,” Nips grabbed her cortex reader. Tucking it to her ear, she turned away from the table, her conversation a hushed whisper whose intensity grew through body language and gestures. Though her brothers often found reason to stare, on this morning her usual distractions didn’t enter into their attention. “Thanks,” she said as her chair swiveled back to face the table. “That was one of Lucchesi’s capos. Our guy’s in the port. Rent-a-cop saw ‘im sleepin’ in a mud puddle, and took him for a sailor who couldn’t finish the walk home.” The chief leaned forward, palms flat on the table. “And did the donut eater see where home was?” “Yeah,” his lieutenant gave a single nod. “Said a woman came along and handheld him to a boat on Row J.” She checked her cortex as the vibration announced incoming traffic. “China Doll. Not twenty ticks ago.” “China Doll?” Root asked as he caught his mom’s eye. “You sure?” With a swipe from her screen, Nips ‘tossed’ an image onto the table capture. China Doll lay serene in the morning light, a pair of figures making their way up her cargo ramp. She zoomed in, clarifying to reveal an attractive blonde in the act of helping the blood streaked killer shamble his way forward. “Now I got two beefs with that boat,” the chief grumbled. “C-Mouth,” he turned toward the enforcer. “Change of plans. We’re doin’ this on Lucchesi’s turf. His rules. No sleds, no cuts. Take the van. I want it quick and quiet. First one of China Doll’s crew you see, you shank ‘em and roll out. You feel me, L-T?” “That’s a rodg.” Cottonmouth took to his feet, hand resting upon the haft of his knife. “Cheese,” Root waved his cigarette. “You’re still Plan A. Get your posse ready for the black. Nips, you, me, and five watch the gate in case our boy’s crew try to chase C-mouth.” The MC president rose from his seat. “Roach…home guard.” “You know,” Ellsbeth lifted a hand, “we may have better options.” “Go on.” Root waved the henchmen off to their errands. The old woman rose to speak. “You were planning to hit that boat when she broke atmo? Breach a hatch and take her when she depressurized?” The biker chief settled back in his chair. “S.O.P. Put ‘er down on Bryson’s Rock. Pull the cargo, eighty-six the bodies and sell the boat to scrappers. Then we’re back at the table with Hafez.” “S.O.P,” she nodded her understanding. “Predictable. Predictable for us, for Hafez, for Five-Oh. Tricks of the trade that no one expects an MC to ever grow beyond…which is why we’re trapped within our margins and losing out on upper tier employment.” Root scratched his jaw. “I don’t like where this is going, mom. We gotta show strength. One of our own was cut down…” “...by some offworld [i]bèndàn[/i] who just signed away his crew’s future,” Ellsbeth interjected. “Blood for blood” is still a viable move, but it shouldn’t be your first.” “What have you got in mind.?” “You’ve just been handed a bargaining chip,” she said. “Pick it up, and others will follow.” Root fixed his mother with weary eyes. “I hate it when you talk in riddles.” Ellsbeth smiled.