They laughed, almost relaxed. In the hotel room, Ann sat at the window watching the street. Below, the cough and roar of motorcycles passed by, then faded as they continued along the Bay.
"Those Outlaws just then," Ann told them. "They were nervous, watching all the streets, the doorways. Like they expected to get shot at."
"They see you?" Glen asked. He went to the window and looked to the south. Three bikers had passed the ferry boat docks and were heading toward the southern end of the island.
"No, they didn't see me. They didn't even look up. They were too busy looking left and right. What do we do now?"
"You want to go to the hills? Or you want to stay here? The boys could take those motorcycles, but we'd have to chance a car."
"And that means we'd have to chance driving through the Outlaws. And that means we'd have to chance a gunfight, right? Forget it. I want to go to sleep. I mean I feel like a zombie. I don't have any iron in my blood and all night I've been chased around by psychopaths. The doctor told me to rest, to stay in bed until the baby is born. We're safe enough here. This'll all be over pretty soon..."
"And if it isn't?" Glen asked.
"If it's still going on tomorrow, if the police haven't come, then we'll talk about the hills. Now, I want to sleep. Find me a safe place to sleep and I'll be a very happy woman."
"Okay, we stay. Ann and I. What about you two?"
Chris looked to Roger. "I'll stay here if..."
"Sure," Roger said. "But what do we do if the Outlaws look for us?"
"This hotel has three floors. We're higher than most of the other places on Crescent. We could block the stairwells and jam the elevator. If they tried to burn the hotel, we could drop down on the roof of the restaurant and make a run for it."
"Sure, Glen," Ann said. "I'm going to run over the rooftops. Come up with another plan."
"Well, any Outlaw who tries to come up the stairs, we kill. If they try to burn the hotel, we shoot them. We'll be up on the roof. We'll have the advantage."
"And we've got guns just like they do," Chris added. "We won't surrender like those two old people. We could hit anything on the street. Be snipers."
Motorcycles passed on the street again. Automatically, they reached for their weapons. Shotgun in hand, Glen looked at the teenagers and saw how their hands closed around the M-14 and the autoloading shotgun.
"Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Everything in a leather jacket dies."
Smoke blew about them and flame-light flashed from their sunglasses. The three Outlaws low-geared through the devastated neighborhood. They saw black skeletal trees, fire-gutted cars, the ruins of homes. Other homes still smoldered, walls collapsing as the Outlaws passed.
The three-man patrol wore the Outlaw uniform: black jackets, old jeans, boots, helmets, weapons. Unlike the other Outlaws on the street, the three-man patrol all wore soft leather combat boots. None of the Outlaws splashing gasoline or watching the burning homes saw the boots. They saw only the motorcycles, the uniforms, the weapons, the skull and flame insignias.
Leaving the burning block, the patrol cruised through a neighborhood of bullet-pocked, looted homes. Turning south on Crescent Street, they continued their survey of the town, scrutinizing smashed windows of shops and hotels, the walkways strewn with new clothing, broken liquor bottles, window displays. They could see the body of a Deputy-Sheriff bobbing in the small waves under Pleasure Pier. They saw two motorcycles parked at the door to the Harbor master's office. They passed other Outlaws on motorcycles. But scanning the windows and roof lines, they saw no Outlaw sentry positions.
Two blocks south of the pier, they returned to the residential blocks. They watched the hillsides above the neighborhoods and still saw no outposts.
"Maybe they have snipers hidden up there," Lyons said.
Blancanales probed with his eyes the heavy brush that covered the hills. "Everywhere the Outlaws go, their bikes go. Up there, it's too steep for a motorcycle. The brush is too thick."
"They were smart enough to seize the island," Gadgets said. "They have to be smart enough to know about sentries and outposts."
"All we've seen are patrols," Blancanales reminded him.
"So far," Gadgets said, steering off into the street.
Passing the burning block again, they continued their circuit of the town. Coming to Crescent once more, they turned north toward the Casino, but quickly turned again onto Vieudelou Street. Vieudelou took them into a more expensive area. Higher in the hills, the homes viewed the town and Bay and the San Pedro Channel beyond. When Vieudelou ended at Stage Road, they stopped to consult the map.
"Town's wide open," Lyons commented. "Except for patrols. No wonder they've had problems with the locals. Avoid the patrols, you've got the run of the streets."
"Uh huh," Blancanales unfolded a map. "Why don't you just go walking down those streets in your blacksuit, no jacket, no motorcycle. We'll see if you draw fire."
Blancanales pointed out another dotted line on the map. "That's a firebreak and hiking trail. It passes behind the Casino. Instead of pushing our luck, how about checking out the place from a distance?"
The others nodded. They continued north on Stage Road for less than a mile and came to the trail. The fire road followed the crest of the steep hills overlooking Avalon. Beyond Avalon, the vista continued to Los Angeles, twenty-two miles distant.
Gunning their machines up the steep inclines, gearing and braking to slow their descent of the ridges, they watched for the tracks of other motorcycles. Surprisingly they saw only the knobby prints of lightweight dirt bikes. Blancanales stopped briefly to examine these tracks.
"Yesterday. Local kids."
The next peak, things were different. It was the Outlaw outpost guarding the hill above the Casino. Lyons had accelerated to climb the hill, and when he shot over the crest, he had to swerve to avoid the Harleys and Nighthawks of four Outlaws.
Sitting against their bikes, the Outlaws passed a joint. One Outlaw spoke into a walkie-talkie. Lyons hurtled past them, then hit his brakes. He slid to a stop thirty feet past the group. His body blocked their view of the Ingram in his grip. Below him, not far off, Lyons saw the Casino. Outlaws lounged in front of the white building, servicing their motorcycles and drinking. They were so close Lyons heard their voices and laughter.
"Looking for locals," Lyons shouted, hoping his voice would warn Gadgets and Blancanales. Even as he called out, Blancanales, then Gadgets leaped over the hill on their machines. Flashing the Outlaws quick glances, they slowed, but Lyons waved both of his partners past him. They roared on, and he accelerated after them.
The trail cut sharply to the south. Once down there, the Outlaws back on the peak could not see them. Close shave. Able Team had not expected that outpost: no tracks, at least not where they had looked.
"I couldn't chance wasting them," Lyons told his teammates, their bikes idling.
Gadgets pulled the captured walkie-talkie from his pocket and listened, "... up on the hill. Just now, not even a minute ago, we had a patrol swing by. I didn't recognize the three guys. Did you send anyone by this way?"
"I've got lots of patrols out. I'll call them. This is Horse. Patrol on the ridgeline behind the Casino, report. On the ridgeline behind the Casino, report..."
Gadgets offered the walkie-talkie to Blancanales, then Lyons. "That's us. Want to report to Horse?"