THE SECRET JOURNAL OF NEIL PATEL #18

WARNING: NEIL 🤓 TYPOS

Entry #18

It’s an understatement to say that I riled up a bunch of bikers. I’m pretty sure some of them were slathering at the mouth as we drove off in search of the target.

Of course, I knew where we were going, but I made a real show of it. Why? Because I was trying to come up with a plan!

It took a little over an hour of meandering before I put up my hand and motioned for the bikers to pull off on the side of the road. 

“Did you find him?” big and burly asked, again, his mouth watering.

I tapped on my phone like I was really interested. To be honest, I was just trying to keep my hands from shaking. 

There were so many what ifs. What if we were caught? What if there was a shoot up? What if Cal found out?

Mr. Beer Belly Over His Toes answered the question for me.

“Let’s go,” he said, not unkindly, just ready.

“Okay,” I said, trying to sound sure of myself. “It’s just around the corner. Three minutes tops.”

I had a plan of sorts. Stash the bikes a couple blocks away and then head in on foot. Luckily, the house sat on the back of ten acres. No neighbors. Fingers crossed the target wasn’t armed. Everything I knew about him said he preferred solitude to weapons. 

As with any half-baked plan, ours went to crap almost immediately. 

First, the spot I’d picked to stash the bikes was perfect for concealment but the treeline I’d planned on using as a route in was dense and full of vegetation that snagged on every piece of clothing we had. 

Second, these bikers weren’t meant to be on foot. Sure there were a couple outliers, but the rest were huffing before we got halfway there. 

Third, and probably most dispiriting, was the fact that when we finally got to within striking distance of the modest home, there were two black vans sitting in the driveway. 

“What do we do now?” one of my companions asked.

“Go in, what else, stupid?” another answered. 

“Ask the geek squad. What do you think?”

By geek squad they meant me, of course. 

I didn’t get a chance to offer my honest take, that maybe they should try later, when four men came out of the house dragging a fifth man by the heels. 

Not usually my problem except that the guy getting dragged was our target, and the bikers didn’t like that one bit. 

So, much to my chagrin, they did what any red-blooded American might do with the smell of money in their noses: they charged. 

I’ll let you in on the next part soon,

Neil