Outlaw: Screaming Eagles MC

by Kara Parker

  “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” he reminded her.

  “Nice try,” she said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Falcon’s bike roared down the desolate streets as he drove down Eighteenth Street. This part of town had gone from bad to worse in recent years. When he had been a boy most of the stores were still open and he would work for whoever had a little extra money. He used to sweep up at the barber’s shop, clean out the lint traps at the Laundromat, clean the windows of the pawnshop, but all of those business were closed now.

  It was the Screaming Eagles that had closed them. Not directly, but once the gang had set up shop in this neighborhood it was all over. Groupies and junkies followed biker gangs around because that was where their supplies were. Where there were junkies, there was crime, and a lot of it. The neighborhood got dangerous, people moved away, and business closed. The only group that had done well was the Screaming Eagles, profiting handsomely from other people’s misery.

  He parked his bike around back, as Grace had instructed him to. Most of the other bikes were parked out front, but he could see that both Big Chris and Billy had parked in the back. He was worried that might be a problem and today was going to be tough enough. So taking a small knife out of his pocket, Falcon looked up and down the street, making sure no one was out, before putting a small puncture in the front tire of both bikes; a little air hissed out, but not all of it. It would really start to lose pressure once they got going. The three of them would take off together, but only Falcon would escape.

  He slipped the knife back into his pocket and unlocked the back door, locking it behind him as he took the stairs two at a time to the upstairs apartment. He gave five short knocks on the door before he walked in.

  “Morning, brother,” Billy said. He was sitting on an antique chair, a take-out cup of coffee in one hand. He looked tense and nervous and he stared at Falcon in a way the other man wasn’t sure how to interpret.

  “Morning, Bill, Big Chris,” he said nodding to the other men. There were four other guys in the room with them, but they ignored Falcon and focused on weighing and measuring the goods.

  “You have a good day off yesterday?” Billy asked and Falcon could hear the accusation in his voice.

  But there was no way they knew about him and Grace. If they did Falcon would have been dead, or at least tied up in the some basement somewhere. No, they didn’t know about Grace, but they still didn’t trust him and they were still testing him.

  “Yeah, took Sophie to the beach, but she got tired pretty quickly so I took her back to Kelly’s. I just messed around for the rest of the day.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. He focused on slipping back into the lies he had created. He imagined his pretend yesterday, imagined dropping Sophie off and then riding around aimlessly. He forced himself to stop thinking about and remembering his quickie with Grace in the shack. He focused on making the lie his reality.

  But it felt impossible. Every time he tried to create the fiction of what he had done yesterday an image of Grace popped up in his head. Kissing Grace, touching Grace, being inside Grace, these things overtook his mind and he couldn’t focus on anything else. But he didn’t regret being with Grace, not for one second. She was so passionate and alive and he only wished he had met her at a different time or under different circumstances. But it didn’t really matter; by now the police were on their way and Falcon wouldn’t need to keep the fiction up for too much longer.

  “You hear that?” One of the men packing up the boxes asked as he tilted his head towards the window. Everyone stopped what they were doing and Falcon and Billy moved over to the window.

  “I don’t see anything,” Billy said as Falcon’s heart began to pound. Any minute now, any minute and Grace with an entire SWAT team was going to come busting through that door. Falcon would be allowed to escape; he would slip out and head back to the clubhouse. After this he would have two lucky breaks within a couple of days and escaping again would look very suspicious. Falcon hoped that getting back to the clubhouse as quickly as possible would help him avoid rising anyone’s suspicions.

  “Anything we should be worried about, Falcon?” Billy asked. He was standing mere inches from Falcon and his words were pointed and dangerous.

  “The fuck you asking me for?” Falcon demanded. “You’ve been all over me since the bust at the processing center. I’m not a rat and I’m not working for the cops, how many times do I have to say it?” He didn’t back down, staring into Billy’s eyes as he spoke, not blinking once.

  His only regret about today would be his inability to watch Billy get arrested and have Billy know Falcon was the one who did it. All these bikers thought they were so much better than him; they wanted him to fall on his sword for them while they did nothing for him. Falcon was done with the gang; he wanted out and if destroying them was the only way, so be it.

  “SWAT!” A man yelled, he was looking out the back window and everyone ran over to see what he was looking at. As they watched three black vans raced into the driveway and police officers dressed in all black poured out.

  The men started cursing as they raced around the room and grabbed their guns and whatever drugs and cash they could.

  “Back staircase! Side exit,” Falcon yelled and grabbed Billy by the arm and pulled him in that direction. The rest of the men followed him as the SWAT team pounded up the main stairs and towards the room where all the merchandise was stashed.

  “How did they know? Who told them?” Billy demanded.

  “Who cares?” Big Chris yelled. “We gotta go.”

  Upstairs they heard gunshots as the men who were too slow on the uptake battled it out with police. It was pointless and Falcon was angry that those men were dying up there for no reason at all. They were laying down their lives for a club whose members didn’t even know their names.

  They reached the side entrance and, as quietly as they could, they looked around the building where they could see their bikes standing about four feet from them. The only problem was the cadre of police who were standing not too far from the bikes.

  Falcon was impressed; this was going down exactly like Grace said it would.

  “I’ll cover you, go,” Falcon said.

  “What?!” Billy demanded, his voice a mix of confusion and confrontation.

  “I’ll cover you and you get on your bikes and while they’re chasing you. I’ll make a break for it. Look, man, I fucked up the other day with the hunter. I shouldn't have ignore him. Let me make it up to you.”

  “You’re a good man, Falcon,” Billy said putting his hand on Falcon’s shoulder.

  “Go,” Falcon said and the two men raced for their bikes. Falcon shot towards the guards. He was normally an amazing shot, a crack shot some would say, but not that day. That day his shots went wild. He hit the police van and the building, but missed every man. Billy and Big Chris boarded their bikes and brought them to life firing into the line of police who were already safely behind cover as Falcon ran and got on his bike.

  “Follow me,” he said to the men as he raced out of the parking lot and down the street. He stayed in front of them and it didn’t take long for the sight of them in his rearview mirror to disappear from view. He heard Billy and Big Chris both shouting angrily over a great distance and he could only hope they were shouting at their failing bikes and not him.

  Falcon couldn’t help but smile as he drove back to the clubhouse. His plan with Grace had worked flawlessly and two of his greatest threats had just been arrested. He remembered Billy with his gun and Big Chris slamming Falcon’s head on the table and the two of them following him around and idly threatening Falcon and his family. He didn’t feel bad about their arrests. He felt vindicated. Now it was time to get the rest of them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Falcon’s energy was still high as he buzzed down the stretch of road that led to the clubhouse. The gunfight at the processing plant had invigorated him and motivated
him. He wanted to get the rest of the Screaming Eagles. Falcon didn’t feel like a rat or a traitor, but instead like a superhero dispensing justice. The Screaming Eagles had threatened his two-year old daughter and they had crossed the line. Now it was time for them to go down and Falcon was going to do it man by man.

  His phone buzzed and he looked down at the number and smiled as he read the text.

  “Nicely done today. I’ll be in contact.” He could easily imagine Grace with a truck full of Screaming Eagles, her arms crossed confidently in front of her chest. She was doing what she loved and the only reason it worked was because Falcon was helping her. Maybe this was his calling? Maybe he wasn't meant to be biker; maybe he was meant to bring other bikers down.

  He could hear the chaos of the club as he approached the door, but he was ready for it. Falcon felt like he was wearing an impenetrable armor. He had been nervous earlier in that day, but Grace’s plan had been flawless and it had instilled a confidence in him. He knew exactly what he was going to do and say; he wasn’t afraid or worried about those men in there. For the first time in his life he was aware they weren’t better than he was. They weren’t smarter or stronger or more capable. He had spent his entire life in awe of the big bosses of the Screaming Eagles, but now he saw how quickly and easily they fell. He wanted to topple more.

  He opened the door to the clubhouse and the place was in such an uproar one noticed him at first.

  “Holy shit, Falcon. You got away? They raided the apartment,” Jimmy said running up to Falcon.

  “Yeah,” Falcon said breathlessly. “Where are Big Chris and Billy? They were right behind me...but we got separated.” There were more members openly staring at him, but Falcon didn’t care. Let them stare. Let them look for weakness. He was ready for it all, ready for the questions, the interrogations. He wanted them to bring everything they had. He was ready.

  “You’re the only one who came back,” Jimmy stuttered as he looked around the clubhouse.

  “Yo, everybody shut up!” the boss screamed out as someone raised the volume on the big TV in the center of the room.

  Falcon moved closed to watch pretending to look confused and angry with everyone else. It was news report on that day’s raid, a sudden interruption that cut off the Jerry Springer rerun. A camera was moving across the Screaming Eagles’ apartment stash with long lingering camera shots that focused on the guns and small baggies of drugs.

  “As you can see,” a reporter was saying, “this nondescript apartment on Eighteenth Street, above a closed pawnshop, was being used as a location to move massive quantities of drugs to street-level dealers. Believed to be the work of the infamous biker gang, The Screaming Eagles, the police have found hundreds of kilos of methamphetamines in this location and made six arrests. The Chief of Police has also recently confirmed the bust of a major processing center said to belong to the Screaming Eagles. The processing center was located out on the Warren G. Harding hunting preserve and was believed to be a major hub of operations.”

  From there the camera cut from the apartment to a press conference held by the Chief of Police.

  “Boo!” members of the gang yelled, giving the middle finger to the TV and the Chief.“Chief,” a reporter asked. “Are you targeting The Screaming Eagles on purpose, or has this been more a series of lucky breaks?”

  “First off, there was nothing lucky about this,” the chief answered. He was a taller African American man in his late forties and was said to be incorruptible. “This was the result of months long investigation and excellent police work by the LAPD. And we are not targeting just The Screaming Eagles; we’re targeting all the motorcycle gangs. I’m telling everyone right here and right now, gang activity and gang warfare will not be permitted in my city. We are cracking down not only on guns, but on drugs, as well. This is a concentrated effort between the city of Los Angeles, the FBI, and our counterparts in Homeland Security and we are far from finished.”

  The boss hit mute as the many voices of the Screaming Eagles filled the clubhouse. “You made it back,” he said to Falcon.

  His eyes were boring into Falcon’s but Falcon just looked right back at him and shook his head sadly. “I can’t believe it, man. How did they find out about the apartment?” Falcon demanded looking around him. “Billy and Big Chris were right behind me. We separated on Cross Street. I thought they would have beaten me home.” He let a sad expression cover his face as he looked down to the ground. “What are we going to do, Boss?” He asked bringing his sad eyes up to meet his boss’s.

  The older man looked confused and then looked around him. Other members had heard Falcon’s question and they were waiting for a reply.

  “We’re gonna go bigger!” he yelled, his strong and confident voice overpowering the rest of the members who were instantly silent. “The cops want a war, they’ll get a war. They think we’ll back down? We’re gonna go twice as hard. Business continues as usual.”

  “We lost Big Chris and Billy,” Falcon quietly reminded his boss. He knew he should have been feeling nervous, but he felt bulletproof. He was realizing the trick to making this all work was to ask questions and lead the conversation. If he waited for the boss, he might ask a question Falcon couldn’t answer. But if Falcon asked the questions, it was his boss who was on the ropes.

  “I know,” he said with a nod as he looked at Falcon. “Men will have to step up; we’ll have to work twice as hard. But this is our business, our very way of life, and we cannot let anyone take that away from us!” It was a rallying cry and it was echoed by the members of the Screaming Eagles, Falcon included.

  At that moment Falcon understood something he had never understood before. There was only one way his boss could keep this business afloat: he had to sacrifice his men. Two leaders of the gang had been arrested that day and there was no time to mourn them; they needed to move on. This meant two men would replace Billy and Big Chris and when the replacements were arrested, two more men would take their place and on and on it would go and the boss would always get away. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket and he read it discretely. “5:00 same place as last time.” It was from Grace. She wanted to meet him at the shack by the beach again.

  “Who was that?”

  “Kelly,” Falcon answered easily. He didn’t try to hide his phone or put it away. In fact, he typed in the letters OK as his boss watched and then put the phone back in his pocket. “It’s nothing major, just a doctor’s appointment for Sophie.” He felt so calm and in control; he had never felt like this. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes. He had always been in awe of the higher ups of the Screaming Eagles. He used to think the boss walked on water, but now he knew better; now he saw his boss for the conniving selfish son of a bitch he was and Falcon was mostly mad that it had taken him so long to realize it.

  He looked at the TV again, watching as the camera was pointed at piles and piles of methamphetamines. What did Grace want? Was it going to be another roll in the hay, or did she want more information? At that moment Falcon wasn't sure what he wanted more. Being with Grace was like playing with fire; it was tantalizing and exciting and mostly very dangerous. But it felt so good. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was in control of his own destiny and he knew how much of that he owed to Grace. He knew he had to go. He couldn’t resist her and he didn’t feel like trying.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Falcon stayed at the clubhouse for two hours. He gave a great performance, calling the police actions outrageous and promised that the cops would reap what they had sown. He laughed loudly and led rallying cries and somehow or another by four-thirty everyone was clapping him on the back and congratulating on getting out of there. The praise and attention for something he hadn’t done was oddly thrilling. He was putting on an act for them and it was working.

  “Poor Billy and Big Chris. I look forward to avenging them myself,” he said and everyone around him raised a glass to his cour
age. He felt like an actor, a man paid to play a part and play it well. At certain times he even forgot he was spinning fiction as he bemoaned the capture of their fellow Screaming Eagles. He swore the loudest and promised the angriest revenge; he shook his head and rattled his fist along with everyone else. Deep down inside he was glad Big Chris and Billy had been captured; it felt right. They were bad men and they had got what they deserved, but on the outside he showed nothing but anger and sadness.

  At four-thirty he looked down at this watch and then stretched his arms and his shoulders. “It’s a little cramped in here and I’m all amped up. I’m gonna go for a ride,” Falcon said standing up. He was at the center of a table filled with his fellow bikers and they all made disappointed noises as he stood.

  “Where’re you going, Falcon?”

  “When you coming back?”

  This sudden surge in popularity was strange to Falcon. He had been a member of the gang since he was fourteen when they would remind him that his record turned clean when he hit eighteen. But he had always been a foot soldier, a nameless face ordered to go here or do that. But now people were looking at him, turning to him with questions and seeking him out for advice. He had survived two run-ins with the cops and some were starting to think it wasn't luck or trickery that had saved him, but skill.