Outlaw MC

by Dwayne Clayden

  “Well, take it slow, sweetheart. I don’t want you hurt like last time.”

  “Salad’s ready.” Maggie grabbed the salad bowl and headed to the dining room. “Let’s eat.”

  Winston barked from a pen in the living room.

  “Really, Dad. You still pen him up?”

  “Only for meals. He’s a big mooch.”

  Ethan blessed the food, and they filled their plates.

  “Pass the gravy,” Ethan said.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Olivia said. “I forgot the gravy.”

  “I’ll get it,” Maggie said.

  As she poured the gravy, the doorbell rang. Her father’s footsteps retreated to the front door.

  “What do you want?” Ethan said. “There’s no need for guns.”

  Maggie froze, gravy pouring onto the counter. She peered into the living room toward the front door. Two masked men with guns faced her father. As he protested, the closest gunman swung his arm, striking Ethan over the right eye, knocking him to his knees. Then he placed his gun against Ethan’s temple. “Don’t fucking move.”

  Olivia screamed.

  Maggie stifled a gasp.

  Winston barked crazily, throwing himself against the wire.

  The second gunman strode across the dining room, grabbed two chairs and set them in the middle of the living room. “Sit, bitch.” He shoved Olivia onto the chair, tied her arms and legs to it, then looped the rope around her body several times.

  Maggie searched her brain for solutions. She was used to emergencies, but not like this. Brad was good at this stuff. What would he do?

  The first intruder kept the gun on Ethan. “Get up slowly, and take a seat.”

  When Ethan sat in the chair the second intruder bound him as well. The first intruder faced her mom and dad. He also had a good view of the doorway to the kitchen. As if reading her mind, he pointed toward the kitchen. “See if there’s a phone in the kitchen and yank it out of the wall.”

  Maggie ran to the far side of the island and ducked as the second biker came in. He ripped the phone from the wall and tossed it onto the floor. Then he returned to the living room.

  Maggie’s heart raced. She took a few deep breaths. She crawled to the doorway and took a peek—her parents were tied to chairs. Blood ran from the cut over her father’s eye. She needed to do something, but what? The phone was useless. There were two other phones—one in the living room, the other in the master bedroom upstairs. She couldn’t get to them. She could sneak out the back door, run next door, and call the police. But that would make noise. She couldn’t leave her parents. There must be something she could do. She scanned the room. Her eyes stopped on her backpack in the mudroom. The gun. To get it, she’d have to cross the doorway, and the gunmen would spot her. Her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “What do you want?” Ethan asked.

  The first intruder backhanded Ethan across the face. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Olivia gasped.

  “You too, bitch.” He raised his hand and Olivia cowered.

  Winston ran circles in the pen, howling. He tried to jump out but fell onto his back.

  Maggie’s jaw clenched, her shoulders tensed, and her heart raced. She had to get the gun.

  The leader stood in front of Ethan. “We’re gonna call the Remand Centre and you’ll tell them to release all the Gypsy Jokers in cells.”

  “I can’t do that.” Ethan shook his head. “I don’t have that kind of power.”

  “I think you do.” The intruder picked up the phone. “Tell me the number to dial. Then you tell them to release the Jokers.”

  “I’m telling you that won’t work. Not from a phone call, not even in person. It doesn’t work that way.”

  The first intruder pointed toward Winston’s pen. “Send the mutt to doggie heaven.”

  “No!” Ethan shouted.

  “Please no … no …” Olivia pleaded.

  Maggie bit down on her hand. Eyes wide, she started to hyperventilate. Oh no!

  The second gunman placed his gun against Winston’s head. Winston turned and bit him deeply. He dropped his gun and screamed. Blood flowed from his hand as he wrenched it free. Winston barked wildly. The intruder snatched his gun from the pen. As Winston charged, the intruder pulled the trigger twice. A red mist floated over Winston.

  “You bastard.” Ethan fought against his restraints. “You fucking bastard. You piece of shit.”

  Olivia screamed hysterically.

  Tears welled up in Maggie’s eyes, her chest heaved, and her stomach spasmed. Oh Winston, oh baby. Then the tears flowed like a flood.

  She wiped away the tears with her sleeve. Crouching low, she slipped across the doorway to the mudroom and reached for her backpack.

  The first intruder called out, “Who else is here?”

  “No one,” Ethan replied.

  “You better be telling the truth, or the bitch is next.” He pointed his gun toward the kitchen. “Check it out.”

  Maggie looked for a hiding place. The dog’s bed with a blanket, the mudroom and closet, or the bathroom at the end of the hall. He’d search all those places. Then she remembered her favorite hiding spot as a child—the laundry chute in the hallway cupboard.

  Footsteps drew closer.

  She wanted to grab the backpack, but she didn’t have time. She bolted down the hallway to the cupboard. It was a tight fit.

  Footsteps grew louder as he entered the kitchen. She could see him where the door to the laundry chute didn’t completely close. He pointed the gun to the right, then left, then back to the right. He circled the island and stepped out of sight. The cupboard door under the sink opened, then slammed shut. The blanket from the dog’s bed slid across the floor toward her. Maggie held her breath as he rushed past her hiding spot to the bathroom. Moments later he passed by again and walked back into the living room. “Nothing there, Curly.”

  “No names, dumbass.”

  “Boss said to waste them anyway.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  Waste them? No! Maggie squeezed out of the laundry chute. She took five steps into the mudroom, grabbed the backpack, unzipped a side compartment, and pulled out the loaded CZ 9mm. The words of Briscoe echoed in her head. When you draw the gun, it’s to protect yourself or others. Second, you shoot to kill.

  She crept back to the kitchen and peeked around the doorway to the living room. The second intruder was to her left. Easy shot. What the hell am I thinking? Intruder one, Curly, was a problem. Her parents were between Maggie and him. She wasn’t confident enough to take the shot. Hell, who would be? Curly was the most dangerous. Shoot the leader first.

  Maggie’s confidence dwindled. What if she accidentally shot one—or both—of her parents? The intruders would be no more than five feet away. She’d made shots at twice that distance at the range. It’s them or us.

  Number two moved to the dining table and grabbed some meat. “Curly, this stuff is great. You should get some.”

  “Shut up. I said no more names.”

  “Hey, Cur … hey.”

  “What?”

  “The table is set for three people. Food is on three plates.”

  Curly glared at Ethan then walked to the table. Curly stood beside his partner.

  Time slowed as Maggie stood, planted her feet and aimed the gun at Curly. She fired two shots. The first shot hit the middle of his chest. The second shot grazed his ear. Blood spurted as Curly fell. His gun clattered on the floor.

  Maggie swung the gun to intruder two and fired. The bullet missed. She stepped forward and shot twice. The first hit his shoulder, the second entered through his mouth and blew out the back of his head. He hit the floor at Maggie’s feet with a thump.

  Curly’s eyes stared blankly, mouth open as if in mid-shout. Blood soaked his shirt, turning it a dark red. Bright red blood sprayed from his mouth as he took his last breath.

  Maggie stared at the gunmen, eyes blazing. She’d never felt this much hate i
n her life. She stared at Winston, then stepped over to Curly. She lifted the gun and pointed it between his eyes. Her finger squeezed the trigger.

  “Maggie. Maggie!” Ethan said. Then softer. “Cupcake.”

  Time returned to normal speed.

  “Maggie, it’s over,” Ethan said. “You did well. Now lower the gun. It’s okay now.”

  Maggie burst into tears.

  “Cupcake, come here. Cut the ropes. Please.”

  Maggie grabbed a knife from the table and cut the ropes. Ethan rubbed his wrists, took the gun from Maggie and guided her to the couch. He untied Olivia and held her tight as she sobbed into his chest, then she sat next to Maggie.

  Ethan picked up the phone and dialed.

  “911. What is your emergency?”

  “Dispatch to TS 110.”

  Brad keyed the mic. “TS 110 go ahead.”

  “110, we just got a 911 call from Judge Gray. He says gunmen are in his house. There’s been a shooting.”

  Fuck. “What do the cops outside say?”

  “We can’t reach them.”

  “We’re a couple of minutes away. Get me backup and ambulances now!”

  As the house came in sight, Briscoe radioed Brad. “I found two cops tied up in the back yard.”

  “Not good, “Brad said. Fuck.

  Steele slammed on the brakes as they reached the Gray house. Brad was out of the truck before it had stopped. Steele followed. There was no one in the cruiser. Guns drawn, they took the steps two at a time. Brad never ran to a call, it was against everything he believed, but this was different.

  He rushed through the door, scanning the room—two bodies on the floor, Maggie and her mom on the couch. Ethan stood motionless, arms at his side, holding a gun.

  Ethan slowly turned.

  Brad held out his hand. “Give me the gun.”

  “What?” Ethan glanced at his hand. “Oh my god.”

  “Ethan, slowly hand the gun to me.” Brad stepped forward and took the gun. “Ethan, are you okay?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Is anyone else here?”

  Ethan looked first to Olivia and Maggie, then to the gunmen on the floor. “No, just us and those two bastards.”

  “I’ll get Briscoe and we’ll check it out,” Steele said. “You stay with them.”

  Brad steered Ethan toward a chair. Ethan began to sit, then bolted upright. “Not here.” He sat in an oversized stuffed chair.

  Brad stepped toward Maggie. She jumped off the couch and held him in a death grip. “I killed them. I shot them.” Tears flowed and her body shook, and her grip on Brad tightened.

  He stared at the bodies and glanced at the gun he held—the CZ.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Bowness Park

  Tuesday Afternoon

  Brad and Maggie sat on a rock watching Lobo lying in the shallow pond, letting the water wash over him.

  Maggie had said little on the walk. When he asked questions, she gave one-word answers if she answered at all. EMS had given her time off and Brad had arranged an appointment for her with the police psychologist.

  Brad thought the walk would do her good, but now he wondered. He’d put his arm around her a couple of times, but she didn’t notice. Now her arms were tight across her chest and she stared blankly across the river.

  Brad wasn’t good at the feelings stuff. Did he ask questions? Keep quiet? Push her a little? He was worried, but didn’t know what to say, so he waited in silence.

  “They killed Winston.” Maggie hugged herself tighter. “I was angry. I couldn’t think straight. I knew I couldn’t get to a phone in the house. I couldn’t leave my parents to go and call from a neighbor’s.”

  She slid forward on the rock, staring at the ground. “I remember you talking about football and how everything slowed. You knew what the other team was going to do. How you got into the zone and you saw everything before it happened. That was how it was. I was on the floor sneaking peeks into the living room. Like I was watching from far away. Then those assholes realized someone else was in the house. They heard me when I moved. The guy searching for me said they were going to waste my parents. It was like an electric shock. Everything was clear.” Maggie sat back. “I had to get the gun. I was in charge. I could decide what happened next. I got the gun from my backpack, but then the terror came. What if I missed? What if I hit my parents?”

  Maggie faced Brad. “My dad was bleeding, but defiant. Mom was helpless. I thought of what you and Briscoe said. I knew what to do. I picked the leader first. Two shots. The other shithead. Three shots. Everything went slow. They fell to the floor, bleeding. They didn’t move. I was going to shoot the leader again. You know, one for my dog. Dad was talking to me. His voice was far away, but he got through. I don’t know what happened next. Then you were there.”

  Maggie threw herself at Brad and held him tight, sobbing. “I killed two people.”

  “You saved three innocent victims,” Brad said softly. “You did what you had to do.”

  Maggie slipped away from Brad and brushed the tears. “How do you do this? Kill someone and move on?”

  “I don’t know if I’m the right one to ask. Shrinks tell you to work it through. If you don’t, it’ll eat away at you. I don’t want you to go through what I went through—still go through. In bad situations, we do what we have to. When it involves family, we can be pretty protective.”

  “When you shot the guy who killed Curtis, were you happy? I mean, did you feel relief?”

  “I thought I’d feel a sense of vengeance.” Brad shook his head. “But I didn’t. Curtis was still dead. That asshole Giles and his gang were dead, too. It didn’t bring Curtis back. What you did was different. You saved your parents from certain death.”

  Maggie stared at Brad. “I’m glad I shot them. I’m glad they’re dead. Does that make me a bad person?”

  “No. That makes you human.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Gypsy Jokers’ Clubhouse

  Monday Afternoon

  Pickens left Annie in the office working on the books. He closed the door and headed to the meeting room. Maybe she could find some good news in their pathetic financial statements—good luck. Their cash situation was abysmal. The cops had hurt them bad. The lost revenue from the hookers being off the street was minor. Most had disappeared after they were released. Probably in Vancouver or Toronto by now. But the drugs, they’d never get those back—total losses. That hit them hard. The only ones who came out ahead were the lawyers. Not that the Jokers had money to pay. Not now anyway.

  Pickens strode into the meeting room. He pulled up a chair and grabbed a beer off the table. Wolfman cleaned his nails with a hunting knife. The mood was somber. With half their membership in jail, they didn’t have anything to say.

  Pickens used that silence to go over things. That fucker, Nichols, had let him down. The cops had hit them hard and not a single word of warning. Pickens needed to do something about Nichols but didn’t want to deal with the police if a cop died. He could release the photos, but then Nichols would negotiate a deal with the prosecutor and tell everything. What if Nichols was disgraced and then appeared to commit suicide or overdose. The cops might believe that. Disgraced cops eating their guns wasn’t uncommon.

  Keaton came from his office to the front of the room, slid into a chair, and grabbed a beer.

  “Okay. Listen up. The cops came after us. We have a bunch of guys in jail. The fuckin’ courts won’t give Hammer bail, he’s in big trouble. Our best hookers, gone. We lost two prospects at the courthouse and another two at the judge’s house. It’s time we strike back, hard.”

  “We tried that, boss,” Pickens said. “It didn’t work, not once.” He hesitated, then leaned forward. “Boss, I got a different idea.”

  Keaton glared at Pickens for being interrupted. “What?”

  “Engaging in a three-way war is certain disaster,” Pickens said. “When we’re going after the Soldiers, the cops get us. W
hen we focus on the cops, the Soldiers come after us.”

  “No shit,” Keaton said.

  “We don’t have anything left to fight with, no members, no drugs to sell, and no money. We couldn’t fight a high school wrestling team. The enemy is the cops. If we keep losing guys to the cops, it won’t matter which club ends up with the power, there’ll only be two guys left.”

  “What’s your fuckin’ point?” Keaton asked.

  “We need to meet with the Soldiers and work out a peace plan.”

  Wolfman was on his feet heading to Pickens. “I knew it. You’re the fuckin’ traitor. You workin’ for the cops or the Soldiers you little geek-faced, pencil-necked, puckered asshole. Ain’t no way I’m gonna make peace with those faggots.”

  Pickens dodged around a table and raised his hands, palms toward Wolfman. “Hey, I’m not sayin’ I like it, but think about it. The cops are okay if we kill each other. Then they come in and grab whoever’s left. In the end, the cops win.”

  “Wolfman, sit,” Keaton ordered.

  Wolfe sat, eyes ablaze. “I’m gonna kill you, Pickens.”

  Pickens ignored Wolfman. “This is our way out. We deal with the Soldiers when things settle down. When we get the drugs flowing and have cash.”

  Keaton glared at Pickens. “Why would the Soldiers agree to this?”

  “Neither of us has anything left,” Pickens said. “We stop fighting. We aren’t in the press anymore. The cops stop hassling us and go after something else. We quietly build up the clubs. We don’t have to be one club, just affiliates. They’ll do it for the same reason we need to—we’re greedy bastards and we aren’t making money.”

  Keaton got out of his chair and paced. Pickens and Wolfman waited in silence. Keaton walked behind Pickens and put his hand on Pickens’ shoulder.

  Pickens tensed, waiting for his neck to snap. He’d failed. He’d known it might end this way. It had been worth a try.

  Keaton slapped his back. “I like it. Make it happen. No time to lose. Tomorrow night.”