Vengeance Before Virtue

by Tyler Porter

  He’d seen enough movies and TV shows to know that this was how their hierarchy was displayed for all to see. Two of the men were wearing the same patch, which read Member. The third, and, ironically enough, the biggest of the threesome, wore a different patch. His read Vice President. This individual was at the top of the club, and would have much more authority to answer a question outright. Matt slowly maneuvered around the pool table to his right and made his way toward the man with the VP patch. As he got close, the other two members moved a step forward as to form a sort of shield around the man, as was likely club procedure. Matt had to look up to meet theirs eyes as they were both a good bit taller than him. He made eye contact with one, held his gaze for a second or two, then did the same with the other before speaking.

  “I’m not here to cause any trouble boys, just wanna ask him a question,” Matt said.

  “Trouble? You?” The Vice President laughed. “You’d be no trouble at all. They are here to protect you, not me. The club needs me here, not in a cell.”

  “I’m sure they do. It is very clear to me that you possess boundless wisdom and insight. I will be sure not to take up too much of your valuable time,” he said as he moved passed the two members guarding their superior. Both snarled as his sarcasm oozed with each word. “Mariah O’Bannon.”

  “What about her?” the VP said flatly.

  “Do you know her?”

  “She’s your sister?” Matt nodded slowly. The man looked at his two comrades as a wide grin crept onto his face. “Oh, I know her in ways you can’t even imagine brother-man. Want some details?”

  The old familiar rage began to warm Matt’s skin, starting in his fists which had been tightened, and running all the way up into his cheeks, which had turned a light red. Anger: the thing he had worked so hard to get under control; the thing that beaten him so many times; the thing that led him to murder. It was present in that moment, and he knew if he wanted to get anywhere with this group, he would need to keep it grounded. He swallowed his anger, and his pride, trying his best to ignore the comment.

  “Do you know where I can find her?” he asked.

  “Well, most of the time you can find her on her knees somewhere. You shouldn't have to look too hard.” Again, Matt looked to the other two men as they laughed like hyenas in unison, and again, a flash of anger flowed through his bones. He kept silent for an instant, surrounded by their laughter, but it came to a halt when he broke that silence.

  “I’m going to warn you once. You will not insult my little sister again. Now, where can I find her?” Matt said assertively.

  “Little sister?” the VP questioned. “Trust me, she’s not a baby anymore. Shit, she might have my baby in her right now after last time.”

  The was the last straw. The man had hardly had time to take a breath after finishing his last word when Matt’s foot plunged into his gut. The biker let out a gasp and keeled over to the front for an instant before dropping to a knee. The member to Matt’s right was the first to react, turning to strike, but years and years of training had sharpened Matt’s reflexes to a dangerous level. Before the other biker could so much as draw his arm backward in preparation for the swing, his oxygen supply was cut off by a vicious strike to his throat. The member grasped his throat with both hands, struggling for breath, as he fell backward onto the floor.

  This had all happened so quickly that the third man was only just reacting to the initial kick to the still-downed VP. His instincts were to grab a handful of Matt’s shirt, but, unlucky for the bones in his wrist, that move was predicted as well. He drove his hand to Matt’s chest, but before he could grab the shirt, Matt brought both hands up and on top of the man’s hand, trapping it to his chest. Matt twisted the right hard, still pinning the man’s wrist to his chest. The noise in the bar that overpowered everything else was the snapping of bones as the man’s wrist was shattered from the turn. He screamed in agony and dropped down, but Matt did not let go of the damaged limb.

  He held the yelping man in place and looked around the bar, setting his sights on the other bikers in the room. They were all watching intently, but so far, none of them had moved to help their fallen club members. The VP who had suffered the blow to the stomach began to rise, and as he did, he pulled a switchblade from his pocket. If Matt’s senses weren’t at their peak already, they shot there quickly when the click of the blade sliding out met his eardrums. The VP finally stood to his full height, looked around at his club, nodded his head, and slowly moved toward Matt as the rest of the group began to circle and close in around him.

  Chapter 3: New Friends

  The biker club, Matt, and the bartender were now the only people remaining in the bar. All of the other bystanders had gotten the hint that it was time to go right about the time that Matt first dropped the VP of the club. The bartender was looking on and watching the situation unfold. It was clear from his expression that he was aware of how dangerous the scene before him was, but somehow, Matt suspected the police would not be called. As he let these thoughts pass through his mind about the bartender and the cavalry that would never come, the rest of the bikers had completely surrounded him, leaving only him and the biker VP in the center of a kind of fight pit they had formed around them.

  Though the bar was dark and smoky, the glint from the light reflecting off of the switchblade remained. Matt almost always carried his pocket-sized Ruger .380 on his ankle, and he was licensed to do so in the state of Illinois. But there were very serious laws about carrying a firearm across state lines, as the different states had different regulations on firearms. Matt felt that it was of the upmost importance to take every step to be as prepared as possible to defend himself in any situation that might come up. However, considering his recent dealings with the police and the fact that he was traveling back into old territory, he felt it was smarter not to push the edge of the envelope. Now he was really wishing he would have chosen differently. He was unarmed and outnumbered at least twenty-to-one.

  “That was a real bad idea big brother; now I am going to have to make an example of you,” the VP said as he began to move in a circle. Matt mimicked the movement, keeping the distance between them.

  “Nobody needs to get hurt. I am just trying to find my sister.” But even Matt didn’t believe the attempted negotiation. Someone was definitely going to get hurt, and looking at the odds, it was probably going to be him.

  “It’s a little too late for that. You walk into my town, into my bar, demand answers from me, attack me, and then think that you aren’t going to get hurt? You decided to be the tough guy. Why? Because I insulted your sister? Is that it? Let me tell you something big brother⸺in this town, I am the judge, jury, and executioner. I give out the sentences, and I have decided yours. I am going to cut you wide open, and then make you watch my whole club rape her in front of you.”

  As the biker said the word “rape,” Matt immediately flashed back to his childhood home. Back to the moment when Mariah had confided in him about what Michael Vincent had done. He had raped her, and it had shattered her world, as well as Matt’s. Hearing that threat from this man set his insides on fire. He was well aware of the odds against him, but just like the night he’d murdered Michael Vincent, he didn’t care. He moved forward quickly, and when he did, the VP raised the knife level with Matt’s heart.

  He thrust the knife forward and was overwhelmed with surprise when Matt sidestepped just enough to allow the blade to slip past him. He caught the man’s wrist with both hands, and pulled it down while raising his knee at the same time. The collision between the knee and wrist caused the man to lose his grip on the knife which flung into the air. In one swift motion, Matt caught the weapon with his right hand, and with his left foot, he kicked the back of the man’s right leg, throwing him forward down to a knee. He grabbed a handful of the man’s hair, ripped his head backwards so that their eyes met, and brought the knife to his throat.

  A few of the other men inched forward to help, but Matt froze the
m in place with a dead stare while he applied pressure to the knife, forcing a yelp from the VP. These men were feared by all, but in this moment, the real fear showed in the VP’s eyes. He looked up at Matt in a fit of pure desperation, wanting only to live through this moment, silently praying to any god that would listen that he not bleed out right there on that sticky barroom floor.

  Matt looked back down into the man’s soul, his eyes cold as ice and black as night. He didn’t have to say the words; the situation that encompassed all of them at that instant showed the truth⸺Matt, not this man groveling at his feet, was going to be the judge, jury, and executioner. That’s when the gunshot cracked. The men scattered all around, trying to find cover, until their eyes all made their way to the entrance of the bar.

  Standing in the open door stood a man, dressed like the bikers, but in many ways seeming very different from them. He was around Matt’s height, had short, groomed hair, and was clean shaven. He wore a leather vest and no shirt underneath, but displayed no visible tattoos on his exposed arms or chest. As he moved toward the group, Matt could see clearly the color of the man’s calm eyes. They were Caribbean blue, relaxed and dead set on him and the VP. Matt could also see the patch on the man’s vest exhibiting his rank in the club: President. The man lowered the still smoking gun from its raised position where he’d fired a bullet into the ceiling and holstered it behind his back. He stopped a few feet from them, letting the silence that consumed them linger for an instant as he looked back and forth between them.

  “Now, what’s got you boys riled up so terribly?” he asked. The VP attempted to speak, but stopped quickly when Matt pressed the knife hard on his throat. The President slowly moved his eyes to Matt. “Would you mind moving that weapon ever-so-slightly off of his throat so he can speak, Stranger?”

  “He’s lost his right to speak,” Matt responded.

  “That a fact? Well, I guess I can’t very well argue with that, but that means you’ll have to be the one to tell me exactly what is going on here.”

  Another man in the club took a few steps forward and spoke to the President.

  “He just showed up and started causing trouble Cody! We were minding our own business and this fucking⸺” His statement was stopped dead when Cody’s hand grasped around the member’s throat, his eyes wide with terror. Cody’s, though, were still and calculating.

  “I don’t remember asking you. I very clearly asked our new friend here. Now, go sit down, and do not interrupt us again. Is that understood?”

  The man shook his head in an up-and-down motion rapidly before retreating into the crowd of bikers. The man they called Cody was average-sized and spoke as softly as a priest, but Matt sensed from the fear these men had of him, combined with how quick he was to threaten his own member, that there was more to this man than met the eye.

  “I do apologize for that interruption. Sometimes he forgets his manners. You were about to fill me in on the problem we have here?” Cody said.

  Matt hesitated, but finally spoke after realizing that this guy might be his only way out of this situation that didn’t involve leaving in a body bag.

  “I am looking for my sister, that’s all. I was just asking around to see if anyone here might know where she is.”

  “And I am assuming you didn’t get the answer you were looking for from my second-in-command here?”

  “He threatened to have her raped in front of me by every club member,” Matt struggled not to wince saying the word out loud.

  Cody’s eyes moved from Matt to the VP, and for the first time flashed with anger, but then, in the same instant, resumed their cool, concentrated state. He slowly moved toward the two men, keeping his eyes on the VP as he approached. He stopped in front of them and turned his attention back to Matt.

  “Who’s your sister?” he asked.

  “Mariah O’Bannon.”

  “Well, that makes you pretty lucky, Bran,” he said looking down at the VP. “This is Matthew O’Bannon, the man who left Council Grove years ago after he killed a schoolteacher in cold blood.” Cody was apparently very familiar with Matt’s history. “You might not have a throat anymore if I hadn’t showed up.”

  “It wasn’t in cold blood,” Matt almost spat the words at Cody. “You don’t know what he⸺”

  “I know what he did, Brother. I know. Michael Vincent raped Mariah when she was just a little girl. He was tutoring her after school, if I remember correctly, but it’s been a long time. And I would have done the exact same thing. If you ask me, that animal got exactly what he deserved, and the world is a better place because of it.”

  “Who are you? How do you know all of this?” Matt asked.

  “Just someone who pays attention, Matt. I’ve been around a long time, and I make it my business to know what’s happening in our little part of the world. As for my Vice President, he knows my policy on rape. Zero tolerance. My law is that any man who is found guilty by our club of committing that vile act loses the part of his body that made it possible to carry out.”

  The VP, or Bran, as Cody called him, looked up at Cody with more fear than Matt thought possible to see in a man’s eyes. It validated that this Cody character was no joke. Cody continued.

  “It seems he has only threatened to commit this sickening act, but, a threat bares the same tolerance in my eyes as the act itself.” He turned to the other members of the club. “And who here was planning on going along with this threat, and raping Mr. O’Bannon’s sister?”

  Matt could have heard a pin drop in that room. No man dared speak.

  “Hmm, just Bran, huh? Fair enough. Justin!” A black man, much larger that Matt or Cody, came hurrying out of the crowd. He stopped by Cody’s side and waited as Cody reached behind his back and pulled out a hunting knife that would be better described as a small sword. He handed it to the man Matt assumed to be Justin. “You know my law. As it was only threat, he’ll get only a piece of the punishment. Take his balls and keep him quiet. If I have to explain the noise to the Sheriff, I will kill him myself.”

  Without a word, Justin moved toward Matt and Bran. Matt stepped aside as he grabbed a shaking Bran and began dragging him toward the back of the bar. He didn’t stand, but he didn’t make a sound as he was dragged toward his punishment. Matt couldn’t help but admire this man, Cody. He seemed so civilized and decent. The kind of man you would meet at a block party or on a mission trip, yet he presided over a group of vicious, violent rouges of the law, and he did so with an iron fist.

  “I’m sorry for the trouble, Mr. O’Bannon. I tend to have to keep a pretty short leash on some of these guys. It looks like I might have to consider a change in the ranks as well. Look, your sister comes around here pretty often. She won’t be harmed by this bunch; you have my word,” Cody said.

  “Where can I find her?” Matt almost thanked Cody for the gesture, but felt that no one should have to thank a man for ensuring that his underlings wouldn’t assault an innocent woman.

  “She lives in a trailer park just a few miles east of town. Back left corner of the park. It’s a shabby, yellow thing. Rusty, beat-up, old derby car parked out front. She stops by here from time to time, but mostly you can find her there or at work.”

  “Where’s work?”

  “The Dancing Kitty. It’s a strip joint a little ways north. Mostly drunks and truckers in that place. Just off the highway and next to a shitty little motel.”

  Matt’s heart sank. A strip club? His little sister was a stripper? It felt like this Cody had just stabbed him in the chest. He was close to tears, but was not about to let this stranger see him break down, no matter how badly this news got to him.

  “Thanks.” Matt turned for the door and moved toward it.

  “O’Bannon,” Cody said. Matt turned and looked back at him. “I meant what I said. Vincent got what he deserved.”

  Matt nodded and walked out of The Wet Bar. He returned to the car, got inside and sat in the dark. He looked all around and ensured that he was alon
e before he let his emotions take over. The tears warmed his cheeks as they rolled down his face. He had done this. He had murdered Michael Vincent, and brought everything that happened to Mariah to light, and it had destroyed her. Now she was with a druggie, hanging out in shit holes like The Wet Bar, and stripping for money.

  He laid his head back on the seat and let himself feel all of the emotions that were flooding into him. He went over the night that changed everything, remembering every detail over and over again. It wasn’t long before he was back outside Vincent’s house. His breathing accelerated, his heart beating so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest. He was back kicking him in the head while the sick bastard laughed. The man who’d taken everything from his family, laughing about what he’d done to a little girl. He felt the pain in his hand again as he hit him over and over. Blood splattering on the floor and against the wall.

  Then suddenly, he was awake. The sun was shining brightly through the windshield; he’d fallen asleep in his car. He immediately reached for his phone and when the screen came to life it revealed several missed calls from Andi. He was certain she was not going to be happy. She’d probably been up all night worrying about him since he hadn’t returned. The phone rang until it hit voicemail. He figured she’d probably eventually faded into sleep, just as he had. He left her a message letting her know that he’d fallen asleep, but that he’d found out where Mariah was. He promised to make it up to her and Riley that evening when he returned to the hotel.

  He turned the key, fired up the engine, put the car in drive, and started east out of Alta Vista. Cody had not lied. Once he was about three miles out of town, a small trailer park appeared on his left. He slowed and turned into the community. He maneuvered through and, just as he’d been told, there it was: a small, tattered, yellow trailer with a crumpled beer can of a vehicle parked out front. He felt sad all over again. It looked more like a junk yard than any kind of home. His sister was a stripper, living in a junk yard.