Killers, Bikers & Freaks: A Walt Asher Florida Thriller (The Walt Asher Thriller Series Book 1)

by Andrew Allan

  The short emperor continued, “You have trespassed while donning enemy colors. You have resisted arrest And, you have besmirched the general atmosphere of our Kingdom.”

  “And, I’m sorry for everyone of those things. But, I’m not your enemy. I’m just heading up the road to see my girlfriend,” I said, losing patience.

  “Well now I know you speak false,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  All this clown needed was a powdered wig and a beauty mark above his lip.

  “No woman would lie with such a brute!”

  I glanced at the rest of the gang. They looked like a rag tag pack of adopted loners. No wonder they fell for this guy’s garbage.

  “Look, man—“

  “Silence!” he said. “The court rests its case. The verdict is in. The punishment?” he balled is hand into a fist. “The Skull Crusher!”

  The gang roared. Two guys grabbed my arms and dragged me across the lot towards a wooden wall made of thick, cut loblolly logs, like old power line poles with straps attached. The goons lit two torches atop the wall then buckled me in, wrists and ankles strapped down and spread apart.

  I couldn’t move and I couldn’t believe this kind of medieval behavior was still thriving in the Florida panhandle. But, then again, it was Florida. If this made the front page tomorrow, no one outside the state would be the least bit surprised.

  Would I even see tomorrow? These guys weren’t mean. They were crazy. And, crazy scared the hell out of me.

  A crusty gang flunky hustled a small, hard shell brief case over to Artimus. The Emperor held out his right hand. The flunky opened the briefcase while a topless biker mama took hold of The Emperor’s hand and slid it inside the briefcase. A beat later he pulled his hand out. It was enveloped by an oversized black leather glove with curved iron fingers and sharp metal studs on the knuckles.

  The gang started chanting “Skull Crusher!” as Artimus sashayed over to me. He held the menacing metal fist up to my face.

  “You are condemned to die. Have you any last words, heathen?” said Artimus.

  The Skull Crusher looked like it could more than adequately live up to its name. More painful was the thought of dying here in a lousy dirt lot surrounded by a bunch of drooling rejects.

  Stop judging and start escaping, Asher! You don’t want a taste of that pain.

  I tried to pull my arms loose but the restraints wouldn’t budge.

  Bloodlust was in the air. Artimus’ arm cocked back.

  “Au revoir.” His arm tightened, his torso recoiled, and his fist started to move towards my face.

  “Wait! I can make you the number one biker gang!” I yelled.

  My eyes flinched closed. The Skull Crusher smashed the thick log next to my face. Wood splintered into my cheeks.

  I opened my eyes and saw Artimus draw back his weaponized fist. The force of the punch had shaken a few of his rollers loose. He looked surprised.

  “How dare you say the Panhandle Rippers are inferior,” he said.

  I caught my breath and surveyed the scene. All the bikers were creeping closer, as if I had just blurted out the answer to some ancient riddle they’d been trying to solve for centuries and wanted to hear it again, for clarification. They were mystified.

  Artimus looked at to the curious crowd.

  “Do not listen to him! He speaks no truth. He is crazy. We are sane. We are number one. The Rippers are Number One!”

  He was exposed. I took a deep breath and decided to gamble.

  “Uh, no...you’re not doofus.” I said.

  The crowd hushed and murmured.

  Artimus turned to me, the look of a madman on his face.

  I pushed my luck further.

  “Fucking save it, Artimus. You guys are living in a ring of shit box mobile homes in the middle of forgotten Florida. You’re not a biker gang. You’re a pack of hobos.”

  “You will taste the fury of my iron fist,” he said, holding up his fancy glove.

  I couldn’t think about that. I had to stay focused on my pitch.

  “I’ve seen DG’s house. One of his many houses. Filled with women, money, food. DG...he lives like a king!” I said.

  Gasps from the crowd.

  Brewing rage on Artimus’ face. My ploy had worked...or I was about to have my brains smashed in the next two seconds. Time to hedge my bets. All or nothing.

  “And, you can, too! With my 5-Step Success Plan. No matter who you are, no matter what you do, especially if you run a motorcycle gang in the middle of Bumfuck, Florida. You, too, can start to live the good life you deserve! Imagine never worrying about money, getting all the women you want, and all the respect you deserve! You can and you will! Just like DG, leader of Florida’s current number one gang”

  Artimus shot me a curious glare. I couldn’t tell if he thought I was insane or if I had something of value to say.

  I continued, “DG was a broke as a joke biker pulling small time heists and losing men left and right to arrest and death. But, once he started following my 5-Step Success Plan, he turned his business, his gang, and his life around! Kings and queens would kill to have an existence so royal. Now, I don’t work for DG...I work with DG, consulting and advising to ensure his success in perpetuity. You like fancy words, Artimus. That means, FOREVER!”

  The tiny emperor appeared speechless.

  His gang looked enchanted.

  “Artimus, if you act now, you too can live a life of luxury and riches, of bitches and bikes – as many as you like! No more sleeping in mobile homes. No more sucking sand. No more having all the other superior biker gangs laugh at you and laugh at you and laugh at you and laugh right in your face!”

  “All right!” Artimus cut me off. Veins throbbed at his temples, his eyes looked ready to burst. He started strutting before the gang:

  “We are the most vicious, violent, and bloodthirsty gang on the highways. We are the Panhandle Rippers. We show no mercy!”

  He looked up at me through a shrewd glare.

  “But tonight, I believe we have been visited by a messenger. A messenger brought forth to fulfill our divine right of greatness and power,” he said as he thumbed back at me. “This is such a messenger. A messenger...which I have been expecting!”

  I didn’t think the crowd bought it. But, they were pretty dumb.

  “I knew before I even saw his face shimmering next to the fire. I merely had to test his sincerity, his courage. He faced the Skull Crusher with bravado. And, he passed the test,” he said.

  He stared into their eyes to prove conviction.

  The skepticism drained from their faces.

  “Now, we must confer. Cut him down,” he said with a wave of the Skull Crusher.

  I let out a huge sigh of relief and smiled.

  “Shall we talk in your office?” I said.

  “Come,” he said and we marched towards the prestigious mobile home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  WHAT A DUMP.

  Just what you’d expect from a beer swilling, woman raping, biker pig. Only King Artimus had a throne, all right. It was a beauty salon chair with a fancified helmet heater attached to the back. His biker mama stood next to it, ready to serve. She was a sad looking woman with leathery skin and topless tits that appeared to have been deflated.

  Artimus lead me into the cluttered living room, stopping to set the Skull Crusher on a TV tray that also held a leftover tin with congealing Salisbury steak sauce and a few rogue peas in it. It has been converted into an ashtray.

  “Come in,” he said.

  “Lovely place,” I said. It wasn’t.

  He sat in the dryer chair and crossed his legs lady style.

  I sat on an old copper velour sofa with vintage cowboy pattern on it. It sunk too deep. That made leaping up and escaping more difficult. But, the Skull Crusher was within reach.

  His biker mama walked over and tightened his sagging rollers.

  He maintained eye contact with me through bitter, battle worn eyes.
<
br />   “DG has foiled the Panhandle Rippers for years. I take it as a personal affront. So tell me, messenger. What are the five steps of your success program?” he said.

  “Well...” I said, glancing at the Skull Crusher, getting ready to wing it. “Number one, you gotta believe in yourself. Totally eliminate doubt from the equation.”

  “I already do that. Tell me something new. And, get specific.”

  “Funny you should mention specifics, because that’s point number two”

  I looked casually around the room, as if collecting my thoughts. But, I was really mapping the quickest escape route possible.

  I continued, “Instead of speaking in generalities and vague ambitions, you have to get specific with your men and most importantly your goals as a leader.”

  I could move first and grab the Skull Crusher on my way out the front door, right into the middle of the gang’s “kingdom” as he had put it. No good.

  “Break it down to its finest level – start at what you want to accomplish for the year, then figure out what you need to do each month, then each week, each day, each hour. Specifics sell. They also give you focus and a real plan for success,” I said recalling some copy I had written years ago for a get rich quick program. I neglected to tell Artimus that the purveyor of said program was now residing in one of the state prisons for defrauding the public.

  “That makes sense,” he said nodding. “But, it speaks to the little man. I lead these outcasts because I have a very specific vision already in place. I need to know the secret that makes it possible for a baboon like DG to rule. What is the source of his power? And, tell me quick. You are trying my patience. Had I purchased this advice off the television I would be ready to send it back.”

  His highness looked most displeased.

  Biker mama finished tightening his rollers and pushed the heating helmet down over his hair. She turned it on and the steady sound of cycling air began to hum.

  I looked past her towards the hallway leading to the bedroom. I could grab the Skull Crusher, smash him with it, shove her out of the way, and punch through a bathroom window, then get the hell out of there. Maybe.

  “Look, this plan has already helped millions of people around the world tap into their secret power source. But, there’s a methodology to it. Incidentally, what am I getting for this?” I said.

  Biker mama pulled up a stool and sat right in the middle of the hallway escape path. She lit a cigarette and it looked like smoke exhaled from her every facial orifice.

  “Your life. I could have smashed you to oblivion as I have so many others,” said Artimus.

  “Okay, well good point. Look, I have a whole book I’ve written about the five step plan.”

  Kitchen window? Maybe too close to them. But, a possibility for escape. I needed to get this just right.

  “If you’d just let me get back to my home, I can send it to you. Not only that, you’ll also receive my latest insider information for building automatic wealth that literally pours into your bank account while you sleep. That’s a free bonus, my gift to you.” I said, stretching, stalling.

  “Tell me now, before my hair is set. Or it’s back to the rack for you.” he said gripping the arm rests on the chair.

  “That bonus information is normally reserved only for my select gold level clientele and they each have to pay ten-thousand dollars for it. Per year. I’m offering it to you absolutely free!”

  Any of the routes could work as long as I could get past these two. The real trick awaited outside. Even if I got out, I didn’t have the keys to the car. And, I’ve never driven a motorcycle before.

  “I want the secret. Now!” Artimus pounded his fist on the armrest. His face flushed red.

  Biker Mama kept smoking with her head cocked and a look that was sizing me up.

  I scanned the room again. There...keys on the bar counter. Next to a jar of hard candies...and denture cream?

  I looked to Artimus. “Okay, you got it. Here’s the real secret for success. The same secret that DG and just about every other successful person you ever met knows. A secret that could mean the difference between—“

  “Artimus, what the fuck are you doing?” said Biker Mama. She shook her thumb at me. “This guy’s wanted by the cops. I saw it in the paper. Just turn his ass in and collect the reward money. It’s probably like a million dollars.”

  Shit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SHE LOOKED AT him like it was the easiest decision ever.

  Artimus looked at me, surprised. Then, serious. Then, devilish. It was obvious he liked that plan.

  Nobody moved.

  The hair drier dinged.

  “Get him!” Artimus yelled and pointed.

  Biker Mama leaped at me like a cat, right off the stool and claws out. I grabbed the Skull Crusher and clobbered her in the head. She landed on me limp and unconscious. I pushed her off and pulled myself out of the deep soft couch.

  Artimus moved to get up. The heater helmet locked him down. I got my balance as I slipped on the Skull Crusher. It was heavy and menacing. Artimus reached to push up the hair dryer. Two steps forward and I smashed the Skull Crusher down on the heater. The metal studs shredded the plastic casing, the dull iron smashed the unit apart causing it to impact against Artimus’ head. Sparks fried his hair and his head flamed up. Artimus let out a shrill cry as his arms and legs jerked straight out and his body flailed violently in the chair.

  A knock at the door. “Artimus, you okay?”

  “Uh, yes...feeling...divine!” I said over my shoulder.

  Panther kicked the door in: “What the shit?”

  He whipped his chain at me, smashing the candy jar and knocking over a lamp on the pull back. I ran down the hallway.

  A glance into the bathroom – the window was too small to crawl through. I ran back to the bedroom. A musty smelling pigsty. No window.

  Dead end.

  I turned towards the hallway. Panther appeared and slowed up at seeing me. More bikers fell in behind him.

  “He killed Artimus!” someone yelled.

  “Dude’s fryin’ and shit,” said another.

  Panther closed in.

  I stepped up and shut the bedroom door. Panther pounded against it as I pushed over a dresser to keep it closed. Artimus’ extensive hair supply collection spilled onto the floor.

  Panther’s fist smashed through the door.

  “Tough luck, jerk. First we’re gonna kill ya, then we’re gonna rape ya.”

  I jumped back and scanned the room for options...then paused, realizing just how gross Panther’s threat was. I ran to the closet. A rifle. No bullets.

  An arm reached through the hole in the door. It bent and felt around for the doorknob. I hit it with the rifle butt. Panther screamed.

  “Let me at it,” said another biker who peeked through the hole in the door. I smashed his face with the rifle butt and he fell back wailing.

  A voice from down the hall said, “Lookout! I got a gun!”

  I moved back behind the bed, watching the bikers clear a path in the hallway. My back bumped into the far bedroom wall. The Skull Crusher knocked against the wood paneling. I dropped onto my knees behind the bed.

  The rifle cocked.

  “Gonna blow that sumbitch’s head off,” said the shooter-to-be.

  Would this bed stop a bullet? I looked around for a better option.

  Moonlight shined through a small crack in the wall. Right where the Skull Crusher had knocked against it. These mobile homes were made cheaper than I thought.

  A gun shot. The far side of the bed blew up; cotton and metal coils flew around the room.

  “Aim better, Rape-O!” said Panther with a critical, impatient tone.

  The gun cocked.

  I looked at the Skull Crusher then at the wall. What the hell...

  I punched a hole in the wall. My whole fist went through.

  Another gunshot. The headboard shattered.

  I pulled back my iron f
ist and smashed the wall again. This time, rather than a straight punch, I swung across the cheap wood and took out a large section about a foot high and three feet wide. I didn’t wait for the next shot.

  I dove through the wall and fell onto the dirt outside.

  Another shot. Part of the wall exploded above my head. Pieces of wood paneling blasted out into the field beyond. The bikers cheered inside.

  I got up and ran around the wagon train of mobile homes. The bonfire blazed in the gaps between. It was bright enough that I could see the bikers gathered outside Artimus’ trailer. But, that would only last up to when they got in the bedroom and figured out I’d slipped through the wall. I had to hurry.

  I stopped behind the trailer closest to my car. It sat unguarded twenty-five feet away. A few of the bikers appeared around far side of Artimus’ trailer. They were looking at the hole I’d slipped through.

  “Find him!” Panther shouted.

  The bikers scrambled in all directions, including a pair of big dudes running my way.

  I had to act fast.

  If I ran to the car now I could get in and get out of there quick enough to make space between me and their bikes. That could give me enough time to lose them, presuming I could find the path back to the interstate. If I ran to the car and it was locked or had no keys, I was screwed. I need to stall them in case I couldn’t take the car.

  The two big bikers stopped at the bonfire. I checked around for a rock, something to fight with. I found gas cans. The bikers were lighting torches in the bonfire, to aid their search. I opened a lid and smelled. Yes, gas. I picked up the open gas can. It was heavy, but light enough for what I needed.

  The bikers moved towards me, their torches leading the way.

  I did three practice swings then threw the gas can as hard, as far, and as high as I could. It flew across the night sky tumbling over and over, spurting out droplets of gas. It landed with a crash on the near edge of the bonfire and exploded. The metal canister blasted through the air and over a nearby mobile home.

  The sound and bright flash of the explosion stopped the big bikers. They turned around to see what had happened.