Black Jacks Folly: MC Club Romance (Undercover Sins Book 1)

by Tia Wilson

  I tucked the note into the folder and stood up squarely. “I wont let you down captain” I said. We shook hands and I headed back to my desk to absorb the information in the folder.

  This was one of the parts of the job I loved and which I was good at. I could memorize huge amounts of information and every scrap that I stored away might help me in future dealings. I could never predict when some random piece of history might help me insinuate myself further into my cover.

  I spent the whole morning reading and rereading the file. I had all the crimes and various run ins with the law filed away in my memory for seven of the gangs members. I knew them as much as possible from the files on my desk. BlackJack was different, he was a cypher, a man with no history. It was if he walked out of the fog to start this gang and everything else about him was nothing but street chatter and urban legend. The guy had never even got as much as a parking ticket, but his gang where now on the radar. Expansion had alerted the powers that be and I was going to be the first attempt at building a case against him and his reprobates.

  By lunchtime my eyes ached and my stomach felt sour from one too many cups of shitty reheated coffee. I got up and left the office knowing this would be the last time I would see this place for a while. The tradition when going undercover was you got up and walked out without saying a word. No big emotional farewells, you just left quietly. The belief was that we would see each other again on our return.

  Back in my apartment I filled a heavy tumbler with some scotch and got to work going over the files once again. As my eyes scanned over the pages again and again I started to build up the backstory for my undercover identity. Layer by layer I built up personal details, anecdotes and traits. The easiest solution was to be as close to yourself as possible and to use as much of your own information as was safe, so that you could never get caught up in a tangle of lies. I drifted off to sleep as images of hulking men on motorbikes made of flames pulled me down into sleep.

  The following day I locked up my apartment and stood staring dumbly at the front door for a second as a strong feeling made me think I was never going to see it again. Out of habit I gently tapped my hip so that I could feel the comfortable weight of my pistol in its holster. The gun was bought from a shady pawnshop a few weeks ago and the serial number was filed off. Strapped to my ankle was a knife. I felt a lot safer with both of them and they fitted with my new character who's skin I was slowly inhabiting.

  My face was still aching and the cut above my lips had stopped bleeding. When I had awoken this morning I filled a sock with a bunch of spare change. I swung it hard against the soft flesh under my eyes, once, twice, three times. It began to swell nearly immediately. My eye was bloodshot above the puffy and darkening skin. I gritted my teeth and swung the makeshift bludgeon hard against my lip. The skin split on impact and bright red blood ran down my chin and spotted the tiled floor. My lip began to ballon and swell. It wasn't enough. I swung the bludgeon hard against my lip and it split again and blood ran down my face in rivulets. I dropped the sock filled with change and gripped the sink tightly as the pain turned everything black for a few seconds. Once the bleeding stopped I cleaned up and surveyed my work. It looked like i’d been dealt a couple of nice punches. My face was swollen below the eye and my lips had darkened and bruised beneath the soft skin. I popped some pain killers and winced as I swallowed them.

  Once I was out of my apartment I walked a couple of blocks from my place and then hailed a cab. “Take me here” I said showing the driver the piece of paper with the address on it. He looked at my face with a concerned look on it “Are you sure you want to go here? This place has a bit of a reputation”. “Drive” I said gruffly and the cab pulled away from the curb and headed towards my destination.

  The bar was located thirty minutes out of town on a deserted back road. The bar was a solid and grey concrete building with a blue neon sign flickering “The Pit”, and hanging slightly askew. This building looked like it had never seen better days, it had the look of something that came fully formed into this world as a blight on the landscape. In front of the building where parked a couple of beat up old junkers with faded paint jobs and broken tail lights, no sign of any motorbikes yet. I paid the cab driver and he eyeballed me in the rearview mirror as I counted out the money.

  I got out and breathed the country air. The romantic view was that the air should smell crisp and clear. I smelt nothing but decay and rotting trash. The switch flipped inside me and I was ready to become another person. I pushed down all the fear that was exploding like flashbulbs in my head and telling me to run away. I strode toward the bar door, and each step as I crunched loudly on the rubbish strewn parking lot calmed me and put me in the headspace I need to live in for possibly the next few months. By the time I put my hand on the door to push it open I was no longer a police officer, I was now Linda Lake and I was ready to catch BlackJacks attention.

  The door creaked open and I entered. It was dimly light with a pool table in the corner. The light above the table flickered on and off. In the corner was an old jukebox and it was currently playing some sort of rinky dink country and western music. The bar was small with a row of stools in front of it. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I could see a few men sitting at tables off in the corners. Most sat alone nursing a beer. All eyes in the bar turned to me as I strolled towards the bar.

  The bar man was a huge fat guy, if this was Japan he would easily make the national sumo team. He looked at me from squinty piggy eyes. His massive arms where folded across a black T Shirt with a cobra on it. Sitting at the bar was a man with long greasy hair and his face buried in a newspaper and he was taking notes as he read the sports section. I had him pegged as a degenerate gambler straight away. He did not look up or pay me any attention as I sat down.

  The fat barman gave me a yellow toothed smile and said, “What can I get you hot stuff”. His voice dripped with condescension. “A beer and a shot of bourbon” I said. He poured me a beer in a glass which still had a lipstick stain on the rim. I downed the bourbon in one fiery swig and followed it up with some deep gulps of my beer. I looked in the yellow liquid and thin tendrils of blood broke apart between the bubbles. I reached up and my lips was bleeding again, I had reopened the wound knocking back the shot. The barman threw me a dirty rag and said, “Here you go hot stuff. Did your old man give you the once over?”. I didn't like the tone of his voice and he seemed to be enjoying my pain. “Something like that.” I said and muttered under my breath “and he wont be doing that again”. My hand visibly shook as I dabbed at my busted lip. I pointed at the shot glass and the bar man filled it up again.

  At first it was a low rumble in the distance and then I could hear the full throttled roar as a motorbike pulled up outside the bar. I continued to drink my beer knowing this could be BlackJack and some of his cronies pulling up outside. The door swung open and a pair of heavy boots walked across the stripped wooden floor to a vacant table in the far corner of the bar. The bar man looked in the new arrivals direction and gave a nod of recognition. He poured a fresh beer and this time the glass was gleaming and clean and brought it over to the man in the corner.

  I had to play it cool, I couldn't make a move at all. He had to come to me, I had to be discovered by him to remove any suspicion. I could not make the first move, if anything I had to act completely disinterested in my surroundings, a woman crushed under the weight of her current predicament. It might take weeks of me propping up this bar before contact was made, it usually did. Until I looked like another fixture and word of my fabricated story slowly spread by bar room gossip, then the moment might come where I could naturally cross paths with BlackJack.

  I sipped my beer with me head down looking at the thin tendrils of my blood dissipate in the frothy liquid. The bourbon had sanded off some of the rough edges of my pain but it still hurt to drink.

  The greasy looking guy reading the paper moved over two seats and sat beside me. He rolled up his newspaper slowly and slipped hi
s notebook into an inside pocket of his stained and rumpled suit. His hair hung hank and lifeless and he smelt sour and dirty. I concentrated on my beer knowing this was not going to go well. The man bent close to my ear and his fetid breath filled my nostrils. “Why don't we get out of here my ebony queen?” he asked as his lips brushed close to my ear. I moved away from him in my chair, shifting my weight subtly. “Leave me alone,” I said through my busted lips.

  “I will treat you nice” he slurred as he put his hand on my arm. I looked down at his grubby hand on my arm, dirt encrusted under his fingernails and then I glanced at his crotch. He had his trousers opened and his stiff cock pocked out. A wave of disgust and revulsion hit me and then I acted on pure instinct.

  I grabbed his hand by the wrist and slammed it onto the bar top, with one smooth movement I freed my blade from its ankle sheath and like liquid silver it coursed through the air in a flashing arc as I buried it in the back of this sleaze bags hand.

  For a split second nothing happened as if the moment was frozen in time. The knife stood straight up like an obscene exclamation point jutting from the back of his hand. The man’s mouth opened in a wide O and he made a panicked puffing sound as he pulled air in and out rapidly. Then the blood came and it ran over the back of his hand and along the bar. I looked in the man’s widening eyes and just as swiftly as I had stabbed him I pulled out the knife. “Don't touch me again, next time it will be your cock I cut off.” The greasy man fell to the floor backing away from me and whimpering. “Get him out of here” boomed a voice from the back corner of the bar. I cleaned the knife with the dirty bar rag and slid it back into its sheath.

  The fat bar man came and dragged the whimpering dirt bag out of the bar and minutes later I heard his car drive away with a loud backfire. The bar man returned to his post and began to sop up the blood. He nodded towards my drinks and said, “Same again? Compliments of the gentleman” and he gestured towards the back corner. This whole sorry incident was looking like a stroke of luck. I nodded yes and a fresh round of drinks where pored for me. I put the shot glass to my lips and looked into the gloom, I could make out a large figure sitting off in the corner. I tipped the glass back and downed it in one go. I nodded towards the corner and then turned back to the bar.

  I was excited by this initial contact and so soon on the first day. Maybe this case was going to be easier then the Captain had made it out to be. I drank my beer slowly as I planned out my next move. The wise thing to do would be to stay sitting at the bar and hope he came to me, or I could approach him a few days from now when he was in the bar again and thank him for buying me a drink.

  My decision was taken out of my hands within a few minutes. The door behind me swung open and I turned as two men clad in black leather jackets walked in. Time slowed to a standstill as events marched forward with grim predictability, it was if I was watching the pages of a flip book blur past my eyes. Individual frames frozen for a splint second as if everything was washed in a harsh strobe light.

  The two men turned to the corner that my lead was in and their leather jackets billowed back as they pulled out shotguns from a concealed loop holster. The first guy was still raising up the barrel of his gun when the top of his skull was blown clean off. Blood and viscera sprayed out in an arc hitting the floor and ceiling.

  While his body was still in mid fall his partner fumbled with his gun which looked to be snagged in his holster. A round to his chest sent him spinning like a top with both hands still wrapped around the barrel of the trapped sawn off shotgun. As he spun another slug hit him in his lower back and he sprawled forward and his teeth clacked together as his head smashed full force into the floor.

  The man stood out of the gloom and for the first time since entering the bar I could see his face. It was BlackJack, his broad square jaw and thick muscular neck with the unmistakable tattoos creeping up his neck. He had a tight crew cut and wore a black leather jacket of the style worn by outlaw riders from the seventies. He was broad shouldered and well built but he didn't look like a typical over muscled meat head. This was all functional muscle and I could see it in the graceful and fluid way he moved to the window and parted the dirty blinds to look outside. He moved like an apex predator, sure footed and ready for whatever was next.

  In the couple of seconds that the carnage had taken place I had not moved an inch and I could see some of my fellow barfly’s cowering in the corners. BlackJack raised his pistol and pointed it at the bar man and said, “Fatman there are ten more mother fuckers about to come all guns blazing through that door as soon as they realize that their dead and mouldering brothers have not completed their mission. Unlock the back door and make it quick.”

  Blackjack bent and picked up the two sawn off shotguns. He pushed one into his belt and then looked at me. “Do you know how to fire one of these?” he said throwing the gun to me. I weighed it in my hands and cocked it open to check the shells. “I do” I said. “If you want to live, come with me. Those guys outside are here to wipe out everything that moves. Fuck the other pond scum here” he said.

  The door to the bar swung open and then the gates of hell opened and I was moving on pure animal instinct. The first guy kicked the door in and immediately started shooting in the direction of the bar. Bottles exploded behind me and a spray of beer shot up from a punctured can.

  Blackjack went down on one knee and blasted this new intruder. The first shot hit his knee and ripped it completely open. The second shot hit him in the gut and he keeled over gasping for air.

  Two more men came through the doorway and as he raised his uzi Blackjack hit him in the shoulder. The assailant pressed the trigger and as he was pushed back from the bullet tearing through the soft meat of his shoulder the gun spun upwards shooting a stream of deadly bullets along the ceiling.

  A noise like a large angry dog barking filled the bar and the second machine gun toting goon doubled up and was lifted off his feet and blasted back through the door way. The barrel of my shotgun smoked and my shoulder hurt from the kickback. My actions had saved BlackJacks life.

  Bullets whizzed by my ears and I could see more men inching their way towards the open door, this time they wouldn't barge in. Either way we where outnumbered and didn't stand a chance.

  Blackjack grabbed me by the arm and pulled me backwards over the bar and I landed on the floor with a jarring thud. He looked me in the eyes and with all that was going on he looked calm and collected. He said, “Im going to lay down some cover and you make a run for the backdoor, its down the corridor behind the bar. Wait for me at the backdoor.”

  He popped up over the bar and let rip with his pistol. Shoots pinged past me as I got up and ran quickly to the back door. The bar man was curled up in the corner and cowering in fear. Seconds later Blackjack was beside me and he grabbed me by the shoulders and shouted “DOWN”. He pulled me roughly to the floor and covered me with his body pressing against me tight. I could feel his heart racing in his chest and his lips brushed against my ear as he tried to protect me.

  At first there was a whoosh of air and then the wall and floor shook as something exploded in the bar. Clouds of dust billowed and filled the air. Ceiling panels fell from above and thudded onto his back. He leaned up on his elbows and looked me in the eyes, something passed between us in that brief glimpse. He was a born survivor and so was I. He brushed some debris tenderly from my cheek and said, “Are you ok?” I blinked and a hoarse “yes” came from between my bruised and broken lips. We where in a lovers embrace as the whole world fell down around us.

  Blackjack stood up and offered me his hand. “We move now and fast, my bike is parked around the side.” He cracked the door open and everything was clear. From inside his jacket he took out two grenades and threw them into the bar. He grabbed me by the hand and we moved swiftly around the corner to where his bike was parked. It was a huge chrome beast, low to the ground with handlebars that flared out dramatically.

  The two grenades exploded inside the bar and m
en shouted in pain and confusion. BlackJack cocked a leg over the bike and straddled the massive beast, he motioned for me to jump on behind him. I didn't hesitate and jumped on wrapping my arms around him. He turned back to me and said, “Hold on tight and as soon as we round that corner blast that shotgun in the direction of anything that moves.”