by Tia Wilson
I wrapped one arm around his waist and I could feel the muscles and sinews move beneath his jacket. I cocked the shot gun and said, “Ready”.
Blackjack slammed his foot down and his bike throbbed to life. The meaty motor sent vibrations through my body. He revved the accelerator and we lurched forward and cleared the corner of the bar. Cars flamed in front of the bar and broken and bloody bodies and body parts lay strewn about. I fired my final shell into the lot and couldn't see if I hit anyone as we picked up speed and zoomed away from danger.
Blackjack eyed the rearview mirror to check for tails and as we turned the first bend I could see that nobody had begun to give chase yet. We turned a sharp bend and then took a small country road heading away from the city and towards the mountains.
As we started to put some distance between the bar and us, it began to look like we where safe and I could feel BlackJack relax a little. As we roared along the road he glanced back at me and said, “You are with me now. I will protect you”. He faced forward and we barrelled ahead towards the distant mountains as the sun began to set and the light faded. I wrapped my arms around him tightly and rested my head against his broad back.
I was in.
CHAPTER TWO
Liars Tomb
The motorbike hummed beneath me as we sped along the cracked black asphalt of the winding road. I clung to Jack “BlackJack” Stone as he skilfully tilted the bike into the corners. I gripped him tight and rested my head against his broad imposing back.
We were fleeing a scene of death and destruction. The last thing I had seen when he gunned the engine and my head whipped back as the bike growled to life, was injured men lying dead and bleeding in the car park. It had been an all out frontal assault on Jack Stone and with my help we had escaped unharmed.
For me the hard part was now just beginning. I am an undercover cop tasked with building a case against Jack Stones motorcycle gang. They are a highly secretive group suspected to be involved with gun running, drug dealing, bank robberies and several other highly violent crimes. The gang had dealings with the Koreans, the Mexicans and the Columbians. If I could successfully infiltrate them and build a case, the special crimes unit could put away a lot of scum bags.
The events in the bar earlier today had been nothing but sheer luck for me. I had saved Stones life when I had blasted an assailant about to shoot him in the back. We had gunned our way out of the bar and here I was now clinging to him on his massive bike as we wound our way along the back country roads.
When Captain Travers gave one of his many speeches to the members of the elite Special Crimes unit he often used the colourful image of being naked on a tightrope with a pit of rabid and snarling dogs below to describe the job of an undercover detective. Right now I felt like I had taken the first steps onto that tightrope and I hadn’t even wobbled. This was only the beginning and danger and peril lay ahead and the rabid dogs are hungry for my flesh.
I squeezed my arms a little tighter around Jack Stones waist appreciating his taught muscles under my embrace. I would have to get close to him if I wanted to become integral to his gang. This was part of the job and we all knew that when undercover situations like this would arise, sometimes we would have to get intimate to keep our cover in place. If you want to stay on the tightrope you have to do anything possible to maintain your balance. I was not going to fall. The rabid dogs would not get me. I repeated this mantra over and over in my mind, partly to calm myself and partly to reassure myself. The following few hours would be no time for self doubt.
I clung to Stone and pushed all fears to the back of my mind. I was now Linda Lake and any sign of fear or doubt would put me in danger. The veil of this assumed character enshrouded me.
The scenery whipped by as we sped along. It was mostly flat scrub brush and wide open pitted dirt fields. As we turned a bend we passed by a large open cemetery. Standing close to an old rusted iron gate stood a tall man with greying hair in a dark suit. By his side was a small blonde boy dressed in a matching suit. As we roared past them the tall man raised his arm and pointed directly at us. His arm hung in the air and one bony finger followed our passage along the road. A chill ran down my spine and I involuntarily squeezed Jack Stone very tight. The bike juddered and weaved close to the centre line and then he had it back in control. I must of jolted him with the unexpected force of my embrace.
A few minutes later the bike slowed down and we pulled to a stop outside an old dilapidated garage and convenience store. He got off the bike and turned to me. His face was an ashen pale colour.
“Are you ok?” I said.
Jack unzipped his leather jacket slowly and before it was even open half way I could see his T shirt was soaked in blood. He winced as he pulled his shirt away from his skin. Fresh rivulets of blood ran down his side and pooled on the cracked asphalt. He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned on me shifting his weight as he gritted his teeth.
“One of those fuckers winged me. Can you get some bandages and meet me in the rest room?” he said forcing a wad of bills into my hand.
I headed towards the convenience store and glanced back at Jack as he walked with a stiff gait towards the rest rooms at the side of the garage. I cursed to myself. If this was more then a flesh wound and things went south quickly I would lose my chance to infiltrate the gang. Without thinking I stopped mid stride. I actually felt a pang of guilt about how coldly I had considered Jack dying. This was not good. In the academy we had been taught that a traumatic event can bring people close with a burning intensity. In our short time together we had both brushed past death and walked away from it. I needed to focus. I pushed the guilt away, excusing it as a momentary lapse of judgement. I needed to focus and not let emotions bleed in.
I picked up my pace and entered the harshly lit store.
I gathered up a few packets of bandages and some alcohol wipes. The man behind the counter was large and sweaty and he eyeballed me with a crooked yellow grin on his face. A stale sour smell filled my nostrils as I got closer to him.
"You look like you have been through the wars" he said barely suppressing a laugh.
I did not like the creepy vibes this guy was giving off. I wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. I dropped my money on the counter, I did not want this creep touching my hand. I gathered up the bandages and hurriedly got away from the counter.
"Hey, why don't you stop and chat for a while?" He bellowed after me.
I quickly crossed the cracked asphalt in front of the garage as I headed towards the restrooms. Why had I let that guy get under my skin so quickly? My nerves jangled and I felt on edge. I had been running on pure adrenaline for the last hour or so, I was feeling the effects of it wearing off. I dug the nails of my left hand hard into my palm, the shock of pain refocused me.
I knocked on the wooden door of the restroom, faded paint flaked away under my knuckles.
"Come in,” said Jack.
I entered the dingy restroom. A naked flickering bulb hung from the ceiling, its watery light gave everything a washed out sickly look. Jack Stone stood before me naked to the waist. He held a bunch of tissue paper against the injury on his flank. Blood had completely soaked through the ball of tissue. I dumped the bandages into the adjacent sink.
"How badly have you been hit?" I said.
“I think one of my ribs is broken,” he said, “The bullets passed out through my back."
I gently pried the blood-soaked tissue away from his torso. His body glistened with sweat and his skin had a grey colour to it. I ripped open an alcohol wipe and began to clean around the wound. Blood oozed slowly out of the ragged hole in his side.
As my hands moved quickly across his body and the damaged area Stone began talking to me. His voice sounded slightly pinched as if he was holding back an undercurrent of raw emotion. Was it fear I was detecting or something else? What little information we had on him in his file had painted him as a coldly calculating killer. Right now the quiver in his voice bet
rayed the inner turmoil I could only guess at.
“It looks like you’ve done this before,” he said as I patched him up best as I could.
“I’ve had some practise,” I said.
Jack tenderly touched me under the chin and I looked up at him.
“What happened to you? Tell me to take my mind off this fucking pain,” he said through gritted teeth.
I cleared my throat and started.
“He was my high school sweet heart. We were both madly in love with each other, at least for the first couple of years. After college the cracks really started to appear. I was blind to them at first or maybe I just refused to see them. He started to drink more as life wasn’t going the way he had imagined. We had a few years when we both found it hard to find work. Money was tight and it was difficult for both of us. I kept strong during this period, I never stopped loving him and believed we would eventually prosper. Then the drinking started, slowly he changed. He became more gruff and aggressive with me. He had no patience with me anymore and began to make me feel weak and stupid. I blamed myself, I thought I wasn’t a good enough woman for him. I had self doubt and felt pitiful. Then one night during a stupid argument over a bill, he slapped me. One quick open handed slap across my face. That should have been my time to exit this toxic relationship.”
My hands worked quickly as I wrapped the bandage tight around his torso.
“I blamed myself. I never thought I would be one of those women. Things only got worse from there. He began to drink even more and totally stopped looking for work. My pay cheque was barely making ends meet and I knew he was stealing money from my purse. When he was really drunk he would slap me, always one quick sharp open handed slap. It was the punctuation he used to end an argument. Then last night it got worse. He was drunk and angry and looking to take it out on me. I was close to breaking point and about to walk out on him. As I turned to leave he punched me full force and split my lip wide open. I fell to the floor and he tumbled down on top of me raining punches down all over me. Bottles fell from the table and smashed on the floor. I picked up a chunk of glass and slashed at his face. He fell off me surprised that I was fighting back. I got up and ran to the kitchen. He was on me nearly immediately with his hands around my neck, squeezing tighter and tighter. My world started to fade away and then he staggered back away from me clutching at his side. I had buried a kitchen knife up to the hilt in his flank. My hands were covered in blood. I stood over him and watched as blood bubbled from his mouth.”
My voice hitched as I teared up.
“I cleaned up, grabbed all the cash I had and left. The rest you know. I came to that bar with no idea what to do next. I needed to get drunk to forget that fucker.”
I wiped the tears off my cheeks and looked up at him. A slight colour had come back to his face. I checked the bandages and I had done a good job. He looked like he was deep in thought as he mulled over my story.
I knew the what ever happened next would either ensure his trust in me or torpedo any chance I had of getting close to him.
I had finished bandaging him and he moaned loudly as he pulled his T-shirt back on, wincing as he lowered it over his bandaged torso. He stood up a little shakily at first and then pulled on his leather jacket.
“I need to make a call,” he said gruffly and walked out of the dirty restroom. The sudden change in him was abrupt, it was as if he had raised a shield around himself, regretting showing me any kind of weakness when I bandaged him. It felt like the ground beneath me was made of sand and I could be swallowed whole any second.
I knew my cover story was in place and would hold up to any scrutiny from Stone. Still… I couldn’t help but feel the creeping dread cast its shadow over me. This would be my only chance to get close to him and his gang and if I blew it now the operation would be fucked before I even begun.
I cleaned a spot in the smeared and stained mirror and looked at my reflection. My face was in tatters, swollen and bruised. It hurt to talk and when I did white hot pins of pain flared throughout my broken face.
I silently mouthed “You have got this” and left the restroom to go and wait by the bike for Stone.
He was pacing back and forth in front of the convenience store with a cheap looking phone to his ear. It was most likely a burner. He probably used the phone no more than a handful of times before disposing of it and switching it out for a new one.
He glanced in my direction a few times as he spoke. His face looked taut as he nodded along to the conversation. Once it ended he dropped the phone in a trash can as he walked towards me. With each step he seemed to straighten up more, any sense of weakness melted away from him as he strode towards me. This would be the moment of truth.
Once he reached me he did something surprising and which caught me completely off guard. He bent towards me and gently kissed my broken lips. The pressure he applied was so soft and gentle that I felt no pain. For the briefest of moments my senses were filled with the intoxicating aroma of his musk.
He stepped back and said “You are with me now”.
I stammered back a weak sounding “OK”. If my mouth wasn’t so sore I'm sure I would of stood there with it agape. What I hadn’t been expecting was the rush of feeling when he kissed me. Tingles ran up and down my spine with the initial gentle brush of his lips.
My training told me that this was to be expected. Traumatic situations could usually form a strong bond between strangers. Even with that knowledge I was a little off balance with the surge off feelings I had felt.
“Your husband is still alive. You punctured his lung and he is in a chemically induced coma.”
He locked eyes with me and spoke with conviction “He can never hurt you again. Not while you are with me”.
He got on his bike and revved the engine. I got on and wrapped my arms around him, being careful not to squeeze too tight. His body language was solid and assured. He seemed energised after our brief kiss.
He looked back at me and said “It’s time to deal with a rat,” and gunned the engine. We left the lot in a cloud of billowing dust and dirt.
I had always been attracted to strong women. I think it was because of my mother. She raised three of us while also working a full time job in a back breaking factory position. My father had bailed on us when we where all young, because of the pressures of family life as my mother told it. Fuck that guy. I had grown cold and hard towards this man as I grew older. My brothers spoke about tracking him down, they had a need to confront him. Not me. He became meaningless as soon as he turned his back on us.
My mother dated sporadically as we grew older. The guys always seemed shifty from my young perspective. I suppose a single mother of three isn’t going to attract a good man.
The longest she was with someone was for a year or two with a dude called Sam Finch. He was a tall rangy looking guy who always seemed to have one eye on the door as if he was waiting for someone to kick it in and drag him off into the night. I never liked him.
One night he raised his hand to my mother. He did not hit her, he never got the chance. I was in the next room watching Tv and I could hear them both getting agitated as they squabbled about money.
My hands balled into fists in my lap, my nails digging into my palms drawing blood. I could feel my breathing increase in rapid little wheezes. My vision strobed in and out flashing white inside my skull.
The next thing I knew I was on Sam, sitting on his chest with a broken beer bottle at his neck. I was foaming at the mouth. I remember my mother screaming in the background “Jack get off him, don't hurt him Jack,” she wailed.
I pressed the shard of glass into his neck, the skin dimpled under the pressure. His eyes were huge saucers of fear.
“Get out of my house” I snarled into his face.
Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. He never blinked while I straddled him. My mothers screaming rose and fell in waves. I came close to plunging the bottle into his neck and ending that piece of shits life there an
d then.
