by Tia Wilson
Linda was dozing on the bed and roused from her shallow nightmare filled sleep as Blackjack entered. She smiled her crooked busted lip smile at him, wincing as she did so. He reciprocated with a broad toothy grin which if she was being honest with herself made him look hot. His smile looked good on his square jawed and very handsome face.
“Is everything ok?” she asked propping herself up on the bed.
Blackjack sat down on the bed as his smile slipped away and his usual stern scowl returned.
“Red is in trouble. Some masked freak is holding him until I meet him tomorrow morning,” Blackjack said. Usually he would not divulge any gang business to a woman he was with but with Linda he felt differently. He felt like she could handle anything he would tell her.
“We have to leave here tonight. Its not safe for you. I have a bolt hole in the city were we can crash for the night.”
He took his heavy leather jacket off and threw it on the floor in a heap. He stripped his tight t shirt off and Linda could see that blood had began to spot through the bandages.
“Do you want me to change your dressings?” Linda asked.
Blackjack got up and began pacing back and forth across the room, slowly rotating his arm in a circular motion. He grimaced with each rotation. His torso gleamed in a sheen of sweet and the muscles of his stomach tensed with every twist of his shoulder.
“It feels like I was wrong about the broken ribs. I think it just grazed them,” he said.
He continued to pace back and forth, each thud of his boot on the floor sounding like a drumbeat. As he paced across the room he began to talk and as each word was uttered he felt himself relax a little more and more.
“Do you know what this little merry band of reprobates is called?” he asked Linda.
She shook her head.
“Most of the gangs out there go for some sort of variation on the name devil. It makes them sound dangerous and evil, to me it sounds like a bunch of overgrown boys trying too hard. Its all surface level bullshit. The stupid names, the tattoos and the gang logos plastered everywhere. To be sure it spooks the normals. I see through all that bravado. We have none of that. We have no logo, no colours, none of that shit. We don't need it. My reputation is built on actions, not some fucking logo of a flaming skull with a dagger through it. Those other punks make me sick to my stomach. The shit they get involved in, human trafficking, dirty deals, selling drugs to kids, its all real seedy shit. We would never touch something like that. I couldn't live with myself if we did.”
Linda wasn't sure how to take all this. Her files had been light on information on his gangs activities, most of what they reported was second hand information from street snitches. They had no evidence on any of it, they didn't even have a name for his gang. The files simply referred to them with the designated name and number of gang 359. Was he saying all this for show she wondered? For her benefit? Maybe in his twisted way he was trying to charm her, show that he was a thug with a heart of gold. Was he changing up his pitch to her telling her what he thought she wanted to hear. Linda wasn't so sure, she couldn't put her finger on it directly, but for some reason she was believing what he was saying. It could be because of his lack of swagger or forced machismo. He was the alpha male around here and he knew it, he didn't need to layer it on for her. He seemed completely earnest as he spoke and she could see the fire inside him as he spoke. His words washed over her, the deep baritone settling into her bones. The rhythmic way he spoke was unlike anyone she had heard before. He was a leader who led not by brute force, he led by something more intangible. Linda could see why he had his reputation.
He slowed his pacing and locked eyes with Linda as he spoke, his words tumbling out of him as if the very act of talking to her was cleansing him from the inside out.
“We call ourselves the revengeful eight. Each of us became members through tackling our demons head on. Only by facing the horror that tried to break you can you burn away the ashen shell of your former fearful self and become a true member. If things go badly tomorrow we will be reduced to seven” he said laughing a hollow gallows bark.
Blackjack sat on the bed beside Linda and he looked empty for a moment, a hollow carapace of a man haunted by his past deeds. The act of even telling her the name of his gang, a name he held close to his heart and a force which drove him, seemed to bow and weaken him.
Linda reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. Her skin prickled at the touch, he felt electric and alive under her palm. She ran her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him close to her. He kissed her on the lips with a soft pressure which tugged at Linda's cracked lips. She let out a small gasp, both in pain and in ecstasy.
All thoughts about the case, gathering evidence and any danger she was in fell away as Blackjack embraced her in his strong arms. He drew her in close to him as she pivoted and turned to face him, she kneeled astride him as he kissed her face and neck. Linda could feel waves of heat coming off his body as she raised her arms to allow him to tug her top off.
Blackjack kissed and breathed deeply at the soft skin of her arm pit, her scent intoxicating him and sending shivers through his body. His erection throbbed painfully in his pants as he opened up her bra freeing her breasts. He rained kisses across her dark skin, his tongue leaving a wet trail as he kissed and licked at her hardening nipples.
Linda gasped as he took one of her breasts in his hand and sucked hard at the nipple. She arched her back forward forcing herself hard against his face. Her body tingled under his touch and she quivered like a tuning fork. Her body ached for him and she could feel the sweet spread of pleasure between her legs. As much as she wanted him physically she could feel doubt and hesitation start to creep in. The danger of her situation was seeping in from the fringes of the raw animal lust she was experiencing. She could feel herself stiffen under his touch. She was moving as if in a dream, her limbs not under her own control. Her mind screamed at her to let go and don't do anything suspicious. Lust began to ebb as her fear and panic began to rise, she needed to quell this before he…
“Are you ok?” he asked pulling away from her.
For one brief moment Linda froze feeling exposed under his gaze, he knows I’m a cop her frenzied thoughts screamed. He knows everything about you, he can see the real you she thought in a spiral of panic. The seconds felt like they elongated into an eternity as she sat astride him looking into his eyes.
“I’m perfect,” she said as she leaned in and started to kiss him tenderly.
They proceeded to have sex on the bed. Linda mechanically went through the motions all the while thinking she was out of her depth already and really doubting her skills as an undercover police officer. She hoped that Blackjack would not notice her lacklustre performance or put it down to first time jitters.
When they finished Blackjack lay beside her breathing deeply and sounding contented. His eyes drifted shut as he began to doze with a slight smile on his face. Without knowing why Linda leaned over him and tenderly kissed his closed eyelid before cuddling in closer to him and drifting off to sleep.
In the dream Blackjack was buried up to his waist in sand. It shifted around him as he began to slowly sink into it. He could feel the course texture of each individual grain against his skin as he sunk in deeper. The last thing he remembered before awaking with a jolt was his head sinking below the surface and his mouth filling with sand as he shouted. He sat up shaking his head to try and dislodge the horrific image from his head.
“Are you ok?” Linda said as she awoke.
“Bad dream,” he said getting up and getting dressed.
Linda could see that whatever joy he experienced earlier was now gone. His face was drawn and taut as he dressed quickly. It softened a little when he turned to talk to her.
“We have got to get going. I have a safe house an hour away. I know some back roads that will keep us off the radar.”
“Will you be staying with me,” Linda said sounding slightly needy.
“Not tonight. Things will be different after tomorrow. I meant it when I said you are with me now. I will keep you safe. I swear to that.”
Once they were downstairs Pops called Blackjack aside once again. Linda stood in the hall trying to seem as relaxed as possible.
“I’ll ask you again. Do you want some men to go with you?” asked Pops.
“No.” Blackjack said angrily, “I’ll take the back roads. Nobody can match the speed of my bike, I would leave any fuckers in the dust that tried to catch me.”
Pops knew not to push it any further.
“I’ll be back here tomorrow. Be ready. Tomorrow we go to war,” Blackjack said grimly.
Linda held tightly to Blackjack as the bike fishtailed and sprayed up a wide arch of dirt as they sped away from the ranch. In the wide expanse of darkening sky above them a multitude of stars began to weakly twinkle. A few miles from the ranch Blackjack turned onto a rarely used backroad and accelerated hard. The bike roared into triumphant life as it sped off into the night. The growl of the engine declared to the stars above the onward passage of a man fighting to hold onto his world and a woman struggling to hold at bay the panic which threatened to destroy her. The bike bellowed from its chrome windpipe as they sped onward and with each passing minute it was bringing them closer to the safe house and an uncertain future.
CHAPTER SIX
The man stood in the middle of the road with his arms raised to the heavens. The sky was a deep black awash with countless stars twinkling in and out of existence. The man twirled in a circle and his thin rangy legs danced a stilted wooden version of a jig. He looked off into the distance and he could see the faint glow of the city off across the open plains. In the other direction the road faded off into the dark in the direction of everything of importance to the man. He stopped his dancing and shouted into the void: “All of my enemies will fall.”
A loud crackle emanated from his rear pocket followed by some garbled speech. He extracted the walkie talkie and hit the talk button.
“Say again,” he said.
“They have passed the first marker,” a woman’s voice repeated. The man returned the walkie to his pocket.
He walked over to the ditch beside the road and stiff leggedly walked down the incline to a motorbike hidden behind some low lying bushes. He removed his cargo from the leather saddle bags on his bike and walked back up the incline. His movements were not hurried as he worked. In less than a minute he had finished and he stood back to admire his handy work. On the left side of the road he had attached a thin steel cable to a roadside billboard with a faded image of a cup of coffee on it. Directly across the road he attached the other end of the cable to a speed limit road sign. The cable was pulled taut between these two points with a device the man had engineered himself. This same device also anchored it securely to the pole.
The man flicked the wire and it emitted a metallic twang. He smiled. He squatted down and with a crab like motion moved towards the wire. The wire touched the mans neck. He smiled even more broadly. He straightened up and hid with his bike. He thought to himself that the next time he heard the wire twang he might not be able to stop himself from laughing.
Three miles away a woman in a stained and ripped white dress hid in a bush not far from the edge of the road. The corner of her mouth was stained with blood and her cheek was streaked all the way back to her ear. Her eyes were unblinking as she stared at the road. A single headlight turned off the main road and swung into view. Within a minute a motorbike had speed unseeing past her hiding spot. She picked up the walkie and pressed the talk button: “Blackjack has passed me and he has a woman with him.”
Her saviour and the only man she ever loved replied over the walkie: “Death to them all.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Clive Barrow held his breath and pulled his elbows in tight to his sides as he levelled the rifle at the red squirrel, just as his uncle had taught him. He could hear his heart beating in his ears as he concentrated. The forest was all quiet around him. His best friend of three weeks stood rigid and still behind him, holding his breath in anticipation of the shot.
The squirrel sat perched on a branch its nose twitching as it smelled the air. Clive held his sight steady and pulled the trigger. The rifle bucked against his shoulder as the sound of the shot reverberated around the hot close forest. A thin wisp of smoke snaked out of the barrel.
“Mother fucker, he bolted just as I shot” said Clive in an affected tough guy drawl. His new best friend, Grant Best was a big kid for his age and Clive feared that he would see who Clive really was and would stop hanging around with him. He didn't want Grant to know about the boy who sobbed in bed every night at the sound of the floor boards creaking as his father ambled up the stairs trailing a yellow fog of stale booze behind him. Around Grant he was something else, he acted tough and Grant seemed to believe it, or just didn't care.
“I can see a piece of bark blown off from the bullet, it was right were that little red shit was sitting. You had him alright. Now its my turn,” said Grant reaching for the rifle.
Clive stood with his head slightly raised and the rifle slung across his back, sun dappled across his face, that would soon be spotted with the first splash of teenage acne. He sniffed deeply his movements closely mimicking those of his escaped prey.
“Can you smell that?” he asked.
“Smell this!” Grant said raising his leg and farting loudly.
Clive spun around breathing in great lungfuls of the fragrant forest air. He stopped and pointed off towards a break In the woods.
“Look over there, smoke. Lets go and check it out,” he said, heading in the direction of the thin trail of black smoke.
They pushed through the undergrowth swatting flies from their faces as they marched on. The trees began to thin out and Clive raised his fist and drew it down in a quick motion.
“Commando style,” he said, laying down on his belly and crawling through the thick undergrowth.
“Fuck that shit, I’m walking,” said Grant as he bulldozed through the undergrowth.
Clive felt stupid and childish laying on the ground crawling like a worm. He stood up and brushed himself off and hung back as his red face returned to a normal colour.
“Check this out,” bellowed Grant from up ahead, his voice was already breaking and would switch in and out of a scratchy baritone and a schoolboy squeak.
The two boys stood in poorly kept back yard behind a small rundown shack. In the middle of a patch of freshly dug earth a pipe stuck up and a thin wisp of black smoke trailed from the mouth of it.
“What do you think it is?” Grant asked.
Clive's eyes went wide as he realised what he was seeing, “It’s an underground meth lab,” he said, unable to hide the fear in his voice. He had seen the end of a news program about these labs. The image of the roof being ripped off and dirty bedraggled men spilling out into the sunlight amidst a ring of cops had given him nightmares for weeks.
Grant turned to him and could see he was afraid, that only bolstered his own bravado as he marched over to the metal pipe.
“Don’t be a pussy all your life,” he said laughing cruelly.
Not wanting to look totally cowardly in front of his new friend Clive slowly moved towards the pipe.
