Ash: Devil's Crucifix MC

by Carmen Faye

  "I quit the dope running. Not going to do that anymore. So, I don't know who is going to be coming over for you, but I want to be here when he shows up." Neil told them.

  Shayla looked at Sydney, and then said, "I don't see a problem with that. In fact I'm glad you feel that way. New delivery men always make me nervous."

  "Yeah, I heard that Frank gave you a hard time," Neil said, referring to the guy before him.

  "No, Frank wanted to give us his hard time and made it clear that he thought he should get a blow job for delivering the coke to us."

  "Well, with me here, that won't happen. At least, I don't think anyone in the club is that stupid," Neil mused.

  She took of her shirt and snuggled up to him, "So, what made you quit? Just tired? Or did something happen?"

  Neil studied her and said, "Something happened. I don't want to talk about it right now though. I'm still working it around in my head."

  "Alright, that's fine. If you want to talk some other time, we'll listen. Probably won't have answers, but we'll listen," she offered.

  She rubbed up against his side with her breasts, "Um, there is something we want to talk with you about though. Are you in the mood, or too worked up?"

  "No, I'm good. What's going on?"

  They told him about the Gomez brothers, and then asked about retaliation.

  "Well, they weren't with them long, but, it does look bad if they do nothing. I expect we'll get something from them soon. Not sure what, but something will pop."

  "I'm glad we never sold coke out of here," Sydney said. "No one except the club knows where we live."

  "That's good to know," Neil told her. "Do you have a safe house ?"

  "Safe house?" Shayla asked.

  "Yeah, a place you keep ready in case you have to run. A place no one knows where to look for you. Usually it's even in another part of the city, but obviously not hard to get to."

  "No, but now that you said that, I think that might be a good idea."

  "I have two I keep. One is a little studio near downtown and another is a two bedroom up in the north area. I keep cloths, guns, cash and supplies there." Neil tells them.

  "Could we use yours?" Sydney asked.

  "You mean, stock it with stuff of your own? Sure. I'll give you the address, and get you a key made," Neil told them.

  "We should probably get a new safe for that place. Not like this one, but something large and solid," Sydney said.

  "How big is the bed," Shayla asked, with a grin.

  "Just a full size. I didn't think about company. Besides, it was meant to be a safe house, not a love shack."

  "Well, what are the boundaries? I mean, can we put things in there that we feel we need? Like a safe and new curtains, and a few plants, or is it man's house?" Shayla asked. "And don't tell me there's no difference. Most men live like bears, with furniture."

  "You're not supposed to visit a safe house often, because you could be followed, and then someone knows where it is, which defeats the whole purpose. So, maybe plants would be a bad choice, along with any food that is going to spoil. Other than that, set it up as you wish," he told them.

  "So, if we run, that's where we run to," Shayla affirmed.

  "Yes," Neil told her.

  "Maybe we should get our own though, or rather a place near the college, that we will all live in as soon as we are quits. We'll just walk away, totally. Get our last names changed and rent it out with our Jackson names. There are what, two billion Jacksons in the city? So, we get it set up, furnished, get most of our things over there, so that we can just walk out of here with a few boxes, lock the door and be gone."

  "Like some place in Coconut Grove?" Sydney asked.

  "I don't think so," Shayla said with a laugh. "Remember we aren't going to have an income. But maybe Corral Terrace. That's kind of nice isn't it?"

  "We can look," Sydney agreed.

  * * *

  Wednesday, Brian, the new delivery man for Neil's route came back from Shayla's and Sydney's apartment with $72,000 in his case.

  "Ah, the cunt's money. Good," Anton said as he came through the office door.

  "Might want to watch that around Neil, or any of Neil's friends, which is most of the club," Brian told him.

  "Watch what?"

  "The cunt thing."

  "Why? What's that have to do with Neil?" Anton asked.

  "When I got over there, he was there."

  "What? Like hanging out? Getting a blow job? What?"

  "I think he's living with them?" Brian said, setting the case down.

  "Living with them? Are you serious? Both of them?"

  "I got the feeling that was the case, yes," Brian said, waiting for his payment.

  "Are you trying to tell me that Neil, that big dumb muscle bound oaf is doing both of those girls?"

  "Did I mention I'm a friend of his too? Maybe I missed that part," Brian said, leveling his eyes with this president. "But yes. I think they are both involved with him. And seeing that they are both wearing the same engagement rings, I think it’s serious."

  "Is that so," Anton mused. "So, I have a guy, who quits his route and just walks away from several thousand a week, living with my two best sales girls, who I now have to bribe to do four kilos a week, when they use to do eight. I don't think I like the way this smells."

  "Could I get my envelope? I got some things to take care of," Brian asked.

  "I mean," Anton said, ignoring Brian, "loosing Neil is one thing. I said muscle bound and fuck if he ain't. And a hitter? Shit that guy could stop a Mack truck with his punch. I saw him hit a guy once, and I swear to you, the man went fucking horizontal and flew back four feet. And this was no small guy either. I was fucking amazed. So, losing Neil would be a bad thing, definitely, but if he’s determined to walk away, then he's going to walk away. I mean, you going to try to stop him? Shit."

  Anton leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, his hands clasped, "But I'll be damned if I'll let him walk away with the best sales team we have. That shit is not happening."

  Chapter 12

  The Monday after news of the Gomez Brothers, and their demise, Neil "Hard-Jack" Jackson, parked his trike near the main doors of the Raging Bull Tavern and shut the dragon down. When the girls called the trike a dragon, he looked at the front fairing, with the way the lights were arranged and decided it did look like one. The side mirrors came out in a fiberglass protection that looked like thick horns, a deep protruding forehead holding the two main headlights, then down into an extended maw where the forks could be a metaphorical split tongue. He hadn’t noticed it before, and wondered if that was the designer’s intent. Certainly was obvious now. Giving the backseat a pat, he strode into the club looking for information.

  Most of the questions he had revolved around where he stood in the club now. He’d been feeling separated from the main body of membership for some time. West’s comments made him wonder if he had it wrong, that perhaps this hellride into cocaine was the minority.

  The tavern’s main room was spacious and furnished in a way that retained that spacious feeling. The tables were narrow and high for standing next too, with two high stools to each. There were booths along the front wall and down the east wall, making them premium and they were reserved — paid-up-front, reservations. Then there was the horseshoe bar with two tenders working all day. Weekends it was four after six o’clock. Back behind that another large area, then a wood dance floor and a band stage.

  On a Monday morning though, nothing but a big empty and some guys waiting around to start their runs. As he got closer, he saw some were good friends, and his mood lightened. West, Brian, Hugh, Judge, Clayton, Fire, and Swift sat in a row on this side of the horseshoe. Around the first bend sat Stevie, Varnish, Ace and Sammy — newer members, but Neil heard no vice against them. Solid as prospects and solid as members.

  He strode up to the far end of the line next to Judge and signaled for a beer.

  "Hard-Jack," Judge said with a barking smi
le then a laugh. "Hell, they throw your ass to the curb already? You’re never in this early."

  "He’s probably trying to escape a double list of honey-do’s and fix-its," West added with laughter.

  Clayton shook his head, "Man Hard-Jack, have you thought this through? Time of the month and all? You know they’ve been living together long enough, both are going to go she-demon on the same day."

  "Is that really true?" Brian asked. "That they sync up like that?"

  "What I heard," Fire said with a shrug, then finished his beer and ordered another, as the bartender put down Neil’s.

  "That’s weird," Brain said, "Like they just go off each other’s vibes or something?"

  Swift put in, "I got three little sisters, and now that I think on it, if it wasn’t the exact day, it was damn close."

  The others had been silent up to this point, but then Varnish pointed a finger at Neil and said, "Oh, you’re the one poking the coke pussies. Getting it with both. That’s wild man."

  The chill that ran down the bar and around the corner should have been picked up on by anything with a brain. Stevie and Ace, broke into laughter and Varnish joined them, "Like, I thought only those ISIS fucks doubled up. You a Muslim or something?"

  Those next to Neil rose fast to their feet, but Swift and Fire were blurs as they took the turn, laid hold of Varnish and yanked him back into the wall with enough force to make the rafters crack in their joints.

  Stevie and Ace got off their stools only to come face to face with Hugh and Judge. Clayton and West grabbed Sammy who reached for his blade, and slammed him against the bar top, arm bent up behind him ready to pop or break.

  "Guys!" the bartender shouted, "Outside. We just replaced most of these stools."

  "What‽" Varnish shouted, "What the fuck? They’re just whores! Right?"

  Neil was on the fence about this reaction until Varnish said that last bit.

  His eyes went iron, "Yeah, outside. But don’t hurt them. I want them to feel like they had a shot." Then he turned and strode for the front doors.

  Walking outside he was about to shoulder off his jacket when he heard the bikes. Lots of them. More than ten, more than fifteen even. Twenty for sure. Then he saw them, and they made the turn, crossing the lane as a pack and into the front parking lot.

  All of the member bikes were close to the door, and these visitors parked in a crescent around Neil.

  Steel Highwaymen.

  His guess of twenty was accurate. Twelve Knights were here, and the Highwaymen knew this would be the case when they choose their time of arrival.

  Dismounting and dropping helmets on seats, they stepped forward as the doors opened behind him. He didn’t turn, but he knew his crew. Whatever was between them would stop, and they face this new threat as brothers. Neil was way out in front, and that was who the Highwaymen were focused on.

  Neil nodded to the man in front, "Green."

  "Hard-Jack," Green, the Highwayman’s VP replied.

  Green didn’t stand as tall, but he had a rep for being wrapped in iron. A Don’t-Fuck-With-Me enforcer. Barrel, the man to his left measured equal. Neil didn’t see any guns, just a few blades.

  Neil said, "This is about the Gomez thing, right? I gotta say, I’m a bit surprised. They were ours for going on five years, yours for what? Five hours?"

  Green nodded, with Barrel and some of the others smiled at the math. Then Green said, "Yeah, but like you said, they were ours, and what was done was way over the top. Way past sanity. I mean, they had a lot of family, a close family. That shit wasn’t called for. So there’s that, and well... we gotta respond. You know that. Right?"

  Neil looked them over. These were the A-team enforcers for the Highwaymen. The Knights behind him would fight, but he knew they were going to be beaten hard, for something they had no play in, that he knew of anyway. What they would not do, is run. So, it was fight and bleed time, and they all knew it.

  "Yeah," Neil said. "That’s the truth of it. But still, they weren’t really yours yet. How about this. We go Spartan. I’ll match cuts with whoever you choose."

  "One on one," Green said, looking amused. "Anyone present? And for cuts?"

  "Wouldn’t that more than satisfy? I know I’m no celebrity, or nothing but I’m known by a few. My cut on your wall, if he can take it, would be recognized."

  "You understate yourself," Barrel said. "I’m OK with that. Green?"

  "I think Leroy would be down as well," Green said, then turning to the men behind him, "Any objections? We have no idea whose behind that door and we got some solid jacks in front of us already."

  The crew behind them shook their heads — no objections. Then a voice said, "Me, make it me."

  Neil didn’t see the man until the others turned to look at him.

  Mongo.

  Mongo was named after the character in the movie Blazing Saddles. The one who knocks out horses and breaks chains. The story was, he actually did knock out a horse.

  Story or no, the man was a Goliath. He had to be seven feet, and it was senseless to try to measure his girth. At his level, ‘fucking big’ was accurate enough.

  "Hard-Jack? You sure about this?" West asked behind him.

  Neil took off his jacket, then his shirt. Stripped to the waist he dropped his guns, and his blades, then put on his cut. Reaching in his pocket he took out a leather thong and tied back his hair.

  "Deal’s made West," he said, and tossed his rolled up jacket with all else to his oldest friend.

  Mongo did the same, and once dressed down, unarmed and wearing his cut, stepped forward. A ring of men formed around them and Neil stepped up.

  "Heard of you," Neil said, looking up into the giant’s eyes. "Is the story true? You knock out a horse?"

  Mongo smiled.

  "Nice. Got to love it when shit is real. So, let’s see what you can do when you’re not fucking farm animals."

  Neil didn’t have his hands up or ready, but at his jibe Mongo stepped forward fast and laid a powerful right fist into the side of Neil’s face. Neil took it full force, taking a step back and then another.

  "No, that’s not going to cut it," Neil said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I’m a man, not a fucking pony."

  Mongo came hard again with the same blow and Neil staggered a little but came right back up.

  "Shit man. Come on! This for your cut! That’s all you got?"

  Neil’s cheek was open and pouring blood but if he noticed, it wasn’t in his eyes.

  Neil grinned, "I don’t like people feeling like wimps when they go down. I want you to feel like you gave it your best."

  Mongo roared at him and this time plowed a right and then a left into Neil and Neil hit his knee on the black top, and looked like he was out. Then he pistoned up from the ground on coiled iron thighs and slammed his right into Mongo’s chin, and drilled his left deep into Mongo’s side.

  Then he stood and stepped back after the liver punch, "It’s over." Neil’s voice was matter of fact.

  Mongo looked like he was going to laugh, then his face changed to wonder, then to deep pain. Landing on his knees he tried to scream but couldn’t breathe.

  Neil walked up to Varnish, pulled his blade from his belt and walked back to Mongo, who was gripping his gut but making no sound.

  "Big is nice. But if you don’t know what you’re doing, and you come at me, then you’re fucked," Neil said, and cut the shoulders from Mongo’s cut and pulled it off him. "All my riders know what they’re doing. Remember that. Now, we need to get Mongo to a hospital, because if it’s ruptured he’ll be dead within the hour. Get him on my trike over there, we’ll get him to Central Emergency. Say he wrecked his bike."

  Neil tossed the knife wrapped in Mongo’s cut back to Varnish. Mongo was breathing hard now, gasping and gripping his gut.

  "It burns! It fucking burns Green!" Mongo bellowed.

  Neil grimaced, "Not good. Get him on. Full throttle there, try to keep up. Fuck the helmet we got to go
!"

  Then Neil gunned the dragon and in an instant roared out of the lot, heading south with throttle back and some to spare.

  The Highwaymen mounted and followed, trying to catch up. Their pack was two blocks behind before they made speed. Neil kept them at that distance, keeping in sight, but behind.

  Pulling into the Emergency Room lot, he made the turn hard, pulling the emergency brake, sliding the back end until his bike pointed into the lot square, then gunned it and shot up to the doors.