“Doc,” Luke yells over the man’s screams. “Can’t you do anything for the pain?”
“No, unless you’re carrying around vials of morphine, I can’t. You should know some field medicine from your military training, right?”
“Yeah, but this is out of my league, Doc.”
“Well, it’s out of mine too. Unless we can get him to the hospital, there is really nothing I can do.”
“What do you mean nothing? You’re practically a doctor, right? There’s gotta be something.”
“Look Luke, he’s probably got a punctured lung, a perforated liver or a ruptured spleen. It’s obvious he has internal bleeding.” She points to the bullet hole closest to his heart. “Judging by the size of the normal heart, it may have nicked his aortic arch. That one next to his collarbone may have severed his subclavian artery. Any one of those bullets is enough to kill him. He needs emergency surgery. Without that, there’s nothing anyone can do, and even that may not be enough.”
Luke is at a loss for words.
Kayla looks up and addresses the room full of bikers. “Does anyone know how long ago he was shot? How long was he lying here before I arrived…anybody?”
“I don’t know,” someone mutters. “Maybe half an hour or more…”
“Half an hour? Holy crap! You have to take him now! Can’t someone just drop him off at the hospital and leave if you’re afraid of getting arrested yourselves?” Kayla asks.
She can’t believe no one is going to do the right thing here.
The man on the table falls silent again. Kayla checks to see if he’s breathing, then checks his pulse at his neck. She can’t find evidence of either.
“Shit!” she exclaims. “Who of you knows CPR?” she shouts, as she climbs onto the bloody table.
“What the hell are you doing?” someone asks.
Kayla looks at him. “You,” she says. “Climb up here and straddle him. I’m going to show you where to do chest compressions. I’m too small to be effective.”
The man balks at first, then climbs up and Kayla shows him what to do. Then she goes around to the head of the table and steels herself for what she is about to do; the breathing part of CPR without a mask. She takes a deep breath and gives the big man the first breath. They are about ten minutes into it when she realizes how futile this is. As long as they’re not willing to call an ambulance or take him in themselves, giving the man his only chance of survival, she can’t do much. The guy’s going to die. She stops and motions the man doing the compressions to do the same. Disgusted, she wipes her mouth on her sleeve and walks away from the table. She’s grateful when a thoughtful Luke hands her a Corona.
Suddenly the door bursts open and a giant of a man charges in. He has long, shaggy greying hair and a longish grey beard. He may be a lot older than Luke, but he’s got the same brilliant emerald eyes. He is well above six feet tall, and built like a tank. His arms are nearly as big as Kayla’s thighs; he has a barrel of a chest and a formidable gut from way too many beers. Kayla shrinks back away from him as he approaches the table. The other brothers back away, giving him access to the dead man. The man is, of course, Luke’s father. He grabs the deceased brother by the shoulders and gives him a shake.
“Who the fuck did this?” he growls.
Kayla looks at his hands. He has long fingers like Luke’s and he has several oversized rings; a dragon head, a coiled snake, and the last one is a two-fingered ring with the initials GM.
I would hate to be punched with those hands, Kayla thinks to herself.
The big man turns to the group of brothers gathered around. “Who the fuck is responsible for this?” he rages.
Then he turns and focuses on Kayla. “Why are you standing there? You’re the doc, right?”
Kayla stares at him and nods.
“Well, then what the fuck are you just standing here for?” he asks.
Kayla takes a deep breath and breathes a silent prayer for her protection. “That man needed emergency exploratory surgery and none of your precious brothers were willing to call an ambulance or take him themselves to the hospital so he bled out in front of them!”
“Of course, he couldn’t go!” Luke’s father snaps. “He’d have wound up in prison the day he recovered. Why didn’t you save him? What’s your fucking excuse?”
Luke steps forward between his father and Kayla but she just steps around him. She will not let the man talk down to her or threaten her in any way, no matter how big or who he is!
“Save him how…and with what?” Kayla snaps back in frustration. “Do you see any supplies here? I see towels and that’s it. What do you expect me to do with towels?”
“Who brought the helpless doctor?” Luke’s father shouts back.
“I brought the doc, but it was already too late. We couldn’t take him to the hospital, so there was nothing she could have done.”
Gunnar forgets his argument with Kayla and changes the subject. “Who can tell me what happened here?” he asks the crowd of brothers.
“We was at O’Malley’s, the three of us,” begins a skinny little guy. “Me, Roark, and Mack was drinking there. Harbingers came, slashed our tires, and kicked over our bikes. We ran out to see what the hell was going on. Mack was the first out the door and they opened up on him and sped away. We shot back but I don’t think we hit anyone.”
“How many Harbingers were there?” Gunnar asks.
“Four or five, I think,” the skinny guy replies.
Luke’s father is barely controlling his rage and Kayla is terrified by just being in the same room with him. If this guy really loses it, somebody’s going to die. By the way he’s looking at his son he is obviously thinking that Luke is somehow involved. Kayla looks around the room and catches Luke’s eye. She motions towards the door with her head. She desperately wants to leave. She’s had enough biker drama for one day.
Chapter Sixteen
Breakdown
One week later…
Luke, Anton (the new Sergeant at Arms), Luke’s father, and several other key personnel are gathered around the old oak desk at the Kings headquarters. The subject of today’s meeting is revenge for Mack’s death, a close personal friend of Luke’s father. He and Mack had been jumped in at the same time. Both had risen through the ranks over the past two decades and while Mack had stopped at his current position, Gunnar had achieved the title of President a dozen years ago or so. Now his best friend has been murdered and Gunnar is out for blood.
“I got some Intel about a delivery being made tonight by two Harbingers. It’ll just be the two of them in a pickup. They’re making a moderate-sized meth delivery and are attempting to fly under the radar rather than some large, escorted delivery like they used to do. Now this comes straight from our snitch; our brother, the Confidential Informant for Oakland PD. The driver tonight is the police’s number one suspect for Mack’s murder. They’re waiting to see where he will lead them to before picking him up. If we don’t act now, he’ll wind up in jail and we’ll never be able to get at him. I want his head! At approximately 3:45 this morning, the two Harbingers will be driving a black Ford F150 with the following plates: 6CBU141. It’s a very straightforward job, Luke.”
Gunnar spreads a map out on the table and points to an intersection. He makes a red X at the intersection of Cedar and Vine.
“You’ll wait here, Luke. All you gotta do is pull in behind them and open fire on the driver. It’s simple. You should actually take them both out because you’re gonna need to pull up and snap a quick picture before leaving the scene. Do you still have your H&K?”
“Of course. It’ll be perfect for the job. I’ll take Carter with me. He can drive and I’ll shoot, and I’ll take the photo when it’s done.”
“Take Anton here. Carter is up north with the Devil Dogs. They’ve been having some serious trouble with the Harbingers up there and we’re thinking of doing a patch over. Your boy Carter is going to be seeing if a patch over is a good idea or not.”
“Fine, I’ll take Anton but I call the shots here,” Luke says.
“Done. Don’t mess this up, Luke. I want that asshole that killed Mack, you got it?”
“He’s as good as dead, father,” Luke replies.
3:15 in the Morning…
Luke and Anton are sitting in the old Ford F250 the club uses to pick up motorcycle parts for their cycle repair shop. It has just the right amount of dents, faded and scratched paint and worn tires so that it doesn’t stick out in anybody’s mind. It could pass you by a dozen times and you’d never notice it and that makes it perfect for using it during a hit. The truck has a newly rebuilt engine and transmission, though and that’s what really matters. If Luke and Anton have to get away fast, they won’t have to worry about it being unreliable and leaving them stranded somewhere.
As Anton keeps an eye out for cops or rival bikers, Luke inspects his gun. Earlier in the evening, he had field stripped it, oiled it down and put it back together again. Now, sitting in the truck waiting for their mark to come by, Luke is taking apart and putting back together again that same Heckler and Koch 9mm handgun. He does it all with his eyes closed, as usual. Scarcely a sound can be heard in the cab of the Ford, other than the soft metallic clicks as the slide knocks up against the lower receiver or the loud snap of the magazine being seated. Then with the push of a button the magazine drops out into Luke’s lap and he begins all over again.
At 3:40 am, Anton brings Luke out of his trance by telling him his mark is five minutes out. As Luke finishes reassembling his H&K for the last time, Anton starts the engine. Both men roll their windows down.
At exactly 3:49 am, they hear the lone rumble of a truck coming their way. Two minutes later, they get a visual on the vehicle. From a block away, it’s impossible to see who is driving but that really doesn’t matter. There are no other black trucks anywhere around. They wait five seconds after the truck has passed before they make their move. With their lights still off, Anton closes the distance between the two trucks. Just as they get to the perfect distance for the weapon Luke is using, Anton hits the lights. At that very instant, Luke begins firing short controlled bursts. The truck veers off to the right and strikes a telephone pole. Anton comes up right behind the disabled vehicle as Luke is reloading his weapon. Luke empties it again into the still forms inside the cab. Then he drops the smoking weapon on the floor by his feet and retrieves a digital camera. Anton brings their truck around to the side of their victim’s vehicle and Luke zeros in with his camera and just starts snapping pictures.
At first, his brain cannot believe what his eyes are telling him. It just can’t be. He drops the camera in his lap and looks again.
No fucking way! a voice screams in his head. No fucking way!
“What’s wrong?” Anton asks.
For an answer, Luke starts to open the door. He just cannot accept what he is looking at. The door is locked.
“What are you doing?” Anton asks.
Luke finally gets the door unlocked and opens it.
“Wait a second; we have to get out of—"
Anton puts the truck in gear. “Luke, get the fuck back in here!”
Luke’s face is glued to the bloody driver’s side window of the truck’s cab. Slumped against the door of the Ford truck is his best friend in the world, Carter Jennings.
“Luke!” Anton calls out to him. “Get back here before the cops come.”
Luke is shivering in spite of the heat. His heart is pounding. He opens the door and Carter falls out dead. As if struck by a lightning bolt, Luke feels his knees buckle and stumbles backwards onto the dusty pavement, where he collapses in grief. He’s vaguely aware when someone drags him backwards and puts him in the truck. A distant door closes and an engine roars.
“Where do you want me to take you, man?”
Luke can’t utter a word. Carter is dead…Carter is dead…Carter is dead, his inner voice shrieks over and over again.
“Luke man, really sorry about your friend, but we gotta go somewhere. You wanna go back to the clubhouse…probably not.”
Anton decides to turn around and head to his own house. He’ll figure out what to do from there.
“Shit!” Anton yells. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Luke has his H&K in his hands and turns the barrel on himself so that it rests against his temple.
“Don’t!” Anton screams, as he slams on the breaks. Luke goes flying out of his seat, striking his forehead against the top of the truck’s windshield. His handgun clatters to the floor at his feet. Anton scrambles for his seatbelt. Luke scoots back in his seat searching around for his gun. Anton hits the belt’s release button and dives across the stick shift as he reaches for the fallen weapon. He grabs it at the same time Luke does and both men struggle for possession. Finally, Luke wrests it from Anton’s fingers, sticks the barrel in his mouth and pulls the trigger!
Anton shuts his eyes and jerks back away from the other man hoping to avoid the inevitable spray of hot blood and brains.
Click!
Nothing happens. Click! Just a hollow metallic sound of the hammer falling. The firing pin strikes the primer but it fails to ignite. The bullet’s a dud!
The sound of repeated clicking jars Anton back into action. He slaps the gun away from the other man’s mouth with his right hand and twists around and punches Luke square in the nose. Luke’s head rocks back and bounces off the truck’s rear window. Momentarily stunned, he just sits there as Anton retrieves the H&K. He shoves it down into his jacket pocket, revs the engine and spins out in the gravel before his tires find their traction and propel the truck back out into the roadway. He has to get to his house as fast as he can. He does not want to be trapped in this truck with a suicidal maniac any longer than he has to be. After a few minutes, the rush of adrenaline from the nightmarish mess of a night levels off and he eases up on the accelerator bringing their speed down to 35 miles an hour. It would not do to get pulled over now with the state Luke is in. Plus, he’s got a pretty good amount of his victim’s blood on him. Anton is not a cop killer and he doesn’t want to start now, but if they’re pulled over, he’ll have no choice in the matter.
During the twenty minutes it takes to get to his house, his mind replays the night’s events over and over. Was is just a wild coincident or were they set up? Actually, was Luke set up? It was his best friend he’d just blown away, not Anton’s friend. Before he can convince himself it might just be a sad accident, he remembers what Gunnar had said in the meeting about Carter. Supposedly, he was up north with the Devil Dogs talking with them about their Harbinger problem and a possible patch over ceremony.
So that was all a lie, he guessed. But why would Gunnar want Carter dead? Did he betray the club? Was there another reason he was killed? The Kings do not kill their own unless something really serious has happened. A member is usually kicked out for life for serious offences, not gunned down like this.
Luke’s fevered brain rages. What was Carter doing in that truck when he was supposed to be up north? There is only one explanation for it. He was meant to kill his best friend tonight and it worked. There is only one man who could order such a hit and have people within the club that would help carry out those orders. His father set him up and made him kill his best friend. What will he tell Carter’s mother? The thought of facing that sweet old woman with such tragic news is almost enough to send Luke back down into the suicidal spiral he’d just come back from. But first things first. He’ll have to tell Mrs. Jennings what happened and then he’ll kill the man who really killed Carter; his father.
I will kill everyone close to him and while he’s stewing in his agony, I’ll slit his throat and watch him bleed out, Luke muses.
Luke is only vaguely aware of arriving at an unfamiliar house. He barely has the strength to stand as Anton pulls him out of the truck and helps him up the sidewalk. They go inside and Luke collapses over a couch. He closes his eyes for a second but has to open them again. Every time his eyelids
come down, he sees Carter’s bloody face, half his head blown away. He sees the spray of blood, bone and brains against the truck’s windshield. He sees himself pulling the trigger and enjoying watching the spray of bullets end another life. But that life was his best friend, and he has to open his eyes to stop the nightmare from playing itself out over and over again.
A couple of minutes later, a cold drink is placed in his hand and he gulps it down without thinking. He barely tastes the fiery liquid as it goes down. His glass is refilled and he drains it faster than the first one. By the time he’s downed his fifth scotch, a thought comes to mind; Kayla. He has to see the doctor. He racks his brain trying to remember if he knows her address; he draws a blank. He does have her number, however. He feels around in his pocket for his phone but it’s not there. Then he remembers the policy; no one takes a phone on a mission. His is back at the clubhouse.
“Anton,” Luke calls out. He’s dimly aware he’s slurring his words. “Anton…phone.”
Anton walks over and presses a phone in his hand. Luke thinks for a minute, then dials Kayla’s number. He lets it ring until it goes to voicemail before hanging up and trying again. On the fourth time he’s rewarded by a sleepy female voice.
“Hello?”
“I have to see you,” he breathes into the phone. “I have to see you now.”
Chapter Seventeen
Doctor Feelgood
Kayla sits in her kitchen nursing a coffee and waiting for Luke to arrive. Something bad must have happened to him to call her at this time. It suddenly occurs to her that he sounded hurt.
Could he have been shot or something?
That thought puts her into action. She runs to the bathroom and fetches her trauma kit. After meeting Luke, she decided to put together a kit to keep at home. Over the past several weeks, she’d secretly taken various medical supplies from the hospital. Her kit now sports antibiotics, suture kits, sterile instruments, used for digging bullets out, and plenty of sterile dressings for different kinds of wounds.
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