by Lexy Timms
Wrangler laughed a fake, hollow laugh. "A cop I could take. If you brought a cop up here I woulda thought, wow, smart cop, dumb Jace. But a bitch? A Knights’ bitch! And the Knights leader's bitch! What’re we supposed to think?"
Mud put his hands in his pockets and began to rock back and forth on his feet. He watched Wrangler's face for a while and then he watched Jace's.
Jace could see his friend’s American Indian blood begin to boil as thoughts sprinted through his mind.
“The Indians should’ve been the ones running this damn country, not you stupid empty-headed European cast offs!”
Jace and Wrangler turned, both looking at him in surprise.
“Enough!" Mud said quietly. "We ride to the other hideout and Jace, you call in the rest of the brothers. Tell them to meet us at the other place. We don't kill anyone, Wrangler. You got it? Not one fuckin’ Knight until we find out who’s behind this. We don't want a bloodbath. We don't want innocents hurt or killed." He reached out his hand and took hold of Wrangler's neck. "Legends don't want war, Wrangler. You got that? No one wants to die for fuckin' nothing. That isn't our beef. We don't deal drugs, we don't use drugs—most of us don’t—we don't buy land, and we don't sell it. We sure as hell don't run a single whorehouse."
Wrangler seemed still on his own private warpath as he wrenched his neck away from Mud's grip. "What do you call DC and Fork? Weren't they innocent? What th' fuck did they do to those bastards? There’s no bloody code left among the brothers."
Mud shook his head slowly. "A house divided will not stand, Wrangler. Your choice."
The three men stared at each other. Only their eyes moved from one set of eyes to the other.
Finally, Wrangler turned and went outside.
Jace nodded toward Mud and went out the barn doors to get on his bike. He avoided speaking to Wrangler, which was just as well. Wrangler had a scowl on his face that would have killed a bull at ten yards.
Chapter 6
Once on Route 66, the National Trails Highway, the riding went smooth and easy. Jace kept slightly above the speed limit and cars whizzed past him, crossing over the double line, most of them honking and buzzing him, coming a little too close for comfort. Any other day he would have flipped them the bird, but that might mean he would have to pull over and beat the shit out of them and he just didn't have it in him today. The sun was coming up and he hadn't slept all night. DC was a good quiet guy. A true American and, of course, there just weren't any words or thoughts that would do Fork justice.
His thoughts turned to Classic. He kept seeing her little perky breasts poking out of that lacy pink thang she wore, and no matter how much he tried he couldn't get her warm wet pussy clinging to his cock out of his mind. But even more than that, he kept seeing her eyes, those big blue bottomless pits of ocean blue. His gut rolled into a horrible knot when he imagined her dead. Would they kill her? He had no idea if she just drove herself to Victorville or if she went to the club. He slowed up when he got closer to the Iron Hog. There weren't many bikes in the parking lot. He rolled in slowly looking for her bike, but it wasn't there. He then made a U-turn and left, headed for Victorville. Victorville, but where? He had no clue. His bike wound gently around the curves and then he slowed up as he crossed the old steel truss bridge, the Rockfield Bridge. He always liked these old bridges, but this one was special because it crossed the Mojave Desert River, the only river he knew of that flowed under the sand inland. It was one of those things that usually made him scratch his head and wonder, how in the hell can a river flow inland? And then, worse than that, the damn river just disappeared somewhere in the desert. Just became non-existent somewhere deep out there in the middle of nowhere.
Jace thumped his hand on his helmet. Like that. Gone. He briefly thought about a few unmarked graves out there where certain people had just disappeared. He was thinking these thoughts when something on the bridge caught his eye. There was a new mangled hole in the bridge's railing. He slowed up, pulled as close to the side as he could on the narrow bridge and stopped his engine. He looked over the rail, down into the ravine below.
There it was. No one had even bothered to salvage it yet. A Harley, Sportster 883. Its handlebars were mangled, the front tire missing, but laying straight up in the tall grass in front of it. Jace pulled off his helmet, and pushed his bike off the bridge. He hobbled down the narrow path to the area under the bridge, where the motorcycle had come to rest. He stared at the contorted bike for a long time. It was a jumbled mess of broken wires and steel.
He reached down and let his fingertips touch her leather seat, where he knew her cute heart-shaped bottom had been cradled. He slid his fingers along the back twisted fender. His eyes scanned the whole bike quickly, looking for telltale signs of splattered blood. He crouched down on his haunches, staring into its mass of tangled metal. Then, he looked up at the Rockfield Bridge high above his head. In his mind's eye he saw the bike sailing through the air like some gigantic growling bird. He whispered, "No way could she have survived that jump. No way. No way anyone could." He patted his hand on the leather seat. He felt his throat tighten. Looking at the bike made him feel as if his soul had been brutally mauled and ripped to shreds. He trudged back up the path to his bike. I'll find the morgue, he thought. I'll find her. He felt stinging in his eyes. Damn, Colleen, why the hell did this have to happen? He tried not to remember her lips on his, her legs squeezing around his torso. He swung his leg over his hog and took one last look down the ravine. Helluva long way down. His eyes saw skid marks along the edge of the steel bridge where others had come close to going over. He saw the patched steel where someone recently had done exactly what she had done.
The sting in his eyes was too much. He sniffed hard and then he felt the hot tears going down his face and zigzagging into his brownish-red beard, where they were locked in the thick mass until the watershed was too much for the beard to hold on to and it began to let the salty tears drip, one after another, onto his greying black leather jacket. No tears had ever hit that leather. He covered his eyes with both his hands and straddled his bike. "Dammit! I’ll massacre them one by one." A growl erupted deep in his throat.
He heard a cough and snapped his head around.
"Who you going to massacre, biker?"
A shadow blocked his view with the sun behind it. A cop was standing there with his pad in his hand.
Does the dude plan to write me up? For what? Loitering on the side of the road? Speaking my mind?
"Got any drugs on that bike, young man?" The officer came closer and stared at Jace's face. "Mind lifting those shades for me, son?"
He was an older officer with a greying moustache and his face was worn like a piece of leather from the beating sun of the desert. Deep furrows creased across his forehead, crevices and ravines in his cheeks. Jace glanced behind him and saw the officer's Harley.
Jace obliged and pulled his sunglasses on top of his head. His green eyes were still full of tears. He wiped his nose on his leather sleeve, which he found was quite ineffective and left a trail of clear snot.
"So, you need a fix, boy? That why your nose is running so badly?" The officer strolled around Jace's bike.
"No, I…"
"Look fella, we don't like drug deals going down in our little town of Oro Grande. I'm not saying it doesn't happen, I'm just saying I personally don't like it when I see it. I take my duty very seriously, if you know what I mean."
"It's not like that. Officer I…"
"Why don't you just slide off that bike and let me check for myself what's going on here?" It wasn’t a request. The officer grinned. "Maybe somethin' sweet in those saddle bags, huh fella?"
"Officer, I have nothing on me.” How was the cop not seeing the bike? “I saw the hole in the bridge railing and decided to check it out. It’s my friend's bike down there at the bottom." He pointed in the direction of the mangled metal.
"You don't say." The officer put his ticket book in his pocket. "Put your hands on your
head and let's just make sure we're not packin', okay fella?"
Jace warned the officer, "I have a knife."
"So I see. Take it out and drop it gently on the dirt. Do you have a driver's license, young man? Hand it over slowly."
Jace gently dropped his knife onto the ground and then dug his wallet out of his pocket and handed his license to the officer. "She's a girl."
"Most shes are girls." The officer chuckled like he’d made a funny joke.
"No, I mean the owner of the bike that crashed over the bridge. Her name's Colleen."
The officer didn't register anything on his face. "No drugs?” He checked Jace’s bike.
Jace knew the officer had no right, but he let him anyways because he had nothing to hide.
“Just the knife, clean boy?" When Jace nodded, the cop handed the license back to him. He nodded to Jace that he could pick up his knife. "Put 'er away now."
Jace obliged.
"Officer, do you know anything about that bike going over the bridge?"
"Maybe. Depends why you are asking, son. Do you?"
"I might. She's my friend and she may have been chased by someone, she would have been going at high speeds trying to get away from them and then perhaps she couldn't make the sharp turn onto the bridge and…" He stopped as he saw the officer shake his head.
"Well son, she jumped clean off before the bike hit the rail. Bike went straight over of course, but she kissed the blacktop for quite a ways. She's in St. Mary's Medical Center in Apple Valley. Hurt pretty bad."
Jace heard the words as if someone rang a bell inside his head. Hurt. Not dead. Hurt. "Anything else, officer? I’d like to go see her!"
"You her boyfriend, Jace?" The officer had taken out his pad again and had written quite a bit on it. “Or here to finish off the job?”
"What? No!” No, well, maybe, on the boyfriend part. I don't know. “I'd like to be on the first part. I think." He couldn’t believe he was telling the cop he liked a girl. What an idiot! A fucking idiot.
"Spoken like a true confused young man." The officer chuckled. "That's the first time I believe what’s coming out of your mouth, kid.” He stared at Jace for what felt like way too long. “Fine. Get on your hog and go see the little lady. But bucker up, she's hurt real bad. Write your phone number here. I may need to get in touch with you again." He handed the pen to Jace.
Jace wrote his phone number carefully. He wasn't known for his neatness. "But you saw her and she’s alive. She’s okay."
"Depends what you call okay. She's alive and that's all I'm saying about that, to quote my hero, Forrest Gump." The officer climbed on his Harley. "Now a little word to the wise here, I think that little lady's room is full of those guys that call themselves the Knights. I noticed there on your back it says Cerberus Legends. I don't know much about motorcycle clubs," he chuckled, "who the hell am I kiddin', I know a lot about motorcycle clubs and gangs and you two clubs just don't seem like cream mixin' in coffee to me. I'm jus' sayin'. So I would suggest to be careful down there in Apple Valley if I were you. Maybe leave the jacket at home. Just a suggestion." He pushed his sunglasses up and revved his engine before pulling away down Route 66. "Catch ya later," he hollered over his engine.
Jace thought he heard him laughing. “Asshole,” he mumbled.
Jace wriggled out of his leather jacket and rolled it up and put it in his saddle bag. His white t-shirt had dirt stains, but other than that he didn't look like a biker. He headed toward Apple Valley on Route 66. He wanted to open it up and roar down the road, but he kept it down and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest as his body shot adrenalin through his veins. Heads are going to roll. Fuckin' damn bastards! He held back his urge to open it up as fast as it could go; swerving around all the four wheelers and eighteen wheelers and coming out ahead of the pack, but he held steady. No use giving that cop any more reason to stop him and he knew the guy was there watching and waiting. He just knew it. He expected to see his chubby smiling face around every bend, but the cop was not seen again, which was just as well.
He idled into the hospital parking lot. No use me waking up all the sick people at St. Mary's…Oh geesh, how bad is she? She's one of those people. Oh, Classic, how the hell did you end up here? he thought as he parked his bike. He took a whole car space. He knew that someone would come along and be all happy, waggin' their four-wheeler tail for a parking space, only to find his bike in there snuggled between two cars. That's fuckin' life, he thought as he strolled through the automatic doors to the front desk. Then it suddenly hit him. I don't even know her fuckin' last name! How th' hell am I gonna be able to get into her room if I don't even know her name?
Chapter 7
"I'm sorry sir, if you don't have a last name there's no way that we can allow you into the hospital to see a patient." The receptionist looked ancient and wasn't about to break any rules. Jace couldn't even use his sex appeal on the woman. She had one of those rubber finger protectors on her finger and her glasses were linked to a long chain that kept them attached to her neck. She didn't look kind enough to be anyone’s grandma and she certainly didn't look sweet enough to be anyone's honey.
How in the hell am I going to crack this bitch? he asked himself as he stared into the adamant face of the receptionist, a.k.a. the hospital 'guard'. "Ma'am, you don't understand, we had these pet names. I called her Classic and she…"
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir. I don't want to call security, but I will." The woman stared angrily at him over the top of her glasses.
"Her name is Colleen. Colleen uh… Colleen uh…"
"Sir…" The woman put her hand on the phone.
"Fine!” He threw his hands in the air. “I'm leaving." He turned his back and headed towards the parking lot. "Damnit!" he muttered under his breath.
The club had big worries and here he was, trying to see some chick he barely knew – knew enough to fuck her, but other than that what right did he really have to go in and check on her? She belonged to the wrong club. Or to some douche Chiron.
He saw a bench to the right of the doors and dropped down on it, hoping he might spy any Chiron Knights' jackets going in. It was a simple plan; follow the jacket in, listen to whom he asked about, pick up Colleen's last name, and then, boom, bam, boom, he'd be in! If he happened to hear any shit the Chiron’s discussed, that was just a bonus.
A couple hours passed. No Chiron Knights' jackets went in, or came out for that matter. Gurneys rolled in and wheelchairs rolled out. Patients with gowns that opened in back showing their bare asses walked out and smoked while they held their fuckin' IV pole. But no one came in or out who would be able to help him.
He knew he had club business to tend to and it gnawed at him. He had to call the brothers all in. Pulling his cell out, he sent a text to the top guys, knowing they would call the others and the messages would trickle out. It was all coded. "Blankets, pillows, and pajamas." That was it. He sent a text to each one, repeating the phrase, "Blankets, pillows, and pajamas." Who the hell thought of that stupid code anyhow? At least in Chicago during the Italian raids they had just said ‘take to the mattresses'. Now THAT sounded dignified, but pajamas? Jace shook his head.
An older lady with a cane came up to him. "Is this seat taken, young fella?"
"No,” he said as he stood. The woman wore a hospital gown and had a long cigarette hanging out of her mouth, lighter in hand. “I was just heading back in."
A deep, rough cough erupted from the woman. "Don't let me frighten you away. I'm not contagious. Really."
"I have to go. Sorry." He had to head for Barstow but wanted to give it one last chance to find Classic.
There was a different receptionist, this one was a little younger than the last one. He batted his blue eyes at her. "I'm here to see Colleen. She came in with a bike injury. Pretty rough. Just don’t know what room she’s in." Maybe this one would whisk him in.
"Last name?" The young woman held her pen in the air waiting for his respon
se.
"Uh, oh, I'll have to come back later. I just got a buzz on my cell." He picked his phone up and shook it at her before heading back outside. It was time to give up, for now, but he would be back. He headed left, away from the hacking smoking old broad. All I want to know is that Classic’s going to be okay! Damn! Is that asking too much? He felt an arm around his shoulders.
"Is that you behind those crying eyes?"
"Darcy!" He spun around, knowing the voice, and hugged the little brunette, lifting her in the air. "Where'd you come from?"
"Oh hell, Jace, I thought your mommy gave you that lesson a long time ago." Darcy laughed.
Jace had forgotten how cute she was. "Where you been Dars?" He pointed to an empty bench and sat down beside her.
"Here and there. What’s up? A big, ugly dude like you shedding tears? What's up?" She opened her purse and took out a tissue and began to wipe his cheeks and beard.
He hadn’t been crying. He hadn’t done that since… since Fork’s died. Shit.
"I don't think I ever saw you cry in the twenty years of riding with you, even when you got big time boo boos that ripped open your flesh, you never cried. Did some mother fucker die?"
Maybe he had been crying. Two or three hours sitting out here thinking about Fork, Classic, DC, the club, and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He let Darcy slip her hands in his. "It's all going to shit Dar. Everything’s falling apart. They killed Fork and then DC and…" His throat tightened and grew painful. He swallowed hard, trying to fix it.
"Shit, Jace. Shit. Oh man shit." She patted, actually hitting, his back pretty hard with her left hand. "Fork’s gone? And DC?" She squeezed his shoulder. "Fuck!" Her face began to run with tears and as she hugged him, her tears mixed with his as she pressed her face close to his. "I can't believe it Jace. Poor Fork." She licked her lips and her eyes met his a moment before slipping down to his mouth. Her pink tongue ran across her lips and she leaned slightly closer to him, trying to have the top of her breasts touch against his chest. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered before pressing her mouth against his.
