Wheelie

by Jessie Cooke

  “Damn, Hawk, you’re still an ugly son of a bitch, and fucking old,” the president of the Dueling Aces said with a laugh. Hawk laughed too, that deep, raspy, two-packs-of-cigarettes-a-day laugh that he had. The two men shook hands and then Hawk said:

  “This is Dax Marshall. Dax, this is Barracuda, Bernie Davidson, the president of the Dueling Aces.” Dax and Barracuda shook hands and then the older man took stock of the dozen men still on their bikes.

  “I’m guessing you’s aren’t just out for a ride this beautiful, cold morning.”

  “You’d be guessing right,” Dax said. “I’ll get straight to the point because we don’t have a hell of a lot of time to kill. I took on a mechanic at Hawk’s recommendation. That mechanic came from you and I need to know everything you know about him, including where he might be hiding out.”

  Barracuda raised a bushy eyebrow and looked at Hawk before addressing Dax. “Bubba causing you trouble?”

  “Three people were murdered this past week. Two of them on my ranch. One of them was one of my crew. We found most of his bike cut up in pieces in the shop where Bubba was working, and your boy Bubba has gone missing. I need to talk to him, yesterday.”

  “Bubba ain’t a murderer, I can tell you that much. The kid is a hard worker, supported his mom until she died. He got into some trouble hanging out with the wrong guys and ended up with some weapons charges, but that’s the most he’s ever been involved in.”

  “If he’s so great can I ask why he’s still a ‘hanger-on’ and not a member of your club?”

  “He’s an honorary member,” Barracuda said. “He’s...different. He’s so quiet that people think he’s stupid, but I think the kid is actually a genius and that makes it hard for him to communicate with the rest of us. But he’s not MC material and he knows it. He works his ass off in the shop and I would have never given him up except that I had ATF snooping around here after he hooked up with those fucking street kids and got himself into trouble. They found out he hung around here and all of a sudden, we’re to blame for those kids getting their hands on guns that any asshole could buy off the street. I didn’t want to see Bubba locked up. He doesn’t have what it takes to survive in there. Hawk told me you were down a mechanic, so I thought we could help each other out.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I have no fucking clue. I thought he was still in Boston.”

  “Does he have family here?”

  “Just us. His mama died about three years ago and he’s lived alone since then.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “He was living in an apartment just a few miles from here. I don’t know that he kept it when he went up to Boston, though. The police had torn it up several times when we had him hidden out. They’ve backed off a bit since it’s been a while, but if he was in town, I’d think he’d be smart enough not to be hiding out there.”

  “Where were you hiding him out at?”

  Barracuda narrowed his eyes and gave Dax a look like he thought he was crazy. “You want to give me a list of all your hiding spots?” Dax took a step toward him and the crew of giant triplets stepped forward. Wheelie and the others got off their bikes, but Dax held up a hand to stop them where they were without even looking over his shoulder.

  “What I want,” Dax said, “is for you to tell me where I can find him. I just want to talk to him, and I have a strong feeling you know where he’s at.”

  “Now you’re calling me a liar?” Wheelie couldn’t see Dax’s face, but he could imagine what it looked like as he kept himself from knocking the old man on his ass.

  “I’m not leaving here,” Dax said. “We’re not leaving here without this asshole.”

  “Look,” Hawk spoke for the first time since introducing them as the two men squared off. “We don’t want to hurt this kid, Cuda, not if he’s got nothing to do with this. But let me show you something.” Barracuda took his eyes off Dax as Hawk pulled a photo out of his vest. Wheelie couldn’t see it from where he stood, but from the look on Barracuda’s face, he could only guess it was one of the murder scenes.

  “Fuck,” the president said. “Sick bastard! That wasn’t Bubba, but come on inside and I’ll see if I can get a hold of him.” He turned, and Dax and Hawk started to follow him. He stopped and looked at the rest of the guys and said, “Youse can all come in. I don’t want the neighborhood seeing you all out here and thinking we’re getting ready to rumble.” They waited for Dax’s nod before following them. The shop was big and there was a small bar in the back. Barracuda took Dax and Hawk into his office along with one of the hairy triplets, and the rest of the guys stood sentry inside the shop. Wheelie was standing in front of a big wall with photos hung up of all the guys in the club...mug shots, mostly. He was just glancing through them, killing time while they waited, when his eyes landed on the name...Michael “Bubba” Brown. The date was recent, and Wheelie knew the penal code listed under the photo by heart—it was for grand theft. There was another one next to it that he didn’t know. It must have had something to do with the gun charges. The date was recent, this year. But none of that was what was extraordinary about the photo. The guy in the picture was not the “Bubba” Wheelie knew. He started toward the office and Tweedledee and Dum stepped in his way.

  “I need to talk to Dax.”

  One of the big guys looked over his shoulder into the office. Wheelie could see Dax and Hawk’s backs. Barracuda was on the phone. “They’re busy.”

  “I don’t care, I need to talk to him.” Handsome was suddenly at his back.

  “What’s going on, Wheelie?”

  “I need to talk to Dax.”

  Handsome put his hand on his shoulder. Wheelie’s muscles were tense and even though it was a friendly gesture, he flinched. “Come on, walk over here with me.” Wheelie’s adrenaline levels were so high that he was itching to do something to release some of it. He wanted to punch Dee or Dum in the gut—that would help. “Wheelie, come on.” Handsome’s voice had dropped down into a no-nonsense, no-bullshit, “come with me now or I’ll kick your ass later” tone. Wheelie drew on his good sense, remembering that whatever he did would have ramifications for the whole club, and he turned and went with Handsome. They walked over near the wall with the photos and Wheelie, with his voice low, said:

  “Look at the second to the last picture. That’s not Bubba.”

  Handsome looked at the wall. His eyes landed on the photo Wheelie was talking about and his face registered surprise. The man in the photo had dark blond hair, a beard, and a small scar just above his right eye. The Bubba they were after had dark hair and a smooth face...and no visible scars. “Motherfucker,” Handsome said. He spun on his heel, charged past the two apes and into the office. Wheelie got his wish then as one of the guys tried to grab his VP. He got to punch the big bastard in the gut. His brothers were suddenly all around him and Dueling Aces lost interest in whatever work they were doing, and the fight was on. The big guy that he punched caught his breath and stood up straight. The fist that was aimed at his head never made contact, though, because Gunner stepped up and was using the big guy like a punching bag. Wheelie loved watching Gunner fight, but unfortunately there was no time for that because another Ace was right behind him, ready to hook it up. Wheelie was engaged in a boxing match with that guy and had blood spurting out of his nose when he heard Dax’s voice:

  “Stop!”

  “You fuckers too!” Barracuda growled. There was a sudden stillness and the only noise was the sounds of their heavy breathing.

  “My crew, saddle up,” Dax growled. There was no hesitation, just a mass movement back out front to their bikes. Wheelie was smiling as he got on his and wiped the blood from his nose on his bandanna. He knew he was twisted, a little bit. But this was the first day in a long time that things actually felt...normal.

  26

  Dax didn’t say another word to his crew. He started his bike and there was a mass exodus of Harleys as they all followed him, none of them knowi
ng where they were going at this point. Wheelie still had plenty of adrenaline pumping through him as well as a tickle of anticipation in the pit of his stomach. The garage where they’d met with Barracuda was in Schenectady. When they left there, the route they took could almost have convinced him they were on a pleasant fall cruise through the verdant, tree-lined stretch of road that wound around the Mohawk and even a few sections of the old Erie Canal. They skirted along a native preserve known as Vischer Ferry and then arrived in the little town of the same name.

  Once they were in the downtown area of the little historical town, Dax turned onto a side street that was lined with residential homes, some of them that looked as if they’d stood since the 1800’s. The lawns were well-maintained and most of the houses very well kept. Dax drove to the end of the street and then veered his bike to the right and into a driveway where two Harley Roadsters and a trike were parked. He stepped off the bike and the rest of the crew parked and waited. Dax gestured to Gunner, who got off his bike and followed him up onto a wide porch that surrounded the blue house. It was one of the less-well-maintained homes on the street with an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts on the porch, empty Coors cans littering the sidewalk out front, and a red and blue glass bong sitting on one of the steps. Dax knocked on the front door and waited.

  While the men waited for Dax, Wheelie looked around the neighborhood wondering if this was where the actual Bubba lived. As he was turning his attention back to the house, he caught a flash of something black on the fence that ran along the side and to the back of the house. He was off his bike before yelling at Twister to follow him. The man was halfway over the fence by the time Wheelie and Twister got there. He tried to drop back down the other side but Wheelie grabbed hold of the bottom of his vest and pulled him down. He landed on the broken sidewalk with a thump and a loud grunt. Before he could get his hand underneath himself to grab what Wheelie assumed was a gun, Wheelie and Twister had their own guns trained on his face. Seconds later, Dax, Gunner, and Handsome were standing behind them.

  “Michael Brown, I presume?” Dax said, stepping forward.

  The man looked up with pain from his fall evident on his face and in a strained voice he said, “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m the man you’re about to wish you never heard of,” Dax told him. He reached down with one hand and grabbing the man by the front of his Dueling Aces vest, he pulled him to his feet. Handsome stuck his hand in the back of the man’s pants almost simultaneously and pulled out the gun he’d been about to go for when Wheelie had him on the ground. “Who else is in the house?” Dax asked him.

  “Nobody. What the fuck do you want?”

  “You don’t know what I want?”

  “No.”

  Dax twisted his arm up behind his back and told Wheelie, “Grab some of the guys and clear the house.”

  Wheelie and Twister went and did as Dax told them, finding that Michael “Bubba” Brown, hadn’t been lying about no one else being in the house. Minutes later the Skulls were crowded into a fairly good-sized living room without much furniture, surrounding “Bubba,” whom Dax had sat in a kitchen chair in the middle of the group.

  “You want to talk to me now?” Dax asked him.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you want to talk about.”

  Dax looked at Gunner and Gunner grabbed the guy by his hair and pulled his head back. Dax leaned in close and said, “You don’t know who I am?”

  With a red face and in a voice thick with pain he said, “Some fuck from Boston according to your patch.”

  Dax put his hand on the man’s throat. Wheelie couldn’t tell how much pressure he was putting on it from where he stood but after only a second or two the man seemed to be struggling for breath. He tried to get up out of the chair, but Gunner kept one hand in his hair and put the other on his shoulder and kept him in place. “You have one more chance to recover your memory and lose the fucking attitude.”

  “Or what?” the man struggled to get out.

  “Or I’m going to cause you so much pain that you’re going to beg me to kill you.” Dax backed off the man’s throat but at the same time pressed his boot down onto the top of the man’s foot. He let out a yelp and tried to pull forward but that only caused Gunner’s grip to get tighter.

  “Fuck! Okay, fucking get this little Jamaican shit off my hair and I’ll fucking talk to you, okay?”

  Wheelie and most of the other guys smiled at that. Gunner twisted his fingers in the guy’s hair and said, “I’m Puerto Rican, ass-wipe.”

  “Ahhh! Fuck! Okay, I don’t fucking care what you are, just let the fuck go of my hair.” Dax nodded at Gunner, and his brother let go and took a small step back. The man in the chair had tears in his eyes as Dax backed off his foot as well. “Shit!” He reached up and rubbed his head where Gunner had been holding his hair and then looked down at his foot. “I think you broke it.”

  “Good,” Dax said. “It’ll be the first break of many if you don’t hurry and tell me what I want to know.”

  “You haven’t asked any questions yet. How the fuck am I supposed to know what you want?”

  With an open hand, Dax slapped him in the side of the head so hard that the sound reverberated off the empty walls. The man cried out again. “That jog that memory of yours any, asshole? You talked your president into sending you to Massachusetts to hide out...only you didn’t fucking go, did you? You sent someone else in your place. Some fuck that’s been killing people on my ranch. I want to know who that fucker is, and where I can find him, right fucking now.”

  “I don’t...” Dax hit him again; this time the heavy ring Dax wore on his right hand must have dug into his skin because a spatter of blood flew out as he grunted out a strangled cry.

  “Start over and this time without the ‘I don’t,’ asshole.”

  “What the fuck do you want me to say? Someone’s impersonating me? I don’t fucking know who it is. I’ve been here, all along. I don’t fucking know anything about a killing or a fucking ranch...” Dax sighed and turned to look at Wheelie.

  “You know what, this piece of shit’s not going to tell us anything. You’re the one that suffered the most because of whoever this asshole sent to live on my ranch. Go ahead and do whatever you want to him. Gunner will stay with you, in case you need any help. The rest of us will wait outside.”

  The man looked up at Gunner, who was smiling. Then he looked at Wheelie, who was sliding his gun in the back of his jeans. Dax and the others were almost to the door. “I’m telling you, I don’t fucking know anything!”

  “I heard you,” Dax said, as he walked out the front door. The rest of the guys followed him and Hawk, the last one out, cackled out a laugh and closed the door. The guy in the chair started to stand up as soon as they were gone, and Wheelie threw a right at the side of his head and knocked him down to the floor.

  “That one was for me. What you’ve got coming for Pam, Buzz, and Diane is going to be a hell of a lot worse.”

  Michael Brown tried to get back to his feet and Wheelie hit him again. He had blood pouring out of his nose and down the front of his shirt and his lip was split when he hit the floor again. “Fuck! I don’t know those people!” His words sounded like they were being spoken by a ten-year-old with a lisp. Wheelie drew back his foot and suddenly he said, “Wait! Just fucking give me a second, okay?”

  “As long as the next words out of your mouth are about who the psychotic fuck is that killed those three people you claim not to know.”

  The man put his hand to his mouth, feeling around like he was making sure his teeth were still in place. Blood ran down between his fingers to his wrist. He started to reach in his pocket and Gunner was the one to kick him. He doubled up into a fetal position and from the shaking of his shoulders, Wheelie could only guess he was crying. “I was just getting something to wipe my mouth,” he said in a whine. “It’s my brother, okay? He’s my fucking brother.”

  Wheelie and Gunner looked at each other.
Wheelie reached in his own pocket and pulled out a bandanna and tossed it to the man on the floor. “The man pretending to be you is your brother?”

  “Yes,” he grunted out. He picked up the bandanna and pressed it to his bloody mouth. “He needed a place to go. He needed out of here and fast. I fucked up and I was in trouble.... I had a friend that told me about this place where people could just disappear...”

  “A friend? Fucking Buzz?”

  “Yeah. Buzz and I go way back. I was looking at prison time and in one of my phone conversations with Buzz, I mentioned it. He suggested I have Barracuda talk to Hawk and see if they could use another mechanic out there...”

  “So how the fuck did your brother end up there before you did?”

  “My brother, man, he’s just not right in the head. It’s not his fault. My mom used a lot of drugs when she was pregnant with him...”

  “I don’t want to hear your brother’s fucking sob story. Answer my question. Why the fuck was he in Boston pretending to be you?”

  “Because he was looking at prison time too...for murder.”

  27

  Wheelie asked Gunner to get Dax, and a few minutes later, Dax, Hawk, Handsome, Wheelie, and Gunner were all gathered around, listening to what the “real” Bubba had to say.

  “I was out on bail and Barracuda had already made the arrangements for me to go to Boston when Chuck showed up on my doorstep. He was in a bad way.”

  “Chuck?” Dax said.

  “Chuck, my brother...Charlie.”

  Wheelie couldn’t help it; he chuckled. “Charlie Brown?”

  “Yeah,” Bubba grunted again. “We call him Chuck.”

  “What was he in a bad way about?” Dax asked.