Seeing an opening in his eyes, I lunged forward and dropped into a spin. I shot my foot out and caught the rear of his. I heaved and felt his feet go out from under him.
The bikers in the room roared.
Gripper was down on his back.
Feeling triumphant, I stood over him and offered him my hand.
He slapped it away with a scowl.
Okay, I guess the fight goes on until...?
Twenty answered my mental question. "If either taps out, the fight is over. Not until then."
Okay, I know that procedure. I let him get up and moved around him.
He made a face and came low right at me, arms wide in a sweep to capture. This was dangerous to me and I knew it immediately. I sidestepped and slapped the back of my hand against his head to push it away from me. He stumbled away, cursing.
But he straightened, his lips firm. He brought up his fists in almost a proper karate pose. He rolled his shoulders and advanced.
I moved in a circular motion, edging around him. Shit, this guy is tenacious. He came at me low again and I prepared to block.
Suddenly, he was up high and his fist connected with my mouth. I felt my lip split and blood pour over my tongue. I cried out, "Agh..."
He wasn't done, launching punch after punch. It was all I could do to block them as I retreated away from him. That was my mistake. Instead of attacking, I was busy blocking. Not only that, but I was blocking repeated punches to the face. I was not expecting the punch that came in low, different from all the others. The wind left me in a rush as his fist sank deep into my belly.
I went down to my knees.
The bikers in the room were roaring. Probably for their own, I was sure.
My head was jerked back by Gripper. His look was intent, crazed, and out of control. He lifted his fist, ready to strike. I knew it was coming; I jerked away, rolling to the side. I was away and rose to my feet. I panted, "I guess I'm a little stiff."
A couple of the bikers guffawed loudly and I knew I had chosen the wrong word: I had gotten stiff watching Kristy get fucked.
Gripper grinned, but it wasn't friendly. He advanced fast, launching punches I could barely block. I had to do something fast. I ducked and dove forward bringing my right elbow into his ribs. I heard a satisfying grunt from him and raised my elbow to strike down on his lowered head. His own elbow to my gut sent me staggering back. The hoots and hollering in the old whore house echoed madly in my head.
I blew out a breath and waited for him to straighten.
He twisted his head as if to bring relief to a stiff neck. "Never wait for your opponent." He leapt forward, foot raised for a kick.
I crouched and prepared to deflect his foot for a perfect strike to his groin.
The foot never came. It went down and I realized my mistake an instant before I was struck: it had been a feint. I looked up as his fist impacted the side of my chin. I went spinning. Really, I felt as if I was still and the room spinning instead. I found myself on the floor. I heaved upwards, and then rolled over onto my back. I felt little control in my limbs.
Gripper cupped the back of my head and yanked upwards. His other fist was poised. He said through gritted teeth, "I'd tap out right now. If I were you..."
I was dead to rights. There was no energy left in me that seemed to reach my arms or legs. He could punch me endlessly and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I reached a hand over and tapped on the floor three times.
A raucous cheer ripped through the room and I felt humiliated.
Gripper shifted a little, his fist shifting downward. I flinched. But his fist had opened; he was offering me his hand to get up. I panted, realizing the fight was over. I gave him my hand. He hauled me up, grinning in triumph. He howled to the crowd's cheers and raised my hand in his. I was dumbfounded. Instead of ignoring me, he held me up as if I was a victor. My arm in the air and blood in my mouth, I smiled weakly, knowing that as much as they were cheering him, they were also cheering me.
Gripper turned to me and slapped my face. But it was a friendly gesture. He said, "Good job, fat boy."
The cruel reality of my condition struck me. At the same time, I accepted his praise as real. I mumbled, "Thanks..."
He gave me a push, propelling me towards...Kristy. I gripped her in a hug as tight as she clung to me. She whispered, "You were wonderful. Are you hurt?"
Something swelled in me alongside that earlier spiritual swelling, and I felt at peace.
CHAPTER 7
I spent the night there in a proper whore's room with Kristy. We had a bed, a table and chairs, and a fully stocked bathroom. I showered in the morning after she did and came out to an empty room. This was our day to go: to be free.
I wandered out, looking around and hearing voices from various places along the halls. The club apparently used the old whore house for living quarters. I felt at once at home and also alien to a place where I shouldn't be. Aromas of bacon drifted to me and I followed my nose to the kitchen.
Kristy was there and waved brightly to me. Two bikers were in there eating and so were a good half a dozen women eating and sipping coffee.
Grannie said, "Good morning, slugger." She pointed to the coffee machine. "You want some eggs and bacon?"
I hadn't felt hungry until she mentioned it. My stomach growled so loud I thought the building would tumble around me. "Sure, please."
Grannie winked at me and moved to shift things around in pans.
I poured myself a coffee and sat next to my wife. The coffee cup captured my attention. It was simple, solid, and appeared indestructible. It was a thick porcelain thing buff in color that radiated strength. Just like these bikers.
Kristy put her hand on my forearm, but was talking to a lady named Dragon. I slowly discovered that she was something different from the other ladies. She was wearing a vest with labels and patches – just like the men.
Dragon was saying, "It's not hard, really. Sort of the same process any woman would find: you first make friends with the women. Then you prove yourself to the men. It takes twice as long."
I was lost. "Prove?" I butted in.
Dragon was not a pretty woman. She had features that would merely put her above just plain. She was tall with long, light brown hair in a ponytail. Her vest held several event patches, plus her name. She looked to me with hard eyes. "A woman prospect not only has to prove herself to the men, but first and foremost to the women."
I was ignorant. "Why?"
Her expression didn't change. Whatever sensitivity in the woman she might have had was probably burned out long ago. "The old ladies control more than you think. They get jealous, sometimes, and they can stop a club in its tracks over accepting a new woman into its ranks."
I didn't know what to say, so I tried sipping my coffee.
Dragon muttered, "Some women are threats. They can bring drama. But I've seen as much drama from men as women."
I shrugged, then nodded.
She added, "Drama queens are found in both genders."
I couldn't relate. I said, "You didn't see my epic fight yesterday?"
She bit into some bacon. "I was at work, but I got the text message."
Kristy was like a little girl talking to a friend. "Where do you work?"
"I'm a cashier at Dillard's Hardware."
I fought the urge to laugh. She certainly didn't look like any cashier I had ever seen. She wore her denim and had an odd, thin chain wrapped around her wrist. Very goth-like. But her eyes said she didn't accept bullshit, so I kept my mouth shut.
She leaned over towards me across Kristy. "Do you ride?"
I wanted so much at that moment to say I did. Ride my Suburban. Ride my mountain bike I hadn't touched in years. Ride my Big Wheel from when I was a little kid. Ride something; anything. I lowered my head. "Nah, I'm a bit out of shape for that."
She snorted. "That's an excuse."
The tall blonde biker named Viking swarmed close, carrying a plate. He clapped a hand down
on my shoulder. "You should ride; there's nothing like it. Ride free with the wind in your hair..." He looked down at my bald pate. "Er, well..."
Dragon laughed. I found the sound uncharacteristic and I had just met her. But whatever her demeanor, she found the comment hilarious. Her teeth had an odd shape, but it was pleasant altogether.
Viking settled next to me. "Well, he could grow out his beard, anyway."
Kristy stroked my goatee. "I think it would look good on him."
I jerked my head back, suddenly self-conscious.
Grannie called out. "Your plate's ready, Jimmy."
I really hated that name. I was Jim, not Jimmy. And I wasn't young – not at thirty. But I rose and retrieved my plate with gratitude that left Grannie smiling. I learned through Kristy that Grannie was Gunner's wife and her real name was Carla. Gunner's name was Tom Roth, though I had never heard that anywhere in the three days of my captivity.
I still wondered in the back of my mind if they were going to let us go. But my sense was that they were. I felt something of honor in the promise and I just didn't foresee any issue with us actually leaving.
Grannie's man came in, Gunner, the chaplain. He sat across from me with a plate and looked at me with a morning-after appraising eye. "How you feel?"
I rubbed my split lip. "Good, considering."
"No, I mean inside."
Ah, so this is spiritual. I grunted happily. "Like I'm floating." It was true.
He winked and said nothing. He ate the eggs on his plate.
Viking said, "You ever ridden?"
I didn't have to glance at Dragon to know she was watching. I said, "No."
"What a shame."
I briefly considered in my mind the efficacy of riding in the rain. "How do you ride in bad weather?"
Viking laughed heartily. "Very carefully."
I shook my head. "So you all ride out on your motorcycles on the ice in one mass of riders and it's all great?"
He laughed, lower. "No. Most of us have cars. We don't necessarily ride on ice. That would be stupid."
I nodded, feeling better that bikers at least had some sense in them. They're all still here, aren't they? Riding can't be that hazardous.
Viking flicked his fork. "Sometimes we ride in bad weather. Just to ride. Depends."
I offered, "To prove something?"
Viking's gaze turned purposely towards me. "Not to prove shit. We know we can. We do it because we can."
That sounded sensible and I nodded.
Gunner reached behind him and then placed his hand forward. My Beretta Nano was under his hand. "This is yours."
I was shocked. Here, in the middle of the clubhouse, I was being given a gun – my gun. I reached out and lifted it. I could tell it was still fully loaded by its weight. "Thanks." I stuffed it into my empty belt holster. I did note that Gunner had a very sharp eye on me. I said, "You trust me?"
"Not really."
"Then why give me my gun back?"
Gunner fetched a cigar from his pocket and twirled it before sticking it in his mouth. His gravelly voice sounded rough. "Because it's yours. And I'm faster than you."
I smirked.
Before I could drop my smirk, a large hole was up in my face – the business end of a .45acp. The old man had moved so fast I couldn't have blinked before he had the gun on me.
I whispered, "Uhh..."
He slowly put the gun away, shifting it back into whatever holster he had at his belt. "Don't make me regret giving you back your piece."
I desperately didn't want to disappoint him. I held up my hands. "I'm easy."
Kristy butted in. "Do your women carry guns?"
Gunner snickered. "Uh...yep."
"I wish I could carry one."
The chaplain frowned. "Who says you can't? You committed a crime or something?"
My wife shook her head emphatically. "No."
"Then why don't you?"
Kristy shrugged, her voice small. "I never thought about it."
Gunner wheezed. "Well, now you have."
I looked around at the cold green walls around me. A throwback from two generations ago, the color reminded me of early kindergarten. Something nostalgic triggered in me and I felt the distinct feeling I was going to miss this simplicity. I wanted to leave an impression. I said to Gunner, "I want you to know, I appreciate what you said to me yesterday."
The old silverback actually blushed. He said, "Sheeeeit...."
"I'm serious. I feel a connection—"
"To God. Never lose it. I didn't do shit for you. You made the connection."
That made no sense. "But—"
"I don't need scalps on my belt. You just go forward and look to God. Pray always."
It sounded so practical that I couldn't argue. "I will."
He winked.
~ ~ ~
My time with the Iron Crows was at an end. I accepted the keys of my Suburban from a silent Sonar.
Dealer said, "We went through your things, but it's all there."
I said the first thing that came to mind, and probably the most inappropriate, considering, "Thank you."
He glanced at my wife and then back to me. He addressed me and only me. "Be safe." He indicated the door.
I walked out into freedom, tingles stinging my back with relief that I was actually free. Once in the Suburban, instinct took over. Key in the ignition, familiar sound of the engine, and the feel of the seat beneath me satisfied me that I was once again in control.
We pulled away from the old whore house without looking back. One street and we were on the main drag of Keystone. I wasn't on it for more than a block before lights in my rearview mirror caused me to look up. A white Durango with black and blue police markings was flashing at us. I pulled over with an exasperated sigh. Things were going so good...
CHAPTER 8
I lowered the driver's window as the officer approached. He was a black man wearing the hat of a drill instructor. He said in his deep baritone, "License and registration, please?" His nameplate said "Davies."
"Yes, sir." I handed them.
He appeared surprised at the respect. "Traveling...through?" He sounded as if he suspected different.
"I suppose..."
He was looking at my face. "Trouble recently?"
I knew he was looking at my split lip. I said, "Fell down some steps yesterday."
He chewed on nothing. "Uh huh."
"Was I speeding?" I knew I wasn't.
Kristy was looking anxiously at both of us.
The deputy said, "No. How did you receive that damage on your bumper? I saw you come in a few days ago and you didn't have it."
"I backed into a telephone pole. No damage to the pole." I was pretty sure that's what our Suburban had hit.
He chewed on something a little more, and then nodded. He handed back my license and registration, but kept a grip on them. "We keep a clean town here, Mister Butcher. Outsiders come and go, and we often don't mind them going."
I caught his drift immediately. "I like this town – and the way you keep it."
He released my ID. "You have a nice day, sir. Ma'am." He tipped his DI hat and walked back to his SUV.
Kristy blew out a breath.
I nodded. "He was feeling us out."
"Yep."
"He must have known the club took us hostage."
My wife, succinct as always: "Yep."
~ ~ ~
I was plagued by the drive back home. Racing towards familiarity provided no comfort. We were free and going home. Free and under our own control. Free, and yet oddly unsettled. I still treasured the floating feeling of my acceptance of God the previous night. How did my actions as a man conflict with God? Gunner, practical as a pistol, seemed to think that didn't matter. Was the old chaplain right? Now I had questions.
We were leaving behind something hidden filled with promise. But we were outsiders to them. Citizens they had called us. But they had still treated me with respect. The presiden
t even admitted he'd throw the fight to me if we fought because of how he felt about his mistake.
His display of responsibility tormented me in ways I couldn't grasp. Were they really so tight that Dealer would assume such responsibility? Had I demonstrated enough? Had they been impressed? Or disappointed? The conversations that morning played poison in my mind, bringing with it a fear. While conversing with me as adults, and even laughing, the fear developed over my past.
I had never been included in anything. I had never been trusted. Gunner had helped me trust the previous night on my knees. But this morning had admitted, gun in my face, that he didn't trust me. The move had stunned me in ways that were only now coming out.
Kristy said, "What are you thinking about?"
"My gun and Gunner. I can't believe he pulled on me."
"It was just to show you how fast he was. I knew he wasn't going to pull the trigger."
"But he said he didn't trust me."
She was quiet for a moment. "Why should he?"
That was the crux of my entire life. Why should anyone? And no one ever had, except for Kristy. It was a vacancy in my soul that dug deep and left maddening echoes. For a brief time, I had entered a world where people trusted each other. Relied on each other. I had tasted it and the experience made the empty echoes all the sharper.
I wanted to do what I always did: withdraw. I wanted to be alone and cocoon myself against the world. My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. The famous words of Jesus floated up from somewhere in that mess inside. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." How in the world could that be helpful to me? Other than being nice... But I felt my brow draw down in concentration. Trust others like you would have them trust you. Trust breeds trust? Inclusion breeds inclusion? Was the answer to my life something so simple?
I felt a clamminess run down my back. Have I suffered the lack of trust and inclusion from others because I myself did not trust and include others? I looked over at Kristy. But everything worked with her. And the answer came within, quietly. Because she was just like me with exactly the same problems.
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