Sons of Mayhem 3: The Full Force

by Pink, Nikki

  “Red hair! On the stage!”

  Oh, the redhead. Huh. I was having fun with her now though. I decided to play dumb a bit longer.

  “A redhead? On the stage? Do you mean Rabbie the drummer? Is your sister an angry Scotsman? Huh. I always knew there was something off about that one…”

  Slap. Apparently she didn’t find me as funny as I thought I was. The slaps were getting a bit old now, too. I raised a hand to my cheek and rubbed some of the soreness away. I wished I still had my beer so I could hold the cold bottle against my burning cheek. And I wished she could find something else to slap. Perhaps my arse while I fucked some of that anger out of her...

  “The girl who was crowdsurfing. You pulled her onto the stage. Tell me where she is, now.”

  “Look love, she’s a big girl, and where she is now is her concern, not yours.”

  I saw her raise her hand again, but I wasn’t having anymore of that. This time I grabbed her by the wrist. She raised her other hand and I grabbed that too, held them down by her side. I was tired of getting slapped. My grip was tight, but she still struggled. She had a lot of fight in her and I liked it. I can’t deal with timid women -- I need someone who gives as good as me.

  “Please. We don’t live in this town. She’s my little sister, I need to get her home. I’ve got work tomorrow.”

  “How old is she?” I asked, suddenly worried.

  “She’s only nineteen--”

  Good. She wasn’t underaged. We didn’t want any of the boys getting arrested for shit like that, no matter how keen and willing the groupies were.

  “Nineteen? Look love, she’s an adult. A big girl. She’s gone to have a little drink or two with the bassist and it’s really not your concern. Why don’t you go on home. We’ll make sure she has a ride or a bus ticket or something tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? What the hell! She’s on--”

  I still had a good tight grip on her hands. I couldn’t be dealing with this shit, not now. I was here to have a good time, not to listen to some overly-mothering big sister to a groupie. No matter how hot she was.

  “Look love,” I interrupted her, “I’m not interested. They’ve gone. She’s gone. We just do security here. Now the show’s over what happens after isn’t my business. They’re consenting adults.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  I sighed. Might as well tell her, I thought. She wouldn’t get in anyway. Last I heard they had cops keeping the screaming fans outside.

  “Gone back to the hotel in LA. The Grand.”

  “And they took her with them?” She sounded panicked.

  I felt a twinge of compassion, what was with this bird? Didn’t she want her little sister to grow up? Well hard lines. You can hold someone back a bit, maybe a few months, maybe a couple of years, but everyone grows up eventually and there’s not a damn thing a parent or big sister can do to stop it. And once that train is rolling it ain’t stopping. Worse than that though, is sometimes the one’s that have been really held back, well they go the most nuts of all. Shit, if this big sister had been mothering her too hard there’s no telling how wild this little one would be. Lucky Si.

  “Yep, as far as I know. Last I saw, she was sitting on Si’s lap heading off to the hotel.”

  With a sudden wrenching she freed herself of my grip which I’d allowed to get slack. Without a glance back she stormed off out the door of the club.

  I watched her as she went, hips swinging defiantly as she marched off. I raised my hand to my shoulder, imagining giving her a solid thwack on that fine arse of hers. She deserved it after the way she kept slapping my face. She might even enjoy it. She seemed a bit uptight, it’d probably do her good.

  I turned back around to talk to the boys.

  BK was stood there stifling a laugh as he handed me a fresh bottle of beer. He was pretty damn amused by the whole spectacle.

  “Cheers,” I said as I took the bottle and gave him a grin. As a prospect he shouldn’t really be laughing at me, but shit, when it comes to feisty women? Rules are off then. It’s universally amusing to everyone else when a member, prospect or hangaround starts getting slapped around by one of the women. Still, maybe now I could get my cold beer and have it in peace, I thought.

  Nope. Twat alert.

  “Good work, guys. Not too many broken noses, huh?” Chad Chad Price said, laughing at his attempt at a joke.

  “What do you need, Chad?” I asked.

  “Hotel called. Said the cops are leaving soon. Says they’re not blowing their overtime budget babysitting the Force. Hotel says we’ve gotta’ provide security or they’ll kick ‘em out.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “So you’ve gotta go. Get on your motorcycles,” he mimed jumping aboard an imaginary motorcycle, “and vroom vroom. Go kick some teenage girl ass.”

  “Kick some teenage girl ass? Really?”

  Chad laughed. Too hard. “Not really. Not unless you like that.” Too much laughter again.

  “We’re supposed to be doing the shows, hotels weren’t included. That’s a completely different pay scale Chad.”

  “Well how much do you want?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve gotta’ talk to the boss. Figure it out.”

  “Well hurry it up. The hotel said the cops are out of there at 11. We don’t want you being late again.”

  I put my head down, right in front of his, face to face. “Mate, seriously. Stop telling us we’re fuckin’ late. We’re not late. You fucked up. Again. Got it?”

  My tone was harsh and it dripped menace. This little greaseball was one cocky motherfucker, and the way he’d been talking to us so ballsy-like I was surprised no one had kicked the shit out of him years ago. Maybe they had. But if they had, he hadn’t learned. My tone seemed to do the trick though. He gave a respectful nod and a gulp before leaving us the hell alone.

  The little fucker glanced pointedly at his watch as he walked away though. The nerve of some people.

  Tipping the bottle I held back into my mouth I swallowed until I’d drained it all. I had to find Jase and discuss how much we needed to ding Chad for, if we even wanted the job.

  5

  Ava

  Deep breaths Ava, deep breaths. I stood outside the club for a minute quietly panicking. What the hell was going on? This wasn’t like Lily. Not at all. They must have done something to her I decided. Tricked her, hypnotized her, drugged her?

  Damn. It was all my fault. How did I let her slip away from me like that? Why couldn’t I look after her properly? I had one job, dammit. One job. Look after my little sister. And now I’d let that ugly bastard biker kidnap her and hustle her off who-knows-where.

  Well shit. They weren’t going to get away with it. No way. I took a final deep breath and exhaled it with deep resolve. I was going to get her back, whatever it took.

  I drove past the hotel slowly, scouting it out. There were makeshift barriers stopping the small crowd outside from getting too close to the hotel, and a couple of cops to stop unwanted fans going in.

  I pondered explaining to the cops that, no, actually, I wasn’t a fan, I was there to yell at the band and slap them upside their bastard British heads. Sure, go on through, they’d say to me. Yeah right. I needed another way in.

  On a side street about a quarter mile away I parked my car. I hesitated a moment before getting out, thinking. They weren’t going to let just anyone in there, and I wasn’t about to drop three hundred bucks or more on one of their overpriced rooms. Could I be going to one of the restaurants? Nope, it was too late. The lobby bar? Nope, I was underdressed. I needed a better plan.

  Luckily for Lily and me I’m pretty resourceful. I had to be, especially in that difficult time six years ago when I first had to take over as Lily’s guardian despite being only eighteen. Think, Ava, think. So I thought. Not for long, though. It never takes me long.

  A moment later I had it. I reached across the passenger seat where Lily had been sitting fixing her hair and makeup just a few hours befor
e. I delved into the glovebox and grabbed exactly what I was looking for. My clipboard and a pair of clear lens sunglasses.

  When I’m not taking my little sister out to get kidnapped by limey bastards I work in marketing, and part of my job is to visit various sites and make sure everything is set up correctly. A lot of ticking boxes, getting signatures - stuff like that, in a variety of locations. So I always have a clipboard in my car.

  It was a funny thing I’d learned in my job, but a clipboard gives you power, respect, sometimes even fear. If you’re walking around with a clipboard you’re doing something official. You very well may be able to fuck someone’s day up if you’re working for the right inspection board or internal review department. Of course, I worked in marketing, but people don’t necessarily know that when you’re working at a new location. They just see the clipboard, and think either official business or uh oh, I hope we haven’t fucked up lately.

  I hadn’t taken advantage of this power much though, just filed it away neatly in my mind in case I ever needed it. That’s the thing about knowledge: you may not need it right away, but if you’ve got it stored away somewhere upstairs it’ll be waiting for you at just the right moment.

  And the glasses? Well, I was a bit of a sweaty mess and I was wearing a t-shirt and jean shorts instead of a more business-like outfit. Glasses can go a long way to making you look more official. It was unfortunate though that my clear lensed sunglasses made the world even darker than it already was. If only I’d had poor vision and real glasses.

  I locked the door of my car and headed to the trunk. I had a black cardigan in there and after putting it on I looked almost professional. Except for the short shorts, that is. I was kind of a sexy professional I thought with a grin.

  As I started walking back in the direction of the hotel I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, finishing my new tidier disguise. While I was walking I heard a loud series of shrieks. Not the shrieks of a woman cornered in a dark alley. No, something much more frightening: the shrieks of countless teen girls as they spotted one of their idols. Had one of the band just peered out of a window? Come outside to grab another groupie? I increased my pace.

  Back at the hotel it seemed as if the crowd had grown and now they were loud. I hadn’t heard much driving past them in my car, but I was certain if I drove by now I would.

  Bunches of teenage girls were bouncing excitedly from foot to foot, holding up signs saying I love you Neal or Johnny Let Me Fill Your Needs echoing their popular hit song. Occasionally one of them would scream out “Neal!” or “I love you!” or “Come out here!” or “Over here! I love you Johnny!”

  It seemed the two frontmen of the band, the singer and lead guitarist, were the most popular. I didn’t see anyone holding signs offering themselves up to the drummer or the bassist though. I couldn’t even remember their names myself.

  As I got closer my field of view extended and I saw the reason for the increased size of the crowd. There was now a tour bus there. It hadn’t been there when I’d driven by just a few minutes ago.

  I stood on the sidewalk and pondered that fact for a few seconds. Let it sink in. The tour bus wasn’t there before, but now it was. That meant they had only just arrived. And I certainly hadn’t passed them on my way here. Which meant that English bastard at the club had lied to me when he said they had already gone.

  “Fucker!” I whispered to myself. How could he have done that? Shit, Lily was probably still at the club when I left. For Chrissakes.

  I was shaking in anger when I got to the front door, my fingers white as I grasped my clipboard as if it was a weapon.

  “Oh, great idea,” said a girl with pink and green hair.

  “What?”

  She nodded at the clipboard in my hands.

  “Oh. Yeah. Thanks. It’s not for… thanks.”

  I walked away from her, heading along the front of the hotel looking for an access road or a side alley. I’d not gone more than a couple dozen yards when the sound of the teen girls was drowned out by a new, throatier roar.

  I gritted my teeth angrily. Well, well, well. I knew exactly who that would be. The bikers. The so-called security guards from the club. No doubt that English bastard with his stupid tattoos would be with them. Sure enough, a moment later they were there.

  I counted them as they went by. Eight of them this time including my English friend. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh… they flew by me toward the front of the hotel. From a distance I watched as the fans outside parted like the Red Sea. One after the other the bikers parked up in front of the hotel, right next to the front door. The manager wouldn’t allow that, surely?

  The giant on the trike I’d noticed earlier and the English bastard from before spoke to the two cops manning the little metal fence the fans were forbidden to cross. Nodding between them, and then that was it, the cops were leaving, walking over to their cruiser.

  Well that sucked. Those guys had all seen me at the club, making a scene. They wouldn’t be letting me in, no way. Fuck ‘em. I already had my plan anyway.

  It was quiet around the side of the hotel except for the droning of a large extractor unit. The big building blocked out most of the sounds of the mayhem out front. I walked purposefully, shoulders back, ponytail swinging, clipboard firmly in hand.

  A rat scurried across my path from under a dumpster. Suppressing my fear I watched it sternly as it scampered away and then looked at my clipboard and made a thoughtful mark. Maybe someone was watching.

  A few feet further I saw what I was looking for. There was a green dumpster for food waste and next to it a door to the kitchen, propped open. It’s a pretty common sight. Kitchens get way too hot and there’s never enough breeze, so even in winter you’ll find the doors of commercial kitchens propped open across the country. I smiled to myself.

  I just had to get inside, and then go get my sister. Simple as.

  “Buenas noches,” said a dark haired chef as I walked through the kitchen door like I owned the place, my head scanning left and right as if I was inspecting the kitchen. His voice, while friendly, had a questioning tone to it. Surely it wasn’t every night he had young women walking in through his fire exit conducting impromptu inspections

  I gave him a big grin and waved my clipboard at him. “Good evening.”

  He nodded knowingly when he saw the clipboard, content that I was, in fact, someone who should be there. I stood there scanning the room, and then pointedly made a check on the paper clipped to the board. The paper was actually a checklist for an installation showing off a new skin cream I’d inspected in San Francisco the week before, but he wasn’t to know that. It gave me a bit longer to examine my surroundings and figure out where to go.

  A moment later I was on my way, straight down an access hallway, until I saw the green signs indicating a fire escape. Too easy. All I’d do is walk up the stairs to the top floor where the best suites were and rescue my sister. What could go wrong?

  I headed on up, and by the fourth floor I was panting a bit. I took a break. Six more stories to go. The stairway was dark above and below me, but where I was standing a light shone down illuminating the immediate area around me. There were sensors that lit when I moved, and then when I passed the lights turned off again. So at any one time there were one or two lights allowing me to see.

  Suddenly it all went black.

  I jerked up from my hands-on-knees panting position and the lights came on again. I’d been inactive too long and the stupid lights had gone off. My fault. Shouldn’t be wasting time.

  I headed on up the stairs to the tenth floor, going a little slower than before so I didn’t wind myself. When I arrived I took a moment to compose myself, readied my clipboard and went to open the door.

  It wouldn’t budge. Not an inch. It was locked.

  That didn’t make any sense, who’d lock a fire door? The realization of what was going on struck me like a surprise ice bucket over the head.

  These were fire doors and this was a fire escap
e, not an access stairway. The doors only opened from the inside, not from the stairway itself.

  Fuck.

  If the door wouldn’t open, it was time for Plan B.

  6

  Lonnie

  “$2,000 a day, and hotel rooms. Final offer,” said Jase.

  “Deal.”

  Jase gave me a look. I knew what it meant. He wondered if we’d just sold ourselves short. Chad had been a bit too quick to accept our final offer. We could have gotten more out of him, dammit.

  Chad was holding out his hand in front of him, smiling. Jase grabbed it and gave it a squeeze. The deal was done.

  The original plan had just been to show up to the shows, get paid in beer and food, listen to some rockin’ music and maybe bang a few groupies. It was more a vacation than serious work.

  But shit, providing effectively 24 hour a day security? That was like a real job. So now we’d just agreed to work for $200 a day apiece. Not bad. Not good. It was less than we were making from the drug business back at home, but hey, a bit more beer money never hurt.

  “You better get to the hotel, you don’t want to be la--”

  Jase gave him a look so harsh it ripped the words right out of the little guy’s mouth. He nodded at us and scurried away.

  “That guy,” said Jase shaking his head.

  “Twat,” I agreed.

  “Alright, you get the boys and take them to the hotel. Me and Reap have got some shit to discuss. Catch you back there.”

  I nodded and went to gather the crew. We were ten altogether. Jase and me were representing the Sons as full patched members. Reap the club president and Everest a long standing member from Dawn’s Rage.

  We’d each brought three prospects along with us too. See how they did on long rides, see how they did in new circumstances, see how they were to work with for a long stretch at once. You know how it goes. Just testing ‘em out.