Before I left the room, I wiped my finger across the mantelpiece. As I’d anticipated, it came away clean. It seemed peculiar for a house with two bachelors, not forgetting a gang of ten others who probably spent most of their free time in Marcus’s house, to be so immaculate. I could live in a house like this, I told myself. It needed a woman’s touch, and a few of my ideas to brighten the place up.
Recovered from my dizzy spell, I left the living room and went to check out the rest of the house.
The average sized kitchen, which was off to the right of the living room, was also outdated. Containing a stainless steel sink, dowdy, cream coloured, cupboards, and a small oblong table, the room was once again, spotless. I left to explore the upstairs, going through a hallway decorated with revolting wallpaper, this time, large, dull blue flowers. The wooden stairs creaked as I made my way up. Every time I lifted my leg, a gnawing pain shot through my body. When I reached the top, I was met with a choice of three closed doors.
I opened the door in front of me to reveal the bathroom, which contained a simple, white enamel bathroom suite. Looking into a mirror, I couldn’t believe what stared back.
The swelling on my lips had gone down a little, but my face was still bruised and purple. I didn’t look like a pumpkin anymore; all the same, I was still a sight. My hair was greasy and lanky and looked as though I hadn’t washed it for months. I felt dirty and smelly.
Taking off my crop top, I noticed a small, white, sterile padding covering a wound near my ribs. Marcus must have stuck it on. The thought of him touching me sent shivers down my spine.
I took an exhilarating shower, washed my hair twice, and then brushed it until it shone. Locating some plasters in the bathroom cabinet, I covered most of the cuts and grazes. I felt better. In fact, I looked better. I had some colour in my face, and because I’d covered up most of the cuts, I deemed I was looking a little more attractive than I had. With a towel wrapped tightly around me, I left the bathroom and proceeded to open the door to the left.
Posters of every rock band imaginable covered most of the bedroom walls. An electric guitar stood in the corner of the room. I picked it up and tried to play, without much success. I knew it was Marcus’s room because lying on his double bed was a pair of blue jeans and a black T-shirt. The T-shirt fitted well. The jeans were far too big around the waist so I used a belt and then folded up the bottom of the legs, I must have looked ridiculous but I didn’t care. I was in clean clothes and they were Marcus’s. My hair clean, my clothes fresh, I felt almost human again.
After listening to some of Marcus’s CD’S, I decided to have a snoop through his other stuff. There was no harm, he’d never know. Under the mattress was the obvious place to start. Well, he didn’t clean under his bed that was for sure. I pulled out an old shoebox covered with dust, and carefully took off the lid, not knowing what I would find. Inside were posters he couldn’t fit on his wall, old concert tickets, programs from rock festivals, and a single drumstick. I held the drumstick in my hand and read the inscription. I couldn’t believe I was holding a drumstick, previously owned by Nicko, the drummer from Iron Maiden, one of my favourite bands. Glancing over the other tickets, I found more Iron Maiden, a couple from Bon Jovi, Metallica, and other bands I’d never heard of. I wondered if he knew how lucky he was, having experienced seeing these bands live. I doubted it. What he took for granted was only a dream for me, except now it seemed within my reach. Carefully putting the tickets back into the box, I closed the lid and placed it as close to the original spot as I could.
Next, was his top drawer. What would I find in there I wondered? Porno – no surprise – condoms, a manicure set, hair gel, and a lipstick. Umm, Marcus was getting more interesting by the minute. I won’t lie to you, I lay on his bed and had a look through the magazines. I’m only human after all. I slipped my arm under his pillow to get into a cosier position when my hand touched something cold and solid. Lifting the pillow, I found a photo frame containing an old photograph. I presumed they were his parents, brother, and himself, although it looked nothing like him. Both boys looked around ten. They give the impression of a happy, close family, and as the saying goes ‘the camera never lies’. I felt low and sorry for the brothers’ loss. I could imagine how badly it must have hurt. Why was the photo under his pillow? It was then I noticed a tissue next to the photo. Did I dredge up old memories for him? Oh, my poor Marcus, I wished he were there. I would have pulled him to me, and let him sob into my shirt. I pitied him. It didn’t last long.
Before I left his room, I made the mistake of rummaging through his indoor cupboard. There were some clothes, metal magazines, boots, etc., nothing unusual. Until I found, lying on the floor under a pile of junk, a rag, which I later realised was a T-shirt, covered in what I first thought to be a coffee stain. I threw the T-shirt down in disgust. It wasn’t coffee. It was blood. Very old blood. So old, the stain had turned into a nasty brown/black colour. Whose was it? It frightened me to think that it was someone else’s blood. I knew the probability was high. Wherever it came from, it would have certainly resulted from a hospitalised beating or even a stabbing. What was I getting myself into? A chill ran down my spine, and I hurried from his room. Outside in the hall, I took a couple of deep breaths.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” I spoke aloud.
You’d think I’d had enough for one day, only I wanted a peek at Dylan’s room. Pushing the door open, I tiptoed inside. I don’t know why I was afraid to make any noise. No one was about. But knowing the room belonged to Dylan, I felt I was intruding.
The only difference between the two rooms was that Marcus had a double bed, while Dylan’s was single. Maybe it was a reward for being the president of the Tyrants. I smiled, visualising Marcus taking women into his room. That’s history, I told myself. I’m here now.
I returned downstairs and raided the kitchen cupboards, looking for something to eat. I was starving, and my stomach hadn’t stopped rumbling since I’d woken up. I found some cereal and enough milk to eat a late breakfast. Afterwards, I washed up and then wandered back into the living room and found some paper.
I wrote a letter to my mother. I told her I was dropping out of college and staying in London for a while, telling her I’d found a position in a well-known law firm. It was easier to lie in a letter, than to her face. Knowing Mum, she wouldn’t give two hoots about the job, but it would impress the hell out of my dad when it got back to him. Meaning, it would take the pressure off me about quitting college.
I’d just smoked my tenth cigarette when there was a loud noise outside and lots of shouting. The door opened and in walked Marcus, Dylan, Clay, and seven other guys. Marcus came straight over and put his arm around me.
“You’re looking good today. How you feeling?” he asked.
“Great. Hey, thanks for the clothes.”
The living room was small to begin with, so with a deluge of bikers, we were practically sitting on top of one another.
“Well, Dylan said they worked you over, but hell, I wasn’t expecting this,” one of them said.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I replied, not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or not.
“I think it’s time you met the others.” Marcus then introduced me to the rest of the gang.
Dale was the oldest, and then there was Tony, Max, Mick, Ian, Joe, and Hatch. Hatch was enormous. Built like a brick house, a giant among men. Someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, and yet, as I was too find out later, he was as soft-hearted as his big warm smile.
Two of the Tyrants were missing, both worked together as roofers. Dylan told me they would be along later with the food.
Dale looked like a biker from a movie I’d seen. He was big, at least a hundred and twenty kilos, and his beer belly hung over his jeans. With a long beard, he reminded me of a jolly Father Christmas. Some of the guys had short hair, others long Hatch was all most a skin head. All had different appearances, yet you could tell from the leat
her and jeans that they were connected. Apart from Dale, they all had great physiques. All were in their late twenties, early thirties, which made me wonder why Marcus was the head of the Tyrants. After all, he was the youngest.
Everyone started talking at once, asking me what had happened that night. I gave them a detailed account.
“You took quite a beating,” Max said.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I lied. “By the way, what happened at the clash?”
They told me, in graphic detail, how they had destroyed the Vipers.
We spent the rest of the afternoon talking about music, previous fights they’d partaken in, and of course motorbikes. I joked with them about not having nicknames, as I thought members of a gang would have.
“That’s for kids,” Clay told me.
“We did once,” Marcus reminisced. “When we first joined the Tyrants, can’t remember what mine was though.”
I knew he was lying.
The conversation turned to the antics of the young Tyrants. It sounded as though they had a great childhood. Did they realise how lucky they were to have friends? Lifelong friends, who I guessed would give their lives to one another if they had too.
The afternoon soon turned into evening. I had such I wonderful time. It amazed me how comfortable I felt, talking and laughing with them.
Paul and Steve turned up around six with pizza. At first, I thought they were brothers, not that they looked alike. They were a double act, and you could tell there was a special relationship between them, and they were so funny. I was crying with laughter as they told me about special moments in their lives. It sounded unbelievable, but of course, all true. The others had heard the stories before but were soon laughing again. It was the way they told them. Paul would start the tale, and Steve would finish it. I swear they would have made the perfect comedy act.
I also found out that they spent most of the summer riding around on their Harleys, Hondas, etc, going to conventions and meetings. It sounded real cool. Marcus owned a V-Rod Harley, his pride and joy, which he only took out in the summer. Dylan had a Yamaha Raider, only he didn’t look after his bike like Marcus did, or so I was told.
As I lay back, relaxing in Marcus’s arms, I visualised myself on the back of his bike, riding hard and fast with the wind blowing in my hair. I felt fortunate to have found a band of brothers like the Tyrants, and I believed I belonged there. I experienced a weird sense of recognition, as if I had been in that situation before, only it wasn’t like Deja vu. I felt as though I was supposed to be there, at that time and place. It felt warm, comfortable, and natural.
But the other side of Marcus worried me. I had yet to see the tough, violent side of the Tyrants. Yeah, I had seen Monica’s fist, but not the guys fighting. To me, they seemed friendly and gentle even, only it wasn’t a front. That’s what they were really like. They were good people behind closed doors. They had normal lives; they went to work, paid rent, sent flowers to their mothers on Mother’s Day, just like any good son would. Only when they were outside in public did they become the Tyrants, and they lived up to their name. I could see why they did what they did. When they were Tyrants, they were respected, and I could only imagine how good that felt. I guess that’s what I really wanted – to belong to a large group, everyone watching you, yet keeping out of the way. You were kings. You owned the streets.
It was about ten when everyone started to leave.
“So, Jade. You fancy coming out with us tomorrow night, if you’re feeling up to it that is?” Mick asked me.
Before I had time to answer, Dylan, butted in. “Give the girl a break, she’s probably in too much pain.”
“Yeah, thanks, I’d love to. But maybe Saturday.” I turned to Marcus and smiled. “No offence, but I really need to get out of this house.”
Tony bent down to Marcus. “Can I have a quick word?”
Everybody left the room, and I was alone to gather my thoughts. I wanted to pinch myself. Was I dreaming? Could I be so lucky? I couldn’t believe the situation I was in, regardless of how I got there. I smiled. Was it finally my turn for happiness?
Marcus came back ten minutes later. I could sense his upset. He sat down and gazed at me with a serious expression.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“No, everything’s not okay. Jade... Monica’s been shouting her mouth off to the Vipers. She’s looking for you, and so are the Vipers.” He stopped to study my reaction. “Do you understand what I’m saying? You’re a target. They’re out to get you.”
I shrugged. “I don’t see why. I’ve done nothing to them.”
“Monica used to live here. She’s pissed at you for taking her place, and she’s out for blood. She’s tough, but it’s not her you have to worry about.”
I was stunned. It then occurred to me why the house was so tidy, only there was no obvious sign of any female residing here. Marcus must have trashed her things while I was unconscious. He had tried to wipe all traces of her away, but for whose benefit, his or mine?
He continued. “Monica had a couple of bruises. She told the Vipers you beat her up.”
“I beat her up,” I cried in dismay. “What about me? Why should the Vipers care anyway?”
“You don’t understand, do you? She’s gone over to the other side. They know all about me now, where I live, and work, everything. She’s sold us out, and in return, they’ll do her a favour.”
I was beginning to get the gist of the situation.
“Oh, I understand. Monica tells them everything she knows about you, and in return, they slit my throat. Sounds fair.” I bent my head and took a deep breath.
I tried to sound sarcastic, but I was scared. Why was this happening when everything was going so well?
There was stillness. I was shocked into silence. I knew things were too good to be true.
Marcus cupped my chin and turned my head so I am facing him. “Look, just as a precaution, I want Dylan and Clay to stay with you at all times.”
“I don’t need a babysitter. I can take care of myself. You don’t need to get involved.”
“I know you can handle yourself, but it wouldn’t be one on one, would it? Probably more like ten on one.”
“Okay, you’ve got a point,” I answered. “Dylan and Clay can be my bodyguards if it makes you feel better. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
Who was I trying to kid? I wanted to crawl under a rock and hibernate until everything blew over, or the Vipers forgot about me. Hide out in the house until whenever. Problem was, I’d have to go out eventually. Wanting to forget about the trouble I was in and enjoy the time I had left with Marcus, I changed the subject.
“I want to ask you something,” I said casually.
“Shoot.”
“How come you’re the president? Dale’s the oldest, so how come he’s not got the title?”
“I wondered when you were gonna ask that. There was big clash with the Vipers two years ago...” His speech slowed, and his eyes grew distant. “Someone was killed.”
“Yeah, I heard. My cousin told me you killed someone.”
“Is that what everyone’s saying?” He looked puzzled. “No, it didn’t happen like that. The Vipers killed a member of my MC.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
He took a deep drag of his cigarette before continuing. “Greg was the president of the Tyrants back then. He was my best friend. We grew up together. After he was killed, I kinda lost it. I guess I did a few things I’m not proud of, but I won’t go into detail. I don’t want to put you off.” He grinned. “A rumour began that I was already the head of the Tyrants. I guess word spread about what I did. I grew up quickly that summer I can tell you....” He became distant again. “I presume the others noticed the leadership quality in me.” He smirked. “I was getting respect from people I didn’t even know. The rest of the members started to look up to me, and as we needed a new pres. I was voted in, unanimously.”
We talked about the
past life of the Tyrants, and the stuff they managed to get away with. It sounded exciting and thrilling. They were outlaws, who refused to conform to societies rules. But then I knew that before I decided to involve myself.
He told me about the time they’d broken into an ice cream factory. They weren’t there for money, or the ice cream. It was a laugh, something to release the boredom. He told me that because it was the closest he’d got to being caught; it gave him an intense rush and made him even more daring.
After climbing over the metal fencing, they made their way to the huge freezer, propped the door open and rummaged through the boxes of ice pops, scoffing as much as they could. Marcus wasn’t satisfied and wanted to find the vats of ice cream and add an ingredient of his own. I could imagine what that was.
Getting into the factory wasn’t a problem, dodging the security guard patrolling the building was, and it wasn’t long before their presence was noticed. Half of the Tyrants were going to flee, only Marcus stood his ground, so the others did too. He wasn’t afraid of anything.
“The guard just stood there, shitting himself. It was hilarious. He told us to bugger off and said he was gonna call the cops. I knew he wouldn’t, he was an old man, probably retired. I was gonna belt him, teach him a lesson for poking his nose into my business. I wanted to prove to myself, and to the others, that I could do it and get away with it. I guess I felt invincible at that point.”
He fell silent, but I needed to know the ending of that fateful night.
“So what happened?” I asked.
“We left eventually. We’d had our fun. I left the old man alone if that’s what you’re asking. He hadn’t gotten in my way. He was harmless, so I let him be.”
I laughed at this, although it did make me wonder.
Marcus told me he had grown up with the Tyrants and couldn’t remember life without them. I think he was trying to warn me about who the Tyrants really were.
In Times of Violence Page 5
