Stone - Big Girls & Bad Boys

by D. H. Cameron

  “Don’t let the gun get in your head. You control the gun,” he told me. I nodded and looked down range. I peered down the sights as Stone had shown me, slipped my finger onto the trigger and took a deep breath. I squeezed and...it wasn’t that bad. I could hear the gun go off but with the ear muffs on, it wasn’t loud or scary.

  “That’s fun,” I told him, turning to regard Stone. He extended a hand and made sure I didn’t point the gun his way. “Oh, sorry,” I said. This was all new to me and all the safety procedures weren’t ingrained yet.

  “That’s fine. Go ahead and do it again,” he told me. I nodded and did as Stone told me. Soon, I had emptied the magazine, 15 rounds in this case. I turned to see what Stone thought, paying attention to where I pointed the gun this time. He handed me another magazine. “Good job. Now load another, rack the slide and do it again,” he told me.

  “Okay,” I replied and did as he asked. I emptied that magazine and several more until I was shooting acceptable groups. In other words, all the bullets actually hit the target but not necessarily the middle.

  “Good enough,” Stone told me as he took the gun. “Stand back,” he told me. I took a couple of steps backwards. He slammed a magazine in, released the slide and pointed the gun downrange. Suddenly, he let loose, emptying his magazine in mere seconds and in a circle dead center on the target the size of the lid on my cup of coffee.

  “Holy shit,” I exclaimed. Stone checked the gun to make sure it was empty and set it on the case that sat on the tailgate of his pickup.

  “Impressive, right?” he remarked.

  “Honestly, yes. I want to be able to do that,” I told him.

  “Practice, practice, practice,” he told me.

  “Can I have my own?” I wondered.

  “Yeah, if you want. You don’t need my permission,” he replied.

  “I mean, can I legally get one?” I asked.

  “Oh, not like this one. This one is illegal here,” Stone told me. “How old are you?” he added.

  “Twenty,” I said.

  “Really?” he asked.

  “I’m almost twenty one,” I told him. Stone smirked and raised that single eyebrow at me. “What?” I wondered.

  “I didn’t know you were so young,” he said.

  “Oh stop it, you sicko,” I teased.

  “Anyway, you can’t buy a handgun until your twenty-one. But I can buy one and give it to you. We’ll take a trip over to Nevada or Arizona and get you one like this,” he told me.

  “An illegal gun?” I wondered.

  “Yeah. California’s gun laws are bullshit so I don’t pay attention. Does that bother you?” Stone asked. I wondered if he was testing me but I didn’t think so.

  “No, it’s kind of sexy,” I said. We were in good spirits but it was early and midnight seemed a long time away. It wasn’t. We went home, cleaned the 9mm pistol, and then Stone brought another that he would carry. It was similar but in a .45 caliber. The afternoon dragged by as we tried to pretend we weren’t going to face danger later that night. We watched a movie, made dinner, watched another movie and then just sat in the dark as the reality sank in.

  “It’s early but we should just go to the clubhouse,” I said finally.

  “Yeah, this sucks,” Stone told me.

  “Big time,” I replied. We got dressed to go out. We both wore jeans and boots. Stone wore a t-shirt and leather jacket. I wore a tank top and my own leather jacket. Inside, I had my pistol tucked into a pocket. Stone wore his in the waistband of his jeans under his untucked t-shirt.

  We drove to the clubhouse in my car. It dawned on us both that Stone didn’t have a bike for us to ride that night as we drove. My compact car wasn’t exactly going to project power when we met the Jamaicans. In fact, they might simply laugh at us before they killed us. “What are we going to do?” I wondered.

  “Borrow a bike, I guess,” Stone said. We pulled into the parking lot of Rocky’s garage and found the roll up door of the clubhouse open. Rocky, Ginger and the Mike’s were there already. “Evening,” Stone greeted them.

  “You’re early,” Rocky observed.

  “Sick of sitting around thinking about this,” Stone admitted. “By the way, I don’t have a bike after last night. Could we borrow one?” he asked. Rocky looked at the Mikes. They both grinned back at Rocky. Ginger had covered her mouth to hide her own smile. “What?” Stone asked.

  Rocky tilted his head at the next bay. It was open but too dark inside. Stone walked over. I followed. Curious to see what was going on. Rocky wandered over and as we stood in front of the dark garage bay, he hit the lights. They flickered to life and there sat Stone’s bike.

  “What the hell?” he asked as a big smile crossed his face.

  “Mike and I went back last night and got your ride. We spent the day, along with Rocky, getting it ready. Some of the bling was already stripped and the paint on the side of the tank is messed up but it runs,” Big Mike said.

  “I figured it was toast. I was going to file an insurance claim and tell them it was stolen,” Stone said.

  “Sorry, kid. You don’t get a new bike. You have to ride this piece of shit,” Rocky said. Stone laughed.

  “I love this piece of shit. You guys rock. I don’t know how to thank you,” Stone said.

  “You’re a brother. It’s the least we could do,” Little Mike said. Stone walked over and shook each man’s hand in turn and then went to the fridge and grabbed us all a beer and delivered them as Rocky took his seat again.

  “Thanks. I mean that. I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me that I lost my bike but it bothered me,” Stone said. I leaned on him, sitting on the arm of his chair. He slipped his arm around me.

  “Aw, Stone,” I began sympathetically, “You’re not going to cry are you?” He looked up at me, one eyebrow cocked, and then dug his fingers into my ribs. I laughed out loud and tried to squirm away but he stopped before I could. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it,” I told him.

  “That’s why I love you,” he said. Fucker. Now I almost cried. He said it to me the previous night but this was in public, in front of friends.

  “I love you too,” I replied and adjusted my position to get comfortable again.

  “You’re not going to cry, are you?” Ginger asked me. I glared at her.

  “Shut up,” I said and blew a kiss at her. She did the same. We sat and drank, talked and waited, trying to avoid the eight hundred pound gorilla in the room. For a time, it was pleasant, even when Dusty and Enrique showed up on their bikes, Dusty leaving the van full of guns at the clubhouse locked up in one of the bays. They seemed to have shifted their attitude in the past twenty four hours. But when Bobby showed up, the whole mood changed. Dusty and Enrique, once his allies, now mostly ignored him. The rest of us did too as much as we could. It was awkward but the time to go had come anyway. Dusty went to his van but Stone stopped him.

  “No, not this time. Maria and I will drive the van,” he told Dusty. Stone hadn’t mentioned that but it made sense. Bobby might just disappear with the guns and money getting the rest of us killed.

  “Yeah, I don’t blame you,” Dusty replied. Bobby didn’t like it.

  “I’d rather ride anyway,” he said though his anger was apparent.

  “We’ll be right behind you,” Dusty told us. We wished Dusty good luck and then Stone walked over to Bobby.

  “Let’s do this. We can settle all the other stuff later,” Stone told him. Bobby seemed to be ignoring him but nodded.

  “Yeah, fine,” he said. Stone turned to me and rolled his eyes. I walked over to Bobby as Stone went to the van but he stopped to watch. I leaned close to Bobby.

  “If you fuck this up, I’ll shoot you myself. Got it?” I told him quietly and showed him the pistol in my jacket. Bobby looked at it and then back at me. He almost opened his mouth to respond but I gave him a hard look. He didn’t respond. I walked past Stone. “Let’s go,” I said. Big Mike’s Impala roared to life and Bobby started his bike. Dusty c
limbed on his bike and kicked started the chopper. A moment later, they followed us out of the parking lot on our way to put this behind us.

  “What did you say to him?” Stone asked.

  “I wished him good luck,” I said. Stone cocked an eyebrow at me followed by that familiar smirk.

  “Whatever you say,” he told me, knowing damn well I didn’t wish Bobby luck. I laughed. I was scared out of my wits but I couldn’t deny that I also felt alive. I wanted to get this over with but the fact I was going to meet the Jamaicans made me feel...I don’t know...powerful. I wasn’t letting events dictate to me. I was taking action and it felt good. I’m sure I could discover other, less dangerous, ways to feel this way, maybe owning an illegal gun or getting a bike of my own, but taking control felt good.

  It was a half hour drive to the reservoir. Stone and I barely spoke. You could cut the tension with a knife. We finally arrived at the spot the Jamaicans had chosen and it looked like they hadn’t arrived yet. Then several pairs of headlights flared to life up ahead in a stand of trees. Stone lead Bobby and Dusty towards them. The Mikes had told us over the radio that they were parked a quarter mile back.

  They had brought more guns, just in case, but hopefully, we wouldn’t need them. One of the Jamaicans appeared out of the glare and held up his hand. We stopped and more vehicles appeared out of nowhere and surrounded us. Stone shut down the van as the two choppers parked alongside. Stone smiled at me and pat my leg.

  “Let’s do this,” he said.

  “Right behind you,” I replied. We climbed out of the van and approached the lone Jamaican. As we met him, more Jamaicans appeared. I was confused. They weren’t black.

  “I assume you brought the guns and our money,” the man asked. He was in skinny jeans and a plaid shirt. He wore a knit hat, glasses and an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. What the fuck? I looked about and the others were dressed much like this guy, some in plaid shirts and others in t-shirts, all of them white. One had a prominent marijuana leaf in the familiar red, yellow and green colors. Another sported dreadlocks and a Bob Marley t-shirt.

  “In the van,” Stone answered.

  “Show me...and no funny business. You’ll be dead before you hit the ground,” the man warned as he leveled his rifle at us. These guys were potheads, Rastafarian wannabes. But they had guns and they weren’t what you’d expect from a bunch of pot smoking slackers. Maybe that was by design. Jamaicans was just a name. They certainly weren’t from the island nation.

  Stone and I walked around the van as the apparent leader of the so-called Jamaicans followed, his gun trained on us. Stone opened the rear doors and let the man look in. “Feel free to inspect the cargo. It’s all there. Your money, every dollar, is in the duffle,” Stone assured him.

  The Jamaican leader whistled and two other gang members appeared out of the glare of the headlights all around us. They sported more Jamaican and Rasta colors and images. They reeked of pot. They climbed in the van and opened the top of the crate. They pulled guns out and set them aside, inspecting and counting as they went. Soon, they were placing them back inside, inspecting them a second time.

  “They’re good to go, Davy,” one said.

  “So, the Knights kept their word...this time,” Davy said to Stone. I noticed other Jamaicans had surrounded Bobby and Dusty.

  “The Knights kept their word. Last night was a mistake by a soon to be ex-member,” Stone replied.

  “The terms have changed. We want the guns, our money and him,” Davy told us and pointed at Bobby. Bobby went for his gun but the other Jamaicans seized him before he could do anything with it. One relieved Bobby of the gun as the other slugged Bobby in the gut. Bobby doubled over in obvious pain. He really wasn’t very smart.

  “You want him?” Stone asked.

  “You don’t want trouble. The Jamaicans don’t want trouble either. You give us what we want and we’ll forget all about last night,” Davy said. Davy didn’t look intimidating but his confident demeanor carried some weight behind it.

  “We want you to forget about the Knights entirely. We didn’t want this. This was Bobby’s idea and he did it without the club’s consent,” Stone explained.

  “Then it sounds like we’re in agreement. We get our guns, our money and a plaything. You get to leave alive. Perfect,” Davy said. Stone exhaled and stared Davy down. I wanted to leave. I wanted out of here and bad. But even I couldn’t see leaving Bobby. He was an asshole but these guys would kill him. Would Stone agree to that? I shouldn’t have even questioned it.

  “I can’t do that. He’s a Knight as of right now. I can’t give him up,” Stone told Davy. The man frowned but Bobby couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  “Yeah, fuck you,” he shouted and winked at Stone. Stone shook his head almost imperceptibly as one of the Jamaicans hit Bobby in the head with the butt of his rifle. Bobby crumpled to the ground as I winced. I didn’t like Bobby. If I had any respect for him, I’d lost it the previous night. But I didn’t want to see him hurt...or killed.

  “Then we’ve got a problem,” Davy said. Before I knew what was happening, Stone pulled his pistol out so quick it was a blur. He pointed it at Davy’s chest but Davy had his rifle barrel pressed against Stone’s stomach. “Stupid, man. You can’t win,” Davy said coolly.

  “And I’m not leaving without him. I might die but so will you,” Stone said, equally calm as if this was a normal occurrence. I held my breath as the two men faced off. Other Jamaicans turned their attention and rifles on us. This was exactly the kind of thing I feared.

  “That pig mean that much to you?” Davy asked.

  “I’m loyal to a fault,” Stone replied. Davy’s eyes searched out his fellow Jamaicans.

  “One word, one look, and you’re dead,” Davy said. The Jamaicans surrounded us and Davy was probably right. Any one of them could pull the trigger and end this. I swallowed hard. This got serious real quick but I wasn’t about to let Stone die without a fight. I hated to say it, but I agreed with him. I wasn’t going to give up Bobby to these gangsters. He was an asshole but he was a Knight for now.

  I felt powerless to do anything suddenly. What could I do? Stone could kill Davy but then we’d all die. But Davy could easily signal to one of his gang to take Stone out. Stone might get a shot off or he might not. And then, we’d all die. I couldn’t see a way out but I wasn’t going to die without doing something. I glanced down at my jacket and the answer came to me.

  “If he dies, you die,” I said as I pulled out my pistol and put it to Davy’s temple. I didn’t have too, but I pulled back the hammer to impress upon him that I was serious. “Put your gun down and call off your dogs,” I said. Davy looked out the corner of his eye at me and a smile crossed his face. I wasn’t sure what that meant.

  “Back off,” he ordered his gang as he lowered his rifle. He began to laugh. I wondered what he would do but I didn’t flinch. I held my gun at his temple, my finger pressed against the trigger. I didn’t want to pull the trigger...I promise I really didn’t...but if it meant keeping Stone alive, then I’d do it. “You’ve got balls,” Davy said as he let the rifle hang from the sling and raised his hands.

  “What?” I asked, trying to figure out what exactly Davy was doing.

  “You’ve got balls. Fine, you can have the prick. Let us unload the guns, grab the money and you’re on your way,” Davy said. Stone glanced at me. I shrugged. “I’m a man of my word. I really only wanted the guns. The money is a bonus. Taking him home was like the cherry on top. Can’t blame a guy for asking,” Davy said.

  Stone lowered his pistol and I followed suit. I carefully uncocked the hammer after it was pointed at the ground. I half expected the Jamaicans to kill us right then and there but they didn’t. Davy was a man of his word it appeared. He held out his hand and Stone shook it. Then he held it out towards me. I shook it as well after a moment.

  “Your old lady?” Davy asked Stone.

  “Yeah,” Stone replied.

  “Lucky man,�
�� Davy said and winked at me. I couldn’t help but smile. The Jamaicans unloaded the crate and grabbed the money. They dragged Bobby, still unconscious, over and tossed him into the van. The tension wasn’t completely gone but it had largely disappeared. We had a deal and both sides were satisfied.

  “What about his bike?” Dusty asked as he watched the proceedings. I didn’t know how to ride so I couldn’t take it. Even if Bobby woke up, I doubt he’d be in any shape to ride it himself.

  “We can have one of the Mikes get it,” I suggested. Stone stroked his beard.

  “No,” he replied and called to Davy. “It’s yours if you want it,” Stone told him.

  “It’s nice. Thanks,” Davy said. I looked at Stone, wondering why he did that. So was Dusty.

  “Teach Bobby a lesson,” Stone said. Dusty shrugged. I think Dusty was done with Bobby just like we were.