“Okay!” Willie shouted. “Now turn the thing in your hand! No, your other hand!”
Herb turned it and the engine revved.
“Now pull up the kickstand!” Willie called over the noise. Herb looked at him blankly. “The . . . thing that’s keeping it from falling over!”
Herb nodded and pulled up the kickstand.
“Okay!” Willie cried. “Go!”
The bike lurched forward, reared up on its back tire, and fell in a roaring heap as Herb jumped out of the way. It sputtered in the dirt and the engine died.
“Not like that,” Willie said.
Each of them made several attempts, slowly getting the feel for the bikes, until they all more or less had the hang of it. The sun had almost fully set over the mountains west of the lake when Herb asked Norbert, “Okay. Which way to The Emperor?”
Norbert consulted his phone and pointed north. “Thirty miles that way.”
“Good,” Herb said. “Let’s ride.”
Engines roaring, Herb and company rolled up to The Emperor just as the moon had risen up past the surrounding trees. The bar was a long, squat log cabin with glowing neon beer signs in the windows and rows of motorcycles lined up in front, leaning drunkenly into one another. Herb parked at the end of the row, and BooBoo, Norbert, and Willie lined up next to him.
“Okay,” Herb said, dismounting. “Let’s find this son of a bitch.”
“Herb, wait,” Norbert said, and Herb turned to him. “Are you sure about this?”
“We’re about a minute away from finding the guy who murdered my family,” Herb said. “Of course I’m sure.”
Herb turned to walk toward the entrance, but Norbert grabbed his shoulder. “Just . . . think about this for a second, okay? You could die in there tonight, you know. You could die.”
Herb stared at Norbert. Very softly he said, “I died the night Emma and Kate were killed.”
No one had anything to say to this, but the statement gave Herb pause.
“But you guys . . .” Herb continued, looking from one face to another. “. . . you guys still have families, people who love you. I don’t want them to go through what I went through. You go home and be safe. You got me this far. And I appreciate it.”
He held out his hand to shake, but no one did.
“The two of you are my family,” BooBoo said.
“There’s three of us, Boo,” Willie said, smiling.
“I wasn’t counting myself,” BooBoo replied seriously, and after a moment, the other three burst out laughing.
“I say we go in there,” Willie said, after the laughter subsided, “kill this fucker, get out alive, and ride off into the sunset.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” asked Herb. He headed for the front door, and his friends followed close behind.
The inside was brightly lit, with a long bar at one end, tables and chairs filling the middle, and a dance floor with a beat-up jukebox at the other. It was packed with bikers, all denim and leather, and the walls reverberated with loud conversation and drunken laughter.
Herb had pictured in his mind an Old West saloon, where the stranger would walk through the batwing doors and the place would go suddenly silent, but nothing of the sort happened. No one paid them any mind whatsoever.
An empty table sat across the room and they made their way to it, sitting down with furtive glances over their shoulders.
“Any sign of the Phantom Corps?” Herb asked, leaning in close so as not to be heard.
“Over by the jukebox,” Willie said, not looking. “Far end of the dance floor.”
Herb looked over. Three tables had been grouped together to form one long one, and it was attended by large, ragged-looking bikers with the same grim reaper design on their jackets and the words PHANTOM CORPS MC above and below the patch. They were surrounded by scantily clad women, standing and sitting on laps, and they were all shouting and laughing uproariously.
“Anyone with long blond hair?” Herb asked.
BooBoo leaned backward in his chair, taking advantage of the best view. He watched for a few moments and then leaned forward.
“No,” he said. “The girls are all brunette. Except for one redhead.”
The other three stared at him.
“What?” he asked innocently.
“The guy we’re looking for has long blond hair,” Willie said.
“Oh,” BooBoo said thoughtfully. “Right.”
He leaned back again and watched for a minute, then leaned forward again. “Nope,” he said. “No guys with long blond hair.”
“Wait,” Norbert said, his attention suddenly caught. They all looked over.
An impossibly tall, muscular biker with white-blond hair pulled into a long ponytail had just emerged from the men’s room, followed by a woman in a black leather mini-skirt who was fixing her lipstick. The biker approached the seat at the head of the table, which was occupied by a smaller, younger biker. The blond kicked him hard in the chest and sent him flying into the next table, then straightened the chair, sat down, and pulled the girl in the mini-skirt onto his lap.
“That’s got to be him,” Norbert said nervously. “Herb, what do we do?”
But Herb was already on his feet, walking over toward the biker as though in a trance. Willie, Norbert, and BooBoo scrambled out of their seats to join him.
The four of them sidestepped their way between chairs and around tables until they stood right next to the blond biker’s chair. He was busy whispering something to the girl on his lap, but when he sensed their presence, he turned around. He sized the four of them up for a moment and then smiled.
“Well, well, well,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. “If it isn’t Herb Dunkelberger and his three faggot friends.”
Herb stared at the man, speechless.
“You can take off those stupid fucking disguises, you’re not fooling anyone,” the biker continued. “Unless those are your Comic-Con outfits.”
The rest of the bikers around the table roared with drunken laughter, but Herb barely heard them. “You know me?” he asked weakly.
“Yeah,” the biker said. “And you know me. All four of you do.”
They all stared blankly.
“Greg Keenum,” the biker said casually. “PS 104. Hey Herb, for old times’ sake, you want me to drag you around the dance floor by your underwear like I did on the schoolyard?”
The rest of his gang laughed again, harder this time, but Herb was still in a state of total shock.
“You . . .” he started softly, and then his voice filled in with anger. “You killed my family!”
“Yeah,” Greg shrugged. “So?”
His dismissive attitude only infuriated Herb further. “Why?” he hissed.
“I’ll tell you why,” Greg said, standing up to his full, impressive height. The girl fell sideways off his lap and stood back. “Because you didn’t deserve them.”
Herb could find no words, so Greg pressed on.
“Lookit you,” he spat. “Scrawny little shit. Four-eyed little faggot. Big old Jew nose. Thinks he’s smarter than everyone.”
After each statement, he shoved Herb’s shoulder.
“Stop it,” Herb said through gritted teeth.
“No,” Greg said, shoving Herb again. “You never did anything to earn that pretty little wife of yours. You never stood up for yourself. You never defended yourself, how were you supposed to defend your family? You ask me, I did you a favor killing those girls. Someday they would have figured out what a pathetic excuse for a husband and father they were both saddled with.”
“Shut up!” Herb shrieked as he pulled two enormous silver pistols from inside his vest and pointed them straight at Greg Keenum’s face. There was a loud scraping of chairs as the rest of the Phantom Corps bikers stood up to defend their own. Norbert, BooBoo, and Willie pulled out their own weapons and brandished them at whoever was closest.
“Don’t,” Willie said simply, and the other bikers backed off, hands ra
ised, so Herb and Greg had the area to themselves.
Greg didn’t flinch, even though the guns were only a foot away from his face. He didn’t raise his hands either. He merely studied Herb’s face for a few tense moments, and then smirked.
“Well?” he said tauntingly. “Go on. You gonna avenge your family? What a joke. You don’t have the guts, Cuntelberger.”
The bar had gone deathly silent. All eyes were on Herb and Greg. Herb’s hands shook. He stared at the face of the man who had taken all the light out of his life; not just his adult life, but his childhood as well. He had assumed killing a killer would be so easy. But now . . .
Herb slowly lowered the guns.
“Exactly,” Greg said. “Now I think it’s time I teach you a lesson in—”
Blam.
Herb had lowered the guns to waist height, and then fired them both directly at Greg’s crotch.
“Aaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiigh!” Greg howled in an inhuman falsetto as he fell backward onto the dance floor, his hands pressed to his groin. Blood spurted out from between his fingers and stained his jeans in gore. The bar filled with screams as everyone made a mad dash for the exit. BooBoo, Willie, and Norbert found themselves with no one to point their weapons at as the sound of motorcycle engines roaring to life filled the evening air.
Greg writhed in agony as the pool of blood around him grew.
“Herb,” BooBoo said breathlessly. “You shot him in the dick.”
Herb lowered to a crouch over Greg’s twisting, twitching, gagging form. Greg’s cheeks and lips had turned dark purple, and the rest of his face was as white as sour cream. Tears coursed out of his slitted eyes.
“I wasn’t afraid to kill you,” Herb said matter-of-factly. “But I decided I wanted you to suffer first. Suffer the same agony you caused me when you killed my wife and daughter, you motherfucking son of a bitch!”
Herb slammed the butt of his gun into Greg’s temple. His blond ponytail whipped as the side of his head bounced off the hard dance floor and he howled in renewed pain.
“Pl-please . . .” Greg pleaded.
“Please?” Herb asked. “Please what?”
“Help.”
“Oh, no one’s coming to help you,” Herb said, straightening up. “We’re going to watch you suffer until you’re just about to pass out from the loss of blood and the pain, and then I’m going to put a bullet in your head and end this. You’re going to live the last moments of your life in fear and terror and misery. Sound familiar?”
Greg could only whimper in response. Half of the dance floor was now stained with his bright red blood. His breathing was becoming strained.
“Almost ready?” Herb asked, as Greg’s eyes began to roll up in his head. “Good.”
He placed the barrel of one of the guns right next to Greg’s temple, who seemed beyond the ability to perceive it.
“Burn in hell,” Herb said, and pulled the trigger.
“Wow,” BooBoo said softly. “You killed him. You killed Greg Keenum.”
“Of course I did,” Herb said. “Was there ever any question that I would?”
“I never doubted it,” Willie said. “And good riddance to that asshole.”
“Hear hear!” Norbert cried.
“What do you do now?” asked Dougie.
“Um, let’s see . . .” Herb said, leaning over the table and consulting some sheets of paper. “I leave The Emperor and get on my motorcycle.”
“Me too,” said BooBoo.
“And me,” Willie said.
“Ditto,” said Norbert.
“Okay,” said Dougie. “You look both north and south on Route 23, and there are police cruisers parked across the highway, blocking your escape.”
“What can we see east and west?” Herb asked.
“Woods.”
“Then I head west into the woods.”
Dougie rolled a pair of multi-sided die. “There’s a low-hanging branch in your path and you hit it at a high rate of speed, decapitating yourself.”
“Aw, man!” Herb moaned.
“I’ll head east,” Willie said, and Dougie rolled again.
“There’s a low-hanging branch in your path and you hit it at a high rate of speed, decapitating yourself,” Dougie repeated.
“I said I went east,” Willie insisted.
“What can I tell you?” Dougie said. “There are a lot of low-hanging branches in this area.”
“I’m gonna ride toward the northbound police blockade and shoot my way through,” Norbert said confidently. Dougie rolled again.
“The cops blast you off your cycle with high-powered shotguns, killing you instantly,” Dougie said.
“That’s it,” BooBoo said, physically raising his hands at the table. “I surrender. I give up.”
Dougie rolled the die. “The police take you into custody without incident.” He rolled again. “You’re given a life sentence for your role in the death of Greg Keenum.”
“Ha!” BooBoo said, and pounded his fist on the table.
“You’re happy about a life sentence?” Willie asked.
“I’m the only one to survive the quest!” BooBoo exclaimed. “Hell yeah I’m happy!”
“Your quest is complete, gentlemen,” Dougie said, nodding his head. “I thank you.”
All five of them yawned and stretched in their chairs, and then Herb turned to Dougie.
“You know, I’ve got to say, aside from the fact that my family was brutally murdered, that was truly an exceptional quest.”
“Yeah,” Norbert said. “What inspired you to create a quest set in real life?”
“I’m not sure,” Dougie said. “I get worried every time Herb tells me that Kate and Emma are going up to the lake house. I know it’s safe, but still, it’s a crazy world. So I started thinking about things that could happen and it just grew from there.”
“Can I just ask,” Norbert put forward, “why you cast sweet little Cassie as a prostitute who was using Herb’s lake cabin as her own personal whorehouse?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dougie said with a sly grin. “I’ve always had a feeling about Cassie.”
“And what purpose did she serve as a character in the quest?”
“Oh, she knew who the murderer was all along,” Dougie said. “But you all agreed to believe her when she said she didn’t know anything. Never allow yourselves to be distracted by a pretty face, gentlemen.”
“Okay, well answer me this,” Willie said. “When Greg Keenum—great idea casting him as the villain, by the way—broke into the cabin to kill Kate and Emma, why didn’t either of them call the police?”
“Kate did call the police, dummy,” Dougie said. “How else would they know there’d been a murder?”
“But you never said that Kate called the police.”
“You never asked.”
“And where did I get the motorcycles and all the gear?” BooBoo asked.
“You know, if you ask too many questions, it all falls apart,” Dougie sighed. “Just accept the quest as is, okay?”
“As long as Kate and Emma are alive and well in real life, I’m fine with it,” Herb smiled.
“Someone talking about me?” a voice called down the stairs. A pair of sneaker-clad feet hopped down to the middle stair and Emma’s face peered down at them all.
“What are you doing here?” Herb asked.
Emma looked at her father with kind exasperation. “It’s Sunday night.”
Herb looked around in shock and saw similar expressions on everyone else’s face.
“Is it?” Herb asked. “Is it really?”
“Yeah, it really is,” Emma said. “Mom’s making you guys sandwiches because she figures you ate crap all weekend. Come up when you’re ready.”
She disappeared back up the stairs and Herb, Willie, Norbert, BooBoo, and Dougie all rose from the table. As they made their way to the staircase, Willie threw an arm around Herb’s shoulders and smiled.
“I’m sure glad they’re not dead,” he
said as they mounted the stairs. “Kate makes such good sandwiches.”
2.
B.B. AND RED
My name is Red. This is my story.
The day was gray and overcast. A cold, bitter wind blew what few dead leaves remained off the skeletal branches. It was a bad day for traveling—for any outdoor activity, really—but that wouldn’t dissuade me. I’d get to my grandmother’s house or freeze to death trying.
It wasn’t love for my grandmother that convinced me to wrap myself in my heavy traveling cloak and pack food and a bottle of wine in my basket. No, not love by a long shot. Grandmother and I don’t get along, and probably never will. But grandmother owns that gorgeous house in the woods. The one with central air and the indoor swimming pool. As long as I kept in the old bag’s good graces, the house would be mine someday. Grandmother had a case of the sniffles. So I was off.
The wind whipped my long black hair around as I stepped out on the path toward the woods. If I’d been off to meet one of the boys—even Sneezy—I would have been annoyed that I’d soon be completely windswept. But it was just grandmother, after all. The old battle axe was half-blind as it was, and sometimes thought I was a girl she knew in her youth named Gretel. Whatever. With any luck, my next trip to the house would be as the owner, not a visitor.
I reached the edge of the woods and paused as I peered into the dark corridor formed by the denuded trees. Now, I’m a brave one—anyone who knows me would likely list gutsy and sexy as my top two qualities, and not necessarily in that order—but the darkness and the howling wind made me think twice, if only for a moment, about finishing my journey.
I stepped into the woods and picked up my pace.
I’d only been on the path for a few minutes when I saw him. He was a few yards ahead, leaning against a tree, looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world. My heart skipped a beat. I knew this day had to come, but I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say or do. Or what he might say or do.
I took a deep breath as I walked boldly up to him, a fixed smirk on my face.
“Well, well,” I said. “If it isn’t B.B. Wolf.”
B.B. turned his attention toward me and a wide, toothy grin split his face. I felt heat spreading from my chest to my extremities.
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