Highway 60 – San Bernardino County, California
The 57 Ford Panel didn’t have much power but it would do the trick. It didn’t stand out and the price meant it could be ditched if needed. The registration belonged to a straw person with a fake Rialto address that couldn’t be traced back to the club. Raider and Greaser would be following in Raider’s 58 red on red Chevy Impala. The 348 Factory Tri-Power with four on the floor, as Greaser said, “Ran like one fast mother fucker.”
As they cruised down Highway 60 past Redlands, Raider looked over at Greaser in the dark car. Feeling his stare, Greaser looked over at him; his face lit by the glow of the instruments lights. They grinned at each other. The anticipation had resurrected the old familiar thrill of combat. They were going to hit a target that would lay their brother to rest. They ached with the craving to avenge Hawk.
Up ahead in the van, Bobby, Fatty and Clark Kent were wired up in excitement. They’d all been in some sort of hopeful denial for a while, not accepting that Hawk might not be back. Now, the time for taking care of business was at hand.
Bobby intended to show his brothers that he had what it took to take care of business despite his lack of combat experience. He had no plans to hotdog, but he wanted them to know that he would take a bullet for them if necessary.
Kent wiped steam off his glasses with a bandana he’d pulled out of his pocket. He hadn’t knocked any heads in a long time and his blood pumped at high-speed with eagerness. He respected Hawk and thought this might be the most important job he’d pulled since the war.
Fatty always liked to knock heads. The big old ass kicking biker acted like a soft old teddy bear most of the time; until he got riled up. Fuck with him or those he cared for and he became a wounded grizzly.
They eased up on the gas and passed up the Desert Edge Motel once, cruised down to the end of town and flipped a U-turn heading west. Gravel crunched under tires that skulked into the parking lot.
Unit 10 sat at the Northeast corner, next to a walkway into the pool area. A rat-bike sat alongside a car up on cement blocks in front of Unit 10 but it didn’t worry them because Jimmy lived alone and didn’t have any friends. They drove past Unit 10 and pulled into two empty spots in front of Units 12 and 13. The walkway ran alongside Unit 13 back into the pool area.
Fatty and Bobby followed the walkway around to the back, while Clark Kent stayed in the van keeping it idling. Greaser and Raider stepped out of the Chevy and headed for the front door of Jimmy’s room.
As they got to the door, Greaser raised his engineer booted size 12 foot and kicked the door in. The flimsy door splintered at the jam and flew inward flat to the floor. Within a beat, they stomped over the door and stormed the room.
Inside, four men sitting on the sides of a sagging bed looked up with stunned faces. The hazy smoke-filled room reeked of weed, and it billowed out of the doorway like an exhaled cigarette.
In a matter of seconds, the occupants recovered their senses and grabbed for weapons that lay in the middle of the bed. Delmar came up with a double barreled shotgun and put both rounds into Raider’s chest as Raider yelled, “Oh shit, he’s not by himself!”
Greaser dropped to the ground and fired his 1911 Colt 45 Auto at Jimmy. Jimmy rolled off the bed but not fast enough to avoid getting shot in the side. He had a chance to return fire but it went wild over Greaser’s head, hitting the windshield of the abandoned car, shattering the glass. Jimmy lay on the floor bleeding, his outstretched hand a foot and a half away from his dropped gun.
Around back, Fatty and Bobby heard the first shotgun blast prompting Fatty to crash all of his 300 pounds through the patio door. Bobby rolled in after Fatty, shooting his .45 as he stood up, slamming three rounds into Delmar, who dropped to the floor.
Fatty’s cannonball momentum had slammed him into the third Hades Brother who had been ready to run out the back way. Fatty’s sawed off shotgun had gotten caught up in the drapes when he had made his back entrance, so jerking his bowie knife out of its scabbard hooked to his belt, he stuck the Hades Brother in the gut and pulled upward, gutting him like a slaughterhouse pig.
Bobby spotted Jimmy’s hand slithering toward his dropped gun, so he emptied two more rounds into him, stopping his hand in its tracks.
The room stunk of blood and cordite, a scarlet carnage of flesh. The silence after all the gun fire was deafening. Raider lay crumpled into a pool of blood outside the motel room where the blast had blown him.
Fatty reached the front door as Greaser yelled at him, “Get Raider in the van now!”
Clark Kent flew out of the van when he saw what had happened to Raider. He kneeled over him and then looked up at Greaser. “He’s fucking dead, Greaser, he’s dead. We’ve got to get the fuck out of here.”
Greaser said, “We can’t go back to Long Beach and we don’t leave brothers behind.”
Clark Kent looked over at Bobby who stood looking down at Raider, “Bobby, remember the party we had up at my folk’s cabin in Big Bear, don’t ya?”
Bobby said, “Yeah, I remember it. Let’s meet up at the cabin and figure out our next move.”
Bobby headed for the Chevy. Greaser, close behind him, said, “We’ll split up; you fuckers drive that van normal now, don’t attract any attention. Bobby and I will take the 18 up from Berdoo and come up through Lake Arrowhead and you guys take Highway 30 up from Redlands through Mentone and we’ll meet at the cabin.”
Fatty lifted Raider’s body into the back of the van and slammed the back doors. He shook his head once, and then lumbered around to the passenger’s side, quickly heaving his big body up into the van. He slammed the door and said, “Agitate the gravel the fuck out of here, man.” Clark Kent threw the idling van into reverse, turned around and left the parking lot, reminding himself to drive normal.
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Peace to you all whatever you may choose,
Nancy Frye-Swope, The Retired Biker Housewife
Nancy Frye-Swope 2010 © All Rights Reserved
