by JG Faherty
He’d timed his escape from Atkins’s body perfectly, exiting right after delivering his final words to Dennis. No sense in experiencing any more pain than he had to, and Harley’s body had been in a motherfucking heap of pain. So much, in fact, that Eddie almost couldn’t stand it. It had been a hell of a relief to exit the fat bastard’s body and follow the cruiser back to town.
Also, it had smelled awful inside the car. Whatever Harley had eaten that day, it had come out stinking worse than week-old roadkill.
He stationed himself outside the holding cell, watching a semi-conscious Atkins moaning and groaning on his bunk, until Ted Moselby came down the hall. Even better, Johnny Ray was with him.
A two-fer! This is gonna be even better than I’d hoped.
Taking a deep, metaphysical breath, Eddie re-entered Harley Atkins.
And almost screamed.
Even though he’d braced himself for it, he was still unprepared for the extent of Atkins’s agony. Every limb shrieked; it hurt to breathe, to move, to even fucking think.
Get a grip. It’s only for a few minutes. Besides, he’d been through a lot worse. Once you’d been burned alive, any other pain just didn’t compare.
Each movement was an exercise in torture, but Eddie forced Harley’s body to stand up and face the two police officers.
“Hey, fuck nuts,” he said. The words came out distorted almost beyond recognition, thanks to his missing teeth. Eddie tried to smile but only succeeded in splitting his mangled lips open again. “What’s with this cell? It smells like shit.”
“Harley, what the hell are you on?” Johnny Ray asked. Eddie almost laughed out loud. The stupid fuck was actually concerned? That wouldn’t do. He wanted him mad.
Really mad.
“Hey, Chief, wanna see my Hank Bowman impression?” He unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick, and pissed on the floor, doing his best to aim it at the cell bars. It hurt like hell but it was worth it when Johnny Ray and Moselby had to jump back a couple of feet to avoid the splash zone.
Not surprisingly, there was a strong reddish tint to the piss.
Got yourself a little kidney damage there, Harley. Sucks to be you.
“I think maybe he’s finally flipped out,” Moselby said. “He was acting crazy on the road, too, like I told you.”
“Either that or he smoked some laced weed. PCP or something.” Johnny Ray frowned. “Maybe we should send him to the hospital.”
Eddie bared his lips and growled at them. He didn’t want a trip to the hospital. But if that’s what it took to get them to open the door….
He closed his eyes and let Harley’s body fall to the floor, landing with a wet thud in his own piss.
“Oh, hell. He passed out again. Open the door, Ted.”
Eddie waited until he heard the door open, felt a hand touch his wrist. Then he sprang up, grabbed Moselby’s gun from its holster, and pushed his way out of the cell.
“Catch me if you can, dipshits!”
Ignoring the shouts behind him, Eddie ran down the hall and into the station. Every step hurt worse than the last, but he didn’t care. Surprised faces looked up as he slammed the door open and waved the gun over his head.
“Look out, look out! Crazy fucker on the loose! I think I’ll shoot somebody!” He fired a shot into the ceiling and all the faces disappeared behind desks or chairs.
“Harley! Drop the gun! Now!”
This is it. Time to make a shitload of paperwork for someone.
He turned around, gun still in hand but pointing to the side. “Screw you, ass—”
The twin explosions filled his ears at the same time he felt two mule kicks to the chest. The force of them knocked him out of Harley’s body. The sudden absence of pain was so magnificent he cried out in relief, causing one of the fluorescent lights to explode. Below him, the mortally wounded biker stumbled backward and crushed a chair as he collapsed. Johnny Ray and Moselby, both their guns trailing wisps of smoke, approached Atkins’s body.
“Goddamn,” Moselby said.
Johnny Ray shook his head.
“This is not good.”
* * *
After watching Harley’s demise, Eddie rocketed up into an afternoon sky so bright it burned his eyes, his metaphysical self filled to overflowing with energy. He’d possessed multiple people in the same day, and it was like he’d plugged himself into a super-charged battery, jacked his system with a nitrous power booster. Diablo appeared between his legs and together they shot back to earth and raced through town so fast the buildings turned into gray and brown blurs. The sound of shattering glass caught up with him as he spun his ghost cycle in a one-eighty at the end of the street and paused, his laughter shaking peals of thunder from the dazzling blue dome over the town.
Every window from the police station to the end of Main Street was nothing but a pile of broken glass on the sidewalk.
I’ve never felt so alive! The sensations running through his body were new and yet familiar, like doing coke and whiskey and pot all at once and then multiplying it by ten, but without the disorientation or fuzzy vision.
Pure fuckin’ power in the veins, man. This is what people are trying to feel when they shoot up or drop acid.
It was good. No, it was better than good, it was mother-fucking awesome, and he wanted more.
Hey, Hank. Ready or not, here I come for round two.
* * *
It didn’t take long to find Hank. He and Mouse were on the highway, heading from the clubhouse back toward town. Eddie shook his head. The club had wasted no time getting him sprung from jail. Hank’s uncle, Caleb Bowman, was an attorney in Homestead and did all the club’s legal work for free, in return for VIP status at all the parties. Eddie had seen him at the clubhouse plenty of times over the years, his nose covered in white powder and a sweet young thing or two on his lap.
“Caleb likes to work pro boner!” Ned had cracked at one party, watching his uncle lead guide a girl half his age out to his Caddy.
Eddie’s first thought was to use Hank to run Mouse off the road. But he was curious to see where they were going, so he followed them, thinking he might get the opportunity to make a public scene, with the Hell Riders at the center of it.
His curiosity paid off when they pulled into the parking lot of the Wash & Dry Laundromat. Owned by one Rollie Mason, whose daughter, Angela, just happened to be Ned Bowman’s old lady. They’d moved in together after high school, and she’d stuck by him even after he got locked away. Now, in addition to running her daddy’s business ever since he decided to take an early retirement and drink his remaining years away in front of the television, she handled the books for the club. Now, with Ned in prison, she was his primary go-between, even more so than Hank. She visited him nearly every week at the prison and returned with any orders he needed carried out.
She also spent a lot of her free time at their clubhouse, where she frequently demonstrated that she had her daddy’s genes for alcohol tolerance as well has his talent for numbers.
Eddie maneuvered Diablo lower. He had a pretty good idea what would come next. Hank and Angela would go into the back office, leaving Mouse to guard the door. A standard money run, with Hank dropping off the cash from the week’s drug sales along with the required cut from any legitimate work any member did. Twenty percent off the top, no excuses. Ned referred to it as union dues; the money was used for various purposes, like maintaining mortgage on the clubhouse and surrounding property, paying bail money, and throwing parties. With everyone in the club working either full-time or part-time jobs, plus Ned – and now Hank in his place – running a decent side business selling coke and pot, the club always had enough cash for its needs.
It was Angela’s job to hide it from the IRS.
Eddie had always figured she just mixed it in with the cash from the business. Or kept it locked in a safe somewhe
re. But no one really knew. The only two people ever allowed in the office with Angela were Ned and Hank.
More than once, Eddie had wondered if the Bowman’s were stealing from the club. A little double-dipping he expected; rank had its privileges. But it seemed like a lot more money got brought to the laundromat than the club actually spent.
Now I’ll get to see for myself.
Angela didn’t look at all pleased to see them, but she nodded for Hank to follow her to the office. Before closing the door, he turned to Mouse.
“Park your ass here and make sure nobody bothers us. Any cops come in, knock twice. Got it?”
“Sure thing.” Mouse leaned against the wall and Eddie followed Hank, but not before he caught a glimpse of the self-satisfied grin on Mouse’s face.
Like a kid whose father just let him help fix the car for the first time. Fucking suck-ass.
Yeah, and you were just as proud when Ned picked you to watch his back, his subconscious reminded him.
The memory of it made his non-existent stomach churn. He’d been stupid and gullible, looking for someone to take his father’s place. And Ned had taken advantage of him. Fucked with his head.
Let’s see how you like it, Neddie. You picked the wrong guy to kill. Now you’re gonna pay.
Angela sat down behind a cheap metal desk, her dark eyes flashing. “What the fuck is going on? The whole town is saying you’ve flipped the fuck out. I mean, seriously. Forget that shit with Butch and Jethro. Taking a piss in the middle of a hospital? And I saw a video of you getting your ass kicked by Kristy. I don’t have to tell you Ned is off his rocker about all this.”
“Yeah?” Eddie fought to control his laughter as Hank’s cheeks flushed. “What’d he say?”
“He wants to know what the fuck is going on around here. You losing your grip on those assholes?”
“Hell, no. None of that shit is my fault. Harley thinks we got some bad weed, maybe laced with something. It ain’t just me. The whole town’s goin’ crazy.”
“Ned don’t care about the rest of the town, or what kind of weed you’re smoking. Get your shit together and keep those guys in line or someone else might be wearing that Vice President patch. Got it?”
Eddie snickered as Hank’s face went from red to almost purple. Behind his beard, his lips tightened from the effort of holding in whatever he wanted to say, knowing it would get back to his brother and just make things worse for him.
“Yeah, I got it. Loud and clear,” he said.
“Good. What’ve you got for me?”
Hank took a fat manila envelope from the inside pocket of his vest. “Seven grand, give or take. With Jethro in the hospital and Butch gone, we’re gonna be a little light for a while until we bring a couple more pledges into the fold.”
“Not my problem.” Angela dumped the cash onto the desk and counted it. She put aside three hundred dollars and then returned the rest to the envelope. She passed the three hundred to Hank. “Your cut.”
“Hey, it’s supposed to be four bills.”
Angela shrugged. “We’re short, you’re short. You don’t like it, take it up with your brother.” She got up and opened a drawer in one of the metal filing cabinets lining the back wall, then dropped the envelope inside. From his vantage point, Eddie saw dozens of others just like it.
“Ah, screw it.” Hank stuffed the cash into his wallet, a Playboy billfold attached to his belt by a chrome chain.
“See you next week, Hank.”
“Right.” Hank exited the office, making sure to slam the door behind him. The cheap wood did nothing to block the sound of him cursing.
Eddie was about to follow Hank when Angela went back to the filing cabinet, removed the envelope she’d just placed inside, and took a thousand dollars from it. After placing the original envelope back into the drawer, she put two fifties into her pocket and stuffed the rest of the money into a second envelope, which went into the next drawer down.
A drawer also filled with envelopes.
She took an unmarked notebook from the bottom drawer of the desk and made a notation in it. Eddie managed to get a peek before she closed the drawer.
‘September 28. $6800. Paid $300 HB.’
Goddamn, I was right. The three of them have been skimming all this time. And with Ned locked up, Angie’s double dipping into his share.
Memories of struggling to pay bills or put food on the table, all because he had to tithe part of his earnings to the gang, burned like acid in Eddie’s brain.
Sons of bitches. If I’d had just a little of that, we’d have never had to worry about the mortgage or car insurance. Carson could have had new clothes, maybe a better computer. Instead, these three were partying it up behind everyone’s backs.
Fuck you, Ned Bowman!
Thunder crashed and the windows rattled with the force of his wrath. Well, they weren’t getting away with it any longer.
Fast as lightning, he raced outside and entered Hank just as he was climbing onto his bike. Hank’s fury burned just as bright as Eddie’s, adding fuel to the inferno raging inside him.
“Hold up,” he said, and Mouse looked back at him, his squinting eyes distorted behind his helmet’s visor.
“What?”
“I got some business to take care of. Follow me.”
Eddie didn’t bother checking to see if Mouse was behind him. The little weasel would sooner cut off his own balls than disobey one of Hank’s orders.
Angela was just leaving the office when Eddie marched up to her and pushed her back inside. As soon as Mouse joined them, he shut and locked the door.
“You really are crazy, aren’t you?” She sounded indignant but not scared.
That was going to change.
“Shut your mouth, bitch.” Eddie pulled out the snub-nosed revolver Hank always carried when moving money. It was a tiny thing, meant for an ankle holster or a ladies purse, but it would still do some damage in close quarters. Behind him, Mouse let out a gasp. Eddie knew why. No one, not even Ned’s little brother, could possibly be stupid enough to threaten the club president’s old lady. It was an automatic death sentence.
Angela’s eyes went wide, and she backed away.
“Hank....” Mouse said, the closest he could come to objecting.
“They’ve been holding out on us.” Eddie waved the gun at the cabinet. “Stealin’ money right from under our noses. Right, Angie?”
“Ned is gonna kick your ass,” she responded, some of her normal arrogance returning. “Put that down and walk out of here, and maybe that’s all he’ll do.”
She ain’t lying. Hank will be lucky to get off with just a beating. It doesn’t matter, though. Him and all those fucknuts are gonna have bigger things to worry about than Ned Fucking Bowman.
He wished he could visit Ned in person. But that would have to wait. He still wasn’t strong enough to leave Hell Creek. So if he couldn’t get to Ned in person, he could at least send him a message.
One that couldn’t be ignored.
“Fuck him. He can lick my nut sack.” It was the same expression Ned had uttered when the lawyers called Eddie to the stand, and Eddie wanted to see if it rang a bell with Angela.
It did. Her eyes narrowed and she started to say something, but just then Mouse interrupted.
“Hey, man, what the fuck? This is insane.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Eddie said, as he turned on the old portable radio Angela kept on her desk and dialed around until he located the raucous thunder of AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell.’ Humming along, he gestured for Mouse to move next to Angela.
“All right, now let’s get this party started.” With his free hand, Eddie pulled a fat joint from Hank’s vest pocket and lit it up. After inhaling the harsh smoke, he handed the joint to Mouse.
“Take a hit, man, it’s good fuckin’ shit
.”
Although he still had a nervous look, Mouse did as he was told and drew in a lungful of smoke.
“Pass it on,” Eddie told him, pointing at Angela, who shook her head.
“Screw you.” She crossed her arms and ignored the joint.
Eddie leaned over the desk and poked her in the chest with the barrel of the gun. “Smoke it, or you’re gonna spend the next hour looking for your nip.”
Angela’s eyes narrowed, and Eddie had to hold in his laughter as she took the joint and inhaled. He was careful not to take his eyes off her. She wasn’t a small girl, and her furious expression told him she was liable to throw caution to the wind and attack him if he gave her half a chance.
The joint went around their tiny, forced circle three more times, and Eddie felt the pot beginning to work its magic on his brain. Had it been his own body, he’d have been totally wasted; it’d been over a year since the last time he smoked, and even before then he’d never been a heavy partier like some of the others. He couldn’t afford to be, not with all his responsibilities. But Hank’s body was so used to being fucked up that he probably felt weird when he wasn’t stoned.
Mouse and Angela weren’t handling it as well. Mouse’s eyes were glassy and Angela was having trouble standing straight.
Oh, yeah. Now the fun really starts.
“Okay,” Eddie said, tossing the roach to the floor. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. Angela, go get the money.”
“What? What money?”
“Don’t play games. The money you assholes have been hiding from us.”
“Screw you, asshole.” Angela’s eyes narrowed, letting Eddie know he’d guessed right. Ned had his hand deep in the till.
“Wrong answer.”
Eddie fired a shot into the wall next. Angela jumped. Mouse let out a girly shriek and then tried to pretend he hadn’t. The sound of the report was nearly drowned out by the radio.
“Do it, or the next one goes in your leg.” Eddie gave her his best sneer. He hoped that on Hank’s face it looked as nasty as it felt.
It must have, because Angela slowly went to the filing cabinet, took a key from her pocket and opened the top drawer.