by JG Faherty
How many of these assholes were there that night? Just the members, or did Hank bring the prospects, too? Make them get a good look at what happens if you turn your back on your brothers. Maybe it was a big goddamn party, all of them laughing their asses off while I screamed for help.
And not a goddamned one of them ever said a word to the cops.
I should burn the whole place to the fucking ground. Eye for a fucking eye. But not tonight. Tonight I send a message to Hank and every last person in Hell Creek who ever thought it funny to shit on Eddie Ryder.
So who should I kill?
Eddie looked back and forth between them.
Eenie, meenie, miney, moe….
At that moment, a tall blonde with giant eighties-style hair and a tight t-shirt stretched over bra-less tits walked by him. Eddie recognized her right away. Lisa Marie Henderson. She’d been hanging around the club since before Eddie joined, and she’d slept with just about everyone, even Mouse.
But not me. Told me I was too young. That I should come back and see her when I grew some hair on my balls. Then, after he’d hooked up with Sandy, she’d come sniffing around, trying to add him to her list. The memory of her rejection still burning inside him, he’d told her to fuck off. They hadn’t spoken since.
The last time he’d seen her had been in the court house. Sitting in the courtroom with the rest of the hangers-on and cycle sluts who showed up at every party. Cheering Ned on when the guards brought him in. She’d have been more than happy to watch me burn.
Guess what? Payback’s a bitch, Lisa.
He entered her body just as she opened the door to the bathroom. She stumbled for a moment but no one paid any attention. In a room filled with drunks and stoners, she could’ve fallen on her face and no one would have noticed.
Eddie took a moment to find his balance. Being in a girl was something new. His feet felt too small and the weight of his chest too heavy, all of which threatened to make him tilt forward.
His new body took a breath and he coughed a little as the stink of the clubhouse slapped his face like a piss-soaked towel. It was a wet, greasy smell, composed of pot, cigarettes, booze, fast food, sex, and body odor. In the old days he’d have felt right at home, but either he’d outgrown his Animal House phase or his new host wasn’t a fan of eau de pig sty. Whatever the reason, the barnyard stink had him feeling nauseous. And the intense pressure in his bladder wasn’t helping.
Sorry, babe. Gotta hold it in a little longer.
He did an about face and walked back into the main room. About two dozen people were scattered around, slumped on the couches, shooting pool, or just standing by the bar. Plenty of laughter and good-natured conversation filled the spaces between the clouds of smoke, but Eddie sensed something was off. Behind the laughs, behind the glassy eyes, there was a hint of unease, a tinge of fear.
People are spooked, and it’s because of me.
The idea of it made him smile.
He aimed Lisa at Gary Rock, who stood by the bar, a whiskey in one hand and a joint in the other. Ignoring more than a few whistles and ass-grabs – he had to keep reminding himself he was in a girl’s body – he made his way across the room, walking carefully so he didn’t over-balance himself.
“Hey, there.” It sounded stupid coming out, and Eddie realized he had no idea how to act like a girl. It felt really weird to be coming on to another guy. At the same time, though, his female body started to react on its own, sending tingling waves of pleasure up through his groin and across his chest.
Is this how girls feel when they’re horny?
Gary smiled and Eddie knew right away that it didn’t matter how stupid he sounded, he already had the biker hooked and ready to land.
“Hey, yourself. Want a hit?”
Eddie took the offered joint and drew in a deep lungful of smoke. Unlike when he’d been in Hank’s body, the pot hit him right away, started his brain dancing in circles. He handed the joint back and blew the smoke out in a long, slow stream. Then he leaned forward and let Lisa’s breasts rub against Gary’s arm. At the same time, his hand dipped down to Gary’s back pocket. Sure enough, he felt the outline of the folding knife Gary always carried, an over-sized blade with a silver skull emblem on the handle. A gift from his grandfather, who’d taken it off a dead German soldier during World War II.
“How about you and me have a little fun?”
Gary downed his shot and took her hand. “Sure thing. I got a room in the back that’s just waiting for us.”
“Uh, uh.” Eddie shook his head. “I’m talking right here.” He went to his knees and opened the biker’s filthy, grease-stained jeans, pulled them and his equally stained underwear down to the floor. Gary’s cock, a short, fat sausage sitting in a thick bird’s nest of hair, had already grown semi-hard, peeking out like a shy animal. Fighting against his natural instinct to avoid another man’s dick, Eddie put Lisa’s face closer to it and then gagged as he caught a nasty whiff of piss and something that smelled of spoiled cheese. A trickle of acidic puke actually rose up, searing his throat, before he forced it down.
Christ, was I the only one who ever fucking showered?
Eddie closed his eyes and slid his mouth over the fleshy tube, which tasted even worse than it smelled, a mix of rancid milk and ass. Overhead, Gary moaned and grabbed the blonde’s hair with both hands.
“That’s it, baby. Suck that cock.”
Telling himself it would all be worth it, Eddie slipped the knife from Gary’s pocket. In one swift motion, he flicked the blade open and jammed it into the thick flesh where Gary’s cock met his balls. Hot, metallic-tasting liquid flooded his mouth and he started to choke. Gary let out a horrible scream as Eddie continued sawing at his dick with the knife. He tore at Eddie’s hair and punched his back, but Eddie hung on like a pit bull, clamping his teeth down hard and whipping his head back and forth while he hacked away.
Gary shouted again and his penis came free, blood splattering in all directions. Eddie rocked back and then his stomach let loose a stream of beer, vodka, and pizza right into the gory hole that was Gary’s crotch.
“Aaaah! You bitch!” Gary slapped Eddie’s head, sending him sideways onto the floor, where he ended up eye to eye with Gary’s deflated dick. “Help! Oh, goddamn! She bit my fuckin’ cock off!”
Eddie rolled away from the penis and got to his feet, spitting blood and skin and hair and puke onto the floor. At the same time, Gary’s face went pale, pain and blood loss already taking their toll. He collapsed to his knees, his hands pressed tight over his crotch in a vain attempt to stem the red tide running down his legs. A girl screamed for someone to call 911, but everyone else just stared in shock while Gary’s life drained out from between his fingers.
His head ringing from the blow he’d taken, Eddie walked up to Gary and kicked him in the face, realizing too late that Lisa was wearing flip-flops. Three of her toes broke when they connected with Gary’s cheekbone. Eddie ignored the pain and kicked him again.
Gary reached for her leg, bloody tears running down his cheeks. “I’ll kill you, bitch,” he whispered.
“Sorry, asshole. You had your chance.” Eddie grabbed an empty bottle of Old Granddad off the bar and swung it as hard as he could. It shattered against Gary’s mouth and nose, leaving just the neck in Eddie’s hand. Glass and broken teeth tumbled across the floor like miniature dice. Eddie took the jagged shard and jammed it into Gary’s throat, twisting it back and forth until a new stream of blood burst free.
Standing up, Eddie turned to the stunned crowd. “Now, this is what I call a party! Drinks are on Gary!”
For a moment no one moved. Then one of the prospects, a burly, long-haired ex-con named Frankie Scott, let out a roar. Eddie recognized him right away; he’d done three years for raping a woman in Homestead. Frankie dropped his beer and charged Eddie, who exited Lisa’s body right before Frankie’s m
assive fist connected with her face.
How’s it feel to be on the other end of the pole, Frankie?
Eddie transferred himself to another woman, grabbed a pool cue, and ran forward, holding the stick out like a spear. With a burst of supernatural energy charging the woman’s muscles, he rammed the cue into Frankie’s ass so hard it ripped through his jeans and speared his intestines. Frankie fell to the side, his shrieks of pain louder than the music.
Two leather-clad wannabes tackled Eddie, who spread his arms and released a bolt of lightning that knocked the unlucky bikers to the floor and blew out the lights. Chaos erupted in the clubhouse, people punching and kicking blindly at anyone near them. A few of the partygoers ran for the exit. Eddie let them go. They’d spread the word about what happened, which would put the rest of the town even more on edge.
From thirty feet over the clubhouse, Eddie admired the mayhem he’d caused. Fuck the Hell Riders and anyone associated with them. They could all die for all he cared. In fact, they should. Every last one of them.
The only question was, how to top a night like this?
He didn’t have the answer to that, not yet, but as he roared away into the heavens, he knew one thing for sure.
He looked forward to trying.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The following afternoon, Johnny Ray Jones sat at his desk and wondered how much worse things could possibly get. After attending the funeral for Sandy Powell – a somber affair attended by what seemed like half the town, most of them there because Sandy’s father held a lot of influence – he’d returned to his office and spent much of the day reading crime reports from the previous night and shaking his head.
It seemed like the whole damn town had gone insane. Three murders at the Hell Riders’ clubhouse, including Gary Rock getting his dick cut off. It made Johnny Ray shudder every time he thought about it. And the crazy didn’t stop there.
Hank Bowman had flipped out again. He’d apparently robbed the laundromat, at least according to Angela Mason, who was now in jail for a whole list of crimes, starting with money laundering. Then he’d gotten wasted and passed out. When he woke up, he claimed to have no memory of the past six hours. With Harley Atkins’ suicide by cop still fresh in his mind, Johnny Ray had opted to have Hank sent to the hospital for blood tests and a psychiatric workup.
If he passes that test, I know there’s something wrong with the medical system. Johnny Ray sipped at his iced coffee and then rubbed the frigid cup against his forehead. Bowman’s nuttier than a pecan farm. But the damn hospital will probably say it was a drug overdose and the bastard will get state aid, because addiction is an illness.
The one big surprise was that Hank hadn’t been involved in the crazy shit at the Hell Riders’ clubhouse. Of course, they’d done well enough without him. Even now, re-reading papers stained by condensation from where he’d accidentally set his sweating cup down on them, he couldn’t believe it had actually happened. Not in his town.
Hoping to make sense of things, he reviewed the facts about the clubhouse murders yet again. He wanted to have something – anything – to tell the mayor when they met the following morning.
Lisa Marie Henderson, a party girl with priors for DWI, drunk and disorderly, and solicitation, had killed Gary Rock with a whiskey bottle. Right in front of twenty-something witnesses, several of whom had then beaten her to death. During the resulting brawl, one Frankie Scott, a lowlife scum bag in his own right and kissing cousin to the Bowmans, had gotten himself corn-holed with a pool cue. He’d died on the way to the hospital from internal bleeding. At least ten other shitbags treated for injuries ranging from bruises to knife wounds.
All this on top of Butch Franks’ death and the whole Harley Atkins fiasco. How he was going to explain that one to the mayor was still a mystery. All the witnesses in the world saying the biker had a gun wasn’t going to make up for Atkins’s father being a golfing buddy of the mayor. Not to mention he’d have to account for how Atkins got the gun in the first place.
Damn, I’ll be here all day and night going through the statements we got. And it’ll be a couple of days before all the blood tests come back.
He decided to take a ride through town to clear his head, patrol a little and remind everyone he was keeping an eye on things. Especially now, with all the craziness happening the last few days, it was important for the people of Hell Creek to know the police weren’t hiding with their heads in the sand. As he drove down Main Street, he saw Kellie walking hand in hand with Carson Ryder.
I guess those two are an item now.
Had it happened a week earlier, or even two days earlier, Johnny Ray probably would have been happy – as happy as a father could be, anyway, seeing his sixteen-year-old daughter out with a boyfriend. But Carson’s violent outburst the day before had unnerved him. It was more like something Little Eddie would have done. And that had Johnny Ray wondering if maybe Carson didn’t have a dose of Big Eddie in him, too, just waiting to come out. After all, he and Eddie both shared the same piece of garbage for a father, and Eddie had inherited plenty of the old man’s bad attitude.
Telling himself he wasn’t being an over-protective dad, Johnny Ray swung his SUV over to the curb and rolled down the window, letting in a blast of sauna-like afternoon air redolent with the weighty odors of swamp and hot blacktop.
“Hey, where you two headed?”
On the sidewalk, Kellie and Carson stopped walking and turned his way. Johnny Ray pretended he didn’t notice the strange expressions that came and went on their faces, too fast for him to get a real read, before they both smiled at him. Guilt? Embarrassment? The second one would make more sense; after all, teens were notorious for dreading public conversations with their parents, especially if said parent also happened to be the Chief of Police. But guilt was also a strong possibility, although a less comforting one. Who knew how long they’d been dating? Or what they’d been up to.
They’re in high school now. Maybe they were headed to some secret place to fool around. Or on their way back from one. These days, did that mean necking? Copping a feel? A blowjob or quick fuck in Carson’s bedroom while Sally slept on, unawares?
Who are you to talk? his conscience asked him. If Sally Ryder weren’t sick, you’d be over there right now trying to get her pants off.
That was different, though. He wasn’t in high school, although he’d wanted her just as badly back then, too. If it wasn’t for that scumbag Big Eddie….
Johnny Ray slammed the lid down on his inner argument and returned his attention to the kids, who were approaching the car.
“We’re going to Carson’s, to, um, study,” Kellie said, her lie as obvious in her speech as in the way her eyes couldn’t meet his.
Not to mention neither of them carried books. You didn’t need the observational skills of a cop to know the two of them had something else in mind. However, in deference to his daughter’s feelings, he didn’t force the subject. A little something he’d picked up from Oprah. She called it giving the kids room to spread their wings. He called it giving them rope to hang themselves. Either way, he felt both proud and irritated for not giving in to his desire to interrogate them.
“Need a lift?”
“No, that’s okay. We’re gonna grab a soda first. See you later.” Kellie gave Johnny Ray a look that nearly broke his heart, because it reminded him too much of the expression his ex-wife would make when he would dote on her too much if she didn’t feel well.
“All right, have fun.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Bye, Mr. Jones.” Carson lifted his hand in a friendly wave.
Johnny Ray watched them walk down the sidewalk toward Rosie’s Diner. Carson seemed the polite, pleasant boy he’d always been, with no sign of anger or rebellion. Maybe I should cut him some slack. What with his brother dying, his mother getting out of the hospital, and him having to take care
of Sally all by himself. Hell, it’s a wonder he didn’t snap sooner.
Johnny Ray made a mental note to stop by Sally’s place more often, help out more. Take some of the load off Carson’s shoulders. If the boy was going to be dating his daughter, the last thing he needed was Carson being so on edge he flew off the handle at the slightest thing.
* * *
Carson waited until they were well down the street from Kellie’s father before bringing up the real reason they’d met after school. “So, we’re agreed that speaking to Mr. Gunderson is a good idea?”
During lunch, they’d discussed who would be the best adult to help them. Kellie had suggested Reverend Talbot at the First Gospel Church, because who would know more about demons and possession than a reverend? But Carson had reminded her that Talbot also was notoriously cranky when it came to dealing with kids. Instead, he’d proposed they talk to their science teacher, Todd Gunderson.
“He’s friendly, and he doesn’t laugh when you say something stupid in class. He might actually listen to us.”
“But what’s a science teacher know about possession?” Kellie had asked.
Carson had shrugged. “Probably nothing. But maybe he can give us a better explanation than a ghost for what’s been happening.”
Although he was willing to entertain the idea of a non-supernatural explanation, more and more Carson was becoming convinced Eddie’s ghost had to be behind all the crazy things happening in town. The broken windows, the murders, the weird thunder at all times of the day and night.