New York Minute

by Louis Scott

  “Son of a gun,” he yelled.

  His right thumb smashed the magazine release button. The metal bullet holder clanked to the floor. His left hand swept across his chest, snatched a fully loaded magazine from his vest pocket. Pike rammed it home and opened fire once again.

  The massive lock housing fell to the floor. He swung to the opposite side of the creaking door.

  “I’m out,” Pike said, again changing magazines to reload his weapon.

  Alex led the charge. Her high-powered flashlight attached to the bottom of her weapon gave glimpses of a long staircase leading into the basement. Reloaded, Pike fell into the number three spot behind Ellie. Jim remained up top to thwart anyone from following them.

  The temporary silence after Pike’s rapid-fire flow of ammunition into the door lock created a hushed oh-crap effect. He heard Alex and Ellie’s weight flex each crooked wooden step as they rushed downstairs. He kept close.

  Pike felt the prickle of anxiety and anticipation. His skin crawled the closer he came to seeing beneath the upper structure. Sweat bled from his saturated black hood and dribbled into his face—the burnt skin just under his right eye a distant memory. Legs like lead, he struggled to land each downward step on the balls of his feet.

  He heard her, or thought so. Whimpering on a soiled mattress pitched in the corner on mud-covered concrete. Pike spotted the biker facing her. He had to have known they were coming, but he didn’t appear to give a care. Dirt bag’s attention was focused on Voodoo’s nudity, and zipping up his diesel coated jeans.

  Pike secured his firearm—Voodoo was deep in the dark corner, but still in his line of fire. He couldn’t take the risk. The KA-BAR knife made a zip sound as he ripped it from its sheath. Alex and Ellie hadn’t noticed his move, nor had they slowed their descent down the stairs. The moment his head cleared the support beam, Pike launched himself through the air from the open staircase. The biker never knew what hit him. Pike’s steel blade sank deep into the soft spot just below the back of the biker’s skull.

  Blood gurgled through the gap at the front of his throat. The biker hung, suspended from Pike’s blade. Voodoo kept her face pressed against the brick corner. Her foot dangled off the thin mattress. They'd carved a tattoo into her leg—Property of Devil’s Own. Vomit pooled in his mouth.

  Alex and Ellie reached the landing to encounter another biker too messed up to resist.

  A picture flashed in Pike's mind. He recognized the silhouette shivering in the shadows. Spittle built up in the corners of his mouth. A guttural roar formed deep within him. Vision clouded. His heart rate exploded with fury.

  He snatched the corpse up by his leather vest and yanked his knife out.

  “No Pike,” Alex’s voice warbled as if she were underwater.

  The adrenaline had taken their toll.

  Too late—he ran the razor edge of the blade around the biker’s neck until his head rolled off onto the cement. Pike stabbed at the back of the biker’s cut. He held up the patch, an image of satan breastfeeding an infant. Waved it in his fist like a Super Bowl trophy.

  “What’ve you done?” Alex said.

  Ellie held the other biker at gunpoint. The man was frozen with fear.

  Pike stalked toward them. He threw the biker’s patch to the ground and drew the Glock model 19. Alex moved in front of him.

  “Move,” Pike growled.

  “No. You will not shoot this unarmed man. We’re better than that.”

  Ellie’s glower twisted from Alex to Pike to the cornered biker.

  “You’re right. I’m not going to shoot him.”

  Pike’s stance widened and his fingers spread wide. Tunnel vision had taken its grip, but he didn’t care. Both FORCE team members were speaking at him, but the high pulse rate and tsunami of adrenaline pushed him to the edge of unconsciousness.

  Pike chopped their hands away and lunged to the corner with a blood lust. Grabbing the biker by the skull, he peered deep into the man’s dilated pupils. The dirt bag stunk of gasoline, beer and sweat. His toothless mouth trembled. Yes—it was one of the pricks from the picture. Pike smashed the biker’s skull into the brick wall. He dropped the dead man in the corner.

  “Get off me,” he yelled at Alex.

  He shrugged her off and went to Voodoo.

  Ellie and Alex moved near the stairwell as Pike hurried beside Voodoo.

  “Baby. It’s me, Dwight.” He whispered while slipping an old afghan over her body. As he touched her, something felt wrong. He rolled her over, found what light he could.

  He collapsed. “It’s not her.

  “I’m not who, baby?” Foam frothed from the girl’s mouth. “I’ll be anyone you want me to be.”

  “Where’s the new girl?” Pike demanded.

  “She’s outside in the kennel,” the girl chuckled. “Why’d you crash our party, bro?”

  “Let’s move.” Pike said.

  Alex radioed to the rest of the team that Voodoo was being hidden in the dog kennel out back.

  “Got her.” Radioed Jim, who’d remained by the back door to prevent threats from sneaking up on them from behind.

  “She, okay?” Pike radioed.

  “10-4. We’re moving to transport and will be waiting to exfil.” Jim reassured.

  Thank goodness she wasn’t inside the melee.

  Chapter Sixteen

  There’s something awful and noble about living in the margin of society’s tragedies. Outlaws wallow in it to mock the others, while law enforcement invades it to ensure compliance. As bipolar as the interaction between the two should be, the reality is—neither are much different from the other.

  It was almost dawn as the last Savage Soul push-walked his HOG into the foreign imports auto shop in New York’s Midtown Ukrainian Village. Alex’s years of covert and network building had paid off with another secreted safe house. Electricity and running water were much better here than the port off the Hudson River, but each served its purpose.

  “Crap, I thought that cop was going to yank us over as we came out of the Holland Tunnel,” Jim said.

  “Well, if the Savages hadn’t acted like a-holes along I-78, they might not have gotten noticed. Serves ‘em right.” Lawless spoke as though unrelated by blood to six of them.

  “Maybe so, but now we’re screwed without their help to find Bonny,” Jim added.

  Pike was silent. He carried Voodoo from the SUV into what looked like an employee break area. Despite his calm exterior, his soul quaked for killing—more killing. His eyes raked across her brutalized body. He’d always seen the tough, kick-butt side of her, but she was fragile at that moment. Not broken—just fragile.

  The others milled around the garage’s work area. They scrubbed their hands in vain attempts to erase the vile surroundings they’d just raided. Pike watched through an opening in the door, still on high alert. Alex approached. He said nothing, but rolled his eyes in diminished enthusiasm.

  “How is she?”

  “Strong,” he said probably more for Voodoo’s sake than the truth.

  “The team doctor will be here shortly. She’s been vetted by me personally—best caretaker there is,” Alex added, probably for both of their benefits.

  He sprang up from the couch as headlights flashed across the opposite wall. Held breaths anticipated further sound, but nothing. His right hand pressed against the top of his holster. Alex bent below the window line.

  “It’s them,” she said.

  “The Savages?” Alex asked.

  “Yeah. Push-walking their HOGs. Wonder how they escaped that cop?” Pike wondered.

  “It’s almost 6:00 AM, not sure we want to know right now. Lets finish the mission,” Alex said.

  He nodded—eyes watching shadows.

  “I’ll come back when Doctor Hailey arrives.” Alex pulled the door close.

  “She gave her name?” Pike whispered to himself.

  Doubt etched deep crevasses in his brow.

  “What’s wrong with a name?” Voo
doo’s weak voice asked.

  “Voodoo?”

  Her words surprised him.

  “Oh, thank God. Hello, baby,” he gushed, letting his fingers trail along her cheeks. Oh, those beautiful green eyes.

  “The name, what’s the matter?” Voodoo asked again.

  “Nothing, baby. Rest.” A finger pressed against his lips, he made a shushing sound. Her smile faded.

  “Don’t hush me, Pike. I’m not a child.” She struggled to sit up. Frissons covered his skin. She was okay and still the same fearless Cajun girl he’d fight heaven or hell to love.

  “Please rest. I’ll take care of this. I won’t leave you. I promise.”

  “And, I won’t leave you again,” Voodoo promised. “It was my damn hot head that got us into this mess. I’m sorry I was such a child back at FORCE HQ.”

  Her words rang with sincerity. Pike didn’t want to agree, but it had been her anger that sent her storming back to Louisiana where she'd been nabbed. The truth was best not discussed.

  “It’s been a stretch since the swing on Turtle Bayou.” Pike whispered. “Better days ahead soon.”

  “Thank you, baby. But I still want to know about this doctor’s name. You ain’t changing the topic on me.”

  Fierce determination showed in her look. She was physically strong enough to push herself upright on the couch.

  Pike debated how much to say. His brow pinched as he spoke. “In the biz, we have doctors who patch us up without questions asked. One condition—no names—ever.”

  “Doctor Hailey?”

  “I’ve never heard of her as a FORCE doc, but that doesn’t mean anything. Alex said she vetted her on her own, which was odd also. I might run it by Jonas first,” he said.

  “I’ll be all right,” her flat Cajun accent dominated the statement.

  “I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

  He leaned his forehead next to hers. She smelled like the bikers’ clubhouse, but she’d never looked more beautiful to him.

  “I’ll be okay. They need you out there. It’s going down in a few hours.” Voodoo said.

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  “I always keep my ears open.” She smiled.

  The impending reality pulled at his belly like a corset. He wagged his head side to side—he had no intention of leaving her.

  A commotion burst through the rear door. Pike assumed it was the Savages—he pressed the break room door closed and locked it.

  “Thanks for bailing on us. Do your dirty work, and then you freaking abandon us—screw off.” Shouted one of the Savage Souls.

  The biker’s eyes were glassy—sunk deep in his skull. They looked like the dead. He wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular. Still amped from the battle, he should’ve known better than to enter the room so aggressively. No one was in the mood to put up with anyone else’s bull.

  “Back off, pledge. Now ain’t the time,” Justice snarled.

  Clothes stained with blood, and his beard matted with the same, Justice was probably one of the most combat hardened between FORCE and the Savages. Still, he understood being susceptible to the after effects of high-risk situations. Pumping fists near his pant pockets, he’d also have to deal with the earlier skull shot to his own Savage brother, Rat.

  Tension remained palpable. FORCE’s operatives and the Savages still didn’t trust each other, “How’d y’all get here? Thought we’d have to break you out of prison,” Jim asked with a light tone—almost a taunt.

  “We tried keeping up, but your driving had different ideas. Matter of finding Houston and 4th Avenue,” Justice said. “Almost as if you were trying to lose us.”

  Justice jabbed Jim’s chest with a giant forefinger. The sheer size and force caused Jim to rock with each poke.

  Ellie’s open palm slap across Justice’s face was absorbed by his thick beard. He grabbed her wrist. She jerked hard to escape, but he never budged, “I’m going to overlook that. Not because you’re a woman, but you’re defending your man. That’ll be your last time.” Justice stared down at her.

  Tension spiked quickly with both sides, creating a dangerous rift between them. The blood brothers were more compliant of Justice’s commands. The other four varied—depending on their drug use and states of psychosis. They were all hyped, making coexisting with them as risky as feeding marshmallows to an alligator—possibly worse.

  “Where’s Voodoo?” Justice barked, his wild, angry eyes scanning the shop.

  “Another room with Pike. She doesn’t need all of this testosterone,” Alex said.

  “Where’s the coward?” another of the non-blood brother bikers asked.

  “There’re no cowards in this group—only ignorant alphas,” Alex snapped back, ignoring the Savage, her eyes remained locked onto Justice’s.

  “I want to know how ten felons on stolen motorcycles, covered in blood, walked away from a cop’s traffic stop?” Jonas asked.

  Much calmer than the rest, he sat atop a workbench and leaned casually against the wall.

  “Best you don’t know. We got a mission, and it’s bigger than a pig roast along the highway. Besides, the punk was a rookie and looked scared to death. No one will miss his candy cane.”

  The Savages surrounding Justice all grinned and high-fived each other like children winning at little league.

  “If what you’re implying is true, you’ll be held accountable,” Jonas leaned forward. “There is no acceptable collateral damage in this mission. This is still the United States of America.” Jonas remained seated.

  “Yeah, like Pike sawing off that biker’s head? Don’t judge us because we weren’t afraid to walk away from the leash. Keep eating from your government’s kibble bowl, Delta Force wimp, Captain Jonas West,” Justice preached.

  “Screw off.” Jonas’s expression turned stone cold. The muscles in his forearms bulged as he tensed. He was preparing for battle.

  Justice’s extensive background in psychological manipulation came in handy often. He knew what strings to pull. Jonas should’ve also known to ignore or counter it. Justice regaled in Jonas’s agitation.

  “Enough, we’ve just a few hours until this goes down. Did any of the Devil’s Own say where Bonny had escaped to?” Alex asked.

  “No one lived long enough to talk. Coincidence that everyone we asked nicely, just up and died.” The pledge interjected with a hiccup howl like a mangy hyena. Justice snapped his thick fingers and the pledge became stone stiff.

  “No, except for the house mouse outside with Voodoo. After pissing herself, she confessed Bonny said she had tickets to a show. Didn’t seem the mouse liked her too much, but strong women aren’t looked kindly upon,” Justice explained.

  “Makes sense. Bonny couldn’t get the rifles, so I bet she’s planning to do it from close range herself. I’m sure she has VIP access to the president. We gotta intercept her or get access into that memorial event.” Alex stared back at Justice.

  He grinned devilishly because he’d witnessed her shift of depending on him more than her number two, Jonas. Not that he cared—he just liked the idea of screwing over someone so far up the government’s butt.

  “Suggestions?” Justice asked.

  “None of us have access to the memorial. Not sure how, unless we wait at the entrances and snatch her,” Alex said.

  “How them cops gonna let us hang around the gates?” another biker asked.

  “You’d be surprised how many cops will be there dressed looking like you. More Harley Davidsons than at one of your rallies. Just take off your club’s cut, and you’ll fit right in,” Jonas said, imitating peeling off a vest.

  “Jonas, can I talk with you right quick,” Pike curled his finger Jonas’s way.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The European motorcar garage where the team hid was closed Easter Sunday. Morning light crept between the corrugated metal windows and door protectors. There were no pin-up girl tools calendars or second-rate equipment set-ups. The place was a custom car owner
s dream. Red, yellow, and black vehicles rested on lifts above grease traps. Each probably worth close to or over six figures. Alex was kept busy warning everyone not to lean on them.

  “Pike, you roll in these high-dollar clown cars—what’s the catch?” Alex kidded.

  Pike feigned laughter, but he wasn’t in the mood to joke with her. He was still waiting on Doctor Hailey to arrive. Always on guard with any member of a shadow ops unit, Pike wouldn’t have considered Alex as someone to back stab a member of her own team—even Voodoo. He shrugged in answer to her question.

  “You drive a foreign car? That figures. I’d see you in a Porsche Cayenne,” Justice derided.

  Pike shot him a middle finger with a smile.

  “I was about to say you jerks ain’t so bad for feds that is,” one of the Boudreaux brothers confessed. “Until hero SEAL said he drives a Jap car.”

  “Dumbass, it’s Italian. Not Japanese. Besides, where’s your cut manufactured?”

  “Huh?” the biker asked. Pike’s outstretched hand motioned for him to toss him the leather vest.

  “Screw you. No one touches my rag,” he snarled while twisting his shoulders out of the leather cut.

  Old, weather-whipped patches obscured the vest. Their frayed edges showed years and miles of wear. Each patch symbolized something significant about the biker and his position as a member of the Savage Souls. The name patch read “Vengeance” and he was the club’s sergeant at arms. The red framing and letters read 1%’er against the white background.

  Pike watched as pride glowed over Vengeance’s face while his grease and blood stained fingertips traced the United States Army patch and the American flag. Vengeance was Lawless and Justice’s brother, and also a military veteran with extensive combat experience overseas.

  “What’s the label read? Bet that crap was made in Taiwan,” Pike challenged.