by Chuck Rogers
I'd been on the losing side.
Have I told you there's a trigger in my mind?
And that I love it?
Like a gun?
The safety flicked off.
My finger slid around the trigger as the adrenalin started spiking.
My cover was about to be blown anyways.
I needed a gun.
I didn't see any guns.
My eyes flicked around the tent as the tent walls starting closing in on me.
The fat-ass member minding the roasting boar had a 14" butcher's scimitar on his carving board.
That'll do, pig.
For a start.
I measured distances and angles.
No, wait.
There were members outside with guns.
Take the knife.
If fat-ass objects cut his throat.
Bolt.
Get outside.
Cut someone.
Get their gun.
Get two.
Come back in.
Shoot my way through the crowd and go out the back.
Get in the trees.
Show these SOG assholes something real.
I'd done it before.
I'd gotten a medal for it.
Dickie scrambled away to bid for his Nubian Night-Chuck.
"Frame?" Franco stared at me in question. "You okay?"
I hauled back on the reins as hard as I could.
Franco looked at me with genuine concern. "Frame?"
I was shaking.
I spoke through clenched teeth.
"I have PTSD. The noise. The crowd. It's fucking with me."
"Aw shit, Frame! I'm so sorry! Goddamn it! I could tell you didn't really want to come! Oh, man! We're out of here!"
He grabbed my arm.
It almost cost him his life.
It was all about to blow up and I didn't care anymore.
We were going to let it all hang out.
I was going to enjoy this.
Then Horse frog-marched Jaiden up to the table by the back of the neck.
Go time.
Franco was closest.
He died first.
Except Jaiden held a foaming pitcher of beer.
Horse snarled. "You got something you want to say to the man, J-Girl?"
Jaiden wouldn't meet my eyes.
At the moment I wouldn't have either.
Jaiden set the pitcher in front of me. "I brought you your beer, Frame."
"Holy fuck, Frame." Horse took in the look on my face. "You want him punished or what?"
I took the pitcher in both hands and raised it to my lips like a Viking feasting horn.
I started swallowing.
Horse roared happily. "Frame!"
The members at the next table started chanting.
"GO! GO! GO!"
I poured the beer back.
Franco goggled. "Holy shit!"
The beer was cold going down and the cold filled my twisting guts.
The act of drinking that much beer in one go centered me.
I wondered if I would throw it back up.
I hadn't done something this stupid since I was in uniform.
I kept swallowing.
People started clapping, pounding the tables and chanting.
"FRAME! FRAME! FRAME!"
Medical professionals say you should never use alcohol as a painkiller, and never, ever, use it to self-medicate a mental or emotional condition.
Fuck that.
The tent erupted in cheers as I finished.
I gasped and shook for a myriad of reasons.
Horse squeezed Jaiden's neck until he winced. "Yo, Frame. You want J-Girl punished?"
I tilted my head back and gave perhaps one of the longest, most powerful eructations of my life. I probably could have recited the alphabet. The burp died and I slammed the pitcher down on the table. "I want him to bring me another."
The crowd chorused my name.
"FRAME! FRAME! FRAME!"
I hid my shaking hands by grasping the table.
Then?
There was Dez.
She wore the bear claw on a necklace for all to see and she was happy as a girl hearing her man's name chanted.
The smile on her face died as she looked at me. Call it birds of a feather, heterosexual GAYDAR, simpatico or whatever you will.
We were both damaged people.
Dez smelled the damage all over me.
"Baby?"
I managed a smile. I suspect it was horrible to behold. "You couldn't stay away, could you? You couldn't even let me jerk off in front of two blind girls."
"You want to get out of here?"
"I want you to go tell the DJ to put on something slow, and then I want the next dance."
She gave me a look and pushed through the crowd towards the turntables.
Jaiden brought me another pitcher. He gave me a long look. "I brought you your beer, Frame."
"Thanks, J."
"Welcome."
And I knew he wasn't going to narc on me.
I didn't pound the beer but I took long-ass swallows. Franco continued to eyeball me and I knew this was getting back to Ged.
The crowd booed as the thumping rap stopped and a hair metal arena ballad came on.
I met Dez out on the floor and we got jeers and catcalls as we locked hips and swayed.
I thought of Line.
The goddamn DJ hit us with a spotlight and cheers joined the jeering.
Some couples joined us on the floor.
Dez and I dry-humped vertically and sucked each other's lungs out like it was prom night. She was wearing Old Spice and women wearing after-shave continued to turn me on.
My guy at the VA would have called it suppression, self-medication, diversion and warned me that the bomb was still ticking.
I called it drinking, dancing and pre-fucking.
Good clean fun.
What's not to like?
Fuck Tent massacre avoided.
There'd be time for that later.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Saturday night's all right for fighting.
JAIDEN HITCHED UP HIS DRESS AND SQUATTED OVER THE LATRINE TRENCH. He made unhappy noises from both ends. He'd had a rough night. The prospect that'd pulled latrine guard laughed at him. Jaiden hung his head and evacuated what had been done to him.
I waited in the darkness.
Dez and I had shagged like it was the end of the world and for me it nearly was. I told her about the PTSD. I told her I had to go for a walk and clear my head and promised I wouldn't do anything stupid.
She kissed me and said okay.
I went out into the night lurking for Jaiden.
I'd learned the Fuck Tent mostly cleared out at 4:00am except for members who were passed out.
Jaiden walked back towards one of the slave enclosures head hanging and hugging himself.
I spoke quietly from under the trees. "Jaiden."
Jaiden started. "Who's there?"
"Frame. Come here."
I'd thought he'd scream and run.
He obeyed.
Crying.
Jaiden was pretty institutionalized at this point.
"Please don't kill me."
"If I was going to kill you I would've done it in Malibu."
Jaiden wouldn't meet my eyes even in the dark.
"You didn't rat me out."
"I was gonna."
"And?"
"Everyone talks about you like a super-hero. Even if they believed me it wouldn't get me out of the dress. You didn't kill me in Malibu. When you saw me tonight you didn't hurt me."
"The only time I hurt you was because you and your friends were trying to eat me and I wanted my Uzi back."
Jaiden twitched in the gloom. "They weren't my friends."
"I might be able to get you out of here. There're people in Malibu. There's going to be a war."
"The Sons of Ged are gonna ride. It's all anyone talks about."<
br />
"Right, so after I finish my recon and do some damage I'm heading back."
"You're gonna take me with you?"
"I can't promise. If I have to cut and run I may not be able to come get you."
"What am I going to do back in Malibu?"
"Take off the dress. Take up a gun. You had a hard-on for my Uzi. I'll let you have it back and teach you how to use it."
Jaiden stared at me out of his running mascara. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, then you, me and the Malibu Militia kill some fucking Geds. You down?"
"What do you want me to do?"
"There are others like me in camp. I might want to use you as a go between."
I swear I almost heard Jaiden grow a spinal vertebrae. "You want me to pass notes in class."
"That's exactly what I want, and I'll tell my people here you're to be extracted if possible. You don't want any part of it? No hard feelings. Just don't narc. Regardless, if we win, the first thing we do is free the slaves. I'll see to it that you're taken care of."
"No, I want to help."
Good for you, Jaiden!
"You remember the sex doll?"
"Yeah?"
"If one of my people contacts you, the code word will be Ashley."
"Ashley."
"Right."
"Got it."
"They feeding you?"
"Camp slaves get fed once a day. Field hands twice. If you're serving in the Fuck Tent sometimes you get scraps."
"Here." Dez was a serious candy hoarder. I gave Jaiden a King-Size Snickers Bar. "Eat it here, don't get caught with it in your quarters."
Jaiden fell into my arms sobbing.
Lot of that going around.
Jaiden was wearing Coco Mademoiselle perfume by Chanel. Didn't smell bad on him. Of course now it smelled pretty good on me too. I'd have to swing by the prospect's quarters and grab a shower before I went back to Dez. I could pass off needing a cold shower to shake off the lingering jitters easier than going back smelling like Jaiden.
The good news was?
The contra-SOG cabal was starting to shape up.
* * *
"FIGHT NIGHT, FRAME! FIGHT NIGHT!"
Dickie was so excited.
We sat in the hatch of Horse's Lincoln Navigator. Brand new 2019. It was a pretty sweet ride and he had a squad automatic weapon mounted in the sunroof. Dez, Horse, Franco and Chop were kind of my crew now and I could have done worse.
Dickie was a cross that would have to be borne.
For a little while longer.
The fight night venue was an outdoor basketball court a couple of miles from A-Camp. Motorcycles, SUV's and trucks surrounded the court forming a square of light. There were maybe three hundred vested members present and twice that many prospects. There was BBQ, kegs and a general tailgate party atmosphere.
Assuming that there were at least skeleton crews at the other camps keeping order, and I still had no idea how many camps there were, I figured Ged had at least a thousand men under arms. Marshal Miles and his merry band of apocalyptic CHiPs were guerilla traffic enforcement and not much more. A thorn in the SOG's side that was going to be plucked after the push on Malibu.
Malibu had slightly more than a thousand citizens including non-fighting women, old people, children and the blind.
The SOG were going to roll over us in a wave.
There was only one path to victory. We needed a buffer zone. We were gonna have to turn Malibu State Park and the canyon lands into Afghanistan.
I'd spent the last two days stripping houses and pulling guard duty. I'd studiously avoided asking anyone any questions. I was Frame, high on SOG life and just happy to be here. I spent a lot of time smiling and listening. Despite a looming, gruesome appearance I was a good listener. People frequently found themselves telling me all sorts of things. It helped with the old job. Things felt pretty relaxed here. Kind of like your first hockey game I think you were allowed to ask about the rules.
"So what gives? It's Fight Club? Thunderdome?"
Franco nodded. "Kind of all of that. I mean if you're a prospect you can't help but screw up, and fight night beats the whip and builds character."
Dickie grinned. "Esprit de fucking corps, man!"
Franco nodded. "And if you're a member it's kind of expected for you to fight once in awhile. More often than not it mostly settles disputes between members and between prospects. Sometimes it's punishment, and the Man? Sometimes he pulls some surprises."
Yeah, apparently I had one of those pending.
"One time?" Franco looked around conspiratorially. He spied Dez over by the kegs talking with Chuck and Chop. He spoke low. "Dez and Del . . ."
He kind of trailed off.
I nodded. "Go ahead."
"They went a little too far, and with a prospect instead of a slave. It wasn't the first time. So Ged? He made them fight each other. Since they were twins it was kind of a Justice of Solomon kind of thing."
Horse nodded. "He's famous for that."
That was the rumor.
"So who won?"
"You know what they did? They fought each other with their fucking knives! To the first cut. I don't even think Ged expected that."
"Who won?"
"Dez, and then? Del demanded two out three. Del won that. So then Dez demanded three out five."
Dickie shook his head in happy memory. "That was some sick fucking shit!"
Franco shook his head, too. "It was a bloodbath. Marrs finally stopped it at best of seven."
"So the rules vary."
Horse shrugged. "We're on cement tonight, that means the fights will probably be stand-up, bareknuckle stuff. If we were on the grass you could expect some serious, hardcore MMA shit. But unless it's an execution fight the rules are basic. No eyes, no throat, no nuts. No deliberate joint breaking."
Dez came back with a couple of beers and leaned back between my knees. "Here we go!"
Marrs stepped onto the court. People who were sitting stood. Dez went to attention and I hopped out of the hatchback. Everything went quiet. Members and prospects rushed back from the kegs and food. Marrs waited like a statue until he had everyone's attention. He jerked his head back at a Dodge flatbed.
"Ged!"
Lights hit Ged as he stood on the roof the truck. I was surprised it didn't crumple beneath him like a beer can.
Every member silently shot their right fists forward in the power salute. I almost joined them but saw none of the prospects were saluting. Prospects did not fight without permission. They did not fuck without permission. They did not salute. We were not true Sons and Daughters.
We were simply required to obey.
Ged surveyed the throng.
I waited for the stem-winder.
Ged shot both fists skyward. "Fight night!"
Well, short and sweet.
The sustained roar from all assembled was something.
Ged pointed. "Ron Justin!"
I raised an eyebrow internally as Marshal Miles stepped forward.
"Prospect!"
The crowd cheered.
"Leatha Steele! Prospect! Nando! Prospect! Suter . . ."
Ged raised ten provos to prospect. It seemed pretty short notice but they were the cream of the crop and I think he wanted as many swinging dicks invested and under arms for the push on Malibu as possible.
Ged pointed straight at me and his bellow shook the court. "Frame! Step forward!"
The crowd roared.
Well, all right.
Dez gave me a squeeze. I got a good back and shoulder pounding as I stepped out of the crowd.
Ged boomed. "Ron Justin!"
God damn it.
Marshal Miles stepped out onto the court across from me.
Fuck him, he didn't get shit for applause.
"There is going to be a fight tonight!"
The SOG roared and howled and whistled for blood.
I experienced the word 'cacophony' for the first time.
Thi
s wasn't Fight Club.
This was the Roman Coliseum. Then again, if my punishment was kicking Miles's ass?
Oh, excuse me. Kicking Marshal Roman Ronald Justin Miles's ass?
Better and better.
It got real quiet.
"Provisionals do not fight! Provisionals do not fuck! Provisionals obey! Not even prospects fight without permission! When there is a dispute, it happens and ends here! At fight night!"
The crowd roared. "FIGHT NIGHT!"
"Ron Justin! Witnesses say Frame struck you, unprovoked! Is this true?"
"I don't dispute it."
Very fucking diplomatic of you, Marshal.
"Frame! Do you deny it?"
There was nothing for it. "Guilty!"
"Ron! Frame must be punished! Are you willing to be the instrument of correction?"
"I am."
Things got very quiet. The entire crowd waited for the Wisdom of Solomon-Ged.
"With what hand did Frame hit you?"
Oh fuck me.
Miles lifted his chin at me. "His right."
"Chuck!"
Mountain of chocolate pudding Chuck rolled forward.
He had a pair of handcuffs.
The crowd went nuts.
Fuck my life.
"Take off your jacket." I stripped to the waist and took off Santa Muerte. Chuck shook his head in sympathy. "Yo, Frame. I like you, man. But you fucked up. You shouldn't have hit Ron. You had no right."
"Is it too late to say I'm sorry?"
Chuck snorted and looked over at Miles. The Marshal stripped to his t-shirt.
"Yeah, you tell him that. I suggest after. Meantime?" Chuck suddenly grinned. "Fuck him up. I'm betting two black rifles on you."
I needed an edge. "Any advice?"
"Yeah, white-bread Jesus over there knows what both hands are for. Watch your ass."
"He's a boxer?"
"Yeah, saw him do some shadow boxing before breakfast call. He's got skills." Chuck handcuffed my right wrist to my belt.
Fine
Fuck it.
Handicap match.
If Miles was a boxer I could take him.
"Yo, no rounds, no breaks. Tonight you fight until one of you can't continue or Marrs stops it. If a guy falls you step back and let him get back up. No dirty fighting." Chuck looked me in the eye. "Do I need to explain anything else to you?"
I looked past Chuck. A Latino member covered with prison ink gave Miles the same lecture.
"Naw, I'm good."
Gigantic son of a bitch gave me a butt pat. "Go get 'em, tiger!"