by Chuck Rogers
Yeah, Franco and maybe even Dez had been talking.
Ged eyed me. "You have had a hard couple of days, and a hard couple of nights."
I shook my head. "No thanks."
"You are a tough guy?" Ged smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "You are going to tough it out?"
"Naw, it's just that Xanax is for squares," I looked over at Dez. "What was that shit I was snorting off your tits the other night? That stuff rocked."
Dez's eyes went wide.
Other than liquor and pot there were no drugs outside the Fuck Tent.
Ged laughed. It was a great, big, hearty, world's most dangerous Santa laugh and I knew every last true son and daughter would do anything to make him laugh like that.
"Frame, you put a smile on my face. What if I told you I needed you fighting fit ASAP and said pretty please?"
I tried to reach for the bottle and my arm shook. I grinned at Dez. "Baby?"
Dez was so nice. I swear she was lovey-dovey.
She held my head and tilted the pills into my mouth. I'd taken Xanax before. It'd never affected my judgment. Dez held a sippy-cup of purple Pedialyte to my lips and I sucked it down like a man staggered out of the desert.
Ged nodded. "I have a present for you."
I gasped as I finished replenishing my electrolytes. "I love presents!"
"I am going to push on Malibu."
I grinned happily and quoted Jaiden. "That's all anyone talks about."
"They hit us hard in Agoura. I need a reconnaissance. I am thinking I want you to lead it."
"Can do."
"How would you do it?"
"I don't know Malibu, you got anyone who does?"
"Not exactly, but I have an ace in the hole."
I told the truth.
"I'd take in a small team, all hunters or scouts and I'm talking field craft skills. We'd go on horseback so everyone would need to be equestrian proficient. When we get close we go in on foot. That means we need to leave two behind who can manage a string of horses. Everyone needs a suppressed weapon but we do everything we can to avoid using them. We'd need at least one sniper rifle or a good hunting rifle with some real glass that can reach out. Ideally one with the stay-behind pair and one with the recon team. If it all goes to shit then grenades, claymores or some kind of break contact gear would be nice. Maybe the stay-behind guys have a heavy weapon in case we're extracting hot. There should be plenty of abandoned houses. We find one with a view. We observe during the day and move around the town at night. We're going to need night vision equipment. The approach is slow and careful. Say three days going in. Maybe up to a week of observing. Extraction one or two days depending how much heat there is. Call it twelve days to a fortnight."
I shrugged.
"The only question is do you want a strict, sneak-and-peak recon, or do I have permission to go loud and kill, blow up and burn targets of opportunity?"
Ged looked at Marrs.
Marrs shrugged like it wasn't the worst plan he'd ever heard.
Fuck you, ginger. You love it.
They nodded at each other.
They loved it.
They loved me.
"So, where's my present?"
I swear Ged's eyes twinkled. "Oh, you want your present?"
I grinned like an idiot. "Yes please!"
Ged took my present out of a shopping bag.
It was a heavyweight denim vest. He held it up to show me the back with the embroidered lightning bolt breaking the world. Then he turned it around and handed it to me.
The front was mostly bare.
But there was my year patch.
01A
There was my road name.
FRAME
There was my office patch.
SCOUT
It was beautiful.
Dez ran her fingers over it. "Baby, it's beautiful."
Ged shrugged modestly. "I wanted to get you leather, but we do not have a cut in your size at the moment."
"Naw," I ran my fingers over the embroidery. It was top notch. "I always liked the denim vest over a leather jacket look."
Ged nodded. "Me too, and they are less sweaty in summer."
He wasn't kidding. It's all fun in the sun with the wind in your hair until you get off your bike, your wearing your leathers and you're in Texas and it's a hundred and twelve degrees.
And people wonder why bikers cut the sleeves off everything.
I nodded at Dez. "Help me up."
Ged raised an eyebrow.
Marrs shook his head.
Dez gave me a concerned look. "Baby?"
I got pouty.
"It's my present and I'll wear it if I want to."
Bad move, Frame-o .
I rose, shaking like an arthritic, fifteen year old Great Dane. My bladder was now vertical and the shock of that nearly buckled me. Dez helped me get my arms through.
Marrs actually expressed some concern. "Why don't you lay down before you fall down?"
I limped to the bathroom.
I saw myself in the mirror wearing a vaguely blue hospital gown that was a size too small and a biker vest. I looked ridiculous, and I looked like one badass motherfucker. I changed my mind. I'd earned points by standing up and putting on the vest. The man in the mirror didn't look good. You know what the right side of my face looks like. The Marshal had beaten the left side to hamburger. The scar he'd given me over my left eyebrow was going to be forever.
Speaking of forever.
I pulled the dressing off of my right arm.
There it was, the sign of the SOG, the bolt breaking the earth burned into my flesh in deep, angry red. The burn hurt like hell, and beneath the burn the ache of the branding sank through the muscle tissue beneath.
The mark was permanent. Anyone who saw it and knew of the depredations of the SOG would see the man in the mirror as a killer, a slaver and a cannibal.
It was going to get me into trouble one day.
At least the brand was sharp and clean.
The more immediate question was a full bladder with bladder damage.
I hitched up my gown and tried.
Nothing happened. The pressure was awful. Then I got a spurt. It wasn't like peeing fire from an STD. It was the stabbing sensation of the bladder muscles contracting against damaged bladder. I almost asked for the catheter but then I got a second spurt and a third. I'm pretty sure I whimpered.
"Baby? Are you okay?"
I groaned. "It's just so heavy, and my arms hurt. Dez, can you come hold it for me?"
Ged laughed again.
I was even getting to Marrs. "This guy . . ."
Then Dez was there. She reached around me and took me in one hand and very gently rubbed my belly with the other. She leaned her head between my shoulder blades and whispered soothingly. "Just relax, baby. Relax."
I managed to get both hands up on the wall and relaxed. There were a couple of painful hitches but with a little help the Mighty Frame managed to go pee-pee. I grimaced at the pink tinge in the bowl. It wasn't bad. I'd had a lot worse, but I was bleeding inside a little.
The idea of riding a horse to Malibu was suddenly more than I could bear.
I washed my hands and gave Dez a big wet one. "Doc?"
The doctor came in and peered at the bowl. "You don't have any blockage. The bleeding is minor. The only thing to be done is rest and watch for infection. Drink a lot of water. Let me know if anything changes."
"Thanks."
She ignored me and stood before Ged. "Will there be anything else?"
"No, you may go to the commissary and tell them I said you may have another meal."
I remembered what Jaiden had said about field hands getting two meals a day and house slaves one. The doctor looked down in shame. She was a medical doctor. She'd probably had her own practice. Now she was a slave being rewarded with food. "Thank you, Ged."
"You are welcome. You may leave."
The doctor trembled and left.
Marrs shook his head. "I
still don't like her attitude, and I'm fairly certain she's stealing meds for the slaves."
"I am certain of it."
"Maybe we should let some prospects pull a train on her again."
Again . . .
"No, there is going to be a battle soon. She is our senior med and we need all of them fully functional and right in the head. After we take Malibu I will think of a suitable punishment."
That's right, Ged. You're famous for it.
I maintained my grinning through the pain, can do demeanor. "Can I go home?"
Ged gave me the biggest, happiest smile in the world. "Frame?"
"Yes, sir?"
"You are home."
* * *
"WELCOME TO VALHALLA, BABY!"
Dez was so happy. When her torture to nurture pendulum swung towards N it swung hard. She pushed my wheelchair down the corridor. I was right. Ged Central, known as Valhalla, and my new home, was the Reagan Presidential Library. You really couldn't have asked for a more outstanding bikers of the apocalypse clubhouse. It was over a hundred acres on hill a thousand feet up with a panoramic view of the Simi Valley and all approaches. It had a pub, a restaurant, banquet facilities, and conference rooms large and small. It had its own water supply and now I knew where all those looted solar panels were going. The SOG had converted large parts of it into barracks, armories, machine shops, a garage, the members-only ICU I was leaving, and storage for the vast amounts of loot they'd been taking. Except for the replica of the White House Rose Garden the lawns were covered with tents, RV's and military container units. Loot trucks and technicals bearing crew-served weapons filled the massive parking lot.
There were rooms that were said to put the Fuck Tent, Sodom and Gomorrah to shame.
Members I had never met cheered and waved and called my name as we entered the Air Force One Pavilion. I just grinned out of the poorly dressed side of beef I called a face. Dez basked in it. It was an impressive pavilion. There was Reagan's actual 707 presidential jet. There was the Marine One helicopter. The Presidential motorcade display was missing and I thought I knew where Marrs had gotten his armored Bronco and I suspected the missing, presidential armored limousine was Ged's new ride.
Dez pushed me into the Ronald Reagan.
I'd been in it before. The Ronald Reagan was a pub in Ireland that the Great Communicator had visited and liked and after his death they broke it down and transported it to California to be part of his library.
It was now a SOG members-only watering hole. The souvenir stands were gone and it was filled with tables. Only one table was occupied.
Ged sat at the head with Marrs at his right hand. Five other people sat drinking beer.
It was my team.
Dickie was there of course, but according to rumor he was the real deal when it came to hunting, tracking and the great outdoors. My sponsor Horse was there too. I wasn't surprised. He had SCOUT and HUNTER patches on his vest.
Dez pushed me up to the table.
Ged smiled benevolently. "You seem chipper."
I grinned. "I got the best nurse ever."
Dez glowed.
I looked around. "This is the team?"
"You asked for outdoorsmen who could ride." Ged gestured to a big guy with a shaved head, Amish beard and dressed from head to toe in Real Tree hunting camo. His vest had a patch that said HUNTER. "This is Jim Creek, he guided pig hunts here in the Santa Monica Mountains, and he was California National Guard. I have to warn you, he and Dickie are thick as thieves."
Of course they were.
Peckerwoods always came in numbers . . .
"Glad to have you on the team, Creek."
Creek was glowing like Dez. "Fuck yeah, Frame. Looking forward to this."
"Me too, brother."
A sleek, supermodel-looking guy dressed like a cowboy with black features, bronze skin, copper hair and hazel eyes sat at Ged's left hand. Only one place on God's Green Earth produced people this pretty.
I'd had a Brazilian girlfriend.
His vest read GAETANO and ENFORCER.
I grinned. "Oi, amigo!"
"Oi!" Fucker beamed and spoke with a thick Brazilian accent. "Frame!"
"Gato is a genuine Brazilian cowboy, and he will fuck with anyone and anything. He is the horse handler you asked for."
Gaetano shrugged in very Latin fashion. "This is true."
"And meet our ace in the hole." Ged gestured at the other girl at the table. She was the only person at the table not wearing a vest. She was dressed like SyFy movie specialist chick chic wearing a one piece with the top pulled down and sleeves tied around her waist and a tank top.
She'd pulled her hair back in the requisite ponytail. Dez smiled at her and she flinched and wouldn't meet Dez's eyes.
Ged ignored it.
"This is Belinda. She was a game warden with the California Department of Fish and Wildlife, Special Operations Unit."
I didn't know Fish and Game had a special operations unit. You learn something new every day.
"She has done undercover work and has a couple of busts under her belt. Mostly poaching-ring assholes like Dickie."
Dickie grinned. "Fucking bitch."
Belinda's face tightened. She was still a prospect and scared of everyone at the table.
"She also went undercover for a significant time to bust a drug-ring. Malibu state park wasn't her beat but she has been through it."
I saw where this was going. "You're stressing undercover."
"You will be in command, Frame, and you may run the mission your way. The primary objective is a thorough recon of Malibu. Secondary, at your discretion, insert Belinda. She has done undercover before and doesn't bear the mark yet. She will be posing as a refugee and will be our eyes inside, spread disinformation and possibly sabotage. If you can get her in you may be tasked with shepherding in more undercover operatives before the big push."
"Can do."
"Thirdly, if you meet unexpected resistance or if you see an opportunity to do Malibu harm they cannot recover from, you have permission to go hot." He looked at Belinda. "You do this and you are made."
Belinda shot me a nervous look. "What if Frame decides to abort?"
"You go on this recon, and Frame gives you a good report, you get made regardless."
Belinda shot me a winning smile. "I won't let you down."
"You're going to do great. I'm going to have your back the whole way and I look forward to being there when you get your vest."
Belinda beamed. She looked like she might just cry.
I owned her.
I owned the whole table.
Everybody loves Frame.
Of course I was going to fuck that up like I always did, but at least this time I was going to enjoy it.
Marrs put a sexy piece of hardware on the table. "You asked for suppressed weapons."
It was MP7. I'd never fired one before but I'd seen them. They were popular with a lot of protection details because they were lightweight, compact and could be easily concealed under a coat. It was the same basic configuration as my dear old Uzi but all sleeked up, tricked out, German and Star Wars looking. At 4.6mm the bullets they spewed were small but screaming out of the barrel at over Mach 3 they were nasty.
I was happy.
Germans always made good stuff and the weapon had a suppressor tube screwed onto the barrel and a red dot sight mounted on the receiver. It was pretty much a perfect scampering through the woods and misbehaving in Malibu weapon.
"I'd like at least six mags each if possible, and I don't know about anyone else but I've never fired one. Tomorrow I'd like the team gathered for stripping and re-assembly practice. I don't know what the ammunition supply is like but if we've got it I'd like at least a hundred rounds each for practice."
Marrs nodded. "You can have as much ammo as you want."
"Fuck yeah!" Dickie was so happy. "Trigger time!"
I leered at Marrs hopefully. "Do we get grenades?"
"You and Cree
k are the only guys who were military. So I'm issuing you each two frags, two Willie-Pete's and two flash-bangs."
"Man," Dickie was crushed. "I was so hoping for grenades."
He wasn't wrong. Grenades are fun.
"Dickie, I'll sneak you one of mine when no one's looking, but only if you're good."
"You taste my dirty rice you're gonna give me grenades!"
Horse nodded. "You go hunting with Dickie, you eat good."
I decided to take a chance.
I looked at Ged.
He looked back. "You have a question?"
"Yeah, so am I free to go?"
"Go where?"
"I mean move about, before the mission."
"There is somewhere you want to go?"
"Yeah, is Ron still a prospect?"
"Yes."
"Has he been to the fuck tent?"
"Yes, his sponsors took him yesterday. Why?"
"Well, since I'm a member I wanted to invite him to the Fuck Tent, too. Nothing big, just a beer or two with him. It was a hell of a fight we had. I want to make sure there're no hard feelings, and I think it would be good for everyone to see that."
"This pleases me, but one thing."
"What's that?"
"You know that he is gay."
I was so happy I didn't know what to do.
"No, I didn't know that."
"And we do not have a problem with that here."
"If every true son and daughter had a right hand like Ron? I wouldn't care if the entire membership was gay." I grinned. "Including me!"
Even Marrs smiled.
Pizzas arrived.
Real pizza. Not frozen or resuscitated, and with salami, pepperoni, black olives and mushrooms on it. People laughed and told stories. Ged was good. It was team building. I figured it was time.
I told my story.
I saw no reason to lie.
Except for a few dark places I told everything. I told the table about my early life alternating between the trailer park and the rez. I told them about the United States Marines, serving overseas, my dishonorable discharge and my nickel in Leavenworth. I told them about being a member of a certain biker club and being blackmailed into turning FBI informant.
It's a good story.
If you're still reading this you probably agree.
Ged took it in with perfect poker face.
Marrs betrayed himself and started leaning in to listen.