Doc Marshall

by Jessie Cooke

  While she sucked his cock, she used her hands to explore and gently cup his sac and massage it. Every once in a while, she would take a break from sucking and plant kisses all along the insides of his thighs and down the length of his cock. She was trying to keep him from coming too soon, and he appreciated it. His body was already convulsing with pleasure, but he wanted to be inside her when he came. He let her play and suck and lick for a long time, but at last he couldn’t stand it any longer. He took her by her arms and pulled her up, letting his cock fall out of her mouth. He felt it slap against his belly as her body pressed against it on her way up. When their mouths met, he locked into hers with another hot kiss while she positioned herself on top of his cock, using one hand to guide him into her.

  Doc never imagined that any woman could hold his interest this long, but that wasn’t even as surprising as the fact that every time he was inside her, it felt like the first time. The walls of her smooth, wet pussy clamped down around his hard cock and held him tightly. She was using her knees to push up and down while he arched up and used his hips to drive up into her. He felt her hands fist up on his chest, scratching at him lightly. His hands were on her full ass and he squeezed it hard, and occasionally slapped it while they fucked. She let out little squeaks each time he smacked her butt, and the louder she squealed, the harder the next smack was. She rode him like a professional cowgirl for at least fifteen minutes before he felt her nails dig into him harder and she screamed out his name. He’d been holding back, but the second he felt her orgasm wash over him, he let go as well. He let out a loud groan, an “Oh fuck,” a “God, I fucking love you,” and then he filled her with the seed that they would find out later had made the baby she wanted so badly.

  19

  Nine Months Later

  Dallas’s voice on the other end of the phone sounded like she’d been crying. She normally wasn’t a crier, but this pregnancy had done things to her emotions that scared the shit out of Doc some days. This particular day though, he had to take credit for the tears. He’d been gone from home for almost three weeks already. She was getting close to her due date, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it back in time.

  “I don’t want to hear ‘soon,’ Doc. When are you coming back? I want a day and a time.”

  “Baby, I’m trying to get out of here, these fuckers are on Texas time or some shit. Nobody ever seems to be in a hurry. But today is the day…we’re finally going to meet with the Sidewinders, so I hope I’ll be on the road headed back to you really soon.”

  “If this baby comes while you’re gone, I’m naming him or her Sunflower and announcing to the world that the name was your idea.”

  Doc laughed, but he didn’t really think she was kidding. “I’ll be there, baby, and our boy will be called Dax after your grandfather just like we talked about, and if it’s a girl, she’ll be Rose. I’ll be there, though, so don’t panic.”

  “Kill whoever you need to kill and come home today,” she said. Doc laughed again, but once again he wasn’t sure she was really kidding.

  “Soon, baby…” She slammed the receiver down on the other end so hard that it hurt his ears. He sighed and hung up the phone he was using in the Head Hunters’ clubhouse. He was sick of being in Texas and he wanted to be at home as badly as she wanted him there…but this business had to be taken care of first.

  Doc, Hawk, Coyote, Badger, Toolie, Tank, Rat, and several other men had gone to Medina, Texas, to meet with an MC that called themselves the Head Hunters. Doc tried to move his club away from things like running guns and drugs, after the night he’d brought it up to Hawk, but he was finding it harder said than done on their own. The people they had been doing business with for years were more dangerous than even Doc had ever thought about being. One of the cartels they moved drugs for out of Mexico had made threats that Doc had to take seriously. He’d gone down to Mexico first and met with the Colombian cartel leaders who were filtering their product through Mexico. His diplomacy and willingness to meet with them on their turf impressed them, but he still left there on borrowed time. The only way they would agree to release the Skulls from their “duties” was if Doc could find someone else to do the job…someone that he personally would vouch for, which unfortunately meant he’d have to offer that club some kind of alliance…do something for them to make sure they’d stay loyal to him and the cartel.

  He’d thought about going west first, looking on the West Coast for a club that might be willing to run things up from the border. But there was an influx of drugs coming in through California and he’d be more apt to run into opposition over territory and a war down there. Texas was not necessarily untapped at that point, but after taking a look at the geography of the state and the territories of the MCs in the general area of the borders, he decided that it would be a better bet. He contacted the only person he knew who was involved with an MC in Texas at that time, a man Doc could hardly stand the sight of, Matt Leoni, another medic from Nam. Doc had nearly beaten Leoni to death one night on leave in Saigon. He’d caught him roughing up one of the prostitutes, a barely-legal girl who couldn’t have weighed over ninety pounds. Doc tolerated a lot of shit, but never, ever, someone hurting a woman. The fight had been brutal and bloody, and Doc had been disciplined for it. Leoni had spent time in the brig as well. Doc had told him to steer clear of him after that but for some reason when Leoni discharged and started his own club, he’d contacted Doc and offered him the position of Sergeant at Arms. Doc had declined it, quickly. But now he almost wished he hadn’t been so abrupt because he got the feeling that Leoni and his club were giving him and his crew the runaround, and he was afraid maybe all of their time in Texas had been wasted.

  Matt went by the moniker Swinger now and ran a club in Medina, Texas, called the Head Hunters. Doc was pissed at first when they got to Medina and he found out Swinger had gone on a run and left his VP behind to deal with them. But after getting to know Randall Covey, he decided that Swinger’s taking off was probably a blessing. At least Covey seemed like he was ruled less by his emotions and more by his intellect. The club welcomed them when they got there, set them up with everything they needed to be comfortable, and Doc and Covey met and started making plans. Swinger didn’t want the cartel’s business, as it turned out the Head Hunters had plenty of the drug business of their own. But Covey had an “in” with another club known as the Sidewinders. They were based in a border town called Brownsville, and Doc and his men had sat in limbo for two weeks while Covey set up the meeting they were riding out to that day. Doc shook off his anxiety over Dallas and the baby, putting it in a box in his head that he’d open later, and headed out to where his men and Covey’s were gearing up for the long, five-hour drive.

  The ride through the hills and deserts of Texas was a hot, dirty one and when they found the bar they were looking for at last, the old dilapidated building looked like it was leaning to one side, perhaps thanks to the dust that was accumulated across the rooftop. The ten men, five Skulls and five Head Hunters, who had gone on the ride, stepped off their bikes and followed Randall Covey inside. The place was dark and pool tables took up most of the room. There was a bar that looked like it had been made by hand out of whatever wood was left over from building the little shack, and a dozen or so stools lined the front of it. The jukebox was blasting what Doc found to be offensive country music, and he could only hope this meet went as fast as it did well.

  The Sidewinders were obviously not there yet. Doc was sure there was no place to hide them if they were. The bartender was a middle-aged woman who looked as if she’d been ridden hard and put away wet more than a few times. The men took seats at the bar and ordered beers. She served them while sizing them up, suspiciously. Doc was about halfway through his first beer when the rumble of the iron horses outside shook the little building. After the sounds cut off it was a few minutes before the door swung open, letting the bright sunlight and heat in while the twenty men filed inside. They were all dressed in kuttes that
displayed their colors proudly. The top rocker had “Sidewinders” embroidered in large letters and below that was a circular patch with a large, vicious-looking snake in the center of it. The man in the lead looked like he was trying to adjust his dark eyes to the lack of light and at last they landed on Covey. Randall stood up and the rest of the men from both clubs followed suit. The president of the Sidewinders, a grizzled man in his sixties named Butch Blaine, approached Randall and the two men shook hands and then hugged. Butch’s beard was long and so was his hair, but it all looked thin and wiry. It was black, but speckled with white flecks. His belly protruded out from underneath his tucked in t-shirt and his kutte. His legs were short, but his shoulders were as broad as he was tall.

  “Damn, it’s been a long time, boy,” the older man said to Randall.

  “Sure has,” Randall agreed.

  Butch looked at the bartender and said, “Sadie, beer us.” Sadie was already pouring beer as quickly as she could from the tap into large mugs. Doc wondered if the little bar even had enough glasses for them all. He listened as the two men continued their conversation. “I woulda done this sooner,” Butch said, “but I just got kicked out of lockup yesterday afternoon.” At least that explained the holdup with the meeting. Doc had been getting worried that Covey had talked a better game than he was able to produce.

  “What the fuck did they get you on?” Randall asked.

  “Bullshit charges,” he said as he took one of the seats at the bar and picked up the mug Sadie had set in front of him. “The sheriff is newly elected and looking to make a name for himself. He arrested me for a burglary of a little shithole check-cashing place because supposedly I looked like the guy that pulled the job. I told that little fucker in uniform that I probably wipe my ass with more money than I could get from a piece-of-shit place like that.” The men laughed and then getting down to business Sidewinder looked at Doc’s kutte and said:

  “So, the great Doc Marshall and I meet at last.” Doc stepped forward and said:

  “Not sure about the great, but I’m Doc. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Boy, the way you took over the Skulls and turned them around overnight is the stuff legends are made of. I was fucking impressed and it takes a hell of a lot to impress an old guy like me.”

  “Well, thank you, I appreciate that. Hope you’ll be impressed enough that you might consider allying with my club and doing a little business for us.”

  Butch finished his beer and motioned at Sadie again. “What kind of business are we talking about?”

  Doc took the stool on the other side of him. He and Randall Covey and Sidewinder were surrounded by their men, but the rest of them were silent…even Hawk just watched and listened as Doc explained to Butch the deal that he was trying to make with the Mexican cartel. Butch listened until Doc was finished and then said:

  “I just don’t understand one thing…if this cartel was paying you all these big bucks to ride down here to the border and take that merchandise back east to distribute it, why would you want to give that up? I have to ask myself what kind of shit I might be stepping in here.”

  “I just want out of the business,” Doc said. “I want to take my club in a different direction.”

  “Drugs can be messy business, so I can see that. What about the guns?”

  Suspicious of Butch’s motive for the question Doc said, “What about them?”

  “I’ve heard tell that you do business with the Irish.”

  “You’ve heard right,” Doc said. The Texas bunch wouldn’t be able to help him with that since the ships carrying the guns docked in New York, so he wasn’t interested in talking to Butch about that. He wanted to get this deal taken care of and then he could head back east and handle things there.

  “Who you gonna offer that job to…or are you going to stay in the gun business?”

  “I’m not sure what that has to do with what I came here to talk to you about,” Doc said.

  “I was just thinking, if we’re allies, maybe I might want in on that sweet deal you’ve got with the Irish. The demand for guns on the streets is going up and the Border Patrol is hitting our shipments every other fucking day lately.”

  “The guns come in through New York,” Doc said.

  “We’re mobile,” Butch said with a laugh and a wink. He downed another beer. Getting slightly frustrated Doc said:

  “Can we talk about the cartel first?”

  “Sure,” Butch said. “What’s our take from this?”

  “All of it.”

  Butch laughed. “All of it? You’re just going to hand me your business – why?”

  “I told you, I’m taking my club in a new direction. I’d just walk away from it if I could, but you and I know it doesn’t work that way. The cartel doesn’t want any hitches in their business so if you agree to this, your first job for them will be in just over a week.”

  “So how much is all of it? What are we talking in dollars and time?”

  “Once a month we ride down to Sonora and we pick up the product that was brought in from Colombia…”

  “Colombia?”

  “Yeah, Pablo Escobar has the market on the cocaine these days, but the DEA has severely cut into what they’re able to move out of Colombia directly, so they filter it through Mexico. The gangs in Mexico move most of it, but they’re moving so much that they need guys like us to help out and get it distributed to the East Coast. They’ve got guys down in California bringing it up through Mexi-Cali and distributing it on the West Coast. As far as pay, they no longer pay in cash. They pay in product.”

  “Product? So, I’ll get Colombian grade cocaine in return for my efforts?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, they put it on you to find a club that could take over what you were moving,” Butch said, like he was putting it all together in his head. “You reached out to the Head Hunters, but Swinger didn’t want it. Why is that, Randall?” Butch looked at Covey.

  “We’ve got too much of our own shit happening right now and not enough numbers to take something like this on. Swinger is out recruiting as we speak from a club that’s breaking up in Colorado, but as it is, we have more business than we have men.”

  “I just have to make sure my club isn’t being set up to take some kind of fall here,” Butch said.

  “I got no reason to steer you sideways,” Randall said. “My father was your best friend. You know I’ve never shown nothing but respect for you.”

  Butch nodded. He looked back at Doc and said, “I’ll have to take this to church and put it to a vote.”

  Doc wanted to growl. He didn’t understand why these pussy bitches who wore patches that said “Prez” on them couldn’t make their own fucking decisions the way he did. He bit back his frustration and said:

  “Of course. Can I ask how long that will take? I only ask because I’ve got a kid on the way and would like to make it home to the old lady before she pops.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned – congratulations. The King of the MCs has a little prince or princess on the way. That’s fucking awesome. Tell you what, just because I have a soft spot for kids…got six of my own, I’ll call a special church tonight, take a vote, and get back to you first thing in the morning. Is that soon enough?” Doc wanted to leave Texas that night, but it would be rude as fuck to be out of the state if the Sidewinders wanted another meet-up after their vote. So, it wasn’t soon enough, but it would have to do.

  “Of course. Soon enough,” he said as he shook Butch’s hand. Another night in Texas. Yippee!

  20

  Doc couldn’t sit at the bar in the Head Hunters’ clubhouse one more night. So instead, once they were back in Medina, he showered and saddled up again…and headed for San Antonio. He told himself that he wasn’t looking for Abril. It had been over a year since he saw her. He’d sent money a few times through one of their nomads that passed through Texas, but he didn’t take her calls any longer and he hadn’t gone to see her. Before that, when he had taken her calls, s
he would cry and sob and tell him that she couldn’t live without him…that she hadn’t been with anyone else and she would take whatever he could give her. He had found himself thinking about that, maybe a once-or-twice-a-year hookup, but then Dallas came home, and then she was pregnant, and his priorities changed again, so he just cut her off. The last time he talked to Tang, the nomad who covered the southern part of the country for him, Abril was living in some crappy apartment and working in a dive cowboy bar in San Antonio. He was surprised at himself now as he realized that was the way his bike was headed, right toward downtown San Antonio and the bar where Abril was working.

  Doc pulled the Harley up between large pickup trucks and a few nice cars outside of the little adobe building. He turned off the bike and sat there looking up at the neon boot outside, under the sign that said “Boots Off.” He had no fucking clue what he was doing. His old lady was about to have their baby and she’d kill him if she knew he was there. Trying to justify his decision, he told himself that he had to blow off some steam or he wasn’t going to be able to handle his business with a cool head. Better he did something stupid like fucking this hot little Puerto Rican than losing his cool with the likes of Butch and the Sidewinders…right? Besides, he didn’t even know if she was working and he didn’t have the address of her apartment. He wasn’t about to call and ask for it. So, telling himself he’d just leave things up to the fates, he got off his bike, took off his kutte and put it in the saddlebag, left his gun there as well, replaced his helmet with a ball cap, locked things up, and went inside.