CHAPTER SEVEN
My Boyfriend Shoots me in the Head
Being on a motorcycle is an exhilarating experience. I remember my first time like it was yesterday. I remember looking down at the yellow stripes on the asphalt zipping by just inches below my feet. I was so close to the road it was scary. At the same time the crisp, cool bite of the wintry air through my leather jacket was like a strong cup of coffee. I love riding in the rain too. Just looking out through my helmet as the rain soaked the world around me yet I kept dry. Being in the elements on a bike and so close to nature without the steel cage of my car was absolutely thrilling!
As Adam and I wind our way along the coastal route from San Francisco to Half Moon Bay I recapture those feelings again and my heart lifts in my chest. I forget about my argument with my best friend and the fight at the club last week and the only thing in my mind is the freedom of the road on the back of a bike.
I look down at the road passing just beneath my feet and it looks like we’re flying along at the speed of a rocket. Just when I’m at the pinnacle of happiness I see something that brings me crashing down to earth; a shotgun. Adam has a shotgun attached to his bike by a makeshift holster. Why is he carrying a shotgun and why didn’t I notice this before? It makes me wonder what other weapons he is carrying and why he feels the need to carry them today. I start to ask him about them but decide to forget it. If there were any danger he probably wouldn’t have taken me for a ride today. He probably always is armed just in case; kinda goes with the territory I guess.
I take a deep breath and force myself to relax. We’re perfectly safe here. Just as I’m beginning to feel relaxed again I hear a strange sharp metallic ping somewhere down on the bike. I look down just in time to see sparks fly and another sharp pinging sound.
“What the hell?”
I look back up just in time to see the bikes right side view mirror explode into tiny glass fragments. I shut my eyes automatically expecting to get a face full of glass before I remember my helmet has a full face shield. I start to relax my iron grip around Adam’s waist when all of a sudden the bike swerves to the left, then back to the right again. Then it hits me. That wasn’t some random pebble that struck the bike’s mirror; it was a bullet.
Suddenly I feel like I’m this giant fat hippo creature with a neon bulls eye on my back that flashes shoot me in big red letters. I twist my head around as our bike suddenly surges forward. I barely manage to retain my grip on Adam. If I’d been any more relaxed I would have just flipped over backwards and landed on my ass on the road below. Maybe thirty feet behind us is another biker and he is surging forward trying to close the gap between the bikes. Fortunately for us we’re on a winding road so his chances for a clean shot are pretty limited. On the other hand if he’s on a more powerful machine he’ll be shooting point blank in a matter of minutes.
Adam surges forward again and I’m nearly deafened by the roar of the engine between our legs. I look ahead and take small comfort in the fact that the road is one long spaghetti-like stretch of pavement for as far as the eye can see. I look behind us again but the other biker is lost behind the corner we just rounded. Adam taps on my knee. I turn back around as he pulls the shotgun from its holster.
“Oh no you don’t. I’m not shooting anyone.”
He holds up the weapon clearly expecting me to grab it. This time I yell as loud as I can manage.
“No!”
I shake my head vigorously for emphasis, hoping he gets the point. He glances back at me. His eyes narrow and he mouths something I can’t quite catch. I just can’t hear anything above the roar of the Harley. Adam turns back around and leans into the next corner. I grab the cold steel of the gun’s barrel. I guess I am going to shoot someone today. But first I’m going to have to forget that I’m a trauma nurse that has dedicated her life to helping others. I don’t decide who is good or who is bad, I just do my best to be the best healer I can be for whoever comes through the doors of my ER. I push that side of me deep down as far as I can shove it and study the gun in my right hand. I have no idea what kind it is. It’s got a single barrel about two feet long. It looks like it has been modified so that it can be held and shot like a large handgun. I heft it in my hand trying to get a feel for the weapon. I slip my finger in the trigger housing and turn around. Our assailant is back in view and has closed the distance considerably.
I can feel bile rising in my throat as my whole being is suffused with fear. I might die today. I’m barely twenty-six years old and today may be the last day on earth for me.
“Well guess what Mr. Biker Guy, I’m not ready to die yet.”
The second I point my weapon at the rapidly approaching biker he immediately backs off. Maybe I won’t actually have to shoot him. Unfortunately he isn’t hesitant for very long. The minute the road straightens out in front of us he puts on a burst of speed and comes far too close for comfort. One more time I can feel the bulls eye on my back throbbing. At any moment I expect to feel the bite of hot lead.
“Fuck that!” I swear under my breath. I’m not going down without a fight.
I do my best to aim and squeeze the trigger and I watch belatedly as the modified shotgun goes flipping out of my hand and lands on the road behind us.
“Dammit!”
The shotgun skitters across the roadway, off to the side and then over a considerable drop off. I look up as our last line of defense disappears over the cliff. Someone on the beach below is in for a real surprise. I tap Adam on the shoulder and when he twists around I present my empty hand as evidence to my clumsiness.
He doesn’t get and pantomimes shooting the biker again. This time I reach around his shoulders so I can display both my hands at once. His jerking head movements are my first indications of his disapproval. I can almost hear the sting of profanity issuing from his mouth. I think he got the picture.
Suddenly my own head jerks forward, bouncing off Adam’s back. The snapping motion on my neck is almost enough to make me see stars.
“What the hell?”
Now I can hear a whistling noise coming from somewhere in my helmet and it feels like there’s a new stream of air caressing the top of my head. Confused, I reach up with my right hand and feel around my helmet. My hand freezes as my finger finds a hole big enough to stick my thumb in.
“Oh my god...”
Suddenly I experience this unbelievably powerful urge to just jump off the bike. Anything seems better than sitting here with a bulls eye on my...my helmet. I can’t believe that guy just shot me in my helmet. That projectile could have easily ricocheted around and then brained me instead of just exiting and leaving me unharmed. As irrational as it would be to just leap off a motorcycle at any speed it just seems like the next logical step to avoiding the inevitable progression to death by being shot off the back of a Harley Davidson motorcycle.
A sudden loud explosion next to my head jars me back to our present predicament. I just about jump out of my skin as four more explosions in rapid succession go off next to my left ear. I look over and Adam is actually trying to shoot a giant handgun while driving the bike. I twist my head around and it’s actually working. The other biker has fallen way behind us and pretty soon is out of any realistic range of hitting us. I experience a newfound respect for my kinda sort of biker boyfrie-. I don’t know if I’m ready to call him that. He’s more like the biker I secretly loathe but almost slept with in front of my sister and our paperboy kind of guy; not boyfriend material…yet.
A sudden swerve of the bike nearly tosses me onto the roadway. Adam stops shooting and turns his attention back to the driving thing. It’s a good thing too because we’re getting into those hairpin curves again. This should keep the other guy from being able to get a clear shot off and it we can just make it to the next town we may just get out of this one unscathed; well except for my helmet that just got itself murdered.
I have always had a strong stomach, and it’s a good thing too because I’m beginning to feel a littl
e nauseated from all the leaning from side to side as we wind around the never ending coastal road of Highway One. I hazard another look behind us but I can’t see our assailant anywhere. Probably because there are still too many tight turns separating us. We go around one more long bend and suddenly a gas station pops up just ahead, followed by a sting of buildings; a town at last.
Adam slows down as we enter the town of Cedars, population 807. As we head through town Adam seems to be looking for something specific. His head wags from side to side and he slows even more. I look behind again and see our friend the helmet murderer has just entered the edge of town too. He’s got both hands on the bike so at least he’s stopped his violent outbursts. Finally I can relax. I take a deep breath and let it out as my arms relax their iron grip around Adams waist. Too bad for me the instant I choose as my relaxation time is just the moment Adam chooses to make a hard right down an alley. Abruptly my world is spinning topsy- turvy, round and round just before my shoulder strikes the roadway, followed by my helmet, followed by my losing consciousness.
“I think she’s coming around.” Declares a female’s voice not far from me.
“No…she’s still out.” Says a familiar voice. Must be Adam.
“Couldn’t she have waited till you stopped before getting off? Asks the female.
“She doesn’t always do the logical thing.” Adam replies.
“I can’t believe that guy nearly shot her in the head.” The woman says.
“He’s the one who did it!” Announces Adam in a strangely defensive tone.
“No one’s accusing…wait a minute,” says the female. “It was you wasn’t it?”
“Do you know how hard it is to shoot behind you and around another person while driving a motorcycle on curvy roads?”
“Oh my god you really did it then,” the woman replies. “I was just teasing you.”
“Oh my god!” I sit up and open my eyes. “I can’t believe you shot me!”
I do my best to shoot Adam a venomous glare.
“Have I said how hard it is to shoot when you’re steering a motorcycle?” Adam asks rhetorically. “Her big head was bobbing around all over the place and I had to do something to keep that guy from shooting her.”
“So your best idea was to just shoot me instead?” I ask.
“Yes- I mean no. It was an accident.”
“Couldn’t you have given her your gun to shoot?” Asks the woman.
“Like I’m gonna give her another gun after what happened with the first one.” Adam says.
The woman turns to me and addresses me for the first time. “What did you do to his gun?” She asks me.
“I kinda lost it.”
“Lost it?” The woman asks skeptically.
“Dropped it.” I clarify.
“And this is the woman of your dreams Adam?” She asks him.
“I know it’s a stretch but-”
“A stretch?” She replies.
“A stretch?” I ask as I take a step back away from the couch and Adam and his friend. “I think it’s high time I go home. How long will it take a taxi to get here? Twenty minutes…half an hour?”
“An hour,” Adam replies.
“I’ll take her,” the woman offers.
“No thanks. I’m not getting back on another motorcycle; no way.”
“Oh no honey, I’ve got a car. I can have you home in an hour. And my name’s Tracy by the way.”
I regard her with a small smile. “Thank you Tracy. I guess I will take that ride then.”
Ten minutes later were driving back down Highway One, back the way we had frantically flown down while being shot at not an hour ago. At least if that guy is still around he’s not going to be looking for a car. I should be able to get home in one piece now.
“So your Adam’s old lady now?” Says my chauffer as we pull out onto the highway.
I look at her for a minute before answering. I’m guessing she is Adam’s ex. They seem very familiar with one another and she seems like the biker chick type. She is tall, has long blond hair, a nice figure, and swearing comes naturally to her. Yup she’s his ex. I can tell by the way she talks about him that she still has feeling for the guy and that I may have hitched a ride with the enemy.
She’s wearing a wife beater, skinny jeans, and a black leather jacket. The patches on her jacket don’t declare allegiance to any MC so that’s a good sign. She is tan, has zero wrinkles and is staring at me like I must be deaf.
“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer. “What did you say?”
“Just wondered if you’re Adam’s new old lady, that’s all.”
“Yeah I don’t think I’ll ever be old enough to be called anyone’s old lady; especially when I’m barely 26.”
“It’s a compliment,” Tracy replies. “Lots of girls would give their left tit to be the old lady of an outlaw motorcycle club member; especially MC royalty like Adam.”
“MC royalty?” I can’t help but laugh. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Of course I’m not. You’ll get used to it though and pretty soon you’ll be calling him Sir Adam too. It helps when everybody in the club calls him Sir Adam.”
“Sir Adam? You cannot be ser…and you’re just yanking my chain now aren’t you?”
“Smart girl.”
“So Tracy, are you someone’s old lady?” I finally get around to asking the one question that’s been burning in my mind. If my curiosity doesn’t get quenched pretty soon there’s going to be smoke coming out of my ears and nose.
“My man is the Sargent of Arms for the Cycle Demons.”
“Whoa, aren’t you like breaking the code or something by helping us out?” I ask.
“You mean like the pirate code?” She asks.
“Yeah…well not pirates of course.” I reply.
“If Marty found out he’d kick my ass, but I’ve known Adam since we were in kindergarten together. I can’t turn my back on him…ever.”
Suddenly I kind of like Tracy.
“What do you have against being Adam’s old…Adam’s boyfriend?” Tracy asks.
“What, other than practically being referred to as a grandmother? I don’t like being someone else’s possession. It’s been a long time since President Lincoln put an end to slavery.”
“It’s a thing of pride Kari,” Tracy replies. “Outlaw biker clubs are notoriously protective of their members and it takes years to build up enough trust that you can join one. If you’re an old lady you’ll always be taken care of. Lose your job? No problem; the club will cover your mortgage. You also get protection. No other club member will so much as flirt with you, and if a member of another club approaches you; well, that’ll never happen.”
“So you’re saying I should become Adam’s old lady so I can get protection from his club and other club member? Protection that I won’t need unless I become Adam’s old lady. Yeah that’s attractive.”
“Why are you so down on him anyway?” Tracy asks.
“He’s just a glorified gang member and pretty soon he’ll be dealing crack on the streets just like MS 13. Where’s the honor in that? Just because they ride around on motorcycles doesn’t make them special. It just makes their entrances and exits loud and obnoxious.”
“Adam’s club means the world to him; it’s his family. Despite that fact, he is willing to completely tear the club apart to do the honorable thing. In my book that makes him a pretty good guy.”
“So how does the club support itself now? They can’t all be working at the shop.” I ask her. I’m pretty sure I know the answer.
“Well…they are an outlaw club you know…”
“How do they support themselves? What keeps them in power and gives them the ability to stay on top of all the other clubs around here?”
I’m not going to let her off easy. She has to answer my question. Suddenly I find myself wanting to make her see my point of view regarding Adam and his club.
“Guns. They run guns for a Russian family… but
that’s it. They don’t do all the other stuff most clubs do like hits for the mob, drug smuggling and dealing, extortion, and other enforcer like stuff.”
“Wow so you’re saying they deserve some kind of medal just because they don’t run around beating people up and stealing from local businesses? They just provide the weaponry so the people who do that can keep doing that. What a great group of guys the Sons of Ash are. So when are they going to stop the gun running?”
“Soon. You can’t just suddenly refuse the mob Kari, it’s not that easy. The Russians worked hard to set up its distribution channels and they rely heavily on the income from gun sales. If the Son’s just up and quit instantly the Russians would be stuck with trucks full of illegal guns and no way to sell them. They would come down hard on all the guys and it would be adios Sons of Ash.”
“Yeah I’m thinking it’ll never be adios Russians though.” I reply. “The Russians are never going to willingly give up their gun business.”
“You’re right, but Adam has it all worked out. He just has to survive this war with Ripper and his guys first. He also has his families to support. They depend on him for most of what they need and he can’t just turn his back on them.”
“What do you mean families?”
“Over the years Adam has taken in about a dozen families and is in the process of helping them get back on their feet. He pays their housing, he keeps them fed and in clothes and makes sure their kids have what they need for school. Last year he set up a foundation for homeless. He’s a pretty savvy business person, not just some dirt bag biker.”
Edge of Ashes (Sons of Ash Motorcycle Club) Page 7