Riding For Her

by Adair Rymer

  I was immediately startled that I'd gone that far. It was gross and horrible but this man... If ever a man deserved a slow painful death, it was this vile piece of shit. The urge to continue stabbing him was insistent but I refrained, his neck was so shredded that nothing would be able to save him.

  I looked down at him and reveled in his torment. He stared back at me, his eyes brimming with agonized disbelief. I watched Ricky-tick bleed out. I watched him squirm through the death throes, and let all my fear and anguish die with him.

  I stood up and slid my pants back on.

  The man with the shotgun in the Wild Boys parking lot came to mind. More specifically, how I felt, not being able to kill that man. The man who was trying to kill me. Watching Ricky-tick die, I didn't feel upset or scared anymore. I was now conflicted.

  I'd spent my childhood surrounded by one side of the law and my adulthood surrounded by the other. I've been unable to kill and I have now killed. Part of me felt horrible for having to do what I did but another part of me realized that it was the only way... and that I could do it again if I needed to.

  What kind of person was I now?The kind of person that survives.

  Distant gunshots reinforced my resolve. I ducked low, expecting someone to rush in and see what I'd done. When no one came, I scrambled for Ricky-tick and searched for his gun. He didn't have one on him! How could he not have one? I thought that was standard issue for all outlaw bikers, like a carpenter with a hammer.

  He probably didn't want to risk me stealing it and using it against him. That anger at who he was remained just below my surface and boiled over with frustrated suddenness. I kicked Ricky-tick's corpse. I struggled to get my breathing under control. I was so angry. I finally understood crimes of passion and how they could force people beyond what they thought they were capable. “Fuck you! Fuck you! How'd that work out for you? You, miserable, asshole prick!”

  More gunfire. What the hell was going on out there? I decided that whatever it was I needed to use the distraction to get the hell out of here. I carefully walked out onto the assembly line floor. A few of the overhead lights were shattered and hung, swinging limply.

  Rapid footfalls around a nearby corner forced me to throw myself behind a raised wall of curved casket panels. I laid down and held my breath. Beneath the wall, I saw two sets of leather boots run past me. It was a pretty straight shot to the doors we came in from and it looked like that was where they were headed.

  I realized that this was the first time since meeting the Coffin Eaters that I was fully alone. No Hendrix to save me, no Robbie to look after me. I was completely on my own. The weight of that burden sank in. Rock Springs, Wyoming? Where the fuck was that! The last fifteen minutes of the ride here was virtually barren. I'd need to find a ride to a police station. Jesus, what do I even tell the police? Do I tell them everything? I couldn't go to the police. The Blue Angels wouldn't set up a weapons distribution warehouse in a town that they didn't have the police on their payroll. I started to freak out a little.

  “Focus!” I whispered to myself.

  One step at a time. Get. Out. Find a back door, then worry about all that other stuff. I sharply exhaled and made my way down the perimeter of the building, darting past large, organized piles of materials that were palletized on near ceiling-high shelving units.

  “How many shooters? Well, where the fuck is he!” A biker's voice came booming up one of the aisles of standing coffins near me. There was no way to know which one exactly, so I cut over a few rows and hoped to magically turn invisible. “No. No! Slick will be here any minute. I'm going to check Ricky-tick, make sure he still has the girl. Alive OR dead. He doesn't care as long as she's in there.”

  The man on the phone passed so close, and my heart was beating so loudly that I thought he'd actually be able to hear it and spot me. Alive or dead? My whole body trembled. I only barely stifled both my hyperventilation and an audible sigh when he hadn't noticed me.

  I forced myself to unfreeze and start moving again, when there was renewed shouting from the biker on the phone, I knew he'd found Ricky-tick's corpse. I backed away as quickly and quietly as possible, scanning for hanging exit signs. I saw movement at the back door so I disregarded that option but there had to be a side door or emergency exit around here somewhere!

  Something quick and heavy clipped my shoulder, knocking me to the ground, as it cut through the rows. It was one of the bikers. When he skidded to a halt and lunged for me, I saw that it was Lump. “Hey!” He screamed after me. “She's over here!”

  “Ohgodohgodohgod,” I mumbled, twisting back up to my feet and dashing blindly in the opposite direction. Too stressed to see where I was going, I collided face first into a one of the standing coffins. It might as well have been a wall on wheels.

  My head swam but I didn't feel any pain, at least not yet. Through the massive concussion, my vision became a series of still images. I saw the casket I hit rock precariously and threaten to crush me. Then, surprisingly still conscious, my legs gave out. My eyesight was a kaleidoscope of an intermittently blank-paged flipbook.

  The casket fortunately toppled away from me, causing a chain reaction, each of them hit another, if not two more as they fell. They were giant metal dominoes. The noise was apocalyptic. There was shouting and more shooting but the only thing that distinctly pierced my haze was the shattering of wood and crashing of steel as the death boxes tumbled.

  One of the pages in my mental flipbook was revealed with guns. Semiautomatic rifles, specifically. They spilled out of the destroyed coffins like deadly candy from corpse-sized piñatas. That's why we were here. This business was owned by the Blue Angels and it was just a front for moving their weapons.

  I was dragged away. The escape attempt was over. This was the beginning of the end. There was so much water in my eyes that I could barely see. I could move even less. My senses began returning, which meant pain. More pain than I'd ever felt at one time.

  The coppery taste of blood flooded into my mouth, I was drowning in it. I wiped it away and immediately felt the sharp, stabbing throb in my nose as I brushed against it. It was undeniable.

  My fucking nose was broken.

  Disjointed voices hovering over me finally sunk in. I couldn't make out everything but I got the gist of it. The two men were discussing whether to kill me or to wait for my father.

  “...happens now! There's a goddamn shooter in here. Slick said if any complications...”

  I saw the Blue Angel that groped me when I first came in. He was pointing a gun down at me. It was so hard to think. I just knew that I had to go, had to get away. I refused to just die. I squirmed, feebly crawling away. I didn't make it far before a kick to the ribs sent me reeling. Pain spiderwebbed throughout my midsection. I collapsed onto my back, gasping for air.

  “... a shame. At least Ricky got a taste, eh?” The fat Blue Angel joked as he placed the cold metal barrel to my head. I couldn't watch this. I closed my eyes and thought about Anna...and Hendrix.

  BLAM.

  I was sprayed with hot wetness. I wasn't dead! My eyes shot open. The handsy, fat Blue Angel gaped at me stupidly with the front of his face blown out. I screamed as the corpse fell on top of me. I tried to shift out of the way, but I wasn't fast enough. His head smashed against the concrete floor to my left. Grey and red lumps oozed out of his shattered skull hole like a thick Play-Doh soup.

  I couldn't stop screaming. I tried to scramble away from him but was pinned at an awkward angle with my arms to my side. Even the fright and adrenaline weren't enough to get the fat bastard off of me!

  “Drop it, Lump. I've just killed three men. I'd rather not end the night putting down one of my own.” It sounded like Hendrix. I must've been delirious. Lump's pistol hit the floor. “Now get that fat fuck off of her.”

  The familiar rumble of motorcycles faintly grew in the distance.

  “You fucked up, bro. That's rest of the Blue Angels'. They're almost here. There's gonna be hell to pay for this.
”

  I scuttled out from under the lifted heap and dragged myself to my knees then finally to my feet. I nearly fainted at standing up so fast as the blood rushed to my head. I had the worst migraine in the history of migraines.

  “Yeah. That's why I'm here.” My unreliable ears were still ringing so loudly that I barely heard all the words. I dared not dream at whose voice that might've been. His fuzzy form slowly coming into focus. “Maya, are you alright?

  “Hendrix...” I smiled and laughed and gasped his name in disbelief. I was a ball of exhausted jumbled up emotions but I was also indescribably relieved. I hugged him as tightly as I could. I never wanted to let him go. I couldn't believe it was really him. I couldn't believe he actually came back for me.

  “Ah, that's broken.” Hendrix examined my nose then my eyes. He scanned the rest of me to make sure I was in one piece. “I leave you alone for a few hours...” He shook his head and smiled.

  “How? How did you...” I was beyond elated. I was flooded with questions.

  “Plenty of time for that later, I think we've out worn our welcome.” Hendrix was right. The noise was getting louder, we needed to leave before the Angels got here.

  “Miles!” Exclaimed Lump. “This was all Hendrix, man. Shoot the motherfucker!”

  Hendrix wrenched me with him as he whirled to face Miles. Miles was behind us and already had his gun out. He had Hendrix beat easily and forced him lower his gun.

  I detached myself and slid out from behind Hendrix. Hendrix put an arm out to stop me but I pushed it away. I wanted to expose myself to Miles, let him see that I wasn't afraid of him. That I had faith in him.

  I'd seen it, in that look of defeated resignation in Miles' eyes and at the way he kept trying to help me while I was here. Miles wasn't a bad man, he was just incredibly conflicted. He was doing what he thought was right to protect his family. I was doing the same. It was why I was even here.

  “You don't have to do this,” I pleaded with Miles. “Come with us instead, Robbie loved you like a brother.”

  “You're not seriously listening to this bitch, are you?” Lump protested.

  “Don't bother, Maya.” Hendrix ignored Lump. “This isn't the same Miles I started the club with. I don't know who the fuck we're even talking to.”

  “When you were on the inside, Stacy left me. It was while I was on a ride to Omaha with the club. All she took was the kids. She never came after me for money or anything. She just needed to get our kids away from the lifestyle, away from me.” Miles may have been addressing Hendrix but his reflective tone made it apparent that this was some sort of confession.

  “There was always so much fucking damage control that I lost sight of the things that really mattered. It took me a long time to wrap my head around her leaving me. She was right, I was a shitty father and husband. And now I'm a shitty brother too.” Miles lowered his head and exhaled remorsefully.

  “Remember the bigger picture, bro! A full patch over, protection, influence, everything we wanted is about to happen. The Angels are here, man!” Lump couldn't contain his exasperation. “Think about the club. This is the only way the Coffin Eaters survive!”

  “I'm tired of thinking about the bigger picture.” Miles looked up at Lump, the sorrow in his gaze had been replaced with tempered steel. “The Coffin Eaters are dead.”

  Miles shot the startled man twice in the chest. With a bullet in his heart, Lump died instantly.

  Miles lowered his gun and tossed his bike's keys to Hendrix. “Police'll be looking for that pickup truck you pulled up in.”

  “Ah fuck.” Hendrix caught the keys and tried to appeal to his friend. “No, Miles. Not like this, man.”

  “What?” My bell was still a little rung from plowing face first into that coffin. I was a little hazy on what was actually going on. Was Miles planning on staying behind? With me gone and nothing to offer the Blue Angels, staying here was suicide...

  “Go,” Miles said weakly.

  “There's no fucking way that I'm letting you do this,” Hendrix defiantly declared.

  “It's gotta be me.” Miles shook his head. “Getting pushed out as pres, letting the club turn its back on you and all that we stood for... Robbie getting killed then following through with Tex's plan. All of that is on me. I got a lot to atone for.”

  Miles always struck me as world-worn, tired and defeated. A good but beaten man desperately riding the coattails of a greater version of himself. He was around my uncle's age, but looked so much older at that moment.

  Hendrix couldn't accept what Miles was attempting to do. “That doesn't mean that you—”

  “It's not just the club!” Miles interrupted him. “This is for Stacy and my kids. Please, I need this.”

  “Miles...” Just his name slipped from my lips. I wanted to convince him to come with us but I didn't know what else to say. How could dying in this filthy warehouse possibly help his family in any way?

  The thunderous rumbling had stopped. From the noise I could tell that at least a dozen of the Blue Angels had parked just outside the main door and were on their way in.

  “Go, goddammit!” Miles hollered impatiently.

  He was right. If we had any hope of leaving, it had to be now. Hendrix knew it too. His face twisted with impotent rage at not being able to help his friend. Without another word, he grabbed my arm and we ran to the back door.

  I counted fifteen Blue Angels entering the opposite side of the warehouse. We were immediately spotted and several of them started running toward us.

  The thick metal door was locked. Hendrix threw his shoulder into it but it must've been deadbolted. The door rattled but otherwise barely budged. We were stuck. Even worse we were at an exit, so by law it had to be well lit and clear of any obstructions. That meant that we had no cover whatsoever. There was no place to hide. If we didn't get through this door right now, we were dead.

  I screamed as a bullet smacked into the wall a foot or so to the side of me. I looked back at the shooter reflexively. Although I couldn't see the short man's face clearly from that range, the familiar hunch of bad posture and the way he moved was unmistakable. It was my father and he was lining up his next shot.

  He was quite the marksman and rarely ever missed twice.

  I should've been more upset that it was him pulling the trigger, but I really couldn't think of any other way it would've gone. Slick must have found out somehow what I was doing. The risk I posed to him and his club if I discovered and used any evidence against them was more than enough to justify killing his own disavowed daughter. I had learned the very painful, but valuable, lesson early on: the only bond my father and I shared was a biological one.

  Even polar bears eat their young if their survival is threatened.

  Hendrix growled, the veins popped throughout his corded muscles, he refused to be denied. He struck the door with the explosiveness of a coiled snake. The whole locking mechanism smashed free from the wall with the force of the mighty blow. His boot heel impacted so hard that the one of the hinges screamed and snapped as the door was flung open.

  Hendrix was strength incarnate, the embodiment of power. Beneath the charm and devil-may-care attitude was a fierceness and determination that I didn't think was possible in any man. He was perfect.

  The last thing I saw before Hendrix's strong arms carried me outside and out of the line of fire, was Miles. Gun raised, he alone turned to face the charging bikers. I heard the rapid succession of gunfire inside the building. Then I heard it abruptly stop. My stomach turned because I knew right then that Miles was dead.

  We quickly found Miles' bike and were able to speed away before the Angels eventually made it out of the building after us. Hendrix caught them in his rear view mirror and yelled for me hold on. I squeezed him tightly as he leaned forward and gunned the throttle. Bullets whizzed past us, peppering metal signs, empty vehicles and pavement around us.

  Had we been any closer, they would've killed us. Miles bought us the precious time we
needed to escape. He was a man that had fallen so far, but was able to redeem himself in the final moments.

  I made Hendrix stop a few miles away and convinced him to let me leave an anonymous tip with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. I had worked briefly with the ATF a few times through my law firm. I knew that they would be very interested in finding a hidden gun smuggling operation and, being that they were federal government, it was much less likely for them to be bought off by the Angels.

  They wouldn't catch my father. He was far too careful to remain in the building for long, but the shitstorm the ATF kicked up would certainly inconvenience him. It might even buy us the time we needed to get to California.

  After the call, Hendrix looked me over again and decided that my nose needed to be reset. It took three adjustments to set completely. I squirmed and yelped at the intense pain but only for the first sickeningly loud pop. The other two hurt just as much but I'd found the strength to handle them better. I had been experiencing so much mental and physical pain lately that it all sort of lost its edge. It began to feel normal.

  That scared the hell out of me.

  “You're all right.” Hendrix kissed my forehead “Almost as pretty as me.”

  Hendrix had a way of masking his pain in humor. I'm sure people could interpret that as callous or cold, but I found it really endearing. It was his way of carrying on and doing what was necessary to survive. I could only imagine the loss he felt at losing both of his closest friends. Under his muscles and barbed wire resolve was a tender heart.

  “Oh, I found this inside.” Hendrix handed me my small wallet. I popped it open and looked through it. It was almost completely empty except for my license, a photo of Anna and a library card that I never used. “Your stuff was all over the place, sorry I didn't have time to grab more.”

  It was a selfish and small thing, but I wished he'd found my phone and debit card too. It didn't matter though. It was wonderful that he'd even grabbed what he did, it was more than I could've hoped for. Hendrix could've not come to the warehouse at all... Then where would I be?