“When it suits my purpose of course, and right now on account of how much sympathy sex I get… I shoulda taken the fucking thing off weeks ago!”
“Sorry Morgan, but I don’t do charity.”
“So…I guess that means you’re accustomed to paying for it then?”
“That’s not quite what I meant.” I reply. “But right now…” I dig around in my pocket and come up with a tattered and borderline disgusting looking twenty dollar bill. “What’ll this get me?”
“Probably some disease if you don’t wash up after handling that.” She replies. “Now get that thing away from my vagina. I can practically feel an STD wafting off it.”
“You’re probably right.”
I throw the offending bill on the floor and move in position to lie down next to Morgan. Since we’re on the couch she either has to let me lie on top of her or she has to climb on top of me; either way works. After a modicum of squirming around with inflamed cock rubbing up against inflamed thighs we come to a… her on top understanding. Our mouths find each other and any thought of words falls by the wayside. She’s an aggressive kisser for a woman and I nearly said so before I thought that one through. If I’d have said that it would have sounded like an experienced comparison between a man’s kiss and hers. Now there’s a barrel of worms I don’t need to open right now. It’s not that I have ever kissed a man I just don’t want her thinking I think she kisses like I imagine a man would kiss. And that whole train of thought would have never gained traction if I hadn’t have polished off nearly an entire bottle of wine.
Back to the present…
Abruptly the sound of heavy vehicles and tires sliding on gravel pulls me out of my sudden trip down memory lane. I don’t bother to fire at the vehicles. They may be made of bullet proof glass and I don’t have bullets to waste. If they’re sporting those special run flat tires my strategy isn’t going to work. Just inside the gate both vehicles slow down considerably to look for us. A sudden thought occurs to me. There’s probably a lot more men in those cars than I first assumed. If they got accurate intel on our little meeting here they will have known that there should be six armed men here and not just Eddie and me. That probably means there’s at least a dozen gunmen behind those blacked out windows. Another disturbing thought pops into my head. Where are the other guys; our guys? There’s supposed to be two guys from the Outkasts and two from the Latin Kings. That they’re not it this shitstorm with my brother and I leads me to believe that we’ve been sold down the river by one or both groups. The guys in those vehicles could be Juarez Cartel members or it could be the Outkasts and the Kings or all three of them.
Both SUV’s move into position and stop about thirty feet or so from us. We should be able to pick at least a few of them off with our handguns. They should have stopped farther back and tried to draw us out from a vantage point that was too far away for us to be accurate with our current fire power. If we even disable the lead vehicle it may give us enough time to get out in front of them and we may just be able to make it back to town. The top speeds of both our bikes are maybe one ten, one fifteen while I’m sure those SUV’s can easily get around one twenty five. With my heart pounding in my mouth I text Eddie, praying he checks his phone. My message is simple. Disable and run. If he has half a brain he’ll know which SUV I mean and what I mean. I wait for fifteen very tense seconds before he replies.
“Got it!”
I send one last text.
“U take the guys I take out SUV. My bike. You drive I shoot.”
After a couple seconds he replies.
“OK”
And that’s all the time we have to plan. Windows come down on both vehicles followed by bright muzzle flashes; it is on! Right away I see they made one tactical mistake. The second SUV is parked at such an angle that they can only shoot out of the one passenger window in front. The other guys will have to get out exposing themselves to our fire so they can get a bead on us.
The sheer volume of lead coming our way though is astounding! That’s only half of their crew firing at that. They must be using AK’s and our HK 121’s from the sound of it. I can tell initially from their fire that they’re not exactly sure where we are. It’s like they’re trying to draw us out. It works. I hear Eddie’s controlled bursts coming from my right and pretty soon I see two guns silenced. Unfortunately they also got a line of Eddie and suddenly he’s being shredded alive. It takes me about five seconds to flatten the front and rear passenger side tires of the lead vehicle. If we can just get a lull in fire we can jump on my bike and the race will begin. If we can’t catch that break soon it’ll be all over for both of us.
After what could only have been a minute at most I hear a grunt and Eddie’s guns are silenced.
“Fuck!”
I may not be able to stand my fucker of a brother but when it comes to war I’m inclined to side with family, especially since there’s no way I’m gonna get out of this alive without his help. I catch movement out of the corner of my left eye. Guys from the second vehicle are getting out and moving into position. I wait until they’re close enough for my shotgun to be effective, then open fire. The two closest guys who’re both carrying AK’s fall dead instantly. The four guys behind them fall back towards the van firing wildly. Another sound catches my attention. Eddie is firing again. I can tell from the sound that he’s using his back up .380. That’s not a good sign. That means anytime now he’s gonna run dry. I grab my 9mm and start firing again at the retreating Cartel guys but only get two shots off before the slide locks back. Now I’ve run dry. That means I have about fifteen shells left in my shotgun before I’m weaponless myself. The remaining four from the second vehicle disappear behind the front SUV. I have a nasty feeling I have about sixty more seconds to live and with that realization comes another flash of memory of Morgan and me.
I remember one of the few days that Morgan spent the night in my bed. I remember waking up and finding her staring at me with a strange look on her face.
“How long have you been watching me?” I ask.
“Long enough.”
“Care to elaborate on that?” I ask her.
“I’m wondering something.”
“What is it you’re wondering?”
“How can you be so different from your brothers? Or are you really that different from them. You’ve heard the story of Blackbeard right?”
“Oh no…you are not seriously going to compare me to Blackbeard are you?”
“If even half the legends about him are true…as ruthless as he was, it is said he could charm the bloomers off one in nothing flat. So yeah…you could be a modern day Blackbeard, riding a Harley and fooling us all.”
“I have no intention of fooling anyone Morgan. What you see is what you get. I don’t have the time, energy, or inclination to pretend to be something or someone I’m not.”
“Okay fine, you’re no Blackbeard. I still don’t get my odd attraction to you.”
“You find your attraction to me odd? And I suppose you think something must be wrong with you for being attracted to me, is that it?”
“Something like that.”
“You know, I’m more than just the ex-president of a powerful biker club.”
“What, are you gonna tell me you’re a family man now?”
“Actually yes. And…in some respects I’m not that different from your Blackbeard. He was a family man and benefactor for many misfits fleeing British and Spanish persecution. To many he was Commodore, and protector of the downtrodden. Was he slightly touched, and more than a little eccentric… so what? I provide for quite a few men and their girlfriends, wives, and children and I can be like a mother hen; so sue me. No one fucks with my family!”
“Is that right? Well who fucked with your original family? They are dead right? Other than your brother of course. Oh but how could I forget your charming father. What a piece of work he is. What happened to your mother?”
“Thanks to my father, she drank herself to d
eath. My father’s not far behind from what I hear. I don’t have much contact with the man as you well know.”
“So the club, it’s your way of reconstructing the family you wish you’d had?”
“Don’t over analyze it Mrs. Freud.”
A sudden respite from the hail of lead pulls me back out of my head. Screams of the injured pierce the air. I hazard a glance towards Eddie. As soon as our eyes meet he mouths a single word.
“Now?”
I nod and leap up from my hiding place and leg it towards my Harley. I can hear my brother panting behind. At any second I expect to feel the bite of a bullet, but I am totally amazed that we actually reach my bike before bullets begin to rain down on us once more. Mid sprint I reach back behind myself extending my keys, and like a relay sprinter, Eddie grabs the ‘baton’ and switches it out with one of his own; his .380. I guess he hadn’t quite run dry. Eddie surges ahead of me and reaches my bike two steps ahead. I hear the engine roar to life as my own ass lands on the back and I nearly flip backwards off as he surges forwards. The race is on!
We make it to the gate and out as the second and operational SUV is backing up. It’ll take them a bit to reach the exit and turn around. Hopefully that will give us enough of a head start. With a little luck we’ll have enough of a lead to make it to town before they can catch up to us. I squeeze my thighs together as tight as I can manage so I don’t become unseated by my brother’s erratic steering. With my shotgun in my right and Eddie’s .380 in my left I prepare for what could be the last battle of my life.
About a quarter of a mile from Oakland the SUV catches us. I turn and put one well -placed shot through the front windshield. That forces them to back off. Unfortunately at that distance the pellets from my gun fail to penetrate the thick front window of the SUV. It’ll make visibility hell, but it won’t hurt them. I can feel various parts of my bike shudder under the impact of bullets but so far I haven’t been hit. I believe back at the yard Eddie took a bullet but he doesn’t show it. Probably the adrenaline is keeping him from feeling it or experiencing the full effects of being shot. As the SUV moves up on us again I turn and empty my brother’s .380 in they’re direction. A sudden hole appears in the vehicles windshield but I doubt I hit anyone. I let the empty gun drop and focus my efforts on my shotgun and the remaining half a dozen shells left.
About 500 feet from the edge of town we finally catch a break. There’s a cop parked on the edge of an empty parking lot. Sadly I have to relinquish my favorite shotgun. It would not due to be pulled over with a hot shotgun in my hands. The gun goes skittering off the edge of the road and into the tall grass before the cop takes notice of us. Eddie hits the breaks as we pass and immediately he lights us up. I don’t have to look back to know that our pursuers have given up the chase.
I force my heart to settle and take a few deep breaths trying to not look like I was just in a gun battle for my life. In front of me I can see Eddie doing the same. This better be a quick stop. It won’t take a genius to see my bike has been taking fire.
Chapter Twelve
Morgan Becomes Human
My aunt told me I’m a good person. She also said to do the right thing. The thing is I don’t know what kind of person I am. I have been an unfeeling cyborg since my mother died fifteen years ago. I have been devoid of many of the things that make’s a person human. How do I get that back? How do I become human again?
A half a dozen calls and three hours later I have my first appointment with a shrink. I always knew my insurance provided for mental health services but I would not have thought in a million years that I would be using their services. My first appointment is in two days. I’ll stay holed up here until that appointment. They’ll know how to handle my calling Cade. They’ll know what I should say to him. They’ll know how to become human again.
Tuesday Morning at the offices of Doctor Hart…
“So Morgan, what brings you here today?” Dr. Hart asks.
I’m sitting across from him on his proverbial couch (a chair really), and still wearing my sunglasses. I haven’t the slightest idea how to begin so I just talk.
“I uh…I guess you want to know stuff about my parents and my childhood and shit like that right?”
“Yes, we psychiatrists always like to hear about that…shit, if you will. But only if you want to talk about it.”
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me how to do this?”
“There is no right or wrong way to do this Morgan. Talking is always good though.”
“What about…um, if I tell you about a crime… well not a crime but something illegal, are you gonna tell the cops?”
“Are you hurting a child Morgan?”
“Hell no.”
“Are you hurting someone or planning on hurting someone?”
“Fuck no!”
“Do you plan to kill yourself then?”
“No.”
“Do you know of an ongoing crime?”
“No way.”
“Well I guess I’ll have nothing to report.” Dr. Hart concludes.
“Okay…um…great. I guess I’m here because my life is a fucking mess.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“My boyfriend…well maybe he my ex now, but he was the president of an outlaw biker club. Now he’s just…I don’t know what he is actually. I kinda ratted on him a little.”
“Is your life in any danger Morgan?”
“No, not at all.”
“Really? My understanding of outlaw biker clubs, well they don’t take kindly to people ratting on them.”
“I didn’t turn him into the police if that’s what you’re thinking. I just let another brother know what he was up to; for the good of the club. So yeah he’s pissed but he’s not after me or anything. So no, my life’s not in danger.”
“So why are you here then?” Dr. Hart asks.
“I haven’t cried since I was 13. Actually that’s not totally true. I did cry the other day but that was the first and only time since I was 13 so that makes about fifteen years.”
“Have you had good reason to cry since then?”
“Well yeah…I mean, doesn’t everybody?”
“Some more than others. Why does it bother you that you haven’t cried?” He asks.
“I didn’t even cry when my dad was killed in a car crash when I was 14. But when I say I haven’t cried since 13, accept of course last week.”
“What prompted you to finally cry?”
“I thought I had murdered my boyfriend, I got suspended from my job, I’ve been drinking like a fucking fish, my aunt whom I haven’t spoken to for ten years because she has Alzheimer’s and doesn’t know who I am called me, and she was lucid….and I think I just lost my only friend in the world.”
There I said it. I actually feel a little better.
“That’s a lot Morgan. Any one of those things could bring a person to tears.”
“But I couldn’t cry. I was like a cyborg. Well, I was until I cried.”
“So you cried. That must have felt good.”
“Actually if felt like shit. I was hung over for like the fifth day in a row and vomiting for about as long so yeah, I pretty much felt like shit.”
“Do you have any alcoholism or any other addiction in your family?”
“Geeze, I’m not here because I’m an alcoholic or something doc.”
“So why are you here?” He asks quietly.
“Cause I wanna become human again…”
“It sounds to me like you’re well on your path to becoming just that. Humans feel things. They react to things. They cry, they get mad, depressed, lonely, bored, excited, and confused. Any of that ring a bell?”
“All of it.” I reply, not sure of where he’s going with this.
“You sound pretty human to me Morgan.”
“Maybe now but I wasn’t. But there’s another problem here.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not a good person. I want to be a goo
d person but I don’t know how.”
“Are you a child molester Morgan?”
“Fuck no!”
“Are you a murderer, a thief, a pathologic liar, a serial killer, a drug dealer, a methamphetamine cook, or a scammer of the elderly?”
“Hell no!” Well I thought I was a murderer but you don’t need to know that.
“Do you contribute to society in any way shape or form?”
“I’m a stockbroker.”
“So you help people invest to plan for retirement and better their lives in general, right?”
“Sure.”
“Then you sound like a pretty good person to me Morgan. You probably have your issues like we all do and you’re here to work on those issues, like everyone else. You’re a normal woman…a human being.”
I’m not convinced.
“I guess I am.” I finally say.
“Seems to me like you do a lot of good. Your paperwork says you’re a senior vice president for Capital America. You can’t get to that position in that company if you were not doing a hell of a lot of good for people. Relax, you’re a good person.”
I don’t know what to say about his assessment.
“I don’t seem to have the normal range of feelings.” I say to him. I’m going to try once more to prove to him I’m not human.
“And I think you do.” He replies.
He’s starting to piss me off.
“Am I making you angry?” He asks.
I nod.
“More proof.” He says with a smile.
“But how can I feel good about myself?”
“Well… you can try doing something for someone else. If you’re going to give gifts do it anonymously, otherwise that kind of defeats the purpose. There are several soup kitchens that operate in the area as well as homeless shelters that could use a helping hand. Do those kinds of things and pretty soon you’ll start feeling better and more human.”
I don’t know what to say.
“I’d also like you to see your doctor for a check- up and just to get some blood work as well.”
Old Lady (Iron Disciples Book 2) Page 10