by Kline, Sandy
Book One
by Sandy Kline
Copyright © 2014 Sandy Kline
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CONTENTS
Chapter One - Patched
Chapter Two – Biker Justice
Chapter Three – Mister Right
Chapter Four – Mister Wrong
Chapter Five – Caleb vs The Breaker
Chapter Six – The Good, The Bad, and The Confused
Chapter Seven - Chaos
Chapter Eight – The Dream
Chapter Nine – Video Evidence
Chapter Ten - Revelations
Chapter Eleven – The Bad Samaritan
Chapter Twelve – The Fights
Chapter Thirteen – Brother vs Sister
Chapter Fourteen – Kim Gets a Family
Epilogue
Chapter One
Patched
I flash my press pass at the door and push my way through a mass of steroid packed muscles and silicon enhanced breasts. Despite the size of the auditorium there’s a surprisingly thick veil of smoke hanging above my head. From the smell I’m pretty sure it’s a combination of cigars and blunts and I don’t care for either of them. Looking around, there must be easily over ten thousand people gathered here tonight for the upcoming fights. I had no idea this sport was so popular.
There are two things I really don’t like in this world, and they’re both represented here in force tonight; cage fighting and bikers! Well, I’m not a big fan of fake breasts and tonight I’m wearing two hats. I am both a writer for www.Inthecage.com and a martial artist; a real martial artist. I hold a brown belt in Aikido.
I don’t expect much from tonight and I fully expect to be unimpressed. I just don’t see how two sweaty guys prancing about in a ring, limited by a set of rules that basically takes away most of the weapons you’d actually use in a fight for your life, is realistic. In a cage match you cannot tear out an eye, collapse a trachea, crush a temple, or intentionally break your opponent’s neck. Where’s the fun in that?
Originally I took the position for the website because I really needed the money and I couldn’t afford to be picky. I keep writing for them because it helps me with my anti- MMA agenda. My short term goal in life; expose these mixed martial arts fights for what they really are, complete and utter bullshit! My long term goal in life? I don’t have one yet.
As I work my way through the crowd I immediately notice I’m a minority on several fronts. Most of tonight’s rabid spectators are muscle bound men with shaved heads who are very easy on the eyes. As I have previously mentioned, the women here are silicon enhanced, white women dressed to land their next ex-husband. They are tall, beautiful, very well proportioned, and appear to be this season’s cage fighting groupies. Sadly, I don’t land anywhere close to that. Well, not the groupie thing. I’ll never be an MMA groupie. However I wouldn’t complain if I suddenly grew a few more inches and another cup size. I am a short, Filipino-American woman with brown skin, long silky black hair, and sadly don’t really need the bra I happen to be wearing. Maybe I should look into this silicon thing. After all 300 gazillion women can’t be wrong can they?
As I make my way over to the roped off section for the press I begin to notice a change in the crowd. Not far from the press area there is a knot of leather clad bad asses that appear to be primed for action. From my vantage point I can’t tell if it’s an outlaw club I see or just a random selection of enthusiastic, law abiding motorcycle enthusiasts. I am really hoping for the latter rather than the former. I really do not want to report on a gang fight tonight. There are several biker gangs that call Solano County home; the biggest and the baddest of them all are the Soul Eaters MC. There’s no way in hell they’d be here though; it’s just not their style. They’re known for dealing scramble (a mixture of pure heroin and other substances like morphine for example), and guns. Looking around me I can’t imagine there’d be many heroin addicts here or gun enthusiasts so it’s probably a collection of minor clubs here tonight.
Satisfied with my junior sleuthing skills I finish making my way to the press area. I’m hoping to find my best friend Molly here from Bullshido.com. Bullshido is a website catering to everything MMA and also have a solid reputation for debunking bad karate schools (Mac Dojo’s) and dirt bag teachers. Despite her being an MMA enthusiast, she is still my best friend. I do my best to search through the gathered writing community here but at five foot two, I can’t see eye to eye with anyone here. As I spin around in place getting more frustrated by the minute my eyes stop on the bikers again and this time I have reason to be worried. This is not just a random collection of motorcycle riders, these guys are none other than members of the notorious outlaw club, the Soul Eaters! How could they even get in the door? Like anyone would try to stop them. To a man, they are wearing their traditional black leather vest, or cut as they call it, and shit kicking motorcycle boots. If you have never seen their logo, once seen it’s never forgotten. The top portion is the red and white letters proclaiming them to be the Soul Eaters. The bottom portion or rocker claims their territory - California. In the middle, completing their necessary three part patch is a gruesome figure of a wraith on a chopped Harley. One bony hand is on the throttle while the other one holds an AK-47 with the odd attachment of a hypodermic needle where a bayonet would normally have been attached. They are proud to flaunt their proclivities for gun running and drug dealing and even local law enforcement fear them. Why the hell are they here tonight? I can’t imagine any of them having the discipline to learn a martial art. I do hope they’re not here to rob everybody. Now that’s something I wouldn’t put past them. I think they live by the motto, go big or go home.
Despite my initial repugnance at seeing the outlaw bikers in the flesh, I can’t help but stare at several of them and one in particular. So many of the guys seem to take pride in looking…well looking like homeless bums. I swear if you ran a hose over them you’d wash off several pounds of dirt and grime. The younger ones though don’t seem to espouse the smellier the better ideology; especially one in particular. He stands about six feet….two or three and looks to be pure muscle. The way he surveys his surroundings reminds me of a lion in Africa and how they sit there and watch over the pride looking for any unfortunate males from outside the pride that accidently wanders into the wrong territory. In short, he looks ready to pounce. I don’t know how anyone can live in a constant state of readiness like this guy. I mean, I’m a martial artist but I don’t go around looking like I’m waiting for some hapless person to devour. Unlike many of his cohorts he has medium long blond hair and a well-trimmed goatee. I’ve never liked a man with a beard, but the way this guy’s goatee frames his mouth… It screams kiss me and at this moment I’m thinking I’d like too. I’ve never really been a visual person and I prefer to get to know a man inside before the attraction begins to simmer. But this guy… I can’t stop looking at him. He’s beautiful. Let’s hope if we meet I never let that sentiment slip. You don’t call a badass biker beautiful no matter how true it might be. He’s just got this look that makes my heart quicken, and I get a round of goose bumps breaking out over my arms. This is definitely a first for me. No man has that kind of power over my body! But the longer I stare the more I can imagine me losing my principles and just jumping in the sack the first chance I get. This is crazy! I’m not some over-sexed sixteen year old. I’m a responsible, grown woman and I don’t get urges like this; not even over my current…boyfriend Marc. He’s a Deputy Sheriff in Watsonville and he would not approve of this event tonight and certainly would have some strong opinions about the biker standing before me. Someone whispers something in the bikers ear and his face bre
aks out into a quick smile, the it’s gone again as fast as it come. That was amazing! He looked absolutely radiant…just before he replaced that look with a tough guy scowl. Still he is sooooo hot. Then he turns around with his back to me and I see the evil wraith on his back and the spell is broken. I could never get with a biker like him no matter how hot he looked.
I return my attention the fight card. There will be six fights tonight. I recognize everyone fighting tonight save for one. Fighting in the heavy weight division is a man who goes by the name of The Iron Skull. A little pretentious for someone who’s a no-name fighter. I know the guy’s opponent, Marvin the Crusher and I’m pretty sure Marvin’s going to be the one doing the crushing tonight. I’m afraid Mr. Skull is going to go from an iron one to a glass one.
A sudden explosion of cheers erupts around me. I look up and follow the spotlight on the second fighter as he makes his way through the crowd and down to the Octagon. The referee then locks the gate and steps into the center of the ring. But before any MMA fight can begin there has to be the obligatory ring whores. They’re the ones with the awesome responsibility of keeping track of which number corresponds with which round is about to begin and despite the obviously high intelligence these girls seem to possess, they still get it wrong from time to time amazingly enough.
The first few fights are pretty much what I have come to expect from the sport. They’re sub-par boxers who occasionally throw a kick before it becomes a wrestling match. Color me unimpressed. I am seriously considering leaving early when during the short rest between fights; I hear huge cheers erupt from the Soul Eaters. What could possibly interest them enough to elicit such a response towards the next fighter? They really come alive. Before the announcement of the fifth fight of the evening they seemed to be just as bored as I was. But with the announcement of the fight between the Skull guy and the Crusher, they are as one possessed. They’re stomping their boots and chanting Iron Skull in perfect rhythm. Sounds like someone’s got some money on this next fight.
I follow the spotlight as the Crusher makes his way down the aisle, through the throng, and into the Octagon. He’s a formidable looking opponent. He’s well over six feet tall and looks like he spends 80 hours a week bulking up. I can’t imagine anyone actually being able to hurt a guy like that. He’s got this look on his face and such a level of confidence that he must actually believe tonight’s fight is a foregone conclusion. For him the fight is just a formality; some minor annoyance he has to endure until the referee lifts his arm and pronounces his victory. I feel sorry for the poor sap that has to fight him. I look at the card in my hands. Tonight’s unfortunate sap goes by the name Iron Skull. I sure hope the name has been well-earned.
Finally the Crusher’s opponent makes his way through the chanting crowd. From my vantage point I can’t quite see him so I have no idea what to expect. When he finally takes the stage and enters the Octagon his back is turned to me so I can’t see his face. He has a shaved head with some kind of what looks like a tribal tattoo covering most of it. He’s pretty impressive when it comes to his physique but he definitely doesn’t match up to the Crusher. I’m beginning to see things from the Crushers point of view. This is going to be one fast fight and it’s obvious who will be tapping out. As the two fighters approach, the referee lifts his hands in effort to silence the crowd - it half works. I can see him explaining the basic rules to both men, and then suddenly he steps back and drops his hand in a chopping motion indicating the contest is on.
The two combatants literally launch themselves at each other with remarkable speed for their size and the crowd explodes again with almost equal furry. The Soul Eaters are even more animated now and seem ready to rush the Octagon. Their man has just been taken down and the Crusher is doing what is called a ground and pound. I sure hope Mr. Iron Skull truly has an Iron noggin or he’s gonna be finished in a matter of seconds. The Crusher is straddling Skull and raining punches down on the man, right, left, right, left, one after another in rapid succession!
Suddenly Skull arches his back, and then he actually swings a leg up and hooks the Crusher around his neck. With a violent heave Skull pulls the Crusher off and slams him onto the mat. Both men are up in an instant. The two fighters circle around and for the first time I get a look at Iron Skull’s battered face.
It’s…no fucking way! It’s my younger brother Caleb. My brother is Iron Skull! Caleb! How is that even possible. I haven’t seen in ten years and here he is in the ring fighting in a MMA match. The last time I saw him he was this skinny computer geek trying to program video games. What the hell happened and why is the largest outlaw biker gang in the city rooting for him? I can’t watch this. My head is reeling and my heart…I don’t know what my heart’s trying to say. I just can’t believe this. Today cannot get any weirder.
I hear a sudden roar from the biker group and look up in spite of myself. My little brother actually has backed the Crusher up against the cage and he is punching furiously. It’s almost scary, the amount of rage my brother is displaying. Whatever happened to Mr. Nice Guy who wouldn’t hurt a fly?
Suddenly the Crusher lashes out with his foot and catches Skull…my brother on the side of the head. Caleb reels backwards, trying to catch his balance while Crusher charges forward following his kick with a barrage of punches. In seconds the whole match has turned around again as my brother is slammed up against the wire cage not five feet from where I’m standing. It’s almost like the Crusher is hitting me and it makes me flinch and blink every time he lands a punch on my brother. And here I thought this stuff was fake like that WWE wrestling stuff. I open my eyes again just in time to catch a splatter of blood across my face and eyes. I wipe my hand across my mouth and I can actually taste the warm coppery blood of my little brother. Suddenly I’m angry. How can that asshole stand there hurting my brother? I forget about my notes and the story I’m supposed to be writing and I start screaming my fool head off! Caleb may only be my half-brother, but he’s the only brother I have. In seconds my throat begins to feel the effects of my support of my brother. I’m pretty sure I’m going to lose my voice before this thing is over.
Caleb drops to one knee and the Crusher’s face actually lights up with glee. He can smell victory and he’s closing in to finish the fight. Behind me I can’t hear a thing except for the Iron Skull chanting from the Soul Eaters. They must have put a shitload of money on the fight.
Just when I think the fight is over my brother reaches down deep and goes on the attack. He strikes with the ridge of his left hand right between the Crusher’s legs. The impact in that all too tender region is just enough to make the Crusher pause in surprise and that’s all my brother needs. He launches up from a kneeling position and follows with a knee to the Crusher’s crotch. The force is so great it actually picks the man up off his feet. My brother is on his feet now and with his left hand he grabs the Crusher by his long hair in the back of his head and yanks downward violently. His opponent’s knees buckle as he goes down. As his opponent falls, Caleb hammers the man’s face with his free hand until his nose explodes in a sheet of red!
The screams behind me are so loud now my eardrums are vibrating and the sound is completely distorting. The Crusher is lying on his back now and my brother follows up by dropping his knee into the man’s ribs causing his head to pop up off the mat. Caleb fires off three punches in rapid fire into the Crushers face just before the referee grabs him and pulls him backwards! A second man, from the Crusher’s corner is there standing over his fighter and waving a white towel. The fight is over!
The whole auditorium is in pandemonium. I’m screaming, the press area is out of control, the bikers are chanting again, and every girl in the place has my brother’s name on their lips. What a night!
A fight doctor is kneeling beside the Crusher feeling for a pulse in the man’s neck. Suddenly the whole arena goes quiet when the man shakes his head and initiates CPR. I can’t believe it. My brother just killed a man right in front of me. My brothe
r the computer geek is a killer. I can’t wrap my head around that. Then as if it can’t get any weirder, right in the middle of the doctors and paramedics attempts to save the Crusher’s life, three leather clad bikers enter the Octagon. What the hell is going on? Are they angry their fighter killed a guy? I can’t believe that. One of the three is that really hot biker I saw earlier. I look up at him and feel my heart pounding loudly in my chest. Really…that’s what’s going to get my blood flowing? He’s a Soul Eater! Everyone knows they sell their soul to the devil to get a patch. They have absolutely no morals and will do anything to turn a profit. But damn he’s hot! He and the other two bikers approach my brother who is watching the resuscitation efforts. Then I notice one of the guys has a shiny new leather vest in his hands. Wait a second…this cannot be happening. As my mouth drops open in shock the biker with the vest extends it to my little brother. A huge wolfish smile breaks out across his face as he accepts it and puts it on. Then the four are hugging and pounding each other on the back. My little brother is now a Soul Eater. And I thought the night couldn’t get any weirder.
Chapter Two
Biker Justice
As my brother and the three Soul Eaters leave the Octagon the whole arena is talking in hushed whispers about the man who killed the Crusher and became a Soul Eater right in front of their eyes. Everyone is talking at once and the rumors are flying. The most prevalent one having something to do with the ‘fact’ that you have to kill someone to get into the Soul Eaters MC. It’s total bullshit I’m sure, but there’s not a person here tonight that’s not gonna believe that.
“I knew it!” Says a voice behind me.
I turn around and it’s my best friend Molly. Her eyes are shining and she’s about to launch into some crazy monologue about something she probably knows nothing about.