Unthinkable: The Blazers MC

by Paula Cox

  Chris throws his arms up, motioning to his men. They step back, grabbing bats and car tires. My men do the same but with switchblades. No one moves as each of us wait for the first sign of aggression. I call out towards Chris who is walking into his office, “We know who you’re working with, Chris! You must be a goddamn fool if you think you can deal to the Coyotes with Mustang coke. And mark my motherfucking words, as soon as I dispose of these two little bitches, I’m coming for your ass next!”

  One of the largest of the two newbies looks at me and laughs. “Oh, Grandpa!” he shouts as he swings his black metal tool towards my head.

  I duck, missing it by centimeters. I plunge myself at his stomach and chest, my blade just missing his skin. He flies backwards into the ground as I pummel my fists into his face. Blood pools near his ears as I feel his chest start to slow beneath the weight of me. Weakly, I have mercy on him, and I stand up to observe what I’m left with.

  All around me, I hear the shouts of my men, wild, guttural, maniacal. This is what they came to do; this is what they live for. Blood, destruction, mayhem -- it’s all part of their calling card. Isaac and Ryan work the bruised and battered body of the other new henchman while our other two enforcers-in-training have it out with the two younger boys. I watch in horror as the smallest guy manages to slam his bat into one of our men in training. He looks up, his mouth full of blood, and the bastard winds up to take another swing.

  I dart after him, managing to grab his arm before he can land another blow. I take his bat and toss it way out of sight. I’m about to land a fist to his gut when Ryan runs up, his small pocket knife pointed upwards, driving it into the boy’s side.

  Ryan screams, “That’s what you get, son! That’s what you get!” He falls to the ground, clutching himself by the waist. I can see the red oozing out of him through his fingertips. Ryan grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around.

  The four men are done, and the garage is completely unguarded. I whisper to Ryan, “I’m going in, but Chris has guns in there, at least he did the last time I paid a visit. Go cover me.” I slink in through the garage doors, my boots treading lightly on the smooth concrete. The last thing I want to do is get ambushed by Chris. It’s better to know your killer than be surprised, so I call out to him in his hiding place, “Chris! This is your last fucking chance. You give us our money, all of it, and we let you go. We spare your sorry ass. You already crossed us once when you tried to take me out a few weeks back, but now you’re dealing with the Coyotes. That’s not gonna bode well for you.”

  “Fuck you Cal! The Coyotes are protecting me now, you stupid fuck. You touch me or their business, and you’re going down!” He’s shouting at me from somewhere to my left.

  I spin around and see it: the black hole of a gun. I duck quickly behind a car, just barely missing the first shot. He shoots another, this one landing on my shoulder, cutting through my leather jacket. The searing pain from my shoulder wounds hits me instantly as I slump back down to my hands and knees. I try to inhale, concentrating on Maddie. If I’m going to die here in this shitty little shop by that double-crossing bastard, I’m not going to be thinking of him. I’m going to be thinking of my daughter. In my head, I whisper a goodbye to her as I hear Chris laugh to himself. I shut my eyes tightly---

  …

  …

  Click. Click. Click. I hear the sound of a man pulling a trigger over and over and over again. I can hear Chris’ breathing pick up as he stands in complete and utter disbelief. He slams the handgun onto a wooden surface before darting off. I listen helplessly as I hear him pass me and then hop into one of the cars near the back of the shop. It speeds off, the tires squealing and screeching.

  I use the car I’m ducking under to stand to my feet. I notice how absolutely useless my arm is as I remove my jacket. The leather is sticking to the wound, but I manage to peel it off and tie my bandana around it. This will have to do until I can have the club’s doc take a look at it.

  In the distance, I hear the familiar roar of a motorcycle rev up and take off after Chris. He’s not going to catch him, at least not during the day. But at least he’s trying. The rest of my men are still patrolling out back, searching for Chris’ hidden stash of weapons and drugs.

  I don’t join them. Instead, I walk slowly towards a large tank of gasoline and fill up a couple of red plastic containers. I head back towards the end of the garage where Chris just sped up and I splash the first canister on the ground and on one of Chris’ antique hobby cars. The crude, chemical smell tinges my nostrils as I pour the second in Chris’ office and in the front of the building.

  When I’m finished with the canisters, I go back to the tank of gasoline and twist the nozzle on the siphon to the left and then set the hose down on the floor. The puddle of the clear liquid grows quickly as I walk through it towards the front entrance.

  Ryan is outside smoking, talking to one of the junkies. The men in the car are laughing as Ryan points towards the garage and at the pile of the four bodies still lying on the ground outside the shop. My stomach turns as I try to process this scene. Ryan should have been there. He and the others should have had my back like I asked. But instead he’s having a chit-chat with these coke heads?

  I’m more than angry as I pound my boots in his direction. He turns to see me grasping my hand to my shoulder. He shakes his head disappointedly as he says, “You let that bastard get away.”

  I stop inches from his face, staring him down before I bark back, “Yeah, Ryan. Today he fucking got away.” I pull him towards me using the collar of his jacket. “Go do your own fucking job, and then we can talk about who let who get away. You understand me?”

  Ryan nods a few slow times before I let him go. He hops towards his bike, leaving the other three men waiting for my orders. I point towards one of the enforcer trainees, “You got a light, kid?”

  The young boy quickly feels the pockets of his blue jeans before pulling out a bic lighter, “Yes, sir!”

  I point back towards the building, instructing him, “Go light it up, kid.”

  “What? Light it up?” He stares at me unsure of what I am saying is real. This kid hasn’t even gotten his feet wet before us Mustangs probably told him to be an accessory to murder and now arson. I feel for him. Hell of a start.

  I take the lighter out of his shaking hand and pass it to one of the other trainees, a young gun who’s been around for longer. He’s part of Ryan’s legion, so I know he’s more up to this type of job. His wicked grin before walking fast towards the garage proves my theory to be correct.

  But as I watch him click the lighter on, something dawns on me. I run towards him, holding his arm as he attempts to throw the flame inside. “Wait a minute kid, there’s something I need to get.”

  I run back into the garage, the heavy scent of gasoline filling my nostrils, causing me to gag. I eye the cars one by one till I see it, tucked under the back of one of a red Chevy truck lowered to the ground without its wheels. I duck down and grab the black metal case, the one I saw Chris hide before he went off. Whatever he was trying to keep from us was in this box, and I’m not going to let this burn down with the rest of his building.

  Once I’m safely out with the box in my hand, the enforcer throws the lighter into the garage. Within seconds, there’s a whoosh sound followed by a storm of heat. From a distance, I watch as a skeleton of a car bursts into flames, taking the same red truck with it. It only takes a minute or so before the entire place is crashing to the ground in a heap of ashes, rubble, and fire.

  Chapter 15: More Than You Know

  MICHELLE

  “I still don’t understand why I need to know this damn stuff, Miss Springer.” Maddie is twirling her curly brown hair with the ends of her pencil as she chomps down on a piece of gum she won from my purse. She looks up at me, totally uninterested, “It’s just a bunch of dead guys.”

  “Yeah, it’s a bunch of dead guys -- a bunch of dead guys who fought for our country.” I hold out my hand
in front of her mouth. It’s our signal. The new rule is that for every time she curses, I get to take away the gum. Go five minutes without a bad word uttered, I give her another piece. I even have my phone’s timer set up for it.

  “Oh come on, Miss Springer! It’s just ‘damn.’ I’ve said much worse than that!” She throws her arms around her chest in a dramatic pout.

  I know she’s heard worse. I have no doubt that the expressive vocabulary that she uses is all inherited from her surroundings. Looking around the kitchen with the black garbage bags and plywood boards covering the windows and the floor tiles literally peeling up at its edges, this place is a breeding ground for low class.

  But still, this is Maddie’s home. And in the few weeks I’ve been stopping by to help tutor her, I have seen her more at ease than ever. As much as I hate it, she’s comfortable here. She even feels safe here regardless of the gunfire, strange women, and men carrying around knives and drugs.

  I reach out my hand towards her mouth, still insisting she follow my rule. She looks at me, rolls her eyes, and spits it into the palm of my hand. She returns to her books for a brief second before being interrupted by one of the club members passing through for a beer.

  He tussles Maddie’s hair as he says, “How’s it going Maddie? Where’ your dad at?”

  I’m asking myself the same question. Since I turned Cal down, I haven’t seen him or heard from him. He hasn’t stopped by to see me tutor Maddie. He hasn’t even made it into the classroom to talk about her progress despite my notes and letters. But, secretly, I’m grateful. The less I see him, the less I think of him and his body pressed against mine. Without him around, I can actually be the professional teacher I know I can be.

  “Ah, he’s on a run somewhere. I think it’s to Chris’ repair shop or something. He took Ryan, Isaac, Blue Eye, and Softie with him a couple hours ago. I thought he was supposed to be back by now, though.”

  I clear my throat as I turn to the man at the refrigerator, “What’s a ‘run’?” I shouldn’t ask. I know better. Getting myself involved in this motorcycle club stuff feels like a death sentence. The more I know, the deeper I get in, but any insight into Maddie’s world is becoming more and more important to me as I become attached to her.

  The man pulls back the tab on the gold can of his beer, sending the frothy liquid down his hand. He eyes me as he licks the remains off. And then, he smiles widely. “You’re a curious one, aren’t ya? Most girls around here are an ‘ask no questions’ type.”

  I turn back to Maddie who is laughing, too. Both are in on this joke that I’m clearly not getting. Maddie fist pumps the guy as he walks past her back into the living room where I can hear the other men hollering and crying out over their never ending card game.

  “What was that about? What was he talking about?”

  “Oh, Miss Springer,” She puts her hand on mine as if she were the teacher in this situation, “He’s saying that the dumb broads that come over here aren’t here because they’re interested in being in a motorcycle club. They don’t give a shit what’s going on.”

  “Maddie, come on…” I press the reset on the timer again as she sighs, clearly annoyed with me.

  “Look, Miss Springer. All I’m saying is those whores in the living room are good for one thing and one thing only…if you know what I mean.”

  “Maddie, do you know what you mean?” I’m absolutely disgusted, but I know I’ve got to hide it. This here is nature versus nurture, and I’m coming up against an entire culture shock. But, boy, is it shocking.

  “Sex. It’s like the girls my dad brings home. I never see them again unless they’re some club skank who gets around. There’s been a couple of them. One of them had breakfast with me once. That was nice. But he usually uses them and then kicks them to the curb before I go to school.”

  Maddie returns her focus to her textbook, using one of my highlighters to circle a passage. But I’m too shocked to move. I had a suspicion. Well, more than a suspicion. I could have guessed at all this if I was being honest with myself. I knew I wasn’t Cal’s only girl. The way he bedded me was all the proof I needed that he wasn’t going home alone most nights. But the fact that Maddie knew was something entirely beyond me.

  A few minutes tick away as I fall into a deep, dark hole of thoughts. What else does Maddie know? What has she seen? How could this be normal for her when the rest of her friends at school are going home to moms and dads who put dinner on the table and talk about their jobs in offices and cubicles?

  More to the point, what exactly am I supposed to do about this? There are just so many things that both Maddie and Cal have said to me that have crossed the line – hell, they’ve crossed multiple lines, every line imaginable. They were so far into that gray area that I spent most nights after my tutoring sessions contemplating if what Maddie said put me in legal risk if I didn’t report Cal to child protective services. Does sleeping around with strange women count? How about sleeping with me?

  My stomach is tied up in knots as I try to work this out. Luckily, Maddie has hit the five-minute mark of no cursing. I pull out a stick of gum from the inside of my purse and toss it to her. She dances in her chair as she chows down. I ask her quietly, “Are you hungry, Maddie?”

  She answers so nonchalantly, as if I should be able to read the situation more clearly, “Yeah, duh. I don’t get to eat until my dad comes home, and who knows when that’s going to be!”

  I look up at the clock. It’s nearly 7pm. Some students in my class would have been getting ready to go to bed at this point, not be waiting for dad to throw a frozen dinner on the table. I stand up and head towards the refrigerator. Inside are stacks and stacks of cans. It’s an endless supply of beer and liquor.

  “Where’s the food, Maddie?”

  “Dad brings home dinner most nights. It’s Friday, so he usually stops at this chicken place, Mr. Clucky’s. It’s good, but I always get a stomachache afterwards…”

  I interrupt her, “Does he ever cook for you? Like, does he make you anything homemade?”

  “Besides putting a frozen waffle in the toaster sometimes, no? But why would he? He gets the food for free. It’s all people on his routes.”

  “Maddie, I really want to understand it here. What are routes and what is your dad doing tonight? Can you explain to me like I have no idea what your dad does?”

  She sighs heavily and shuts her book. I sit next to her again and listen as she lowers her voice, “Miss Springer, my dad is on a run. It’s when he goes and checks on the people that work for the club. He makes sure they’re doing what they’re supposed to be doing. Like a boss!”

  “Like a boss? But what are they supposed to be doing, and what do you mean by they work for the club?”

  “They sell stuff for the club. Jager, the president, he gets his crew and my dad to go out on routes. My dad’s route is at that repair shop today. He goes with the other club members and collects money from the blow sales.”

  Woah. Maddie just gave me way too much information. I don’t want to go any further, but I feel like I’m obligated to. As a teacher, as an adult, I have to know what she knows. I lower my voice to a whisper, as I ask her. “Blow? What’s blow, Maddie?”

  “It’s that stuff those girls stick up their noses before they go and have sex with the guys. My dad doesn’t do it, and he won’t let me go near it. But everyone else does it. He says it makes them go crazy, and it’s only for stupid people without a brain.” Maddie looks back down at her hands nervously. She can tell that this isn’t a topic she’s supposed to be discussing with anyone but her father.

  I put my hand on her shoulder and reassure her, “Your dad is right. That stuff is for people who aren’t as smart as you are.” I pause, trying to think if I should push this any further. But from the tired look on her face, I know it’s time to stop it right here. “Speaking of smart, you’re not going to ace this history exam unless we get back to studying. Open up your book and read to me about General Washington and
his spies, okay?”

  Another hour passes as both of us get back into the groove. Maddie’s really starting to pick up concepts and vocab words. And her cursing is improving with each new piece of gum I’m supplying her. Still, I remain in my chair, quiet and somber. I interject every so often to give Maddie corrections or to ask her questions from my teacher’s version of the textbook.

  But every part of my mind is focused on a completely different project. I am turning over my words, rehearsing each line. I need to know exactly what I am going to say to Maddie’s father when he walks through those doors. And I need all the courage to confront him on how he is raising his child in this hell hole of a den.

  Chapter 16: In the Middle

  CAL

  I hear Michelle’s voice through the crowd in the living room, “What day did the Battle of Yorktown occur?” She sounds strong but tired. I look down at my watch to see she’s been here for at least three hours now. She’s never been here for a tutoring session this long. I thought I had managed to wait her out in those woods.