Protect

by C. D. Breadner

  In the boardroom his brothers, along with the Nomads, were once again gathered. It felt the same as the night they’d done that six house sweep, other than the time of day, of course. Plus, they weren’t taking as many with them. Everyone grabbed an individual piece, and anyone who didn’t usually carry a blade made sure to grab one of those, too.

  In the cargo van they stowed the big boys: AK-47s and a handful of shotguns. The modified spare tire well made for a great hidey hole. Those were to be used as a last resort. It was hard to hide one on a bike.

  There was more anxiety with this field trip. That was another difference. This one was more likely to be a throw-down brawl. No firearms, just fists and blades. Closer. No surprise. No fast strike in the dark, at night.

  This would be man on man brutality.

  Fritter had confidence in his ability to throw a punch. He was fast, strong, and when the adrenalin was pumping he felt no pain or fear. Jayce told him once he was like a bulldog: all brute strength until he was called off.

  There was just someone to come back to now. That was doing his brain in. Just a little bit.

  He ended up in the cargo van with Tiny. The older man must have been trying to keep a mellow boil of anxiety because neither of them spoke for the entire drive to a camp site just across the county line in Kern County. It was mid-week, a stretch of empty campsites further into the Kern River Campground, not far from said river. They were the first ones there, but that wasn’t a surprise.

  They parked the vehicles in sight of the meeting spot, leaving the opposite side open for the Rats. Fritter paced a path along the line of scrub brush bordering the gravel lot, hands tensing and releasing.

  No one else was speaking, either. They’d all gone into preparation mode, and the only thing that gave away their nerves were the twitches. Fritter knew these men long enough to see the signs.

  Knuckles cracked his knuckles. That was an obvious one. Buck chewed his thumbnails. Tiny rubbed the back of his neck far more than a normal person would. Jayce looked like he was talking to himself, just from the way his lips and jaw moved back and forth, but he wasn’t. That was just how the nervous energy got out. Tank ... okay, Tank didn’t really have a tell. But he kept a more wary eye on the group.

  This was a meeting, but not a single man here thought it was going to go down quietly or easily. The question was whether or not the Rats would keep up the ruse and talk, or just come roaring in with fists flying.

  Hopefully with just fists flying.

  Just before the agreed meeting time the low rumble of at least a dozen motorcycles filled the serene campsite and the Rebels all tensed, turned to face the legion of Dirty Rats that were pulling into parking spots in the shade, out of the sun, and circle to briefly talk before spreading into a line and approaching. Before falling into formation Fritter had made out “Nomad” on their patches, which didn’t help him understand what their fucking deal was any better.

  Fritter stepped to Jayce’s right side out of reflex, Tank took the left. One his other side he could feel Knuckles vibrating, more likely from bloodlust now than nerves. Like a police dog, he’d scented the foe.

  What Fritter didn’t know about the Dirty Rats could fill a book. He just knew enough to be wary of them, and in any occasion where their paths would cross he just ignored them without being outright disrespectful. They were an old club, around since the end of the Second World War, and while they may have started out with hardened, disillusioned vets who saw no need to conform to a society that had risked them, there was a real honor to the way they lived. They’d damn near been hippies at the beginning; living almost in communes in the lower half of the US, not bothering anyone but raining terror and hellfire on anyone who thought they knew better how to raise their kids, make a living, whatever.

  These men were Dirty Rats only in name. When the Vietnam War was called as an epic fuck up and angry men returned home it was almost in style for them to embrace the lifestyle, but they also wanted to make money. When the Rats’ membership got younger and younger that greed stuck in deep, and it went right to narcotics. Easy bank, big thrills and risk. That took the Rats over.

  Now the bastards were everywhere, and nearly every drug family and cartel had a tie-in. They could also get you weapons, but most of the firepower they imported seemed to be for their own use. And they were mean assholes, nasty to the core. They got off on being feared.

  Not that the Rebels had started off much different, but their violence had always been in retaliation. They’d never gone after innocents, and families were off limits. But there had been a few mistresses and hanger-ons along the way that had known the same rage a ‘Nam vet could dish out if he was pissed off, PTSD-soaked, and high on heroin most of the time.

  Jayce didn’t like to talk about the club he’d been born into. He’d changed it. Hell, his old man had been trying to soften the edges of the club before he went inside, but to reconcile with his son it had been far too little, too late.

  But that was story time. This was something else.

  Fritter didn’t know the President’s name until he was close enough to read the patch. It just said “Hawk,” and the slight frame with the hooked nose lived up to the road title. His SAA was called “Jarhead,” and if a person wanted to make assumptions his iconic haircut suggested he’d spent time in the service of his country. The guy’s face was also suffering from a few fading bruises and small cuts. The VP in front of him was just “Mac.”

  Hawk stepped forward, hand extended, so Jayce moved out and did the same. Their shake was tense, and Fritter kept his eye on the VP opposite him. The guy was relaxed, hands hanging off his belt buckle which decided to ride under a considerable gut. There was food stuck in his black-and-white beard.

  Fuck, these were hard core bikers. Fritter felt it right then when the guy met his eye and then continued his study of the Red Rebels, a smirk on his face that only the steel in his eyes could back up. The guy’s hands were filthy; oil and grease deep in the creases around his knuckles. His arm hair was thick and curled, skin the color of a leather purse from being in the sun. This guy had no home other than his bike and kutte.

  Fritter swallowed, and Mac saw it. It made him grin broader.

  “Okay, we’re here,” Jayce said, all business without trying to be too friendly or too arrogant. “Tell us why I can’t turn around lately without seeing a Rat.”

  Hawk sniffed and his thin chest puffed out. Fritter wasn’t fooled. In a fight he’d take a hard-ass like Mac over a skinny fucker like Hawk any day. You never knew what the thin ones were capable of.

  “We’ve taken over a bit of business that the Mad Gypsys left lacking just recently. Damndest thing. They just went missing.” Hawk’s voice was high and a sounded strained. Fritter turned his attention that way, and the guy’s fingers were thrumming out a beat on his leg. He wasn’t nervous. He was high as fuck. Surely Jayce could see it in his eyes.

  “They were always a bit unreliable. Nothing to do with us. Never liked ‘em, never mixed with ‘em.”

  Hawk sniffed, rubbed his nose and stepped closer. It made Fritter close ranks on his Prez, and in front of him Mac did the same, but his eyes were only on Fritter.

  “I don’t give a fuck if you were best buds. I don’t give a fuck if you killed them. What I do give a fuck about is a missing shipment of a very important medicinal ingredient that my bosses really want back.”

  “What ingredient? For meth or some shit? You can buy all that shit that at the drug store.”

  “Thebaine. Don’t get cute. Your father would be fucking ashamed to see you pull that attitude, son.”

  Jayce’s back got ramrod straight. “I got nothing to do with my father. And this club ain’t the same as it was back when he was running it. I can’t be bullied or dared into doing stupid shit just to prove my sack.”

  “I know this ain’t your daddy’s club. It’s painfully obvious. You got shit raining down on your people and zero ability to end it.”

&nb
sp; “I take care of mine just fine.”

  “Not what I heard.” Hawk’s voice dropped low. “You just lost a member. Beaten to death in his own business. I’d say the Red Rebels are in need of some serious sack. Either that, or your shithole town is just ripe for the taking.”

  “I think we both know what happened to my friend,” Jayce’s voice got very, very low. “And I’m glad you brought that up. I used to be scared of the Rats. When I was kid. If I knew you took to ganging up on a man to kill him ... or, for that matter, sending four to kill a woman—which, by the way, still didn’t get it done—I wouldn’t have been nearly so scared of you guys. Your club seems to be losing some edge, too. Hawk.”

  Hawk just grinned and turned to Jarhead. “He knew he should’ve finished her. He assumed the fire would do it. He won’t make that mistake again. We taught him.”

  Fritter’s hands clenched into fists and he was lunging before he even clocked his own reactions, but Knuckles had hold of him and prevented him making it the situation worse. Jarhead had moved too and Tank shoved him back into his brothers, and they were instantly nose to nose. But fucking Mac was just still smiling at him.

  Fritter thought Sharon said the last guy was bearded, but looking at him again Fritter wondered if some of those cuts weren’t from a shave. The beard Sharon described would be awfully recognizable.

  “It was this guy.” Hawk sounded highly amused, pointing at Fritter but staring at Jayce. “Paying off a Sheriff with cock. Doesn’t always work I’m sure, but it’d be worth asking. Must have been a rough ask for your boy, though. I wasn’t there and apparently she got a little rough with my guys. Jarhead here didn’t see fit to try out that snatch.” Now Hawk squinted at him, and Fritter bit down the urge to fling a filthy name at him. Then the prick licked his lips. “She’s lucky it wasn’t me, boy. I wouldn’t have been so easily distracted, and that bitch would have screamed. Ah well, maybe next time. Keep her fresh for me, okay?”

  He wasn’t sure what happened. He thought Jayce might have clocked Hawk, because the next thing he knew the Rats’ Prez was on one knee on the ground, spitting out blood. Jarhead went for Jayce but Tank was already in the way, and Fritter didn’t have time to worry about that because fucking Mac was coming for him.

  Luckily Knuckles let him go immediately and it was on. Mac hit like a freight train, but that wasn’t a surprise. Luckily Fritter knew how to take hits like a prize fighter, and the fat fuck winded himself early while all Fritter had to do was keep vital bits out of the way of his ham-sized fists.

  When the guy wore down Fritter let loose and saw nothing but red, only stopping when Knuckles pulled him back. The man was on his side on the ground and Fritter had just kicked him right in the teeth. He was out, but breathing. Not a concern anymore.

  Immediately he looked for Jayce. Jayce and Jarhead were somehow into it, and he caught sight of the big guy just as Tank literally body slammed a Dirty Rat onto the hard-packed gravel and followed it up with a steel-toe kick to the gut.

  A kid came at him, with a blade. Fritter saw the inexperience in that and it told him all he needed to know about this new opponent. He let the kid lunge then trapped the outstretched arm under his, the drove his other hand up at the elbow. There was an ugly cracking and the kid started shrieking. Fritter heard the knife drop and he released the dislocated elbow without another thought. He had to get to Jayce, or at least closer.

  It was a shock to see Spaz lay a Rat out with a shot to the jaw. Even the kid looked surprised but rather than celebrate he felt the next rush coming, another younger kid like the one Fritter had just disarmed. No problem there.

  The next asshole in Fritter’s way had a knife and none of the wide-eyed, piss and vinegar of the younger Rat. There was no hesitation as he reached down and pulled his hunting knife free, feeling the weight of it and letting that center him.

  He’d never liked knife fights, he always preferred fists. When the guy moved in Fritter felt his body tense, and his inner “Oh shit” kicked in. In a brawl it was almost better to attack with too much zeal and not let up for a moment; not until you knew the other guy was down.

  There’s no panache in a battle of blades. These weren’t swords; they were short knives that meant you had to be close. Once he’d deflected the guy’s arm a couple times, unable to pin him the way he had that kid, he felt calmer. More in control. This guy wasn’t better at this than he was, they were around the same age. One thing Fritter knew for sure was that he was a lot fucking stronger. He could tell by the blows that were bouncing off his forearms. He barely felt them. This guy moved a foot each time Fritter held back a thrust.

  Fritter decided to try something dirty, but whatever. There was no honor with these bastards, and anyone who kept up decorum was just going to get dead. The next time he was close Fritter saw how his eyes stayed on Fritter’s blade.

  So Fritter head-butted him in the nose.

  Never saw it coming. He dropped to both knees, knife down, hands covering his face. Fritter came closer and the guy recovered quickly, though. Had to give credit where it’s due. He scrambled for the knife he’d lost but when he looked down for it Fritter gave him a boot to the head.

  Now back to looking for Jayce. Tank was busy with a Rat, Knuckles was shouting but with one look he saw it wasn’t pain. He was giving a war cry as a Rat lay cowering in front of him, short handle of a blade jutting out of his shoulder. That Rat seemed to be more hurt than a simple stab in the shoulder.

  Jayce. Where the fuck was—

  Fritter found him, locked in a battle of fists with Hawk. Fritter could see a few Red Rebels were hurt, but it seemed their numbers on their feet were holding steady as he saw more and more Dirty Rats drop and roll on the ground with injury. He didn’t know if they were sanctioned to kill, he just wanted to make sure they were down and no longer a problem.

  Like he expected, Hawk was a wiry, quick bastard. Jayce saw a lot of the fists coming and managed to avoid a serious hit but he was still taking blows. At least he was giving as good as he got, but Fritter saw that his President was tiring. And Hawk, due to unknown chemical influence, seemed to be just warming up.

  He closed in and when he was ten yards out another Rat was approaching the fight, behind Jayce. Fritter didn’t shout, didn’t want to risk distracting his brother, so he just took off at a hard sprint. When he saw the glint of metal he pumped his legs harder, and even though the bearded Dirty Rat saw him coming the fucker still seemed to be surprised that Fritter tackled him around the waist and took them both tumbling to the gravel.

  Dust flew, and even though he’d kept his eyes shut he had grit in the way when he opened them again. It was in his mouth and on his face, but his first concern was that knife.

  No need to worry. It was arcing right for him. He barely ducked and might have got a bit of a haircut, but he delivered a hard shot to the man’s exposed kidney-region that wrought a deep grunt of pain. Fritter’s knife was gone, in the dirt somewhere. He rolled to his feet and the Rat tried to tackle him as well but Fritter braced and absorbed the momentum while pushing the arm with the blade out to the side as far as he could while using his other arm to bring the man into a hard hug, trying for broken ribs if he could.

  His grip on the man’s wrist was brutal. He was grunting, breathing hard, all his attention on the knife like a weapon made him invincible.

  Second head-butt of the morning, and this one made Fritter blink a bit harder and stumble back on one foot. But his opponent fell like a sack of laundry, dropping the knife and saying goodnight.

  Tank was there, helping Jayce up while smiling and slapping the Prez on the back. Knuckles was fucking skipping through the gravel lot, around the writhing bodies, stopping here and there to stomp on a hand or kick someone in the face.

  Fritter was already counting. One Red Rebel was down somewhere. Spaz was approaching them, blood streaming from his nose and the patches under his eyes already starting to turn black, but he was smiling, too.

 
Knuckles had taken a few rounds to the mug as well, but he thought he was otherwise unhurt. Tank’s shirt was torn, some blood on his cheek that must have belonged to someone else but he seemed uncut. The Nomads were helping up one of their own who seemed woozy but at least they seemed whole.

  Fritter stepped to Jayce’s side as his Prez stared down at Hawk, who was on his knees in a posture of defeat. He listened to his Prez’s words Fritter felt cold acceptance and just the start of fear.

  “The Dirty Rats are not going to be welcome in Markham. I smell your fucking stench and I’ll start looking for someone to kill. And that goes for your Mazari friends, too. Your pills? That shit ain’t welcome, either. I know where your runs go, and I know where it’s headed once it clears Mexico. You make sure that route stays the fuck away from my town. I don’t want a cut, I don’t want your money, I don’t want your products. I just want you as fucking far away as you can be.” Jayce crouched down and bitch-slapped Hawk, who looked pissed but had the sense to stay silent. “You get the idea to threaten my people or their families, it’ll be the last thought you have. Spread that word wide.”

  Hawk kept glaring, pausing only to lean forward and spit up blood. Unaffected, Jayce straightened and snapped his fingers, just like that. So fucking cool.

  “There he is,” Hawk growled, giving something that sounded like a smile.

  “Shut up,” Tank rumbled, but Jayce stopped to look down at the beaten President.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Hawk smirked at Jayce. “Mad Dog. He is in there a little bit, isn’t he?”

  It was a bait but Jayce ignored it. He’d never take any similarities to his father as a compliment and it hadn’t meant to be one. They made their way to the Red Rebels’ side of the site, and Fritter caught sight of Tims propping up Buck as he limped.

  “You alright? What happened?”

  Buck shook his head, wincing as he paused to lean on the side of the van as Tims stepped away to let him stand alone. “Fucker kicked me in the knee. It’s a bit wrenched out of place. Hurts like a bitch.”