Bonded Couple

by Laran Mithras

  "Ask for a meet with the Surenos."

  I stood, stunned. "A... meet?"

  He grunted. "Some shit, huh? But I'm betting it's not what you think."

  "What do you think it is?"

  He grinned at me and his arms flexed. "Our opportunity to strike at their leader."

  I nodded. "Cut them off at the head?"

  "Yeah, it might work. Depends how organized they are. By all accounts from the Bandidos, not very."

  I asked, "Are we big enough to handle this?"

  Gripper nodded, very slow, very slight.

  CHAPTER 10

  I followed Gripper into the clubhouse.

  Sonar came out of the right hall and approached us. "Grab a drink and come back to my office."

  Gripper got a beer.

  I said, "Scotch, please."

  Donna winked at me. "Double? Triple?"

  "Double is plenty, thanks."

  She slid the glass to me. "Grats on your patches."

  I nodded, smiling at her. "I'm sure you'll get there, soon."

  "Know something I don't?"

  "Nope. Haven't been in a single meeting yet, but I'm about to." I leaned over, quickly. "You're good for the club. But just make sure you're willing to do things you might consider... difficult."

  She considered me in curiosity, but said nothing.

  I hurried after Gripper. I shut Sonar's door behind me and leaned against the wall.

  Sonar was sitting, looking over notes on his desk. "Before I get to the mission we have for you, I wanted to alert you, Stiff, about your new pay. Same pay rate, but you'll be cut in on ten percent of the sales from your shop."

  My shop. I liked the sound of that.

  "Flats and Jacks will split ten. You'll be doing the selling and pushing. Make it good."

  "Thank you."

  He pushed a legal pad to the side and bent forward to rest on his elbows. "The officers are assigning you two a critical, very critical mission."

  Gripper flexed.

  I waited: an officer was talking.

  Sonar looked back and forth to both of us, but mainly at me. "I'm not being rude, Stiff, but you're the new blood. Bottom of the rungs. We're handing this to you because of it. Gripper will escort you to see the Bandidos. Sixgun will send a patch or few along to lead the way. Show you where the Surenos are located."

  Gripper hadn't moved – as if none of it sounded off.

  What am I going to do? Stroll in and shoot the bad guy?

  Sonar continued. "You and Gripper will approach the gang. Hold out your hands and start talking fast. You're going to want to ask for their Shot Caller. Many gangs call their leader that. Or just ask for their leader. Tell them you're a go-between to arrange a meet and truce between them and us. Their leader and our leader."

  I said, "All right."

  "You'll be taken in and searched, I'm sure. Don't go in packing. Don't even take a phone."

  I nodded.

  "We want you to meet him, but most of all, we want you to be able to identify him."

  "Okay."

  He fingered a map and slid it over. "There's a closed gas station on Constitution Road. Here." He tapped the map. There was a red circle on it. "Tell them our leader wants to meet their leader, limit four bodyguards each. No weapons. Today is Friday. The meet will be Sunday at 10am."

  I nodded again. So far so easy.

  "Our meet is to arrange a truce and talk about avoiding a worsening war that will involve the government." He appeared to finish and waited.

  I frowned. "What's to stop them from turning that into an ambush?"

  His smile said volumes. "We're counting on it." He settled back in his squeaky chair. "They're going to assume ambush. They'll come loaded. That's what we want. You will be one of those who goes to the meet with Dealer. Unarmed."

  I spat a laugh. "They're going to be armed but we're not?"

  He rubbed at his black beard. "Don't worry, there'll be a gun or two lying around for you to pick up."

  I blinked at him, then swallowed.

  "Gripper, Viking, and Big Pizza will round out the meet-team with Dealer. But we'll have more on that when you return with what you find out tomorrow. Do you think you can handle this?"

  I didn't think he was really asking. "Of course."

  "Leave after breakfast tomorrow. Until then, check with Twenty to see what patrol you're on for today." He motioned to the door.

  I went out. To the right, Dealer's door was closed. I heard Sheriff Jefferson talking inside. I found Twenty in the common room, staring out the front window by the helmet table. "Got anything for me?"

  His crazy eyes were even more intense. "Ride with me. In about twenty-five minutes."

  "All right." With nothing further from him, I sat down on the couch next to Kristy.

  She said, "Big things are happening." It was half question and half statement.

  "Yes."

  "I hear you're playing a part?"

  "Big part, I guess."

  "Do you have to?" She sounded afraid.

  "Yeah, I have to."

  She chewed on her lip. "Be careful?"

  I twisted towards her and put my arm over the back of the couch. "Yeah."

  She touched the placket of my vest and let her fingers trail down. Her whisper was just loud enough for me to hear. "I don't want to lose you."

  I knew I couldn't tell her the scary stuff. Not just because it was club business, but that I knew she wasn't of stern enough material to handle it. I squeezed her hand. "It'll be all right."

  "Promise?"

  I nodded.

  "Did we do the right thing?"

  I knew what she meant. A whole world of what ifs and possibilities swirled around that one question. We could have stayed in the city, living off her dead end book keeping job. We could have moved across the country. We could have taken up street singing – anything more legitimate than killing people to keep Keystone safe. I considered that in less time than it took to take two breaths. I answered her, "We definitely did the right thing."

  Water rimmed her eyes. "Okay."

  I felt her trust.

  She said, "Grannie says I'm to be ready early Sunday morning, no breakfast is being served."

  I nodded slowly, still not wanting to tell her why. "Do what they tell you. Exactly what they tell you. Don't go off and do anything on your own."

  "It's not the funeral for Firehose?"

  I shook my head.

  "It's because of him, isn't it?"

  I pursed my lips. "Dealer has a plan. Just follow directions."

  She looked down, her hands clasped in her lap.

  ~ ~ ~

  I mounted my Harley and thumbed the ignition. The comforting thrum of the engine coughing to life and then purring at idle calmed my nerves. My bike vibrated ready underneath me and I closed my eyes for a second to enjoy the sensation.

  I heard Twenty's Harley start. And Dragon's. The three of us were on patrol for the next two hours.

  I followed them out, away from the old brothel.

  The streets were typically quiet, a car or SUV here or there driving along towards mundane destinations. Families passed. Children looked out at us. Adults did, too. The older they were the more they looked with suspicion. The younger they were the more they looked with awe.

  Was age responsible for the jaded opinions? Or was it the constant negative media drumbeat of drugs and death? The media lumped us all in together with gangs, which was as close to the truth as the Kiwanis Club or 4-H Club being gangs. Motorcyclists loved to ride. We were charitable and respectful when given respect. That some bad apples dealt drugs shouldn't have been cause to paint all of us as drug-dealing serial killers.

  Men and women, single and together, went about their lives in Keystone insulated from the horror of what was going on behind the scenes. They didn't see the struggle of those who would push drugs trying to find a foothold in town. They didn't see the Iron Crows and Sheriff Jefferson standing against them. Th
ey couldn't; to see it would mean the struggle was common knowledge.

  Common Knowledge was not something the leaders and elders of Keystone wanted. If Jefferson's department looked the other way, the state police would not. The FBI would not. While the Drug Enforcement Agency might silently applaud the efforts of the town, the government could not officially allow vigilante justice to work or prevail.

  The Iron Crows, and now me, were in a position of having to work beneath notice. Selected killings, disappearances, and misdirection were tools in the kit for those in the club. Soldiers would say war is a dirty business: bloody and gruesome. Ours was no less so. But soldiers had the backing of government and politicians who could justify the killing. The Iron Crows had support at only the most local, confined level.

  That we didn't have the local churches organizing protests against us in front of our clubhouse was testament to the knowledge amongst the elders of the town, including the pastors, of what we did. We didn't prey on the populace, we preyed on the predators. But it wasn't going to be common knowledge or we'd face government retribution for being vigilantes – and even worse in the media.

  The news whores would paint us as loose cannons, dangerous and deadly. Newscasters on TV would leverage pitiful pictures of death with questions like, "Do we want this in our neighborhood?" The news media didn't want peace and safety. Their business was sensational news and anything that supplied it – drugs, crime, death – was their business. Vigilantes? Shut them down. Another drug-related shooting? See the gruesome footage at eleven. The media thrived on crime. They could not thrive where we succeeded.

  We were a threat to everyone in the establishment, except for the innocent.

  The Keystone innocent were careful not to look at us. Eyes were averted. Children were tugged and faces turned away. Even here, where we kept things clean, the media held sway. We received no appreciation from those we protected, though we did from a select few leaders. It had to be enough.

  I looked at the innocents, knowing I would be putting my life on the line for them. The entire club would and they wouldn't know it. We didn't necessarily do it for them, no; we did it for ourselves because we lived here. That we stood our ground and they benefitted was as good for them as it was for us, even if in secret.

  Keystone was quiet this night. We were going to do our damnedest to keep it that way.

  CHAPTER 11

  I woke early Saturday. After showering and shaving my head, I wiped down my ride.

  "Nervous?" Kristy leaned in the door, arms crossed.

  "Yeah." I stood from where I was squatted. "I guess so."

  "What exactly are you doing today?"

  "Just delivering an invitation."

  "That's all?"

  I tossed the rag to hang over the stair rail. "That's all."

  "We going to eat breakfast?"

  "Whenever you're ready." I felt calm. Numb, maybe.

  "You didn't put on your gun."

  I stood in front of her, looking down into her eyes. "Not where I'm going today."

  "The TV station is airing interviews about the murdered fire-fighter. Firehose. But they're leaving out the part that he was a biker."

  I shook my head. "And probably trying to portray that crime is finally here to stay in Keystone."

  "Yeah, did you see some of it?"

  "No." But it was the way of the media. Paint it bad because that's good for business.

  We rode to the clubhouse, feeling the warmth in the morning promising heat to come later. Saturday, not much moving. But movement caught my eye passing A Street. I turned the bike around and turned up A. Parked on the side was a woman, her child locked to her knee as they looked down at a flat tire. She had her phone up to her ear.

  I stopped behind their car and got off. "Need help with that?"

  Her eyes grew wide. "No, that's okay."

  "I can get it changed for you in a couple minutes. Spare in the trunk?"

  She looked at her phone as if disappointed that whoever was supposed to answer wasn't answering. Then she noticed Kristy. "Well, yeah. I'm just not sure how—"

  "Pop it open, I can do it."

  "Are you sure?"

  I chuckled. "Yeah." I looked down at a blond boy peering up at me. "Hey there, little one. What's your name?"

  His eyes were large and he couldn't have been more than six. "Tyler."

  His mother popped the trunk. "I think it's under here."

  I moved to her side and reached for the lid latch at the bottom of the trunk. It lifted and showed a full-sized tire and jack. "Piece of cake." I worked fast.

  Tyler said, "Is he going to fix our tire, mommy?"

  "Um, I think so."

  I ignored them; I was hungry. I maneuvered the jack and cranked it up under the rear frame, but just so it was touching. I loosened lugs and spun the lug wrench. Then I jacked the car higher. The tire came off and I set it aside. I slipped the spare on and finger-screwed the lugs. I let the car down and tightened everything up.

  Tyler said, "Wow, it's done?"

  I settled the flat in the trunk and replaced the jack and wrench. "There you go."

  The woman was smiling with uncertainty. "Do I owe you anything?"

  I chuckled. "Nah, just get to where you were going."

  "Are you sure?"

  I held up my hands. "I'm sure. I don't need nothing for that."

  A grateful smile broke over her features and she glanced at me and Kristy. "Well... thank you."

  I waved at the little tyke and got back on my bike. Kristy climbed on behind me. Strapping our helmets, I gave them a wave as we pulled past. The little boy waved out the window.

  Maybe I didn't have to do it. But being selfish when I was going to be laying a lot more on the line didn't seem right. I hoped the woman remembered to get her flat fixed. Or replaced.

  Breakfast at the clubhouse was as unusual as the day before. Filled with an expectant tension, everyone was quiet. It felt like a library. Eyes followed me as I got my plate and ate. They weren't accusing or questioning, just recognizing that I had something to do.

  When I was finished, Dealer and Sonar were waiting for me in the common room.

  The president said, "Ready to do the deed, Stiff?"

  I grinned slightly at the nickname. Thank God it wasn't Jimmy. Or Fat Boy. But I had lost all that weight. I gave a Dealer-type curt nod. "I'm ready."

  Gripper came up beside me and clapped me around the shoulder. "And I'll be watching your back and bike." The enforcer sounded very certain.

  Sonar handed me the map. "It's all there with a note on the date and time. Tomorrow."

  Dealer said, "Let Gripper handle the Bandidos."

  I knew it was time. I walked out the door and got onto my Harley. I affixed my helmet and looked over to Gripper.

  He grinned at me and twirled his finger.

  I thumbed the ignition and pulled out behind him. The ride to the highway felt heavy, somehow. I didn't want to go back to the city; I had to go back. This felt different than when I had ridden down for clothing or the laptop. I briefly wondered how Flats was doing getting the tow truck fixed up.

  The highway let us open up. Gripper pumped his fist and then pointed to his right. I accelerated, imagining the lane was split into two. I was nervous about coming up on his side, but he flashed a grin at me. And it was actually easy. I stayed on my side; he stayed on his.

  We rode down out of the mountain valley that held Keystone. The trees gave way to low hills with cattle, to flatter farmlands ahead. On any other ride, I might have thought it was a beautiful day. I hunched down in my seat and let the wind whip through my beard.

  Near the off-ramp, Gripper pulled ahead and motioned for me to slow down: staggered formation. I understood right away. City riding was riskier and we both had to have room to maneuver if a car started to change lanes into us without seeing us.

  I kept close behind and to his right. He knew his way and that was just as well, with all his turns I probably wou
ld have tangled up with him.

  The Bandidos clubhouse was impressive. A big gated yard surrounded what looked like an old two-story steak house. Cameras pointed everywhere and a couple of bikers noted us as we rode in.

  We parked and dismounted, removing our helmets. Two Bandidos came up to us, and got a look at our vests.

  One of them, a broad man with even crazier eyes than Twenty said, "How's it going?" He stuck his arm out to Gripper.

  "Riding easy. We can come in?" He fingered his colors.

  The man nodded. He motioned with his head and we followed. The interior was remade into the snazziest-looking clubhouse I would never have imagined. Complimentary black and blue color schemes throughout put our old brothel to shame.

  I let out, "Nice..."

  The other guy grinned. "You should come party with us some time."

  "With my colors?"

  "Sure, just call ahead so we know."

  I didn't know if I ever would, but they seemed friendly.

  I recognized Sixgun. A little shorter than me, his beard was gray and impressive. His gray hair was long, in a ponytail. His eyes focused on me immediately, sweeping over my vest. He addressed Gripper. "Ben Gleason, you old mountain. Quite a plan you got there."

  "Needs to be done."

  "I ain't arguing." He held out his hand and they shook. Then he turned to me and offered his hand. "Good to see ya."

  I was surprised, but shook his hand gladly. His grip was strong and certain. I felt honored to be recognized by their president. "Likewise." I left it at that; Gripper was the enforcer and the one talking for the club.

  Gripper said, "We got a burning message to deliver."

  Sixgun gave a Dealer-like nod. "Got some boys to escort ya." He paused a second. "Might have some there tomorrow, too." He winked.

  The big man smiled next to me and winked back.

  Sixgun turned. "Bigfoot! You're up."

  A man as tall as Gripper came from deeper inside. He was almost as hairy as Chewbacca.

  I guess I know how he got his name...

  He was followed by five Bandidos.

  Sixgun looked at us under his eyebrows. "Good luck, boys."

  ~ ~ ~

  Outside, Bigfoot said to us, "Follow behind. They have runners out most times; they're getting established. The runners will call ahead on us; they'll know we're coming. We'll leave you just up the street from their headquarters."