Now They Call Me Gunner

by Thom Whalen

  * * *

  It was Jimbo’s turn to tell his part of the story. “We got a little posse together, all five of us, and rode on up to the campground. We didn’t want him to get away again, so we waited until almost dawn to be sure that he’d be asleep. We parked our bikes outside and walked the last mile to him. Bastard was snoring like he didn’t have a care in the world. We didn’t waste a lot of time on niceties. Friendly and I grabbed him right in his sleeping bag, pulled it over his head to keep him quiet, and carried him around the lake out of hearing of anyone else there. All the time we was carrying him, he was talking like a late-night salesman on TV, saying how we didn’t understand and he had a deal for us and he was going to make everything all right with us. He even offered to pay retribution. Like we would take money from him. Like he had money to give us. When we figured we were far enough away, we set him on his feet and pulled the bag down to his ankles. Friendly held him while Wasp and me stabbed him a few times. Kept stabbing him until he shut up at last. Shut up for good. We threw a few rocks into his sleeping bag to make it sink and then tied it over his head and carried him out waist deep in the lake and sunk him. Friendly and I got all wet and it was a damned cold ride back but we didn’t mind. Justice was took care of.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said “The Angels are going to be happy to know that you can do what needs to be done when the going gets tough.”

  “We can do what needs doing,” Wasp said. “You’ll never have any concern on that score.”

  “The Angels got a tradition,” I said. “When they deal out justice, they keep the means of execution as a permanent record. It makes others think twice about crossing them, knowing that any Angel who wants can gaze on the means of justice any time he feels like it.” It was more bullshit. I expected that any Hells Angel would be smart enough to destroy evidence of murder as soon as possible.

  Jimbo’s eyes narrowed. “You mean that you don’t believe what I said? You gotta see proof?” He knew what I really meant.

  Wasp held his hand to Jimbo. “It’s all right. That’s not what Gunner’s saying. He just wants to see for himself.” He looked at me. “We still got the knives that we used on Billy. And some other stuff.” He gestured to a locked trunk that was in the back corner of the clubhouse.

  “Mind if I see them?”

  “Show him, Monk,” Wasp said.

  Monk rose from his seat and shambled back to the trunk. He unlocked it with a key that he fished out of his pocket.

  Jimbo watched and shook his head slowly, like he was trying to clear the fog from his mind.

  There was a jumbled assortment of odds and ends piled in there. I could see two knives – a Buck folding hunter and a World War Two vintage bayonet – lying on a bloody denim jacket. With a start, I realized that it was probably Billy Paul’s jacket. In fact, everything in the chest was probably taken from Billy Paul’s campsite.

  I touched nothing, just nodded at Monk and said, “Justice, man. There’s honor in bringing justice to the world.”

  He closed and re-locked the trunk.

  I looked at the assembly of Road Snakes. “When the Angels hear my report, they’re going to have nothing but respect for you. You can expect to receive a delegation of full patch members in a little while. Not right away. There’s got to be discussion and voting. But figure a month, maybe.”

  They were glowing with pride at my praise.

  I could have left right then and all would have been perfect. I not only had the whole story in all its sordid detail, but I also knew where they kept the evidence that would free Randal. But I had them in the palm of my hand – the men who had almost raped Katie and who had humiliated me – and I couldn’t resist getting just a little bit of satisfaction from them.

  “There’s just one last thing,” I said. “I don’t work for free. The Angels expect that you’ll cover the cost of my report. My consulting fee is–” I did a quick calculation, “–eight hundred dollars.” That would cover Randal’s cost for the marijuana that he’d lost when Gus was arrested and give me a substantial start on my education. I figured that Bucks wouldn’t have any money, but the other four could kick in two hundred apiece.

  I was amazed how quickly the mood in the room changed.

  Wasp stood up. “What are you talking about?”

  “Business,” I said. “I’ve got to cover my costs. And my time.”

  Friendly and Jimbo stood up in unison. There were no smiles on their faces.

  “Are you trying to blackmail us?” Wasp asked. His voice was low and angry.

  “No. No. It’s just business. I thought you understood that. I told you up front that I wasn’t an Angel. I consult for them. That we all take care of business.”

  “Do you even know any Hells Angels?” Wasp asked.

  “Yes. Of course. They wouldn’t give a contract like this to a stranger.”

  “So you know Sonny Barger?”

  “Sure,” I said. I could feel sweat dripping down the back of my neck.

  “Who is he?” Wasp asked.

  I had no idea. “Okay,” I said. “You passed this one, too. I had to see how you’d react to this and you did exactly what a group of Hells Angels would do. You’re going to be a great addition to the club.”

  “Get the hell out of here,” Wasp said.

  “Sure. I was just leaving. Remember. You’ll be receiving a delegation in a month or so extending an invitation to join the Angels.”

  As I spoke, I was walking to the door as quickly as I dared. It was like being surrounded by a pack of wild dogs. If you showed fear and ran, they would attack. But if you didn’t get out of there, they would lose patience and attack.

  Monk was sitting in the chair closest to the door. He stood as I got near to him. “You take this back to Buffalo,” he said and punched me in the gut, hard.

  The breath whooshed out of me and I doubled over, staggering, but managed to stay on my feet.

  Once I’d been hit, a line was crossed. The other Snakes stood up and stepped toward me, snarling.

  The Snakes were mean drunks.

  Still doubled over, I slipped through the door.

  “Is he for real?” I heard Jimbo ask.

  “I think it’s all a put on,” Friendly growled. “The whole thing.”

  “He just came here to shake us down,” Wasp said.

  “He’s getting away,” Monk shouted.

  “Stomp him,” Bucks said. “Stomp him.”

  Boots pounded across the floor inside the clubhouse.

  It was hard to breath but I was in a race for my life. I clutched my gut and ran for my bike as fast as I could move. No time to fuss with my candy apple helmet. I jumped into the saddle, gunned the engine to life, and peeled out of there, spraying dirt and rocks over all the other bikes in the row.

  The last thing I saw before I disappeared into the night was the Snakes pouring out of their clubhouse, running to get to their bikes as fast as they could, screaming incoherent war cries, loud enough to drown out the dogs that had never stopped barking and were now driven to high frenzy by the excitement.

  The only thing that saved me was that none of the Snakes were fast on their feet. They smoked and drank too much and exercised too little. Even Jimbo didn’t do much aerobics when he was in the gym. His heavy, weight-conditioned muscles slowed him down.

  When I reached the highway, I could hear the growl of Harley engines roaring toward me. Death rode five hogs through the dark.

  I had to pass through Oak Falls to get back to Wemsley. I didn’t know where the highway went in the other direction and I didn’t dare take a chance that it would lead me into a dead end. Literally a dead end.

  I hunched low over the handlebars and twisted the throttle hard. Mistake. I almost lost control when the front tire bounced onto the pavement.

  I could hear the Snakes gaining ground behind me. They were slow on their feet, but lightning on two wheels. My chances of survival would drop with every mile I rode down the highw
ay.

  I had no choice but to twist the throttle hard and ride flat out. I’d only been riding a bike for two months. The Road Snakes were experts. Even if they were mostly wasted, this race was going to be no contest.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Their lights formed a dancing constellation less than a quarter mile behind me.

  Lights. I had a chance if I could stay this far ahead of them until I got to Oak Falls.

  I was leaning so far into the curves that I feared that my footrest would scrape pavement. The front tire bounced against the road so hard that I was sure that I was going to lose my hold on the handgrips.

  I had never been so terrified in my life.

  I had never been so close to dying in my life.

  I twisted the throttle even further. The road streaked past under my tires. I promised myself that, if I crashed at this speed, I would die instantly. That would be better than being stomped to death by the Road Snakes. Or having my guts chopped to hamburger.

  My gut ached where I had been punched. Monk had a fist like a piston. I hoped that nothing inside had burst.

  There was no moon. The highway was black as velvet. I could see nothing outside the oval of my headlight. Nothing except a single light in the distance. The first streetlight at the edge of Oak Falls.

  I killed my headlight and steered straight for the distant streetlight.

  The road curved slightly and I had to be wandering into the other lane as I navigated a straight line but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that my taillight had disappeared from the Road Snakes view.

  They wouldn’t stop. They had no reason to do that. But I hoped that they would slow a little to see if I’d left the road.

  I blew through Oak Falls without slowing down. The twenty-five speed limit sign was the least of my concerns. I could only hope that no one was walking across the street at this time of night. It wasn’t that late – maybe nine-thirty or so – but Oak Falls didn’t offer much after dark. A lone car on the road blared its horn at me when I almost clipped its front fender, but I missed so, no harm, no foul. I doubted that the driver shared my desperately cavalier philosophy.

  In the center of town, I should have pulled a sharp right to go back to Wemsley.

  I didn’t. I skidded left instead. My logic was fuzzy at that point. Maybe I hoped that I would lose them by doing something unexpected. Maybe I instinctively didn’t want to lead danger back to my home. Or maybe it was simply easier at speed to take the wider radius left turn than the sharper right.

  As I tore back out of Oak Falls, I left the streetlights behind and had to switch my headlights back on.

  Barely in time. An unexpected curve flared in my high beam and I just managed to heel the bike over to make the turn. Another quarter second and I would have driven straight off the highway into oblivion.

  I remembered Randal’s rule learned from the mouse. When you’re being hunted, make an unexpected turn, then hide in the smallest crack possible and wait for a long, long time.

  The road turned again and I saw a farmhouse driveway in my headlights. I locked the rear wheel and skidded into it, killing my lights just before I left the highway.

  My bike bounced and wobbled almost out of control in the pitch black.

  I killed the engine and kept the clutch disengaged, hoping that the driveway was long enough and straight enough and that I would stay on it.

  Miraculously, I coasted to a stop without hitting anything. I could see the shadow of a house looming close, but there were no lights on. Farmers go to bed early. I hoped they slept soundly.

  I put my foot down and felt grass beneath my feet. I was on someone’s lawn.

  Engines roared behind me.

  The Road Snakes had seen which way I had turned in Oak Falls.

  Had they seen me turn into this driveway? If so, I was trapped and would soon be stomped to death.

  I twisted around to see if doom was coming for me through the darkness.

  Lights flashed by on the highway. They did not stop, nor turn into the driveway.

  I would live a little longer.

  Then a miracle. Another set of lights flashed down the highway. Headlights and a flashing red roof bar. A siren wailed. The Oak Falls division of the highway patrol was on the job. I couldn’t imagine that Oak Falls was big enough to support two highway patrol cruisers. It might well be the same officer who had stopped me the week before.

  What to do? Randal’s rule was to find a crack and stay put until the cat was asleep. But these cats were now being chased by a dog and that gave the mouse a chance to run.

  So I ran.

  I pushed my bike back out to the highway and listened hard. I could hear the siren in the distance, growing fainter.

  I kicked my engine back to life and turned back to Wemsley.

  I didn’t obey any speed limits, but I didn’t take any risks, either. All the time that I drove, I kept glancing behind me, afraid that if the Road Snakes had scattered, one or more of them may have escaped arrest and be backtracking, looking for where they’d lost me.

  I made it home by midnight. Alive and unscathed, only by the grace of good luck.

  It took me a long time to fall asleep. My heart never stopped pounding, but sometime around two, exhaustion finally defeated fear.