by Eliza Marsh
Perfect except for the security cameras, which had been installed a few months back due to a recent string of car thefts in the vicinity.
Courtesy of the Red Kings, of course.
Thankfully, they had a rather tech-savvy member of their crew, who simply laughed when asked if he could turn them off.
So thanks to Tyler, the two Kings strolled casually down the side street to the parking lot. Expecting it to be empty, they were surprised to see two guys huddled around the door of a red BMW while a third suspiciously kept watch of the area.
“What the fuck?” Dean muttered to himself, stunned that someone was trying to do the exact same thing they were there for.
“That's not even a good choice to boost,” Murphy said with a scoff at their obvious choice of a red sports car. “Amateurs.” Movement caught the lookout's attention, and he turned to face their direction. “How do you wanna play this, D?” the blonde asked, glancing at his friend for instructions.
Dean took a step forward and reached for his gun, as the lookout began rapidly talking to his friends and gesturing to the pair of bikers. “Let's show them who's turf they're on,” he growled, eager for a little action.
“You got it, boss,” Murphy replied, following the man's lead as they headed towards the now-standing trio of thugs. “Evening, fellas,” he said cheerfully as both he and Dean brought their guns into view. “How's everybody doing tonight?”
Two of the men went to reach for something, causing Dean to point his gun directly at them. “Hands where we can see them,” he snarled lowly, eyes dark as he watched them closely. Being outnumbered didn't bother him, but it did make him more mindful of everyone's movements.
“Yo, you guys cops?” The youngest man was the first to speak up, his bright orange jacket standing out in their dimly lit surroundings. “I don't see no badges.”
“Cops? No, way better.” Murphy grinned, pulling the neck of his t-shirt down slightly to reveal the skull and crown tattoo displayed proudly on his collarbone. “We're Kings, motherfuckers. And you're on our playground.”
Two of them had the decency to at least look unnerved by the new information. Still, the seemingly oldest of the group merely scoffed. “You Kings are old news, fucking outdated. New crews are taking over now. You guys don't run these streets anymore.”
Murphy glanced at Dean, who kept his steely gaze on the three men. The dark-haired biker took a few steps towards the leader of the group, pointing his gun straight at his head as he stopped a few feet away. “And just who do you shitheads think you are?”
The dark-skinned man smiled, puffing his chest out proudly. “We're the Dead Saints homie. This is our turf now.”
“Is that right?” Dean asked, completely unimpressed. “Get up against the car, hands on the hood.” He shoved the guy around when he didn't immediately move, smashing his face into the car none-too-gently. The other two obliged quickly to the instructions, hoping to avoid any injury for themselves. “Murph, cover me.”
The blonde nodded and got into a good position to cleanly target all three as Dean rid the men of their hidden guns. He tossed two at a distance away, but kept a shiny new Glock .42 for himself and stuck it in the waistband of his jeans.
“Ya know, I think I've heard of you guys. Your charter is out of Atlanta, right?” Murphy pondered as Dean took a step back.
“A bit far from home, aren't you?" he asked with a grin. "Should I call your parents to come get you?"
The lead thug moved from the car with a snarl towards Dean, who simply chuckled and swung the butt of the gun forward. It connected with the man's head, and he quickly slumped to the ground, a nasty wound near his hairline gushing blood.
Murphy let out a whistle as he looked down at the damage. “That's gonna leave a mark.”
Dean looked questioningly at the other two, their eyes wide as they both turned to look at their unconscious friend. “Either of you got something to say?” They shook their heads rapidly and raised their hands in surrender. “Good. Now take your buddy and get the hell out of my sight.”
They muttered something that sounded like a thank you as they raced to their friend's side and quickly began pulling him away from the scene.
“Yeah, and let your pals know that the Red Kings still own this town!” Murphy added as the men slowly made their way to one of the alleys leading back out to the main road. He turned to Dean with a raised eyebrow. “That's it? No beat down?”
Dean grunted as he watched them disappear around the corner. “If we cause too much damage here, we attract unwanted attention. We need to keep this lot usable as long as we can. Besides, I'm sure we'll see them again soon.”
“Whatever you say,” Murphy replied with a shrug. “I call dibs on the Lexus.” He moved his way towards a silver car as he tucked his gun in the back of his jeans.
“Make it fast.” Dean scanned the area for his own car to take, mindful of the time they had just wasted. “We're lucky nobody stumbled in here during our little conversation.”
“What the fuck was that, anyways?” Murphy asked indignantly as he pulled a small pouch of lock-picking tools from the pocket of his gray hoodie and set to work on the Lexus door. “Outdated? Are we not terrifying anymore? We kill people, dammit.”
Dean settled on a black Ford F150 a few spots down from the Lexus and pulled out his own tools. “Fuckin' hate new kids. Think they can just come in and take over a place. No respect.” He popped the lock quickly, having acquired the skill over a decade ago as a teenager and perfecting his work as the years went on. “We'll fill in the rest of the guys when we get back, see if Luke wants to do anything about it.” He turned to face Murphy as the blonde man got his own lock open. “I don't like them boosting cars in the same area as us. That could bring in some nasty heat we don't need.”
“Yeah, no shit. And they'll get the good stuff for themselves.”
Both men remained quiet as they deftly hot-wired their rides. When the job was done, Dean climbed into the truck and nodded at Murphy, who mock-saluted his best friend before throwing the car in reverse and hitting the gas with a squeal of the tires. Dean rolled his eyes and followed him out of the lot in a more conservative manner, exiting onto the main road as he carefully avoided the drunks roaming the street.
11
Murphy roared into the parking lot of Eastside Mechanics in his stolen silver Lexus, bass thumping steadily as he came to a skidding halt outside of the spacious storage warehouse behind the main garage. Dean followed him at a much calmer pace, waiting to be waved into the warehouse by Elijah, one of the few civilian technicians they employed. Murphy hopped out of his parked car as Dean pulled in next to him carefully.
Dean got out of his truck slowly, eyeing the mechanic suspiciously. Elijah was a tall, dark-skinned man in his late thirties with a full beard trimmed close to his face. He had worked for the Red King’s auto shop for almost three years, being brought further and further into the fold of biker activity as time passed. But something seemed slightly different today.
“Are you wearing what I think you’re wearing?” Dean asked, a hint of a grin hidden by his dark, scruffy facial hair.
Murphy turned to look at Elijah curiously, finally noticing the kutte boldly sporting the title of prospect. “Dude, no way!” Murphy exclaimed, his eyes wide in happy surprise. “You’re gonna be the first black prospect ever for the Macon charter. How does that make you feel?”
Elijah rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Revolutionary,” he replied sarcastically, folding his arms across his lean chest. “It’s a real milestone for black people.”
Snickering, Dean popped the hood on the truck and propped it open. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think it’s about time you made it official. It’ll be good to have you on the inside after all these years.”
“Yeah, you’re basically one of us already,” Murphy added with an easy shrug.
“See you two have met our newest prospect,” Luke said with a smile as he and Tyler e
ntered the warehouse, the blonde man carrying his laptop. “Figured we could use some extra hands to help with the grunt work around here.”
“Especially with this one not knowing if he wants to live with mommy or daddy,” Murphy said with a smirk as he slapped Tyler on the back.
Tyler glared at the older man and set his computer down on top of the storage shelves so he could work faster. “It’s not my fault I’m so skilled that everybody wants me,” he replied with a cocky grin.
“You just keep doing your thing with these cars, and you can bounce around as much as you want, kid.” Luke looked on, his bright blue eyes shining in approval as Tyler got to work on the electronic paper trail attached to their stolen loot. For every car, he would get into the DMV database and add in a new profile for it, including ownership history, a new VIN number, and a registered license plate. Everything would appear above board if someone were to run the plates of the car.
While Tyler did electronic work, the rest of the guys would handle the physical modifications. This included changing the VIN etched inside the car parts, adding the new plates, painting the outside, and getting rid of any distinguishing characteristics that might make it easily recognizable. All of this was done the night they were taken, and if possible, they were shipped out before the sun came up.
“So we had an interesting encounter while we were out and about,” Murphy said as he rolled under the Lexus to access the VIN etched next to the spare tire.
Luke stopped his work under the hood to peer around it at the man on the ground. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not gonna like this?” he asked with a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he braced himself against the front of the car.
“Ran into some fellas from a little MC known as the Dead Saints.” Murphy’s voice was muffled a bit by the machine above him, but the comment still managed to catch the attention of everyone in the warehouse. “They were trying to boost cars in the same lot we were. They weren’t very good at it, though.”
“Thought their closest charter was Atlanta?” Elijah asked hesitantly, not sure what exactly this meant for the club.
“Their expansion has been in the works,” Luke replied, running a hand over his bald head thoughtfully. “They’re not usually bold enough to go that far south though. That’s a bit worrying.”
“Apparently, we aren’t cool anymore,” Dean added with a roll of his eyes as he worked diligently on getting the VIN changed on the door of the truck. “Seems we’ve lost our street cred with the kids.”
Murphy chuckled as he rolled out from under the and sat up. “Well, hopefully, that little beatdown put the fear of the Kings back into them.”
“What’d you two do?” Luke asked sternly as he glared over at Dean, knowing he would have been the instigator that led Murphy into a situation.
“We handled it,” Dean grunted in reply, not looking up from his work. “Relax,” he could feel his president’s eyes glaring into the back of his head, “we didn’t kill anyone.”
Luke sighed and ran his fingers through his scruffy blonde beard. “This is a headache we don’t need, especially if they’re thinking about starting a territory war with us.”
Looking up from his computer, Tyler stopped working momentarily to smirk. “You picked a great time to join the club, Elijah. Hope you're ready for a fight.”
Elijah met his eyes, shrugging carelessly as he stood up from the back bumper of the truck. “Yeah, well, just don’t tell my wife, and we should be alright.”
“I second that,” Dean grunted as he finished work on the door of the truck. “Jack would flip shit.”
“So what’s the plan?” Tyler asked the room curiously, this being his first significant club problem since becoming a fully-patched member of the motorcycle club.
Dean was quick to answer, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest. “We show them why we’re the Kings,” he said gruffly, his deep voice stern and unwavering.
Less convinced, Luke stepped in to quell the rising storm. “We’ll make a visit, remind them that we’re here. But we’re not lighting the fuse on any wars.” The last comment was made in Dean’s direction, who huffed a bit at being held back. “Ty, find us an address. We’ll hit it in the morning.”
“On it, boss!”
12
The nondescript black van slowly came to a stop across the street from a grungy yellow house, its yard a messy tangle of weeds and tall grass. Many of its window shutters were on the ground or hanging on by a thread, while the beat-up old sofa on the front porch now seemed to be home to a family of birds.
“Well, ain’t this cozy,” TJ said sarcastically, scrunching up his nose in disgust at the drug den’s state of decay.
“A real dream home,” Elijah added, adjusting his sunglasses against the harsh glare of the midday December sun. While the air was cooler this time of year in Georgia, the sun never failed to shine brightly most days.
Tyler anxiously bounced in the driver’s seat, trying to contain his excitement. Despite his generally upbeat and friendly demeanor, the adrenaline junkie side of him loved the rush of this type of club business. As the resident hacker, he wasn’t always included in events like these, so he had learned to enjoy them when he got the chance.
“Alright fellas,” Luke said sternly as he caught everyone’s attention. “This is just a scare tactic. No killing anybody and no cops. Understood?” He looked pointedly at Dean, who nodded his head reluctantly as the rest of the group voiced their agreement. “Elijah, stay in the van and be ready to head out fast.”
“Yes Sir,” he replied, smacking Tyler’s arm to get him to vacate the front seat.
The four bikers exited the sliding metal door quickly. All were donned in generic sweatshirts and jeans as they made their way across the paved road and up to the front porch. Confirming that the door was locked, TJ moved out of the way and gestured to the entrance. “D, care to do the honors?”
Dean grunted and happily slammed his foot just above the deadbolt lock in one swift motion. It splintered under the force of the kick and swung open, admitting the men into the home. They entered quickly, guns drawn as they took stock of the scene. Two guys sat on the couch, one in the process of snorting a line of heroin. They barely looked fazed by the sudden intrusion, the first man not even bothering to look up from his task.
Luke gestured at Tyler and Dean to sweep the rest of the house as TJ took a guard position by the front.
The slam of a screen door from somewhere in the back of the house had everyone on alert. TJ watched as a guy hopped the fence from the side yard and barreled past the window. “Want me to get him?” Luke shook his head, so TJ motioned to Elijah not to pursue the man.
Down the hall, Dean and Tyler quickly cleared the rest of the house and began searching for any valuable loot to take with them. Dean sifted through the stacks of junk mail and magazines in bedroom number one, scrunching his nose in disgust at the piles of clothes and dirty dishes with food still on them. He had always lived life like a bachelor, but this was too much even for him.
“Find anything?” he called to the young blonde man in the room across the hall. When he got no response, Dean stopped his useless search and went to join Tyler.
He entered the room just as Tyler tossed a small object in his direction. Catching it out of instinct, Dean looked down at the carefully packaged brick of heroin in his hand.
“Found the fucking jackpot,” Tyler said gleefully as he held up a brick in one hand and a rolled-up stack of bills in the other.
Dean stared at the package of white powder in his hand, contemplating his options. It had been a while since he’d come face to face with one of the many demons from his younger days. In his early twenties, the illegal substance had been one of his dearest friends, almost costing him his life on multiple occasions. Even with Luke’s guidance and his mother’s loving support, it had taken all of his strength to kick the habit.
But he remembered exactly how the high felt.
The rus
h. The escape. The euphoria.
The mind-numbing bliss.
All your troubles gone, your senses calmed.
Just one little hit, that’s all you needed.
“Flush it.” Luke appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, knowing exactly what was going through the mind of his enforcer.
Oblivious to the underlying tension, Tyler clutched several of the bricks to his chest protectively as he stared at Luke in alarm. “But we could sell these for a small fortune.”
“We’re car thieves, not drug dealers. We don’t mess with that shit,” Luke replied, his eyes not leaving Dean’s. “Flush it.”
Dean tossed the block onto the bed and left the room, the charter president following after him. “I’m good. You don’t need to babysit me, boss.”
“I know you’re good. I was there when you weren’t and know you don’t wanna go back to that.”
Stopping in the middle of the tiny hallway, Dean huffed and turned around, staring down at the older, bald man that had basically raised him from his teen years. “I’m good, Luke. There’s a lot of shit going on, but I know how to handle my problems better now. I’m not gonna get mixed up with drugs again, not with my family counting on me.”
Luke nodded, watching the man carefully. “I’m glad to hear that. You come to me if you start feeling differently on the subject.”
The dark-haired man nodded and went to join TJ at the front of the house with the crackheads. Luke headed back to the bedroom, where Tyler was in the process of dumping the cocaine down the toilet with a frown.
“Bye-bye new bike, bye-bye new laptop,” he muttered to himself, his expression that of a sad puppy as he pulled the lever to flush. “Bye-bye mansion filled with attractive women.”
Luke rolled his eyes at the young biker and gathered the money that Tyler had found, the one piece of loot in the whole house that was even remotely worth taking. He counted it to a quick six grand and shoved the rolled-up wad into the pocket of his gray hoodie.