by Zahra Girard
Samantha
This war has an inauspicious start. Idyllic, even. If this even is the start of the war, that is; maybe it’s more correct to say this is the beginning of the end. It starts when the four of us caravan across town — me riding behind Razor on his Harley and Robbie and Ruby driving my car — to a nondescript single-story home in a quiet neighborhood. There’s a basketball hoop hanging over the driveway and some chalk-drawn hopscotch squares on the sidewalk out front.
“What are we doing here?” I say to Razor as I slide off his bike.
“We’re not doing this alone. We’re here to get some help. Just let me do the talking, OK?”
“Sure.”
I follow Razor to the front door of the house and he knocks. “Open up, Trips. It’s Razor.”
In a minute, the door flies open and, standing there, I see one of the other bikers that I recognize from that first night I met Razor in the underground casino.
He doesn’t look happy to see us.
“Razor, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see you, brother,” Razor says. Then he turns to me. “Samantha, this is my best friend, Trips. Trips, this is Samantha.”
“Stone’s going to flip,” Trips says. “The whole club knows what you’ve been up to. What the hell were you doing punching Crash out like that?”
“He was standing in my way. I love this woman right here and, if we do things Stone’s way, there’s a fucking good chance she’ll wind up dead. I can’t let that happen.”
“Wait, hold on, did you say you love her?” Trips says, staring at Razor in surprise.
“Full and true, brother,” Razor says without hesitating. Then he gives me a look that makes my cheeks feel hot with its intensity. “I’d do anything for her. Now, Trips, are you going to help me or what?”
“Come on, man, you’re putting me in a fucking spot here. I have to call Stone. We’ll figure this shit out at church.”
“No, you’re not going to do that.”
“It’s not like I want to, man. I have to.”
“You remember eleventh grade? That debt you owe me?”
“Debt?”
“That stash your mom found in your backpack. Your pot and your Japanese comics with girls and, like, octopuses and shit. The stuff that you said belonged to me. And remember how I took the blame so you wouldn’t get grounded, so you could go to Homecoming with Susie Reyes?”
Trips, red in the cheeks, tries to interrupt. “OK, OK, I remember. You don’t need to remind me. Those comics were just some exploratory stuff, man. I was curious.”
“Without me taking the blame for your Captain Nemo bit of self exploration, you wouldn’t have been able to nail Susie’s fat ass after Homecoming. You told me you owed me huge for that. Well, I’m calling in that debt.”
“What do you need?” Trips says, letting out a defeated sigh.
“Call Rusty. Get him here. I’m sure we can trust him. I’ve got a plan, but we need more manpower.”
“Fine, but if I do this, we’re even, brother,” Trips says. Then his eyes drift past me and Razor to my car in his driveway. “Is that your grandma out there? And who’s that other guy? Seriously, what the fuck is this?”
Razor puts his hand on Trips’ shoulder and brushes past him. “It is Ruby. She’s in this, too — the Makris brothers tried to kill her in the hospital. Samantha got her out in time. That other guy’s her brother, he’s wrapped up in this, too. So, yeah, you can see why I can’t sit on the sideline — these motherfuckers are after everyone I care about.”
“Well, get them in here and let’s get to work. I got a fresh case of beer in the fridge. Help yourselves.”
Trips waves for Ruby and Robbie to come inside and the three of us settle in his living room while he and Razor work the phones and put together their plan. It doesn’t take long before Rusty is at the door and we go through another round of introductions and explanations. Rusty isn’t hard to convince, though I can’t tell if he’s upset by the plan or not — he’s a very taciturn man, especially when Ruby or I speak to him. The three of us who aren’t in the MC — Ruby, Robbie, and me — spend our time drinking beers and trying to prepare ourselves for what will inevitably be a violent next step. There’s so much commotion that I hardly notice the sun has set. By the time the guys finish their planning, it’s well past sundown.
“Are you ready?” Razor says to me. “It’s time for us to get moving.”
“Where are we heading?” I say.
“We’re going to pay Chief Barnes a visit.”
“Oh, I sure as hell am in. I’ve never liked that son of a bitch,” Ruby says. “He would always give William and me the side-eye, even though there wasn’t a damn thing he could prove. It made the New Year's parties at the Elks Lodge into terribly awkward events.”
Razor puts his arm around my waist and pulls me in for a kiss. “Come on, Florence. It’s time for us to ride.”
By the light of the moon, our caravan makes its way across town to the nicer, fenced communities that house the wealthier elements of Lone Mesa’s population. On a quiet block, we pull up to the sidewalk and dismount our vehicles.
“His house is several blocks down and we can’t risk alerting him. We walk from here,” Razor says. “You ready?”
He’s holding a pistol out to me.
I stare at it.
“Do I need a gun for this?”
“I’d feel better knowing you had one. Barnes is working for these bastards, we don’t know what to expect. But whether you take it is up to you.”
I take the gun, hold it awkwardly in my hand. I’ve used them before — I took a few shooting classes at a gun range before I went to El Salvador — but never in this context. Now, I might have to shoot someone. Knowing that makes this gun feel so much heavier.
“Let’s go.”
We walk the final block to Chief John Barnes’ house, a two-story cookie-cutter home only distinguished from the others in this planned development by the police car in its driveway and the slight variation in the hedges in the front lawn.
Inside, the lights are dark.
“What’s the full plan here?” I whisper to Razor.
“We go in. Subdue him. Interrogate him. Find out where the Makris brothers are operating.”
I nod. I’ve come this far, I might as well go all the way. And besides, this man works for the same assholes who are trying to kill me.
“Does he have any family we need to worry about? I don’t want anyone innocent getting hurt.”
“A wife. That’s it,” Razor says.
“Not even that,” Ruby adds.
“He’s married, nana,” Razor says.
“Haven’t you heard the rumors?” She says, a sly smile on her face. She’s got her own gun out and it’s glimmering in the light of the streetlights.
“What rumors, Ruby?” Trips says.
“The Chief’s wife is off in Sacramento staying with her sister. And she’s been there for the last two months. Gossip at the Elks Lodge is that Barnes has some interesting nighttime proclivities and his wife just couldn’t handle it anymore.”
Razor grins. “This should be fun. Let’s go see what the old bastard’s up to.”
The six of us creep to the front door and Razor tests the doorknob. It’s unlocked and slips open quietly. Holding a finger to his lips, he beckons for all of us to follow him.
“Is that you, Sugar Lumps?” Calls an older man’s voice from further down the hallway. “You’re early.”
“Stay behind me,” Razor whispers.
With Razor, Trips, and Rusty in the lead, the six of us sneak through Chief Barnes’ house, through his suburb-chic living room, past his open-plan kitchen, and to the open doorway to his bedroom. Through the door comes the glow of at least a dozen flickering candles. The air smells like pot and some other ephemeral chemical smell. Whatever it is, it’s not medicinal.
“Sugar Lumps?” Calls Barnes again. “I’m all set up and I’v
e been a very bad boy.”
“Right here, Honey Buns,” answers Trips in a poor imitation of a woman’s voice.
The three of them burst into the room, guns raised, and instantly double over into laughter. They holster their guns and beckon for the rest of us to come inside.
“It’s OK, babe, you can come in,” Razor says. “It’s safe. Kind of.”
I’m not prepared for what I see.
Swaddled in leather, bound to the four corners of his bed, Chief Barnes is a prisoner of his own lust. The man’s body is bare to the world except for a dizzying network of leather straps across his chest and a small black leather loincloth that hardly conceals his raging erection.
“I think he’s already subdued,” Ruby says.
“I think that’s kind of the point,” I say.
“Get out of my house this instant,” Chief Barnes screams.
“Oh, shove it up your ass,” Ruby snaps, snatching a ball gag from the chief’s dresser and shoving it in the man’s mouth.
“I think he might like that,” Trips says.
“We might need to reevaluate whatever torture we were planning — this old guy might like it,” Razor says. “He might even offer to pay us to do it.”
“We’ve all got our price. I might still be interested. What do you say, old man? How much you willing to pay for a little consensual torture?” Trips says.
“Wait, Trips, you serious?” Razor says.
“Yeah. I’ve got rent to pay, brother.”
“I’m out. I didn’t sign up for this. Whatever the fuck you guys do, I’m going to go see if he’s got any beer in his fridge and wait it out in the living room,” Robbie says.
“Oh, would you grab me one?” Rusty says. “I’ve suddenly got a thirst.”
“Me too,” Razor says.
In the end, my brother’s obligated to bring back beers for all of us while we form a semicircle around the already-bound chief of Lone Mesa PD.
“What I’m wondering is: what if someone else came to the door? Like, someone else he wasn’t expecting. Like the FedEx guy. And what if they were, you know, interested in doing stuff?” Trips says.
“It always works out in the movies,“Razor shrugs. “I’m sure he’s probably into that risk. You know, he’s still hard. See? I think the danger’s part of the fun for him.”
Ruby nods. “The danger is part of it. William liked his thrills, too.”
“Don’t even start, nana.”
“Yeah, Mrs. Porter, please don’t,” Rusty adds.
I look over at the chief. He’s flushed, his chest beading with sweat and, like Razor said, he’s still visibly turned on by what’s going on around him.
Robbie comes back with the beers, passes them out, takes one look at the chief and, shaking his head, runs from the room.
“So, what do we do with him?” Trips says.
“I have to admit, this old man’s boner really has me at a loss,” Razor says as he takes a step towards the bed and brings his face level with the chief’s. The man is struggling in his bonds and, though he’s still turned on, the hate in his eyes looks strong enough to burn a hole through my boyfriend.
“I’ve got it: we will have a photoshoot,” Razor says after a moment.
“What?” All the rest of us — except for Ruby — say in unison.
Ruby just nods like she’s been expecting that answer the whole time.
“Sure, the idea of a couple of bad boys like us finding his naughty ass all tied up and helpless might turn him on deep down inside, but he still hates us and wants us out of here. I doubt a man like him wants word to get out about his little hobby. And it’d be even worse for him if people knew he was involved with a member of the MC.”
Barnes lets out a muffled scream as Razor finishes talking.
“I’m not having sex with him,” Rusty says.
“Me neither,” Trips says.
Razor shakes his head. “None of us are. We’re just going to take a few suggestive pictures. Enough to give the idea that the chief of police likes to live out a few fantasies with some members of the Twisted Devils.”
“So… who’s doing it?” Rusty says.
“We do Rock-Paper-Scissors for it. We pair off three ways and the loser of the most matches is the one who gets to show off for the camera.”
Ruby and I just trade a stunned look as the three men start their matches.
Is this really the man I’m dating? I’m a professional woman, I’m smart, and I’m hooking up with a man who’s willing to make an exhibitionist leather-fetish sex tape with the chief of police?
In the end, Rusty is left shame-faced and stuttering.
“Let’s see if the chief’s got anything in his closet that you can use for your fifteen minutes of fame, Rusty,” Razor says. Grinning, he heads over to the closet and throws the door open. Inside is an outfit of chaps, straps, and a loin wrap that does anything but cover the genitals. There’s a whip, too. Black leather. “Suit up, Rusty.”
“Fuck you guys,” Rusty says. Still, he removes his shirt and jeans without any hesitation. “Nobody sees these pictures and you do not tell anyone about this.”
“Just shut up and work it, Sugar Lumps,” Razor says, taking out his cell phone and opening up the camera. “Go show that old man how much you love him.”
Razor starts snapping pictures and soon the room is full of the sound of the camera phone’s shutter and the sight of Rusty doing his best to pose with the chief like the two are enjoying themselves.
Trips leans in to Razor. “Is it wrong that I’m finding this a bit erotic?”
“No way, bro. Rusty’s a natural. And his reluctance only heightens the eroticism. Like some kind of ingenue about to discover a whole new side of herself. I’m a little hard myself,” Razor says. Then, he says, “Rusty, show a little more skin. Maybe teabag him, too.”
“I’m not teabagging the chief of police,” Rusty snaps.
“Well, at least put your ass by his face and maybe do that thing all the chicks in the magazines do. You know, where you look back over your shoulder. Bite your lip, too. It’ll look hot, trust me.”
“Oh, and put a police cap on,” Trips adds.
“Yes, a police cap. There’s one on his dresser over there. Perfect. Do it, Officer Rusty,” Razor says.
“You’re not showing anyone these pictures.”
“Promise. No one except everyone. Especially your mother.”
Rusty puts on the officer’s cap and the photoshoot continues. It goes on for long enough that I suspect that they’re doing it for more than just blackmail. But who am I to judge?
“OK, photoshoot over,” Rusty says, heading back to the closet to change into his normal clothes. “I feel so weird right now.”
“You were beautiful, brother,” Trips says. “Opened my eyes to what real eroticism is. I’ll never be the same.”
“Time for the ball gag to come out,” Razor says, and, bending over the chief’s prone body, he takes the gag out of the older man’s mouth.
“You’re all dead,” the chief says.
“And you’ll be Internet famous. All these pics are already backed up online and, if you try anything, they’ll be all over the place. So I suggest you shut the fuck up and answer our questions.”
The chief eyes us all in impotent rage. Well, not exactly impotent — he’s been hard the whole time. Seeing that, the nurse in me can’t help but speak out. “Chief, before we go any further, have you taken anything to, uh, assist yourself in being ready for the occasion?”
“What the fuck makes you think it’s your business?” He snaps.
I clear my throat. “Because, if you have, and you’ve been hard all this time, you’re probably close to that point that the Viagra advertisements warn you about. You know, that whole ‘four hours’ thing? There’s a reason they warn you, too, and it isn’t because they’re worried you might have too much fun. You should see a doctor when you’re done here.”
“OK, that’s eno
ugh conversation about the chief’s dick,” Trips says. “I’ve seen enough old man penis for a really long time.”
“But not for the rest of your life?” Razor says.
“Well, I’m going to be an old man too at some point, and I’m going to need to see my dick then,” Trips replies.
“Brothers, can we get this over with so I can get the fuck out of here?” Rusty says. “I need a shower.”
“Talent’s upset,” Trips says. “We should move this along.”
“Fine. Time to stop fooling around,” Razor says.
With stunning speed and ferocity, he punches the chief in the gut, making the older man shake and squirm against his bonds.
“Tell me where the Makris brothers are,” he growls. “Or we will tear you to fucking pieces. From now on, you are done working for those drug-pushing motherfuckers. Do you understand me?”
It’s a long moment before the chief recovers enough to speak.
“I understand. They’re in the industrial part of town. They took over the old Tomlinson warehouse.”
Razor nods. “Thank you. We’ll leave now, chief. Oh, and Trips, Rusty, raid his closet. I want every uniform and piece of police gear he’s got. Don’t worry, chief, we’ll return it all when we’re done. Take his keys, too — we’re borrowing his cruiser. I’ve got an idea.”
The chief lets out a defeated sigh. “Can you at least untie me?”
Razor shakes his head. “No time for that. We’ve got to get to the clubhouse and run your bosses out of town. But we’ll leave the door open so maybe Sugar Lumps can help you out when they show up. Come on everybody, let’s get the fuck out of here. It’s time to put an end to the Makris brothers.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Razor
The air is electric as I step in to the clubhouse with the most important people to me in the world at my side. And my woman’s mostly worthless brother. Heads turn like I expect and before Mack — who’s locked in a heated game of pool with Blaze and with Snake, Stitch, Axel, and Brewer watching — can charge me like a rampaging rhino, Tricia races from behind the bar to insert herself between us.
“This was a bad idea, Razor,” she says. “My husband is not going to be happy with you.”