Chapter 2

Alistar’s Dream

I smiled to himself as I watched the guy strut around. He was big, loud, and obviously had an exaggerated opinion of his own self worth. He was holding court with three of his toadies, extolling the virtues of the rat bike Harley he owned.

Everyone who looked at it was surprised the thing even ran. It was pretty obvious he had no idea what it took to maintain a motorcycle, especially old Harley’s. He wasn’t much on cosmetics either. I would have bet his next paycheck the chrome had never been polished as long as T. Rex had owned it.

The first time I heard him introduce himself I had to turn around so he wouldn’t see the grin on his face. T. Rex, really? He didn’t look like any predator I’d had ever seen and I’d seen quite a few in my old life. The guy was big, at least six four, but he was puffy and out of shape. It occurred to me he’d gotten away with a lot in his life because of his size. I suddenly remembered someone I hadn’t thought of in years. His club name was Runt but at five foot three he was pound for pound the most effective killer I had ever seen. He was eventually sent to prison for two of his murders but the government was reasonably sure he was responsible for the deaths of at least a dozen more. He was never prosecuted after the first two because there would have had been too many secrets revealed, secrets that could get others killed. I heard he died after serving seven years, at the hands of a couple rival gang members serving in the same prison.

I looked past the Harley to my own ride. A brand new Vulcan, 1500ccs of raw power. It had been years since I’d owned a bke but I thought the past was far enough behind me now that it would be safe. Safe meant a lot in my life.

Grant Whitcomb was not my real name. It was a name chosen at random by the U.S. Marshalls who coordinated his entry into witness protection.

I went into the Army the day after I graduated. My parents were long dead and I spent the whole of high school living in foster homes. No one wanted to adopt a child that old and it was fine by me. I worked hard in school and got good grades. Not good enough for a scholarship but good enough for the Army. The military agreed with me mentally and physically. I did so well I got into the Rangers and was shipped to the sandbox. It was the early days of the war and no one was really sure what was going on but I saw quite a bit of conflict, earning a bronze star and two purple hearts. I did two tours and had just returned for his third when I blundered into a drug smuggling ring, one that included a lot of fellow soldiers. Not knowing how high the enterprise reached I said nothing until I was sent to another province to help train local troops. It took a little effort but I managed to get a message to the commanding officer, which lead to a sit down late at night in a secure location.

I told them everything I knew about the smuggling ring and left. Three days later I was assigned to a visiting group of civilians as an escort. Once they were away from base a man identified himself as C.I.D., the ‘police’ branch of the army. He wanted me to go undercover and find out as much as I could. It was dangerous and worth my life if discovered but I had a deepseated sense of justice and agreed.

Two years later the ring was taken down. I had risen to a senior position within the group and because of my testimony 39 men went to Leavenworth. The C.I.D. Colonel who had recruited me sought me out, taking me in for ‘interrogation’.

He grinned at the young idealist I was. “Bobby, we got lucky. You were going to have to testify until Sgt. Dawson took a deal and spilled his guts. Your friends found out and unfortunately Sgt. Dawson had a terrible accident. He stepped on a land mine. You have a chance to walk away here, leave the Army and go into civilian life. Or...”

So Sgt. Bobby Travers got court martialed and sent to Leavenworth to gather information on who was receiving the drugs. When the bust hapened all they rolled up was a bunch of lower level dealers who either didn’t know or were too afraid to say who was running the show.

I stayed in Leavenworth for eighteen months gathering what he could. They finally got a break and suddenly my case was being reviewed. The Colonel grinned at me.

“We got them, but there’s a glitch. The whole thing is fronted by a biker gang known for their expertise in the drug business. They control distribution in most of the Midwestern and a few of the Southern States. They’re ruthless, destroying one rival group of bikers down to the last man. The Cartels are afraid of them and have chosen to work with them rather than expend the resources in a war. We need someone on the inside. Know how to ride a bike?”

I had no idea but was given a Harley and extensively trained, even sent through the certification process Harley requires from independent shops and as mechanically inclined as I was I was soon able to take a motorcycle apart and put it back together again with just a few basic tools, and even became computer certified to work on the newer models.

My hair had always been short by inclination and military standards but now it flowed down past my shoulders and was matched with a full beard. No one in my past life would have recognized me if they walked right by me on the sidewalk.

Relentlessly drilled in biker language and codes, how to read tattoos like a road map, how a biker would react in any given situation, they finally declared me ready. Then they set me up in a small Midwestern town near a local chapter. The original name of the group was High Plain Drifters but as they expanded they shortened it to the Drifters. They had a peace treaty of sorts with the other national clubs and even included them in a few deals to keep things cordial. They had very, very good law firms on retainer in most of the states they operated in, politicians and law enforcement on payroll, and contigency plans for just about every situation. It was very hard to get into the club, mostly they put candidates in one of their subsidiary clubs for a year or better before offering them probationary membership if they deemed you worthwhile.

I got into a subsidiary club in a little better than a year and ten months later was interviewed by the local leaders of the Drifters. Positive they had carefully vetted me and that they knew about my time in Leavenworth fo drug smuggling I figured I was exactly what they were looking for. They were impressed with my military background and my club name became ‘Sarge’. It took another year and a half before I was a full member of the club. I did things I wasn’t proud of, things thay would probably haunt me to my grave, but I was really careful not to do anything too violent or stupid. I guess what bothered me most was how they treated the club women like possessions and how little they could say about what they were told to do. I worked my ass off and the task force built an airtight case and when they had enough the hammer came down. Three months later the club was almost gone, all their leaders and most of the soldiers bound for prison. They managed to stay as a club for a few more years but were absorbed into a larger club via the ‘patchover’ method. It basically meant join them or very bad things could happen.

The bust went down in a way that put me in the hospital for an extended stay. While there I was medically discharged from the army at the highest rank they could give me. If I had stayed in the regular service I would have been six years away from retirement and they factored that into a medical pension, giving my assumed identity a record that showed he never served in the militaary and the money was from a structured insurance settlement. The official story was that I died in the hospital and was cremated, the ashes buried in a pauper’s field.

‘Grant’, with his head almost shaved and beard gone, moved to the East Coast and went to school on the G.I. bill disguised as a scholarship, getting a degree in mechanical engineering and joining a company that put him in charge of three plants after three years. I was making very good money and banking most of it.

I was considered prime husband material and dated regularly, owned my home, my vehicles were paid for, and was considered on average a genuinely nice guy.

I didn’t touch a bike for six years. Then a really good deal on an old Honda Goldwing came along. It was a long way from my chopped out Harley, the main reason it was chosen. It was fun to ride for a while but eventually it started feeling like I was riding my recliner down the road and decided it was time to get something more like what I had in the old days. Making it a point to stay away from Harleys, I found there were a lot of big Vtwins on the market. I almost bought a new Indian but opted at the last minute for the Vulcan. I had it eight months and it still looked like it just rolled off the showroom floor.

...

All this went through my mind as I walked to the parking lot. My path took him right by ‘T. Rex’, whose real name was Theodore. I had to stifle a laugh when I saw he was wearing colors. The Evil Revengers. What kind of bullshit name was that? You would have been safe betting your paycheck Theodore had come up with it. The Drifters would have had a ball, reducing him to a crying bitch in less that half an hour, taking his bike as they left.

Theodore stopped talking and watched as I fired up the Vulcan and I couldn’t resist letting it rip as I left, putting a black mark thirty feet long down before easing up, wondering how many miles had been taken off the back tire with that stunt.

The next day as I was leaving I noticed Ted looking at his bike. He’d hop on it, try to kick start it, and it wouldn’t even catch. I knew what was wrong instantly. “You’re half-moon starter gear is stripped. Use the electric start.”

He admitted the starter didn’t work. Looking it over I twisted a couple of wires, and hit the button. The starter whirred but wouldn’t engage. “You need to get it down to the shop. It’s a pretty simple repair and shouldn’t take too long.”

“Shit! I’m broke right now and I’ll have to wait until payday. How am I gonna get it home?”

That was easy enough. Grabbing one of his buddies I had Ted put his bike in second gear and hold the clutch in while we pushed him. When we thought they were going fast enough I yelled for him to pop the clutch. Ted did and the bike sputtered for a minute before catching.

Two weeks later the bike was fixed and Ted kept asking me to stop for a beer so he could thank me. Against my better judgement I did have a few beers with him figuring it would shut him up. The more he talked the more it became apparent what an asshole he was. He bragged about his bike, he bragged about how hot his ‘bitch’ was, he bragged about how fast his club was growing. Then he hit me up to join. Flashing back to the two years of shit I’d had to endure before the Drifters accepted me as a full member I grinned. “I’m not much of a joiner, but thanks for asking.”

By now he had six buddies riding with him. Two had Harley’s, one had an old Triumph, one had a nice looking Road Star, an Indian, and the other had a bike that was so grime encrusted no one was sure of the brand. He’d ask me to join him every couple of days and I regularly turned him down.

It all came to a head one day at a local bar. A friend and I had been riding and stopped for a beer. My friend had one beer and left but I ordered another, relaxing. Thirty-nine now, financially secure, with good friends, all that was missing from my life was a good woman. There had been a few over the years. I wasn’t ugly, had good manners, and enough disposable income to show a woman a good time but there hadn’t been enough of a spark for any of them to last. I did live with one girlfriend for about fifteen months before they parted. It seems she was looking for a meal ticket and when I caught her on my computer going over financial records it brought it to a head.

Sandy decided that a good offense was a good defense so she jumped me. “You got all that money and you live in this tiny thing? And what’s with that check you get once a month? There’s no paper trail, it just shows up in you account every month. You an undercover cop or something hiding fro the mafia?”

That hit a little too close. “That money is from a structured settlement I got from an accident years ago. It was a pretty good sum and they offered me a deal. If I took it in payments they’d add ten per cent. I didn’t need to think about that. They got another eighteen months and we’re square. Let’s discuss something else for a moment. Why were you snooping through my computer and my papers?”

She had enough shame to blush. “You never say anything about where you’re from or what you did before you went to work for Jenkins Mechanical. I was trying to find out who you really are.”

“I can tell you who I am. I’m Grant Whitcomb. Wanna see my driver’s license? If you do a search I’ll come back clean. There are no warrants or APB’s out on me. I’m just a mechanical engineer with a good job and a quiet life. I like it like that. I was never a big fan of drama.”

We talked a bit more before I surprised her. “I think this relationship has just about run it’s course. I can’t stay with someone who doesn’t trust me or worse yet someone I can’t trust. I’m not going to live a life where I have to lock my computer or guard my papers from someone who likes to snoop. Take some time nexr week and look for an apartment. I’ll even help you get set up. After that you’re on your own.”

There were a few rounds of crying and yelling but she was gone in three weeks.

...

I was thinking about my inability to find a permanent partner when T. Rex came up. “Hey dude! How’s it hangin’?”

A woman at the next table blushed and she got up and moved, taking her girlfriends with her. I was a little disappointed because she’d been sending me signals and I was about to buy a round for the table, hoping for an invitation to join them. That was out the window now.

Ted immediately started bragging about his club. “We’re gettin’ to be big time now. Got us a clubhouse we can throw down in any time we want.”

“Well good for you.”

“Yoou can still get in on the ground floor, be one of the officers. Think what it would do for your street cred.”

What it would do was get my ass kicked at every biker bar around AFTER they stopped laughing. Not my idea of a good time. I declined again which seemed to piss Ted off.

“Don’t think you can run with us, huh? Don’t worry, we can protect you.”

Slowly and surely I was getting tired of his bullshit. I hadn’t fought anyone seriously in six years and would still put money I could take at least four of them down without breathing hard. Runt had taught me the hard way that looks can be deceiving. I absently rubbed my upper right arm, remembering the break.

“I’ll think about and get back to you next week.”

The next week the mighty Evil Revengers were a little subdued. One walked with a limp, one couldn’t sit down good, and the big T was movin’ really slow. I got the scoop from one of the club members.

“We ran into Al’s ex husband. She’s T’s girlfriend. The dude was there because he just found out her kid was his. Twelve years and he had no idea. They were having a ‘discussion’ and she didn’t like where it was going so she called us over to put a scare in him.”

“Did you?”

“Fuck no we didn’t! That guy kicked T’s ass, took out Skinny’s kneecap and popped Jasper right in the nuts before the cops showed up.”

“Wow. How bad did the other guy get his ass beat?”

Jason grinned. “I don’t think he was even breathing hard and not one of them got a lick in. I don’t know where he learned it but the dude could mix it up. It was the last straw with me. I thought it would be fun to ride with a group but T had some really fucked up ideas about how things should go. I left my colors on her front porch. I’m done.”

I thought he must be the smart one in the bunch. Two days later another of his minions told him to stick the colors up his ass. I don’t know what it was about but he was pretty pissed and Ted had a pretty good shiner. The rest of the bunch must have been rethinking his leadership qualities and I think he was kind of desperate when he approached me again. Again I told him no and he almost begged. “Ride with us just once. See how it goes.”

I agreed if they would not fly their colors and I got to pick the bar.

...

Judging by the looks on their face when we pulled in they were scared shitless. We were about to walk into the Split Pistons, THE biker bar in the area. It was big, it was always crowded, and nobody started any shit. I looked at the markings at the door, the universal sign that bikers were welcome, the logos of some local and national clubs scattered around the jambs, and knew this was officially neutral territory. It was a safe place for them to drink and mingle and there was even a private room, capable of holding 24 people. The room was where the clubs negotiated business, defined territories, and generally agreed to keep the peace so no one drew unwanted atteention. If one club wanted to send a message to another, they would put a bug in the owner’s ear and meetings would be arranged.

There was always a lot of independents there, people not affliated with a club but experienced in the lifestyle. We got a lot of looks as we walked in.

“You guys need to be cool. This is not a place where you want to start any shit. If you do you better hope there’s enough left of you to get on your bikes when they throw you out. Understand?”

There was a lot of tense nods and we took a seat at an empty table. There was a waitress but she was working her ass off so I walked to the bar. The woman got me the two pitchers I ordered and grinned at me. “Interesting company you’re keeping.”

I grinned. “Little boys playing at being men. They wanted to know what a true biker bar looked like so I decided to give them a lesson. Without a doubt they’re about ready to piss their pants. I doubt you have to worry about any of them coming back.”

I knew I was talking to the owner. She had to be close to fifty but she was in good shape, wearing a leather vest that was unzipped quite a bit and a pair of ass hugging shorts. I doubt if her flaming red hair was natural but it still looked good. She grinned while I looked her over.

“Like what you see?”

I grinned. “Yes Ma’am. I hope my girlfriend grows up to be just like you.”

She laughed. “You’re one of the good ones. I can always tell. If I were ever to offer you any advice it would be ditch the losers and come back anytime. I run a peaceful place but there’s only so much bullshit these guys can take.”

“Advice noted.”

I walked back to the table and set the pitchers down. “Drink up boys.”

Their heads were on swivels as they gulped down their beer. I kind of felt bad for them but it was better to learn now than to learn later the hard way.

The nickname for the owner of the bar was Cyclops because she only had one eye. A violent altercation with her ex led to having her eye put out by a ring with a pronounced skull and crossbone logo. She passed out from pain and when she woke he was passed out as well. She picked up a fireplace poker and nearly beat him to death before she called 911. She lost an eye. He lost a thumb and one testicle and his kneecap was so shattered he walked with a pronounce limp the rest of his life. She decided to have a little fun and told some of the guys about what I was doing and they would walk by and glower at us. I grinned when they weren’t looking and caught one 300 pound biker winking at me. By the time the pitcher was empty my guys were ready to go.

“Really? I was just starting to have a good time but if you’re ready let’s go.”

The walk to the door was probably the longest of their lives. Bikers kept ‘accidentally’ running into them and Cyclops called out as we were going.

“Hey boys! Ya’ll come back soon. I’ll keep an eye out for you!” She flipped up her patch to show a horrific scar and an empty socket. They almost ran the rest of the way to the bikes. I could hear the laughter as the door closed.

Once outside they calmed down a little and talked me into going to their clubhouse. Curiosity got the better of me and I rode along. The clubhouse turned out to be a pretty substantial block building in the middle of nowhere. I admirred the building for their benefit and they hit me one more time.

Just for the fun of it I asked about club rules. “We all kick in seventy-five bucks a month to pay rent and keep the lights on. We meet at least once a week and we ride at least three times a month. No one else is allowed in the club unless we decide to hold a party.”

“That’s it?”

Three of the guys looked uncomfortable and Ted puffed up. “Well, there are a couple more things. The club president gets to fuck any ol’ lady he wants. So if you get a girlfriend and I decide to fuck her, you can’t bitch.”

Just when you think a person couldn’t be any more of an idiot they invariably prove you wrong. “You’re serious? You guys all good with this?”

They all blushed or looked down and any shred of respect I had for them was lost forever. Then it hit me. I was going to fuck with them in a major way.

“So then, if someone else becomes club president, they get to fuck all the women? How could that happen?”

You could tell Ted hadn’t given that much thought. Then he pulled himself up to his full height and tried to look menacing. “If you can kick my ass, then you become president. That ain’t never gonna happen. I’d...”

That’s all he got out when I hit him in the belly. Hard. The breath exploded out of him and as he fell forward I caught him with an elbow on the cheek. I think we all heard the crack. He hit the ground and didn’t move. I looked over and grinned. “Well then. Looks like I’m the new president.”

Two stood and gawked but one got pissed. “You sucker punched him!”

“No I didn’t. He should have seen that coming. If you still want to argue about it I’m up for it. Maybe you can be the next leader of this little group.”

He had balls but no fighting sense. I caught him with a savage jab to his short ribs and I knew from experience it hurt like hell. He dropped his hands and never saw the foot until it was in his mouth. His dentist would get some work this week. I looked at the other two but they held their hands up. I grinned.

“Open the door. I could use a beer.”

“What about T and Ronnie?”

“Leave them. They’ll wake up eventually. If they’re still down when we leave we’ll throw some water or something on them. They’ll wake up with aching bodies and T might not talk so good for a while but he’ll be all right.”

We drank a couple of beers as I looked over the clubhouse a little closer. It was a well made building and didn’t look old. “How did you guys happen to find this place?”

“It belongs to an uncle of mine. He built it intending to make it his workshop but never got around to it. Now he’s disabled and the money comes in handy.”

I looked at Slick, as he liked to be called, and asked him a question. “You okay with me taking over?”

He thought for a second. “Yeah, I think so. T was all right but he was never what you’d call a leader.”

The other guy shook his head to agree and I zoned in on him. “The top dog fucking your woman still on the table?”

He blushed but nodded quietly. Gary turned out to have a submissive nature and his girlfriend practically ran his life.

I had to think about that for a while. “Well then. Let’s lock up. Meeting here, Thursday night. Got it? Tell T and Ronnie that if they don’t show they’re out of the club.”

There was a hose outside so I soaked the sleeping beauties down before I left. The others were helping them up as I pulled on to the highway.

...

I was surprised to see them all there Thursday. T had a swollen jaw and Ronnie had two new crowns so it was pretty reasonable that they didn’t talk much. The first thing I did was have them pile all their colors on the table.

“We won’t be needing these any more. If you decide you can’t give them up leave now.”

Nobody bitched but Ted. He was halfway out the door when he stopped and came back. “This ain’t over!” He hissed, trying to look menacing.

“All right. You should wait until you’re healed up. Your boys think I sucker punched you. First thing you need to learn is that guys like me, and bikers in general, is that we’re not much on rules. If and when you decide to try me again have at it. If you catch me napping good for you. Just know next time I won’t go easy on you. You’ll get the full asswhuppin’. Make sure you understand that before you take the first swing.”

He looked a little pissed but kept his mouth shut. I wasn’t sure how far I was going to take things before I walked away but for now it was fun. Oddly enough when I talked they listened. I spent most of the night lecturing them about road rules both as a solo and as a group, what not to say to piss people off, how to be respectful without looking like a pussy. Then I talked about bike maintenance and told them before we left that come Saturday afternoon we were all meeting here to spruce up our rides. I drank two beers and noticed we were drinking out of ice chests. No refrigerator.

Saturday I surprised them by showing up in my truck with an almost new refrigerator. Slick asked me where my bike was. “Can’t strap this to the back of a bike. Besides, have you ever seen a speck of dust on my ride? This is about you, not me.”

We unloaded the fridge and got out the cleaning supplies. For three hours they learned basic maintenance and how to properly clean a motorcycle. I have to admit they looked loads better when we were done. We were standing around having a beer when I saw Ronnie’s eyes go wide.

I immediately dropped down and saw the ax handle go across where my head had been seconds before. Teddy stood there looking puzzled that he hadn’t got me. I came off that ground mad as hell. It’s one thing to fight, another to try to kill someone and I doubted seriously he had the control or sense to know the difference.

His eyes widened and I grinned. “Remember what I told you if you ever tried again? You’re about to get a lesson. I won’t be too hard but every part of your body will ache for days when I’m done.”

He was game but I showed him most everything I’d learned in the Army, my time with the Drifters, and the karate studio I’d been going to as a way to keep in shape. I was never comfortable that somewhere somehow I’d run into someone who knew who I was so I kept my skills up.

I kicked his thighs, stomped on his toes, worked his body, kicked him down, and beat his ass with the ax handle like I’d spank a child. He whimpered, he cried, he screamed like a little bitch until he lay there sobbing. I tossed the handle down and looked at the guys. “Lock up. Be here Thursday night. Might want to call somebody to get him. I doubt seriously he’ll be able to ride home.”

They were standing spellbound but snapped out of it pretty quick. One was on the phone while the others helped him to a picnic table as I rode away.

...

The Mighty Dinosaur missed three days of work and showed up Thursday moving really slow. His cheeks were swollen, his nose was scraped raw, one eye still had the vestiges of a shiner, and he moaned a little everytime he sat down. I just grinned at him every time I saw him.

I was surprised when everyone showed up Thursday. Even Ted, though he didn’t ride. He got dropped off by a pissed off looking blond who stayed just long enough for him to clear the car door. From the brief glimpse I got of her I had to wonder why she was with him.

We all got a beer and sat down outside at the picnic table. “All right then. It strikes me you guys are a bunch of pussies. While I have a fondness for pussy I have no desire to ride with them so tonight I’m going to give you a grounding in how to defend yourself. A few basic punches, a few throws, that sort of thing. Anyone not interested needs to hop his bike and leave.”

For the next ninety minutes I had them punching, blocking, kicking a little, and taught them a few dirty tricks. “If you get into a scrape as a biker, rules don’t matter. What’s important is that you fuck that asshole up before he fucks you up and do it bad enough that he thinks twice before he tries it again.”

We broke up just before dark and Gary hung back. “Let me ask you something. You still gonna fuck our women?”

I sighed. “That’s a bunch of bullshit. You know that right?”

He nodded. “I thought as much but I need a favor. I need you to take my girlfriend out and fuck the shit out of her.”

“What?”

It all came out. She was spending his money as fast as he brought it in, fucking around on him, and lately she was talking about them getting married so she’d get a share of everything.

“I need you to keep her out of the house long enough for me to pack her shit up and change the locks. I know better than to try it while she’s there. She’d call the cops and spin some shit about domestic abuse and I’d spend the weekend in jail. I’m trying to eliminate the drama, got a cop friend who’s helping me get a resrtaining order, all I need her to do is be gone while I get it done.”