Desperate Times (9 page)

Jimmy felt his heart in his throat and he’d
broken out in a cold sweat. A slight breeze rattled the leaves in
the trees overhead and the sound of a million crickets filled the
air. The bikers had grown silent, watching in amusement as the
group rushed to their cars. To Jimmy they looked like lions
stalking their prey. Then, as if reading his mind, a tall biker
pointed directly at Jimmy and Bill. There was some low conversation
followed by the nodding of heads. All eyes were now on them.
Jimmy’s mouth felt as dry as sand.

“Oh shit,” said Bill.

“Get in the truck,” Jimmy said from the side
of his mouth. “And get your gun out, nice and easy, Bill.
Okay?”

“What about Julie and Cindy?”

“We’re not leaving them. Just get in the
truck. Trust me.”

A motorcycle engine roared to life, followed
by another. The pair raced toward the Mack. One stopped directly in
front of the truck, the other behind. Jimmy’s hand shook as he
fired up the engine. Jimmy watched a tall biker with wild hair
dismount his bike; he looked up at Jimmy and Bill and smiled. He
was older than Jimmy had guessed. His dark hair was streaked with
gray and deep lines were etched at the corners of his red-rimmed
eyes. A quick check in Bill’s door-mounted mirror revealed a
younger biker who was short and stocky and wore a red bandana on
his head. He was making his way alongside the truck, his face
covered in a week’s growth of razor stubble. It was a replay of
what had happened earlier, except this time there was no farmer
there to save them. They were also in the middle of nowhere,
surrounded by nothing but miles of tamarack swamp and birch
trees.

“Hey,” said the tall biker, leering up to
Jimmy. “Leavin’ so soon? Why? The party’s just getting started. Why
don’t you shut down your rig and join us?”

“No thanks,” said Jimmy, “we’ve got to get
moving.”

“Maybe I wasn’t asking?” growled the tall
man, pulling open Jimmy’s door with considerable force. “Shut the
damn thing off! Now! What you got in the back, asshole? Anything I
might be interested in?”

“Get out!” ordered the short biker from the
other side of the truck.

Jimmy turned the key and killed the engine.
He stole a glance at Bill and could see that he hadn’t pulled his
gun. Jimmy was happy he hadn’t because the short biker had pulled
one of his own. He held it trained on Bill. From the look on his
face, Jimmy thought he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Bill was slowly
climbing down and Jimmy did the same.

“We don’t want any trouble, do we, Jimmy?”
asked Bill.

“Shut your goddam mouth!” ordered the biker
with the gun.

“Okay,” said Bill. “I’ll be quiet. I can do
that.”

The short biker scowled. He held the gun up
to Bill’s nose and gave him a hard look. A car drove by, followed
by another. Jimmy recognized the vehicles as those belonging to his
caravan. It was obvious that the bikers’ interest lay in the truck
and whatever cargo Jimmy had on board. Jimmy was thankful that the
others were leaving. Inside many of the cars were women and
children. More cars rolled past and Jimmy could see that was
exactly what the bikers wanted. Some were now shouting at the
stragglers, even kicking at the fenders and doors to get the
drivers moving. The last vehicle to leave was Ken and Patty in
their new Chevy Tahoe which now sported nasty dents in the doors
and rear quarter panel. Ken slowed the truck as it approached the
Mack. “Let them get in with us,” Ken pleaded to the tall man. “Take
the truck. Just let them go!”

“And who’s going to
drive
the damn
truck?” taunted the tall biker. “Get the hell outta here!”

“Wait Lonnie!” shouted the shorter biker from
the back of the truck. “They can take this piece of shit with
them,” he said, referring to Bill.

Jimmy turned; Bill was being ushered toward
the Tahoe by the hydrant-shaped biker. He pushed Bill in the back,
lashing out with a battered boot when Bill didn’t move fast
enough.

The tall biker called Lonnie laughed and gave
Bill a vicious kick as he stumbled toward Ken’s idling vehicle.
Jimmy caught Bill just before he fell. “It’ll be okay,” Jimmy said.
“Just go.”

“What about… you know?” asked Bill, looking
absolutely terrified.

“Just go,” hissed Jimmy.

“You heard the man,” said the shorter biker,
holding the gun in his hand. “You’ve got three seconds before I
blow your goddamn head off.”

Bill lunged for the back door of the Tahoe
and clamored inside. Ken glared at the bikers with hatred in his
eyes.

“Move it!” ordered Lonnie. “My friend here
doesn’t have much patience.”

Ken dropped the Tahoe into gear and they
lurched away. Jimmy swallowed hard as he watched it roll away. He
was frightened, not only for himself, but for Julie and Cindy. He
prayed that they wouldn’t give themselves away.

“Now, ass-wipe, let’s see what you’ve got in
the back,” said Lonnie with a satisfied sneer. “Open it!”

Jimmy fumbled in his pockets for the key to
the padlock, feeling the gun pressed to his back by the shorter
man.

“No funny business,” the biker hissed into
his ear.

Jimmy shook his head. He could see the crowd
back at the bikes had begun walking toward them to watch the show.
The approaching boots clapped across the asphalt. Jimmy fished out
the key and inserted it into the lock, snapping it open. He flipped
open the latch and hefted up the door, the rollers clacking in the
door tracks.

The sun had disappeared from sight, but there
was still plenty of light to see that the bikers had made quite a
haul. A few whistled as they gathered at the back of the truck. The
cargo area of the Mack was packed with groceries, camping gear and
tools of all shapes and sizes. Nine cans of gas were strapped to
the driver’s side wall. A canoe rode on top of the pile, perched on
top of duffel bags and tied safely at both ends to the opposite
wall.

“What do you think, Grease?” asked Lonnie to
the big barrel-chested man, who looked to be the leader of the
gang.

“Nice work,” he said in a baritone voice. “We
can use all that shit.”

“Good score,” said a voice from behind
Jimmy.

“Right on,” replied another.

Jimmy stood with his head down, feeling as if
he’d failed his group. He pondered his situation, hoping the group
would want to get moving soon. He was sure that Ken and the others
hadn’t gone far. They’d wait until the bikers had left and return
to pick up Julie and Cindy. He’d slip away, somehow, and walk to
Ken’s if he had to—provided the bikers didn’t kill him first.

He lit up a smoke and took a deep drag on the
Camel. Grease was rummaging in the back of the truck, holding up
little trophies here and there, much to the delight of his
subjects. Jimmy felt the anger growing in his gut as the big man
closed the door and snapped the latch shut.

“What the hell do we need him for?” he asked,
gesturing to Jimmy.

“I ain’t driving that damn truck. What about
my bike?” asked Lonnie.

“Shit,” a raspy-voiced woman said, drawing
the word out contemptuously. “I can drive it. I can drive anything.
We sure as hell don’t need him.”

“No,” said Grease. “No, we don’t,” his bushy
beard hiding the lower half of his face. “Makes me wonder why
Lonnie decided to keep this boy around. What’s up, man? Are you
sweet on this punk?”

That remark brought on enormous guffaws from
the biker gang. Jimmy’s face felt as if it’d catch fire. His hands
clenched into fists at his sides and he had to fight to remain
calm. He stole a glance at Lonnie and could see that the comment
had struck a nerve with him as well.

“Real funny, Grease,” he said as the laughter
died away.

“Well, what’d you keep him for?” asked
Grease, crossing his beefy arms which were covered with fading
tattoo ink spreading like a fungus from his upper shoulders to the
bottoms of his wrists. “I didn’t ask you to do that. Wanda can
drive the truck. I can’t think of a single reason you’d want to
keep him around, unless you got eyes for him? He is a looker, ain’t
he girls?”

There was more laughter and Wanda approached
Jimmy and held her chubby hand on his cheek. “He sure is,” she
agreed. “I’ll take him when you’re done with him, Lonnie. He looks
fun.”

“Eat shit,” said Lonnie, baring his
teeth.

The group howled with laughter as if this
were the funniest thing Lonnie that had ever said.

Grease held up his hands and spat, wiping his
beard with a dirty hand. “Maybe I’m wrong, though,” he said. “Maybe
you got other ideas? You ain’t made your bones with the Club, yet.
Maybe you kept this little runt so you could take care of that
unfinished business? How about it, Lonnie? Is that what you were
thinking? Some of the boys here have been wondering about you.
They’re wondering if you’re a cop. To tell you the truth, I’ve
wondered it myself.”

“I ain’t no cop!”

“Well, prove it!” spat Grease. “That is, if
you’re man enough…”

“Right on, Lonnie,” shouted a voice from the
back of the crowd.

“Make your bones,” another voice said. “Kill
the little shit.”

“That must’ve been what you were thinking,
huh, Lonnie?” asked Grease, his eyes as cold as ice. “You’re the
only one riding with us that hasn’t got a patch. You know you’ve
got to make your bones before I can patch you in as a Devil. Here’s
your chance, dude. Prove you ain’t no cop.”

Jimmy tried backing up, but there was no
where to go. He was surrounded by a sea of black leather so close
he could smell it. The group had suddenly gone silent; all eyes
were now on Lonnie.

“Well, what are you waiting for? You chicken
shit? Or, maybe you
are
sweet on him?” taunted Grease.

Jimmy felt strong hands grab him by the
biceps. He looked hard at Lonnie and that one look told him all he
needed to know. Lonnie was going to kill him. He’d seen the look
many times across the ring and there was no mistaking it. The only
difference was that this time his attacker wasn’t wearing boxing
gloves.

“Give me your gun, Chuck,” said Lonnie. “I’ll
show you who’s chicken.”

“Oh, no,” grunted Grease. “Not so fast. I
want you to do it with a blade. That way it’s personal. Any asshole
can fire a gun,” he said with a chuckle. “No Lonnie, I want you to
cut his throat. I want you to look into his eyes when you do it,
brother. I want you to remember it. This is a big moment for
you.”

Jimmy felt as if his heart would explode.
Instinctively, he began to pull at the hands that held his arms.
They held him like iron and he twisted as he tried to break free.
He kicked out with his legs but connected with nothing but air. He
watched Lonnie’s hand dig into a jacket pocket and come out with a
large folding knife. Lonnie’s hands were shaking, not much, but
enough for Jimmy to notice. He opened it and hefted it in his right
hand.

“Do it,” urged a voice from behind Jimmy.

“Come on, stick him like a pig. Let’s see
some blood,” said another voice.

Jimmy was suddenly grabbed by someone from
behind. Whoever it was wrapped a huge arm around Jimmy’s forehead,
pulling it back and stretching his neck. Grease and Lonnie stood
before him, as the others gathered into a semicircle, trying to get
a good view of the killing. Grease stood with his arms crossed over
his fat belly as if he were going to judge Lonnie on technique. His
dark eyes were full of amusement. He looked at Jimmy without pity;
this was nothing but a game to him.

Jimmy stared into Lonnie’s face in the fading
light and saw nothing but cold determination. Lonnie reached out
with his knife as if deciding which way to cut. Jimmy strained at
his captors, finding their hold had only grown stronger. He was
going to die; he was sure of it. Lonnie raised the knife. Crickets
chirped in the distance.

“Sorry man,” he said as he lifted the
knife.

There was a loud crack and suddenly Lonnie
was violently thrown backward in an explosion of blood. Before
anyone could react, another shot took Grease square in the
forehead, the reports echoing together as if they’d been fired
simultaneously. A woman screamed, followed by another. The bikers
fled like a herd of stampeding cattle.

Jimmy was suddenly free and he began to run
as fast as his trembling legs would carry him. He ran away from the
motorcycles, away from the truck, heading straight down the exit
road toward the highway. Behind him were more shots, a few pinged
off the blacktop very close to him. Jimmy ducked and dove into a
small grove of trees. He’d covered about fifty yards in a very
short amount of time.

Twilight had turned the scene into something
that resembled a black and white movie. He peered out from behind a
fat birch tree and caught his breath. Someone waved to him from
behind a wooden sign at the north entrance to the rest stop. He
didn’t know the man, but recognized him as belonging to his group.
The man held a deer rifle. The man quickly took aim and shot toward
the bus. More shots rang out, the reports deafening in the quiet
evening air. A man was screaming in pain and wailed for his mother.
Another shot popped and the wailing stopped.