some bastard's car.
I slipped by without being noticed, and headed straight to the back of the lot. It only took a couple of minutes to get the older pickup truck started with the screwdriver I found on the floorboard, and just like that, I had wheels. I stopped a few blocks away and switched out the tags, stashing the real one for the truck behind the seat.
I drove the rest of that first day, only stopping once for fuel and food. Late that night, I rolled into a little town on the outskirts of Columbus. Time to hole up for a little while and decide what the fuck to do. Big secretive corporations with their fingers in all the war pies probably didn't celebrate when some whack job crushed their pet head-shrinker's throat. I cruised a quiet residential area until I found a beat up car, and switched tags again, then went in search of food and a motel.
2
Fabi o( cale b )
I had no way of knowing if anyone searched for me or not, but I had to assume my face was on a list somewhere. Those people back there didn't strike me as the type to let one of their own get taken down, and not seek payback. So, I acted as if they were hot on my tail.
Over the next few months, I put every trick I knew about hiding to work. Well, except the one about staying put to keep from drawing attention. Every time I thought a town appealed to me enough to stay a little while, I woke up in the middle of the night and hit the road. Somewhere along the way, I picked up a stray dog that refused to get lost, so I let him ride along with me. If nothing else, he made a good listener, even if he did stink like a dumpster a week overdue for pickup in August. Out of desperation, I wrangled him into the bathtub in a little motel, and scrubbed the stench off him.
I ended up in Georgia right before Memorial Day, and the town hosted a big motorcycle rally for the holiday. Somehow, I managed to get a room in a shitty little motel in a town bursting at the seams. Around three a.m., I woke up to the sound of a million motorcycles rolling past, and Dog growling his fool ass off while every hair he owned stood on end. Even still a bit on the skinny side, Dog was huge, well over a hundred pounds, so he didn't really need to look bigger to intimidate the fuck out of any threat. But he still fluffed up.
The whole street outside my window was lit up like a Christmas tree with headlights and tail lights. Bikers called back and forth, and an occasional rebel yell cut through the engine noise.
Throughout the night and the following day, hundreds of bikes passed the motel. I finally got curious enough to go looking. Several blocks down, barricades closed the street to traffic. Beyond, hundreds of custom bikes, and restored classics, complete with bikini-clad models hanging over them, wowed the crowds passing by on foot. On the opposite side of the street, vendors sold everything from exhaust systems and carburetors, to funnel cakes and beer.
I wondered around for a while, taking it all in. A flash of movement between two box trailers caught my eye, and I turned just in time to see two guys holding another one down. A fourth man delivered a brutal kick to the downed man's ribs. For all I knew, the man on the ground was a pedophile, or worse, but I hated to see a man get kicked while he was down.
I ducked between the trailers, breathing hard, as if I'd been running. "Hey, you caught the motherfucker."
The guy doing all the kicking glared at me. "Who the fuck are you?"
I pointed to the man on the ground. "I'm the bastard that tracked his sneaky ass all over the state. Now I'm going to kill him." I lunged forward.
"Whoa! What makes you think I'll give him up?" The man made a menacing move toward me, while the other two continued holding the victim down. The front of his leather cut had a Sergeant At Arms patch over the name Timber. At least one of his buddies wore a Saxons MC Georgia patch on his back.
I didn't know the Saxons from Adam, but that didn't stop
I slipped by without being noticed, and headed straight to the back of the lot. It only took a couple of minutes to get the older pickup truck started with the screwdriver I found on the floorboard, and just like that, I had wheels. I stopped a few blocks away and switched out the tags, stashing the real one for the truck behind the seat.
I drove the rest of that first day, only stopping once for fuel and food. Late that night, I rolled into a little town on the outskirts of Columbus. Time to hole up for a little while and decide what the fuck to do. Big secretive corporations with their fingers in all the war pies probably didn't celebrate when some whack job crushed their pet head-shrinker's throat. I cruised a quiet residential area until I found a beat up car, and switched tags again, then went in search of food and a motel.
2
Fabi o( cale b )
I had no way of knowing if anyone searched for me or not, but I had to assume my face was on a list somewhere. Those people back there didn't strike me as the type to let one of their own get taken down, and not seek payback. So, I acted as if they were hot on my tail.
Over the next few months, I put every trick I knew about hiding to work. Well, except the one about staying put to keep from drawing attention. Every time I thought a town appealed to me enough to stay a little while, I woke up in the middle of the night and hit the road. Somewhere along the way, I picked up a stray dog that refused to get lost, so I let him ride along with me. If nothing else, he made a good listener, even if he did stink like a dumpster a week overdue for pickup in August. Out of desperation, I wrangled him into the bathtub in a little motel, and scrubbed the stench off him.
I ended up in Georgia right before Memorial Day, and the town hosted a big motorcycle rally for the holiday. Somehow, I managed to get a room in a shitty little motel in a town bursting at the seams. Around three a.m., I woke up to the sound of a million motorcycles rolling past, and Dog growling his fool ass off while every hair he owned stood on end. Even still a bit on the skinny side, Dog was huge, well over a hundred pounds, so he didn't really need to look bigger to intimidate the fuck out of any threat. But he still fluffed up.
The whole street outside my window was lit up like a Christmas tree with headlights and tail lights. Bikers called back and forth, and an occasional rebel yell cut through the engine noise.
Throughout the night and the following day, hundreds of bikes passed the motel. I finally got curious enough to go looking. Several blocks down, barricades closed the street to traffic. Beyond, hundreds of custom bikes, and restored classics, complete with bikini-clad models hanging over them, wowed the crowds passing by on foot. On the opposite side of the street, vendors sold everything from exhaust systems and carburetors, to funnel cakes and beer.
I wondered around for a while, taking it all in. A flash of movement between two box trailers caught my eye, and I turned just in time to see two guys holding another one down. A fourth man delivered a brutal kick to the downed man's ribs. For all I knew, the man on the ground was a pedophile, or worse, but I hated to see a man get kicked while he was down.
I ducked between the trailers, breathing hard, as if I'd been running. "Hey, you caught the motherfucker."
The guy doing all the kicking glared at me. "Who the fuck are you?"
I pointed to the man on the ground. "I'm the bastard that tracked his sneaky ass all over the state. Now I'm going to kill him." I lunged forward.
"Whoa! What makes you think I'll give him up?" The man made a menacing move toward me, while the other two continued holding the victim down. The front of his leather cut had a Sergeant At Arms patch over the name Timber. At least one of his buddies wore a Saxons MC Georgia patch on his back.
I didn't know the Saxons from Adam, but that didn't stop
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