Burn it Down
Chapter 1
Solomon
I focused on the road ahead, the roar of my bike drowning out everything but my thoughts. Every so often, I glanced into my side view mirror and checked my six. I wasn't paranoid, but vigilance was vital in my way of life. At six-two with a hulking frame and an ugly scar running down my neck, I was the type of guy people generally stayed away from, but once in a while someone, inspired either by alcohol or stupidity, would put it upon himself to try to bring a man like me down. For now, it was all clear.
The night had settled in as I drove, the chill of the air seldom slipping through my leather jacket and brushing my skin. Giving my wrist a quick twist, I picked up speed and pushed my motorcycle through traffic. I was free on two wheels. I ducked in and out of traffic with ease, shifting my weight and adding finesse to the way I sped past the tourists. The last thing on my mind as I reached the open road was a speed limit. I had to get to Willow Springs Lake fast, but a glance at my fuel tank told me I had to stop for gas soon.
Minutes later, a gas station's neon sign appeared and it blinked in and out as I slowed my acceleration. I pulled up next to one of the pumps and took the keys from the ignition. My legs slightly vibrating, feeling the length of the ride.
It seemed like I was the only customer. Considering I’d reached the rural areas, that wasn't much of a surprise. Stuffing my keys into the pocket of my jeans, I walked inside and took a look around.
A single attendant stood behind a cash register, intimidation evident in his eyes. He was shorter than I am, lanky and pale, and I had to give him props for not looking away.
"Where's your bathroom?" I asked, doing nothing to disguise my impatience.
He pointed to the back and, without waiting for words to go with the gesture, I made my way to the bathroom.
I took care of business and ambled my way to the sink. I sighed as hot water poured over my hands, a stark contrast to the feel of the night's air.
The Bandits were waiting for me. They'd picked a location that was out of the way, which meant tonight wasn’t just about merry-making. Important matters would probably be discussed.
I was ripping a couple of paper towels from the roll when a crash interrupted me. Making quick work of drying my hands and shooting it at the trash, I walked to the door and my fingers wrapped around the knob.
"Open the register!” one voice said.
“Give me everything you've got!" said another.
I'd finally put a voice to the cashier, his words full of fear as he struggled for compliance.
“Great," I muttered to myself. “This was exactly what I needed.”
I could've stayed in the bathroom and waited. I could've let them rob him, do whatever they wanted with him, and made my way out. But I was already on edge, and they were going to make me late so I really had no choice but to intervene. I slowly opened the door to a small degree and looked out into the store's expanse.
At least two men stood near the front entrance, one of them pointing a gun that would have easily taken the cashier's head off. They didn't look like much, dressed in all black, wearing hoodies and around the same build.
I'd already pulled their cards; had they been smart, they'd have split up and checked for anyone else in the establishment. I couldn't help but grin a little as I opened the door fully, stepping out of the bathroom and just out of sight.
The only weapon close enough was a wooden baseball bat propped next to the cold drinks. It looked brand new, but along the edge read, “Knock ‘em out of the park.”
I could imagine this was a gift for some boy from his dad. They could’ve stopped here for gas on their way to a game and unwittingly left the bat behind.
At least the bat was about to get used for something… bodies or heads. I picked it up, crouching just enough so no one would see me through the mirrors hanging from the store's corners.
"Please don't kill me!" the cashier shouted.
The commotion was enough to mask the sound of my boots hitting the floor. For most men, fear might have stifled the will to act. They'd wait for the punks to finish the stick up and get away before the cops could be alerted. But I wasn’t most men, and I didn't have that kind of time. I'd reached the end of the aisle, the thieves too occupied with the cashier's trembling hands to notice me step out and toward their flank. Two home runs, coming right up.
I put as much force as I could muster into my first swing after I'd stood up. With both hands around the bat, it wasn't hard to crack the unfortunate bastard's skull. I was more muscular than my jacket made me look. I watched his head snap to the side, the gun flying across the room and clattering harshly against the ground.
Blood splashed against the wall as he fell limp to the side, crashing into one of the potato chip stands. He wouldn't be moving anytime soon. Before his partner could point his pistol, I'd already started my second swing.
His wrist gave in as I aimed for the gun, knocking it out of his hand and breaking his wrist in the same motion.
"Fuck!" he bellowed, followed by a string of curses while he withdrew his limb against his chest.
I dropped the bat and cocked back with my right fist, sending it forward and breaking his nose on impact.
The cashier jumped back as I shot him a look, my punch sending his second assailant staggering and onto the floor.
"Why don’t you get a job like everyone else," I said, stepping toward the injured, writhing form beneath me. "And if you're going to rob somebody, at least check the store for witnesses and cover your ass. Amateurs."
He was trying to muster words, but the pain I'd just inflicted had him reeling. I picked up the pistol and checked his pockets. I found cash, a wallet, and the keys to the busted station wagon outside which I assumed they'd pulled up in.
I pocketed the cash, turned toward the cashier and tossed the wallet, keys and pistol onto the counter.
"Whatever you choose to do with them? I was never part of it. Understand?" I said, raising my eyebrows.
"Y-yes...yes, sir," the cashier exclaimed, his eyes staring into the darkness of my own.
I held my hand out, eyeing the security camera. Without a word, he removed the tape and handed it to me.
"Good. Wait until I leave before you pick up that phone."
I handed him the bat and left him standing there, stepping over the unconscious assailant's body. I pumped the gas quickly before fishing for my keys. With a roar of the engine, I kicked it into high gear and took off without looking back. It didn't really matter if he mentioned me or not. I'd saved his life. If he hoped to be that lucky again, he’d rather I was out on the street. Whatever the case, I didn't have time to weigh the situation.
It wasn't long before I'd found Willow Springs Lake. I pulled in and rode along the dirt road. I loved the sound of gravel beneath my wheels. There was something gritty about it. I took in the sights around me, noticing a small group of campers that sat off in the distance.
The night veiled my entrance. Only the light from my bike's headlight illuminated the area. I rode for at least ten minutes before I spotted familiar motorcycles. The Bandits were here, and I could feel every set of eyes on me as they turned and watched my arrival. I settled for parking near the edge of the water, slowly taking my key from the ignition and climbing off of the seat.
Though I returned a couple of greetings and a few nods, I still felt like an outsider. Being a prospect for a little over a year had earned me some merit, but so far, it hadn’t been enough to get me in. It wasn’t easy trying to live up to the club’s expectations, but I’d jump at any opportunity to prove myself worthy of the patch. I'd do whatever it took.
I stretched and looked out over the lake. In the twilight of the night, the surface was as smooth as black glass. I grabbed a stone and skipped it across the still water, watching the ripples radiate when caught in the moonlight. Three stones skipped then sunk and, once again, the lake was still.
It was almost peaceful. Almost. There was nothing peaceful about the rowdy men behind me, laughing and drinking around the bonfire.
I stood in place, my hands in my pockets as I looked around at familiar faces. My mouth turned into a grin. I wasn’t one of them yet but I already loved these guys. They were almost my family.
It wasn't long before I'd spotted Warren, Vice President of The Bandits. He stood with folded arms before lifting a hand and waving me over.
“Prospect!” Warren raised a beer to me when he saw me come around the corner.
“You get lost?” Gus, the President, asked as I handed him the cooler of beer he sent me to retrieve.
“Nope. Took the scenic route.”
Warren had the build of a football player. It took more than muscle to stand as second-in-command; it entailed the ability to lead if necessary. Warren had both qualities.
I was taller than quite a few of The Bandits, but I approached him with the same respect I'd approach anyone with. I greeted Warren with a firm handshake, leaning in and placing the palm of my hand on his back as he hugged me.
"Have any trouble getting here?" he asked.
I shrugged, thinking nothing of the gas station incident. "None at all. What's the word? Bandits finally opening their doors for a new member?"
Warren chuckled.
I was anxious, and he knew it.
The other Bandit members talked casually among themselves. I knew they were watching though.
Warren weighed his words, his face telling me that there were things I'd want to hear and things I wouldn't.
"You've almost made it, Solomon," he began, making my eyebrows furrow. "We like what we see. You can hold your own, kid. But the big leagues aren't built on errands and small favors."
Prospects didn't get to argue. They didn't get to have a say. If I wanted the stripes, I’d have to put in the work. I kept a straight face as I nodded, my hands moving from my jeans to the pockets in my jacket.
"We've got a job for you. If you can do this, you'll have proven yourself Bandit material," Warren continued.
He looked over at Gus who remained quiet a few feet away.
The thick of Gus’ beard, white and unkempt, accentuated the biker look he wore so proudly. If you were the type to scare easily, he could smell and play off of it. I knew enough about him to know that his silence didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention. He'd been listening. And now he stepped closer, taking a long gulp of his beer before looking at Warren.
They exchanged understanding without saying a word then Gus looked at me, his eyes serious and his demeanor unfazed by what he said next.
"Burn down Blue Nights."