Chopper

 

Spike Lawler was nowhere to be seen. On one of his restless pacings around the perimeter of the war room, Chopper allowed himself a quick glance through the covered windows. The shadows were slowly lengthening outside, the late afternoon light deepening toward evening. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, except the extra guards he’d stationed earlier. They were still standing at attention, but even at a distance, Chopper could tell they were bored. The whole gang had been itching for a fight as soon as the news of a confrontation came, but now, hours later, the rush was gone. He turned away from the window and went back to his chair, throwing himself into the seat a little sullenly. Leave it to Lawler to pull a no-show after all that pomp and circumstance.

 

Chopper looked around at his boys. Hoss’ eyes were closed again. Chopper thought he’d drifted off . On the other side of the table, Red stared idly at a spot on the ceiling. When Chopper cleared his throat, they both roused instantly. He sighed, running a hand though his hair. “What do you think?” he asked. “Stand down?”

 

Hoss took a minute to think, tapping the toe of his boot on the floor. “I don’t know,” he drawled thoughtfully. “Sure, he ain’t showed yet, but that don’t mean he’s not comin’.”

 

“Agreed,” said Red. “You know Lawler doesn’t play by no rules. And he’s too cocky not to get in your face if he thinks he beat you somehow. Even if it’s just a game you didn’t know you were playing. We oughta wait til we hear from him.”

 

Chopper decided they were right, although frankly, he was bored too. Both Red and Hoss had been with him since his early days at the top, and he trusted their judgement at least as well as he trusted his own. Still, he rubbed his face in mild exasperation, thinking that probably, Spike Lawler was sitting across town with a big smile on his face, knowing he’d played his rival for a fool. Likely as not, this was a little bit of petty revenge for the way his drug shipments had been manhandled. At that thought, Chopper let himself crack a small, satisfied grin.

 

He should have known that nothing Spike Lawler ever did was petty. It was nearly dark when one of the perimeter guards radioed in, his voice crackling over the receiver that was stationed in the middle of the table.

 

“Hey, Chop? We just found a note stuck to the gate. I think you need to see this.”

 

Something in the guard’s tone sent a prickle of apprehension down Chopper’s spine, but he made sure his voice was level when he replied.

 

“Bring it in.” The three men in the war room exchanged glances. The long-faded adrenaline began to resume its course. By the time the guard appeared at the door, Chopper had been pacing for three minutes. He held out his hand without stopping, and received a folded slip in his palm, its surface marred by the puncture of a knife. He felt the eyes on him as he unfolded the paper. The scrawl inside, loose and jagged, was Spike’s. It made his blood run cold.

 

You’re not the only one with eyes.

 

Chopper’s hand immediately crushed into a fist, crumpling Spike’s note in his fingers. He looked up and saw Red and Hoss watching him, ready to execute any order. In his head, Chopper saw himself giving a concise-but-thorough list of everything that needed to be monitored, every entrance and exit that had to be secure, the patrol schedules, and the positions of all the guards.

 

Instead, he said, “I have to go.” The words were clipped with barely restrained fury, at himself more than anyone else. How could he have been so stupid as to think Spike Lawler wouldn’t engage in espionage? He’d known the guy for years and years, more than long enough to understand that Lawler was nothing if not a snake. If he wanted leverage on Chopper, the first thing he’d do would be to locate his safe house. It was the first thing any of them would do.

 

Chopper realized with sickening dread that he had given Spike more-than-enough reason to care very deeply about the inner workings of the Savage Outlaws. Spike’s drugs were disappearing, his money being siphoned off. Not only had Chopper stolen his prized possession, he’d kept her for himself. Spike had vendettas worth a hundred times less than that.

 

But Chopper was blinded by complacency. As he snatched his weapons off the table, he cursed himself. Locked and fully loaded, he headed for the door, determined to reach Kelsey before anyone else could get to her. He was more-than-prepared to spill blood.

 

The crumpled note lay forgotten on the tabletop. Hoss reached over and smoothed it out with his fingers, his eyes tracing over the words. A black expression descended like a thunderhead over his normally placid features.

 

“Ah, hell,” he muttered, passing the message to Red. “Shoulda known this would be about the old lady.” He put his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet, cracking his massive neck and shoulders.

 

“You go get her,” he said to Chopper. “Red and I can hold down the fort.”

 

“If there are moles in here, I want to know,” Chopper growled. “And I want them dead.”

 

Red nodded, stone-faced. “Don’t have to tell us twice.”

 

“Get out of here,” Hoss repeated, a tinge of impatience in his voice. “If I know Spike, you don’t have time to be lollygaggin’ around.” He picked up the radio and thrust it at Chopper. “Take this. We’ll sweep the place. Let you know what we smoke out.”

 

Without another word, Chopper put the radio on his belt and went for the door. Hoss was right; he had no time. But just as his foot crossed the threshold, the compound’s alarms began to wail, a high, piercing noise that he hadn’t heard in months. On reflex, he snapped around to look at the bank of monitors, searching the screens for the breach. A panicked voice came from his belt.

 

“Chopper, they’re here! They’re coming at the gate. I think they’re gonna ram it down!” Before the transmission cut, the sound of motorcycles revved, distant but growing rapidly closer.

 

“Fucking hell!” Chopper bellowed. His head spun, full of the noise of his thoughts. The compound was about to be under siege, and he had to choose between staying to fight beside his men and leaving to make sure Kelsey was all right.

 

The decision tore at him. He glanced at his phone. If she had called, then he would go to her. Red and Hoss could handle things here.

 

But the screen of his cell phone was blank, and in another instant, Chopper’s choice was made for him. A different guard crashed onto the radio. “All the exits are blocked,” he gasped. “They’re freezing us in.” This time, the background popped with unmistakable gunfire. Chopper thought he heard someone shout.

 

“How many are there?” Hoss demanded.

 

“Too many,” said the guard. “I don’t know.” Another gunshot cracked over the receiver, very close. Then, nothing.

 

Chopper seized the control for his security display and rapidly cycled through the camera feeds, looking for an angle that might show him some numbers. On the film rolling over the points of access to the compound, he could see a dark mass just outside the borders, punctuated by gleaming hints of chrome. He couldn’t tell exactly how many there were, but it was a lot — maybe more than he had stationed. He knew that if he tried to leave, they would shred him to pieces. And he suspected, in fact, that those were their exact instructions.

 

Spike was trapping him.

 

He turned to Hoss. “Forget the moles for now. We need to smoke these fuckers out first.” He motioned to Red as well. “Get the firebombs and get them out. I need you to clear me a path out the back.”

 

Chopper hadn’t always kept a store of unconventional weaponry. His younger self might have thought that he was better than homemade Molotov cocktails, or that he was above using raw gasoline or lighter fluid. But he had since learned that, sometimes, dirty fighting was as valuable as it was necessary, and he was prepared to do whatever it took to get to Kelsey.

 

He checked his phone again. Still no call. Briefly, he thought about calling her first, but decided it would be too dangerous to lower her guard by telling her to expect him. He contented himself with watching the video feeds and listening to the chatter that was now constant on the radio as his Outlaws worked to mobilize against the sudden threat. At first, confusion ran rampant, but it was soon replaced by righteous anger and aggression.

 

In a few minutes, he saw the first flames bloom bright at the front gate, splashing off the stone and iron. Immediately, Lawler’s gang drew back, as Chopper knew they would. Their gas tanks had become huge liabilities, and there were dozens out there, if not hundreds. Light one, and all the rest of them would go. That was a firework show Chopper Slater would pay to see.

 

His attention, however, was mainly focused on the back exit. As soon as threat of explosions had thinned Lawler’s crew there enough, he would make a break for the road. It was dangerous-as-hell to go on his bike: he knew they’d be shooting at anything that moved, but he had no hope of getting a car out unnoticed. He saw the shadowy biker army begin to recede from the back gate and turned away from the monitors, bolting down to the garage. Chopper hoped the roar of his engine would be drowned in all the others.

 

The air outside the back of the compound was still relatively cool, but he could smell the acrid smoke of the Molotovs. A haze lingered, and as he rode, it stung his eyes — he hadn’t thought to protect himself with even a helmet. He was taking a lot of risks, and he hoped it wouldn’t ultimately be too many. How much help would his custom helmet be against a bullet anyway? Chopper didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.

 

He left his headlamp dark on the way out.

 

Sure enough, the minute he drew out onto the road, he heard the pop of gunfire at his back. His heart raced, but he didn’t even look, except in his mirrors. The muzzle flashes looked like pinpricks in the full night. He was lucky; they’d pulled back pretty far. Then their engines gunned, and he knew that they were onto him. Chopper leaned down over his handlebars. No way in hell was he going to lead them to Kelsey and the baby. If they wanted a chase, that’s exactly what they would get.

 

 There was something uniquely exhilarating about flying down the back road behind the compound. All he could hear was the wind screaming in his ears, the voice of his bike beneath him. Somewhere behind, Lawler’s men were in hot pursuit, but he didn’t know exactly where. He couldn’t even tell if they were gaining. Although, he suspected he might be losing ground, Chopper pushed his engine, careening around the corner so low that his leg nearly ran across the ground. A plume of rubber smoke billowed up behind him; his tires would be shot when this was over, but for now, he was even more invisible. The street ahead of him was dark, and Chopper hoped it would stay empty. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with civilians that would undoubtedly lead him straight to the police.

 

Fortunately, except for the wild caravan of bikers tearing through, the scene was still and silent. They’d left the cacophony of the Outlaw compound far behind — he couldn’t even smell the smoke anymore. Chopper had been half expecting to hear an explosion or two, but nothing came. He guessed that maybe the Mongols weren’t as foolhardy as he thought. This time, that was fine with him. He already had enough messes to clean up.

 

As he rode, Chopper tried not to think about how much time he was spending on distraction. He tried to tell himself that it was better this way, that the longer he kept the Mongols away from Kelsey, the safer she was. But in his heart, he knew he wasn’t really helping. He knew that Spike had gone for her himself. There was no time for diversionary tactics. In fact, he realized he might have played straight into Spike’s hands.

 

Chopper’s mind raced. It was too late to try and shake them off. They had seen him, and now they would follow him as far as he led. He was certain that if they caught up and overpowered him, he’d be killed. He didn’t even know how many there were on the road behind him.

 

Then again, what choice did he have? As much as he wanted to live and grow old with Kelsey and their child, Chopper understood that he would sacrifice everything for them. And if he had to die, what better way than defending the woman he loved? His decision made, he set his jaw and wrenched his handlebars, working the brake. The bike slid to a stop, dimly silhouetted in the middle of the street. Two smoking black treads marked the pavement.

 

He couldn’t count how many Mongols there were. The headlamps blinded him as they drew nearer, but Chopper refused to look away. He stood silent, one foot on the ground, watching the approach. In the pocket of his jacket, his phone began to ring.