Breaker
“Did you see who it was?” I ask Henry as we park our bikes outside the rest stop. “I thought I saw Pete in my line, but I’m not so good with faces when they’re wearing helmets.”
I try to get off my bike, but Aimee is still latched onto my hips. Her head is buried in the leather of my jacket, but I can feel the vibrations of her chest as she cries to herself. I’m not sure what the hell I should do here, so I go with my gut and stay put.
“No, I didn’t see. We should probably do a roll call or something and then check in with Biggs.” Henry grabs a clipboard from his backpack. As secretary of the club, he has always been the most organized brother. He flips through the list with a tiny pencil he keeps behind his ear next to the cigarette. He checks the guys off one by one as they park next to us. With our protocol being to split into two subgroups for attacks like this, we could only know so much by those little markings. But we would at least know if it were our guys we’d be mopping off the highway.
Finally, Henry looks up me with a half-smile and says, “That’s all of them. None of the boys in our group were hit. I’m guessing they took up the middle of the pack. You’re the only one I see here who would have been that far back to be hit.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “That means it’s an old dog.”
Before we left for this trip, Biggs had filled my group with the youngest, most inexperienced riders in our group. Guys like Wesley were thrown in with my right-hand man, Henry. We then divided up the boys that worked with me as enforcers, but Biggs still put a claim on the most experienced ones to back him up. The thought of losing a brother I have spent the better half of my life riding with was crushing.
“That’s not it,” Henry interjects. “If Biggs stayed where he was, the Eagles have to be picking them off one by one. They weren’t riding with much ammo on them—maybe a few glocks for Biggs and whatever your guys got. But there is no way the gun van stayed where it was when it saw them coming.”
Aimee’s grip gets even tighter as I struggle to breathe. I shift my weight just a hair, signaling to her that it was time to loosen up. She lets go, turning her head towards the side so none of us can get a good look at her. I scoot myself off the bike and begin to walk towards the large, framed map outside the brick building where truckers and a few families have gone in and out of. They all avoid our direction when they see our group moving towards them.
Henry traces his finger around the map, pointing to the tiny speck where we were ambushed. With a sigh, he says, “We were pretty deep in their territory. I’m sure they were waiting for us to make a move. You were right. We should have thought it through or stayed put until we could have come up with a better escape. But for now, Biggs and the boys have until they reach the territory line for the Holy Sinners. That’s another ten or eleven miles east of where we got off at.”
“Are we in danger?” I ask as I turn my attention back towards the roads. It’s one of those quiet, autumn days where everything seems in place. Even for New Mexico, the weather was just right for a ride, and the sun hung low for the late afternoon. It feels as if it should be raining or that the clouds should turn this red and yellow landscape gray and black. But the two realities couldn’t seem to meet in the middle. We were stuck with hell in paradise.
Henry continues to study the map. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure we’re out of it. If I remember the map from the hotel correctly, we’re in unclaimed territory. We should consider staying here tonight and having Biggs and whoever makes it meet us here. I can make some calls and find us a place to stay,” he finally replies with confidence.
I nod in agreement before adding a last request. “Split the hotels up. I don’t want them finding us at three in the goddamn morning to finish the job while we’re sleeping.”
It’s a little extreme. As a tribe, we stick together. But I had heard stories about territorial clubs like the Eagles swooping in for late night raids just for easy pickings. We’ll be hurting tonight. We don’t need to bleed out anymore.
Henry heads off as I grab the burner phone from my back pocket. Hitting the speed dial, the line on the other side rings over and over again. I take a moment to step outside the shelter and watch Aimee as she wipes her face with the back of her hand. She does that girly thing where she uses her fingertips to smudge away the eyeliner streaks under her eyes.
Biggs’ rough, cracking voice interrupts my thoughts. “You made it out alive, I see,” he says, almost like a threat.
“Yeah. We’re all accounted for. We got off at a rest stop outside Fort County. Where did you land?” I know I need to ask him about the two guys, but I can’t bear to do that just yet.
“The opposite direction. Coppers showed up just in time and broke up the Eagles while our guys sprinted at the turnaround. We lost two.”
I swallow the rock sitting in my throat. “Who?”
“Marco and Gringo. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like Marco was shot. Gringo got taken down by his bike and couldn’t recover. I’ve got the scanner on, and they’re having a hard time getting an ID on him. It won’t be long before they’re onto us as well.”
“We’re going to need to lay low,” I say, knowing he still isn’t interested in my opinion. “I asked Henry to split my guy’s hotels up, so we’re not sitting ducks. We don’t know if they’re going to be back for blood or not.”
There is a long pause as I hear his deep sigh at the other end of the line. “That’s a fucking stupid idea. Do you know what funds are going to be like after we pay for the funerals and pay out Marco’s girl? We can’t afford that. We need to camp out tonight.”
“And wait for the Feds to find us in the KOA campground? We have to think this through, Biggs. We can send some guys out on a run, sell some stash we’re carrying. But the priority should be keeping us safe while we recover.”
Almost immediately, as if he has planned it all out before I can even mention it, he snaps back at me, “Fine. Send out your girl. We need fast cash, and she can get it. We’ve got some knock-off watches she can sell, or she can pickpocket. I don’t care. Just don’t let her come back until she’s got enough for at least fifteen hotel rooms and some gas money.”
“You’re fucking joking. You think I’m going to put her out there with the—”
“You’ve done nothing but question me, Breaker. I’m starting to question your loyalty to the club and me. You do this, and maybe I’ll believe you’re not trying to sabotage this trip.”
With a click, he’s gone. No argument, just a threat that my dedication to the club is in question. Guys who have that allegation thrown at them are removed, or worse, depending on the crime.
I put my phone back and turn around towards where Aimee sits like a stone statue on the bench. Her feet sway back and forth in the air. Her fingers twist and turn in her lap while she hums something to herself. This isn’t the sassy, prissy girl I have been getting used to. Something is wrong with her. There is no arguing that.
I clear my throat until she turns around to face me. She doesn’t say a word, just stares up at me with hollow eyes. “We’ve got to go. We need to get some cash.”
Her voice is deeper than usual, with her tone void of any feeling. “What does that mean?”
“I need you to do your job. Biggs mentioned some fake watches you can sell or you can just—”
“Steal. I’ll just steal. How much do you need?” Aimee snaps, cutting me off.
I watch her walk away towards the bike and past the group of guys that are talking about the new plans. She says nothing as I follow her and gear up. We pull back out onto the road in search of crowds. The only viable location I can find is an outlet mall just on the outskirts of town. As we get closer, she tugs my jacket.
“Drop me off here,” she says into my ear.
I watch her walk towards the crowd, her hands behind her back. In her street clothes, she disappears into the mass of people. I catch sight of her again as she begins to “work.”
Even after seeing her steal the envelope from the bank, watching her go is like watching an artist. She slips in and out of groups of people without anyone noticing her. She has the art of fading away down like a science. Still, even with all her skill, I start paying attention to how she isn’t exactly focused. Her head darts towards different marks. Her arms reach out at several purses at once. And, at one point, she smacks straight into the man she’s trying to fetch a wallet out of when he stops mid-walk.
Aimee’s off her game.
I race my bike up towards her, trying to find a spot where I can call out to her without being obvious. But in the open-air mall, I’m more vulnerable than anyone else. I need a diversion or something—
“Oh my God! Someone stole my wallet out of my purse! Who saw who did it? Someone? Anyone!” A teenage girl stands away from her group of friends as they look at her bewildered. Aimee is only a few feet away, her hands clasped around a leather billfold, but I’m not the only one who notices her.
“Her! It was her!” A man points to her as he feels his back pocket for the wallet she has already taken and discarded. “Someone grab her!”
Aimee bounds off towards the parking lot, darting through traffic. I swing my bike around towards the back of one of the long rows. The whole time, I keep an eye on the crowd growing as a few of the braver ones take after her.
And then, she makes the fatal mistake; she looks back.
Her body slams into a parked truck. Aimee flies backward, right into the arms of a young guy trying to play the hero.
I charge off of my bike, running towards her as the wolves descend. A man tears at her clothes, rummaging through her pockets while some women cheer him on. She tries to spin her body away, but his hands are everywhere on her.
When I manage to make it through the circle of onlookers, she has curled up in a ball, squatting low on the ground as the group screams at her.
“Did someone call the cops? That bitch thinks she can get away with this!”
“Who needs the cops? Let’s restrain her right here!”
“Back the hell away from her!” I shout.
“Who are you?” The man eyes me with uncertainty as he stands directly in front of Aimee. Me hovering nearly a foot over him doesn’t seem to intimidate him, nor does my leather jacket full of patches. Typically, that makes a regular Joe Blow back off.
I growl at him. “I’m your fucking worst nightmare.” The rest of the crowd parts, sensing danger beyond just a street rat pickpocketing them. “You got your wallet? That’s all you need.”
“But… what about mine?” The teenager from earlier calls out among the few remaining people.
I turn to Aimee. “Did you take their money?”
“No. No. No.” She shakes her head, her chin trembling. “I just took his. I don’t know about her.”
“She doesn’t have it,” I snap back at the teen.
“Yes she does!” a woman calls out.
“NO. SHE. DOESN’T,” I roar as loud as possible.
They all take a foot or two backward, some charging towards the stores as if nothing has happened. But as they part, the security cars appear with their white lights flashing and a fake siren blaring.
Aimee turns white as a sheet as she tries to find an escape route. I shoot her a look, telling her not to run. The last thing we need is for her to add a legit crime for reasons to arrest her.
The men in fake blue uniforms push through to where Aimee still kneels on the ground. They point their fingers at the crowd, listening to the people complaining about Aimee as she stands frozen before them. She doesn’t try to resist or run. She doesn’t even dispute it. She just stands and watches as, without another word, and using old school cuffs, they pull her up and over towards the car.
For the first time since this started, I hear her speak. She pleads quietly with them, “But I didn’t… I didn’t… I gave it back.”
“You’ll need to tell that story to the cops, girl. They’re on their way.”
Dammit! Here I thought they’d ban her from the mall and give her a slap on the wrist. Now we’re talking real po-po getting involved. Logistically, I know I only have a few minutes to get her out of this mess and out of this hellhole.
I take a moment to analyze the situation. The guards have brought her to the back of their car where they are peppering her with questions and rummaging through what they found in her small purse. Her eyes double in size as they find an ID for who knows who. Luckily, she knows to keep her mouth shut no matter what.
I’ve got to do something to buy some time, so I run back to my bike, trying to think of the supplies I have on hand. I travel so light that the few items I have are essentials and an emergency kit for when I go on rides alone. And with that, the plan formulates.
The red road flare stick is stuck in my Harley’s saddlebag. I find a spot just out of the way before popping the cap off of the top and striking the top with the inside lining. The flare sparks to life; burning bright. I toss it under the frame of a minivan before taking off. Almost instantly, people start shouting and running in every direction. The noise and flame of the flare look like a small explosion.
From behind a car, I watch as the security guards take off towards the commotion. They leave the door to their SUV open where Aimee sits with her head slumped against the leather seats.
I pull myself around, kneeling low, before calling out to Aimee. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”
“But my hands—”
I don’t let her answer. I grab her by the arm, pulling her out of the backseat. As I throw my leather coat on her, I push her through the rows of cars to where my bike waits. In the chaos, the shoppers shouting don’t even notice her slipping away, even as we pass the man who first called her out.
I throw her over the front of the motorcycle, pushing her forward so that she leans over the handlebars. I sit behind her, feeling her weight against my thighs as I push the bike off. It lurches forward as I press on the gas.
Aimee screams out as if it has all hit her again. Not only have we been shot at earlier, but we are also officially on the run from the law.
I slow the bike when I see the police arrive. Aimee pushes her still cuffed hands into her lap, under the jacket, and then turns her head towards the other side of the road. They don’t pay me any attention as they head to the mall with the sirens blasting. Through the driver’s open window, I hear them call to dispatch for a five foot, five-inch tall brunette, Asian descent by the name of Aimee Palakiko detained on suspicion of theft but walked away in the chaos.
Once we’re back at the road stop, I grab one of the boys, an expert at picking to free her. She just sits there, as quiet as a mouse, her eyes welling with tears as he fiddles with the lock near her wrists. It takes him about ten minutes to figure it out before she breaks free. I dismiss him, throwing him a few twenties for the extra work out of the cash pile Aimee still managed to walk away with.
When we are alone, she finally speaks. “What’s going to happen? What’s Biggs going to do to me if he finds out?”
I kick at a rock on the ground, watching it roll out of sight—anything to avoid looking at her. “He’s going to find out. He’s got police contacts everywhere. And as soon as he finds out you failed, he’s going to have to punish you.”
Her somber voice quivers. “How? How will he do it?”
“If you were a real member, he’d strip you of your position or kick you out altogether. He doesn’t take failure well. But I don’t know what he will do to you. We should prepare for the worst.”
She starts to cry. “He’s going to kill me! He’s going to kill me!”
I walk towards her, kneel down, and grab hold of her shoulders. “He won’t touch a hair on your head. You hear me? I promise you that, Aimee. Nothing—nobody—is going to hurt you as long as you’re with me.”
I mean every single word.