~ Ryder ~
Ducking inconspicuously into the shadows, Ryder leaned on a rusty lamppost and pulled a copy of the local paper from under his arm. As he watched the ink rub off onto his fingers, the absurdity of his situation was not lost on him. In an age of computers, electronic tablets, and smartphones, who in the world still read newspapers? Besides dumbass bikers like himself intent on appearing casual while they stalked other people, he couldn’t imagine.
There was something about reading the local gawker that magically made a person go unnoticed in public. Perhaps it was such an unremarkable activity, no one wanted to interrupt. Then again, it could be because reading the paper was seen as me time, therefore making an interruption seem rude to most normal people.
He was well aware that most normal folks would die before being caught doing something rude in public. Polite conveyances notwithstanding, his club brothers didn’t give a goddamn how they acted in public. They’d seen each other buck naked more times than he could count. Hell, they routinely got blown openly in front of each other as they discussed everything from the weather to local politics. Ryder didn’t particularly care who saw his shiny white ass.
The one thing he didn’t care for was stalking people, yet that’s all he seemed to get done some days. Today, for example, he was tasked with bringing in the psycho responsible for putting a pipe bomb in one of the club’s vehicles.
Watching from the shadows made Ryder feel like a bit of creep, but there was nothing for it. The truth of the matter was, people’s lives were at stake, and his club took that kind of shit seriously. Feeling mostly to blame, he’d volunteered to track his demented ass down and bring him in. To that end, he’d picked up his trail near Cheyenne and tracked him right up Interstate Twenty-five to this small town where he made exactly one stop.
Standing casually from across the street, Ryder watched his target leave a pawn shop. Instinctively, he knew the relentlessly stubborn and angry man had bought a replacement weapon for the one he lost in their last scrimmage. Making a mental note to keep his eye on the weapon, he patted his hip, reassuring himself that his own weapon was in place.
The disheveled man jumped back into his truck and slammed it into gear, screeching the tires as he peeled out of the parking lot. Grabbing him up within view of the public was undesirable for reasons too numerous to name. Since an unstable man with a grudge and a gun was an unpredictable combination, Ryder eliminated taking him around others from his list of options entirely. If it came down to risking innocent lives or letting him slip from his grasp, the rough biker would choose the latter. Any innocent blood staining his hands by extension stained the reputation of his club. Ryder would never allow his brothers to suffer for his mistakes.
Shadowing the man as inconspicuously as possible, he hung back a few car lengths and even passed him a few times as they drove for several more hours. About thirty miles back, Ace had taken Ninety to the state line. Near as he could tell, they were in some relatively backwater town by the name of Mission Point. It seemed like a decent place to piss and fill up, and that’s exactly what Ace did.
Ryder’s normal predilection leaned toward stealth and circumspectness to the point of being insular at times. When Ace stopped and began staidly filling his gas tank, Ryder pulled into a nearby station and did the same. The trick was to be quick about it and get back to the target before he moved on.
Just as he was about to mount his bike again, the twisted grille of an old pickup truck plowed into him, throwing him over his bike and down onto the pavement. Ryder felt a flash of pain upon impact as his head crashed unceremoniously into the pavement. Before his mind even processed that the truck was the one his target had been driving, his hand groped blindingly for his weapon. Years of performing hazardous work had conditioned him in ways he scarcely understood.
Since it didn’t make sense to think he could placate the grieving convict, Ryder quickly decided that it would be imprudent to try to talk with him. No matter what he said, Ace was likely to take issue with it. Ryder’s sole concern at the moment revolved around surviving this dangerous encounter.
Before he could unsnap his weapon from his holster, a hulking form was standing over him with a look of debased joy spread across his dirty face. Ace had every right to be delighted with his performance today, while Ryder was nothing short of furious with himself for being bested by such an unbalanced opponent.
As he struggled to will his numb fingers to grasp the trigger of his gun, Ace sent it skittering from his hand with one rough kick. Immediately thereafter, a huge, black leather boot landed on his chest with a bone-chilling jolt. Knocking the air from his lungs, the harsh treatment also effectively pinned him to the ground. The submissive pose clawed at all his insecurities as a male, making him feel weak, powerless, and defeated.
Staring each other in the face, Ryder knew the moment to meet his maker had finally arrived. Instead of dying of old age, safe and warm in his bed, he would be bleeding out in some backwater town in the middle of nowhere. It was a fitting end for an outlaw like him, he thought with smug satisfaction. In fact, it was just exactly what he deserved.
The sound of panicked people screaming for someone to call the police filled the air. When the corresponding voices loomed ever closer, he hoped one of them might be packing a weapon and possess some inclination to control this situation.
Reactively, Ace’s head snapped toward the convenience store, causing his greasy brown hair to fly about his head. Lifting a huge, old-fashioned revolver, he squeezed off several rounds in rapid succession in the direction of the crowd, clearly intent on driving the bystanders back inside.
It must have worked because he turned back with a frown on his face and began speaking. Even with the deafening shots still ringing in his ears, Ryder could hear the man saying all the things that Ryder had known he would. His raspy voice outlined the litany of complaints he had with the club. Though the tirade was not totally undeserved, it would be a miscarriage of justice to lay all the blame at his club’s feet.
Freezing mid-sentence, the man stilled when he heard the wail of sirens. Ryder could tell his little hamster wheels were turning, trying to figure out a way to kill him and make it to safety before they arrived. Lying flat on his back, Ryder prayed the cops would arrive before it was too late. In the blink of an eye, his life had skewed in a bizarre new direction. Who would have ever thought an outlaw would be hoping for the police to save his sorry ass?
Ace’s mangy head dipped again, and he looked in Ryder’s eyes. Though the man’s expression was a blank slate, his eyes were stormy, harboring a mixture of fury, resentment, and even a little regret. Lifting his gun, Ace aimed for his face.
Just before he squeezed off the kill shot, another body collided with his, taking him to the ground. Ryder couldn’t get a clear look, but his rescuer appeared to be a homeless person. The man had shaggy white hair and was wearing ragged, soiled clothing. Since the older man was a bag of bones, Ace rounded on him, literally lifting him from the ground and tossing him several yards away. Though the older man wasn’t capable of winning a fight or providing protection in any real sense of the word, he might have kept Ace busy for those few precious seconds needed for the cavalry to arrive.
Ryder managed to scramble to his feet just as Ace turned his attention back to his prey. Searching for his gun, Ryder realized it was not close at hand. The sirens were practically on top of them now. Ace took off running for his vehicle, choking off two shots as he ran. Ryder felt his body jerk with each shot. His arms came up, and he felt like a puppet dancing on a string before falling haphazardly to the ground.
Lying on his back and bleeding painlessly out onto the pavement, Ryder stared up at the blameless, blue sky. Shouldn’t the clouds be dark and brooding when the devil claimed one of his own? Ryder’s mind drifted as he realized he wasn’t dead yet. Something about dying on a sunny day didn’t feel right, so he quickly decided today was not his day after all.
Cotton candy clouds drifted by in the shape of a bear and other odd, miscellaneous forms, and he felt the sun beaming down on his face, false flags from mother nature meant to lull him into a false sense of security. If angels in heaven were real, his must have been one hell of a prayer warrior today.
The old man crawled over to him and pressed two shaking hands to his thigh. Searing pain drove home the severity of the wound, as did the look on the man’s terrified face. Both of which pulled him from his mind and back to the here and now.
Ryder had seen pictures of older people with faces so lined with age, they looked hauntingly beautiful. That was exactly what he saw when he looked up at the older man—living art. A strange kind of appreciation filled Ryder’s mind. On the other hand, his newfound appreciation for artful human faces could be the result of acute blood loss.
“Thanks…man. I…appreciate…” Though he wanted to speak words of gratitude, his tongue felt thick, and the words died on his lips. The darkness slowly forced its way in, blocking out the beautiful sky. The old man’s continual pressure on the hole in his leg drove home the thought that he had no idea where the second round had landed.
Though tired enough to give up and go to sleep, some resiliently determined part of his psyche refused to let reality slip so easily from his grasp. Internally, Ryder waged his own petty war on the darkness, fighting it back over and over with every ounce of his inner strength, knowing all the while that without him, his sister had no one.
Through the impending darkness, he heard law enforcement officers arrive at the scene.
“This is a damned mess. Any idea who he is?”
“No. Some guy came barreling in, mowed him down with his truck, and started shooting up the place. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“Aside from that general information, can you…”