Revved Up Soul: A MC Romance (13 page)

Robert gave that stupid grin, those worms one would call lips curling against his face. “Took you so long,” he complained.

“None of your concern,” Luke dismissed, nobody knew where he was getting the new flow of Oxycottons and he intended to keep it that way.

“F’you say so,” Robert hopped off of his ride and adjusted the piece concealed at his waist. “Ya know I’ve been thinking,” he started. Surprised you’re even capable of such a thing. “Ten a pop seems kind of low, don’t you think? I mean we’re taking all of the risk here.”

“The price is the price, Robert,” Luke didn’t want to even entertain the idea of raising the price a couple of dollars, definitely not right before a meet. Was he trying to get us fucking killed? He wondered then, what had happened to his once friend – sure he was always off, but the recent years had really brought out the worst in him.

Robert clicked his tongue as Luke pulled out a black pack and a Glock, “You’re really killing my mood, first you make a scene and now you’re getting your panties twisted over valuing product? What’s gotten into you man.”

Luke’s bones ached. He looked over to Robert and tucked his piece away in his black jacket. “Nothing,” he replied curtly, taking a series of long strides towards the house. Just had enough of the cancer that is you.

Robert scoffed and followed in tow.

The house was painted a dry, faded white, cracks and chips adorning its skeleton from decades of wear and tear; neglect would be one way to describe it. The windowpanes were grimy and one of them still broken, never to be replaced or fixed – curtains that could only be described as dirty rags protected any prying eyes. Leaves and branches littered the roof of the house, and with every step that Luke took, it felt like the decrepit old home creaked with fear.

Luke ascended the small set of rotted wooden steps, the front porch looked as though it were only barely able to maintain the structural load. He could smell the foul odor of long rotting garbage even from here, his nose flared in absolute disgust. How someone could run a base of operations, let alone
live
here was beyond Luke – he pondered how many possible diseases he could catch just by associating himself with the place.

Robert followed at shoulder’s length.

Sharing a quick glance, Luke warned, “Stick to the plan.”

Robert said nothing.

Knocking specifically four times, Luke waited for what felt like an eternity – craning his neck to look behind as darkness quickly approached. The woods were quiet and eerily inviting, as if they housed something unholy – it felt like a thousand eyes and one were staring from some place that Luke could not discern.

And then the door opened.

It was one of Earl’s goons that had answered – not one that Luke knew. Thankfully too, he had no intention of getting to know a person as nasty as the man on an impersonal level, nor, especially so, a personal one. He had a nose bent at an odd angle and his teeth were repulsive like a highlight marker kind of yellow – the stench of those unwashed puppies kissed the nostrils of Luke’s nose. He wondered if it would be appropriate to spill his breakfast all over the goon of a man, considering the fact that he didn’t know what a shower was. He probably bathed in worse.

The man finally spoke, “You two from the Knights?” Zombies would be so disappointed.

Robert placed a hand on the door frame, Luke half expected it to break. “No,” Robert drawled, “these are just our civilian clothes. We’re actually here to talk to you about the book of Mormon, I’m wearing my special underwear today.” Luke stifled a laugh and turned away, the corner of his mouth upturning.

The goon’s face started to redden in embarrassment. “Come on then,” he grunted, moving himself out of their way.

Both men walked through and the goon shut the door behind them, stepping in front of the bikers. The inside was just as rotten as the outside. Half broken light fixtures hung precariously from the ceiling and walls, old French style wall paper with the symbol of what Luke had always presumed to be St.Louis. It was torn and had large damp spots where mildew had long since begun its life. The stairs, of which he’d never been up, were broken and seemed as though if one did not tread carefully, they would quickly regret it.

He could hear the sound of Earl laughing; the man had a distinct, weasel-like howl to him. Luke and Robert sauntered through the dilapidated den of misery, avoiding the practical sea of trash and used condoms – the kitchen was a shrine now, to Lord Cigarette and his loyal follower’s ash and tar. Cockroaches scattered as they moved on through, somehow gliding across the crusted over pots and pans and broken dishes.

The study of the home was, in comparison to the remarkable filth of the other rooms, a paragon of cleanliness. Its carpets were still a nasty stain of yellow, but everything was mostly intact. Shady Earl was there, howling on a wooden throne and nursing a beer – his two other ‘friends’ were showing him something on their smartphone. There was also an 870 pump action shotgun resting against the man’s chair. Luke shifted his head, hearing a noise. He looked over at the end of the room, as the ticking resounded from a grandfather clock in all its oddly pristine glory – it quietly sat in the back of the room by its neighboring door. He felt it strange that he’d never once noticed it, maybe it was new?

It was then that Earl noticed them, containing his laughter, “Well shittt,” he said, “about time you got here, your ass is late.” The man who escorted them announced that he had to use the john upstairs.

Robert smirked, “I told him Earl.” Luke tightened his hand, a bolt of adrenaline coming from the blue.

Shifting around uncomfortably in his chair, Earl sent his two men over to their seats, “I told Robbie he could come and chill with us while you took your sweet time.”

I wonder why he refused, “Apologies,” he started. “Club business, you know how it can be.” Truth be told, Earl was on one of the lowest rungs of the proverbial crime ladder, he didn’t know the first thing about running something of real substance. Of course, even cockroaches can find a way to make your life miserable.

Earl nodded, “Of course, now about the matter of payment – y’all got the goods?”

Luke’s eyes briefly between the two men, they were packing – but then again, so was he. “If you’ve got the cash,” Luke offered, opening the black bag and revealing a plastic baggie of sixty white pills. “There’s six and zero,” Luke tossed the bag at the man and watched as he sloppily caught it in his lap.

Robert licked his wormy lips and revealed his considerably larger bag. “Hundred and twenty with your name on it,” the man gestured with the bag. “Twenty a pop,” he added it so casually, like the statement was nothing more than him recalling what he’d ordered for food last night.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The room became small. Frighteningly so.

A tight knot formed inside of Luke’s stomach as electricity danced through the air.

Luke stared with a menace at the Vice President. You’re fucking insane. There’s no way in seven hells that’s ever going to fly.

Earl just laughed, “Good one,” he remarked, getting up from his chair and heading towards the door in the back of the room. When the man returned he tossed a stack of bills that were wound together and wrapped in a plastic grocery bag towards ‘Robbie’.

Robert picked it up and removed it from the plastic, giving it a quick examination. Luke felt an invisible noose tightening around his neck, he looked over to the two armed men and he suddenly felt very aware of the piece hidden within his jacket. The Vice President nodded, “So you just want a hundred this time?” He asked curiously.

There was no laughter this time. The words hung still in the air

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Looking to the man on his right and then back to Robert, Earl shook his head. “You’re . . . being serious?”

Luke tried to intervene, “He’s kidding. It’s still the same rate, nothing has changed.”

Robert chuckled to himself, “No, no it’s not,” he assured. “We’ve been taking all the risk with getting these,” he explained, “we take the time out of
our
busy lives, eight times a month, to get you what you need. It’s time for you to do right by us.”

Shady Earl’s lips became tightly pressed together as he leaned forward ever so slightly. “You’re really startin’ to piss me off Robbie – cut the crap.”

“We can take our business elsewhere,” Robert shrugged. Jesus, this isn’t good.

“You come in my home, you make me wait for you to get your shit and you tell me all of a sudden that my money? That
my
money ain’t good enough?” Earl’s veins were showing now.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

As a wave of unease swept across the room, the chairs of which the two nameless men sat, creaked.

Luke’s heart tapped quicker and quicker still against the bone of his breast, a glistening of sweat began to take form. Earl’s knuckles went white as milk against the ends of his wooden throne. Realization dawned; it was all a prelude to madness.

In a quickness, Earl picked up the shotgun leaning against his chair – the other two men finding their pistols.

Luke reached for his Glock and time seemed to come to a crawl.

Robert was the first to draw bead, keeping a steady aim on the man to Earl’s left.

Earl brought the shotgun up and held it at the ready against Robert. Heartbeat after heartbeat passed, the gun shook unsteadily in Earl’s grasp – a series of deathly cold shivers courted Luke’s spine; nervous warmth cascading against him. Someone was going to snap - the last thought he had before the silence could be broken, was of those illustrious eyes and the smile that angels coveted.

Yelling and with his face red, Earl’s veins poked out against his head, “Kyle!”

Deafening, the first shot came out as Luke and Robert jumped for cover inside the kitchen. A storm of bullets ensued with Luke firing his gun blindly around the corner, clinging desperately to the kitchen counter. The men inside the study yelled a string of obscenities.

That was when the shotgun blasted in his direction, a wicked sound booming so loud that it could wake the dead – it was as though Satan himself had spat hellfire in Luke’s direction. When he felt the scorching sting against his cheek, he cursed in a rage, retreating further down the kitchen – shaking off the roaches and kicking away debris. They needed to go. Now.

Between the craziness, Robert managed to poke his head out and take a shot at one of the men, leaving a red dot on the man’s ankle, causing him to scream out and curse. Really? Aim for the center of fucking mass you amateur.

Holding a hand to his wound and keeping his gun steady on the door, Luke could hear a series of frantic footfalls above – a dark thought crossed his mind when he saw the perverse joy on Robert’s face.

Whom Luke could only presume was Kyle, a man came fumbling down the stairs in only his black boxers – a pistol in one hand, his other hanging onto the railing. A grunt escaped Luke’s throat as he brought the gun to face the man coming down the stairs, only a couple of frantic heartbeats passing before he steadied his breathing and squeezed the trigger twice..

As another blast of shotgun came screaming into the kitchen, causing a series of plates to explode – Kyle howled as he took the last steps with his face, redecorating all the way down.

Sucking in a deep breath, a nasty surge of adrenaline pumped like sludgy venom through Luke’s veins. He got to his feet and gripped the handle of his Glock so hard that his knuckles turned skull white, he could feel it shake in his hands – his whole body quivering. Luke had killed before, he wasn’t proud of it but he’d be the first to admit it. Sometimes, the nerves get to everyone. Reaching into his jacket he hastily produced a smoke and put it to his lips, finding his lighter and turning the end of the stick cherry. He sucked in a long drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

Just as Luke was starting to steady himself, he stepped back as more hellfire pushed its way through – shards of wood and glass getting kicked up into his face. He waited then, patiently, pressing his back against the wall, counting and listening for his cue. There was a noise then, the sound of something heavy clattering against the ground – even though the one on Robert’s side still had a bead on them, Luke knew the goon on his end had to reload.

Smoke rising from the end of his cigarette, Luke readied himself – visualizing where his mark was standing, popped out from the corner and fired off a single round in to the man’s head before narrowly dodging two bullets; they grazed his shoulder, cutting through his jacket.

Earl called out the dead man’s name – not that it mattered to Luke.

Robert mouthed ‘nice one’ in an exaggerated manner.

Another couple brutal seconds passed, a hail of buckshot chipping away at most of Luke’s cover. He cursed aloud and moved deeper into his side of the disgusting kitchen. Luke yelled at the top of his lungs so loud that he knew if he gets out of this alive, his voice will quit on him later. “ROB.”

The Vice looked to Luke with knowing eyes, unleashing a torrent of covering fire.

Luke squeezed off another couple of rounds before running in a dead sprint out of the kitchen, calling out to his idiot-in-arms, “Let’s go!”