Taking The Heat (4 page)

“Can’t do it. I
need
to deposit this money in the bank,” I said sheepishly.

Come over here motherfucker, I’ve got a little trick I want to show you.

“Toss it on the floor,” he barked as he motioned to the floor with the barrel of the pistol.

“But it’s damned near fifty grand. I really need to deposit it,” I lied as I raised my left hand toward my chest in what he would perceive as a fearful posture.

As I had hoped, the claim of fifty grand got his attention. With widened eyes he quickly began walking my direction. As he approached, he held his pistol with his arm extended and elbow locked. Contrary to what was typically shown in movies and television, holding a pistol in this manner is an invitation to have it taken away by anyone with an ounce of training. As he took his last step, the gun was mere inches from my chest. With my left hand raised and my palm outward, I loosened my grip on the bag of money with my right hand and waited. If possible, I needed him to raise the pistol just a little…

“Drop it,” he grunted.

I attempted to make my voice seem shaky and nervous. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I enjoyed situations like this and truly missed the adrenaline rush I received from being in combat.

“It’s all I…it’s all I got…I really…can’t…” I mumbled.

He slowly raised the pistol toward my head. In firearm disarmament training, I’d disarmed a man no less than a thousand times in the exact same situation. Taking his weapon would be no different. I released my grip on the deposit bag, and before it hit the floor, I swung my left hand toward the barrel and gripped the slide as my right hand simultaneously swung into his right forearm, just above the wrist. Instantaneously, the pistol snapped out of his hand.

In a move which took a fraction of a second, the pistol swung 180 degrees and was now in my control. Unarmed, and with his mouth wide open, his eyes were filled with a combination of sheer surprise and
oh shit, what just happened
? I raised my right foot and planted a front kick into his left lower hip – bringing my heel down against his upper thigh. He fell to the floor and landed flat on his back.

“Don’t fucking move or I’ll plaster what little brains you have all over the floor, you fucking idiot,” I growled as I pointed the pistol at his head.

I tilted my head toward the tellers as I stepped on his chest.

“I’ll hold him here until the cops arrive,” I shouted toward the three tellers.

I turned my head slightly toward the woman standing at the front door.

“Come here,” I said through my teeth.

As far as anyone in the bank was able to discern, the woman could have entered with either of us. From the time he stepped in the bank and began demanding money, she stood by my side at the door. Additionally, as I had held the door for them to initially enter, it was never clear if she was with me or with him. I wanted to give her an opportunity, a way out, but only if she wanted it. Nervously, she approached. As she got within a few feet of where I stood, I said what little I had to say.

“I’m giving you a way out of this. He’ll do a 20 year mandatory minimum in Federal Prison for this stunt. You’ll do at least half that much for being with him. Cops will be here in a matter of minutes if not sooner. I’m willing to say you came here with me. You married to him? Or tied to him in any way?” I asked under my breath.

Clearly nervous and shaken up, she shook her head.

“Now, I’m
asking
you, who’d you come here with?” I whispered.

“Uhhm, I uhhm. You?” she stammered as she glanced toward him anxiously.

“Don’t look at him; he doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with this. He’s on film robbing this bank, he’s fucked. Now, who’d you come here with? Make a decision
right now
,” I whispered.

She swallowed heavily and bit her lip slightly, “You.”

“But…” the would be robber whined.

“Shut the fuck up,” I grunted as I stepped down on his chest.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Sydney. Sydney Shephard,” she whispered.

“Cops can’t tie you to him?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“I’m Toad. You rode here with me from Winfield on the back of that bike out there if anyone asks. Where’s your car?” I asked.

“In Old Town. At the Pump House. I seriously just met him,” she responded.

“I met you at the Pump House last night, picked you up, and you came home with me on my bike. Understand?”

Tears began to roll down each cheek. She bit her quivering lip and nodded her head.

“Have anything in his fucking car that has your name on it? Anything that’ll tie you to him?” I asked quietly.

She raised her purse and shook her head from side-to-side.

“Get outside. Go to the big guy sittin’ on the bike. His name’s Otis. Walk out to the bike right now, and say these
exact
words. ‘
Toad told me to tell you to take me to Biscuit’s house right now. The Devil looks after his own.’
He’ll do it. If the cops show up before you get to the bike, tell them you’re with me,” I said under my breath.

“Otis take me to Biscuit’s house. Devil looks after his own,” she stammered.

“Good enough,” I nodded.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as she pushed the door open and ran toward the parking lot. The entire event, from our walking into the bank until she left took roughly two minutes time. I didn’t know much about robbing banks, but I did believe regardless of his demand to the tellers, they would have probably sounded a silent alarm. I exhaled a sigh of relief as I heard the sound of Otis’ new cams rumble in the parking lot. As the exhaust note faded away, I wondered if one of the overzealous Wichita cops would shoot me as soon as they entered the bank. Considering the fact I was tall, muscular, holding a weapon, covered in tattoos, and wearing a 1%er cut - and the robber was wearing slacks, a dress shirt, and jacket, I stepped into his chest harshly and pushed the pistol into the waist of my pants. 

After picking him up from the floor and placing him in a choke hold, I tossed the pistol toward the front door. It came to a stop a few feet from the threshold. As I stood fifteen feet from the door choking the fucktard who tried to steal my money, I laughed to myself at what the police would think when they learned the Sergeant at Arms for a 1% club stopped a bank robbery in progress.

Ten seconds later, when what appeared to be the entire S.W.A.T. team broke through the front door, I got a good idea of what they were thinking.

“Release the man, take two steps backward and slowly interlock your hands behind your head,” the man with the H&K MP-5 pointed at my head barked.

Suddenly I wasn’t in the mood to try to explain anything. After tightening my choke hold - bringing shit-for-brains a little closer to unconsciousness - I slowly released him from my grasp and swept his legs out from underneath him with a quick right foot, dropping him to the floor. As soon as his body came to a thud at my feet, I grinned, raised my arms, and interlocked my fingers behind my head.

“The guy on the floor is the one who tried to rob us,” the teller shouted.

The immediate look of surprise on the faces of the over-dressed and under trained officers removed what little wonder I had in what they were all thinking.

I can see it in your eyes, asshole. Oh shit, the biker didn’t do it?

Considering how much I disliked cops, the fact Otis beat me in a street race, and some brainless thief tried to steal my deposit money, I wasn’t in a very pleasant mood. I stared at the cop whose face was covered in disbelief, and I couldn’t help myself.

“Sorry fellas, at least this time, the biker didn’t do it,” I chuckled.

TOAD

As I pulled the bike into the driveway, Otis, Biscuit, and Sydney were all standing by Otis’ and Biscuit’s motorcycles staring out at the street. Two hours of questions, interviews, and a short spot on the local news was a little more than I had planned or was prepared for. Luckily, the city cops were the only law enforcement who showed up, and I didn’t have to argue with or talk to the Fed’s. City cops are typically so poorly trained and out of touch with real world reality that bullshitting one of them goes unnoticed by even their best trained idiots.

“I expected you’d be here an hour and a half ago,” Otis shrugged as I pulled alongside the parked bikes.

“See me on the news?” I laughed as I stepped off my bike.

“Seriously?” Otis chuckled.

“Afraid so. Did a pretty long interview. Fuckers asked me to take my cut off. Can you fucking believe that? She asked if I’d interview in my shirt. I fucking laughed. Told the little bitch
listen up, a Sinner stopped this robbery, and a Sinner is who you’ll interview
. She finally agreed. I thought it was fucking hilarious,” I hesitated and reached toward Biscuit with my right hand.

“How’s it hangin’ Biscuit?” I asked as I shook his hand and patted him on the back.

“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on here but the rent, brother. That and harborin’ fugitives,” he chuckled.

“You were the closest Sinner I could think of,” I nodded, “Appreciate ya, brother.”

Biscuit released my hand, leaned back, crossed his arms and grinned, “The life of a Sinner, it’s always interesting if nothin’ else. So, we heard
her
side of it, let’s hear what
really
happened. She said you whipped some of your martial arts bullshit out, took the fuckers piece, and karate kicked his ass to the floor. Sounded like she was watching the entire show through rose colored glasses.”

Although Otis knew she had ridden to the bank with the guy in the BMW, he wouldn’t necessarily know
he
was the one who was robbing the bank, unless Sydney had told him. Otis had no way of knowing how many people were inside before we arrived. If for some reason she had told Otis, Otis wouldn’t have said anything to Biscuit without talking to me about it first. One thing I admired and appreciated about the club was that a man’s business was just that,
his
business. The shit talking and storytelling about any activities aside from what was common knowledge didn’t exist. I decided to tell
my
version of the story, leaving out a few minor details, but being cautious not to actually lie.

“Well, I walked into the bank to deposit my hard earned money, and some cock sucker decided to try and rob the motherfucker before I had a chance to get out of there,” I hesitated and exchanged glances between Sydney and Otis.

No reaction so far.

“So this fucker starts screaming and waving his Ruger 9 millimeter around like he’s gonna get the money and head out without any problems. I acted like I was scared and convinced him to come try and
take
my money. When he got close enough that I could reach him, I grabbed his weapon and pushed his ass on the floor. Pretty simple stuff,” I shrugged.

As I spoke, Otis stood without much expression. Sydney, on the other hand, seemed somewhat nervous at first but calmed down as I finished speaking.

“It ain’t every motherfucker who’s gonna take a man’s piece when he’s tryin’ to rob a bank. You act like it’s no big deal. You’re a wacked out war hero. I like her version better,” Biscuit chuckled.

Otis raised his hands and began rubbing his head, “So what about the cops and the news? Slice’s gonna
love
the news coverage.”

I was pleased with the fact Sydney hadn’t spoken so far. Not that I wanted to try and bullshit my club brothers, but the fewer people who realized what
really
happened, the better. A handful of people knowing something like this was a handful too many.

“Cops questioned me for an hour or so. Fuckers couldn’t believe I disarmed him. One of ‘em was a real prick, the senior officer. He acted like it couldn’t have gone down like that, even after the tellers told him how it happened. Finally, I told the cocksucker to pull his piece and I’d take it from his ass too. So anyway, the news showed up; it was the little brown haired girl from the ten o’clock news on channel 10. They originally came to interview the tellers, but when they found out a civilian stopped the robbery, they decided the Toad man was a better story,” I shrugged.

“What’d you tell ‘em?” Biscuit asked.

“Same fucking thing I told you. Kept it simple,” I grinned.

“So how the fuck’s she fit in?” Biscuit asked as he tilted his head toward Sydney.

I decided to answer in an abbreviated version of the truth, and see what everyone’s response was.

I shifted my gaze toward Sydney and maintained my focus as I answered, “Well, she was scared and I really couldn’t see her sticking around for the cops to harass. I told her to hop on with the big O and get a ride out of there before the fucking cops showed up.”

Biscuit crossed his arms, studied Sydney for a long second, and lifted his chin slightly, “So, what now? Should we kill her or fuck her first, and then kill her?”

Biscuit was the most serious practical joker in the club. He was a master of keeping a straight face while telling a joke or bullshitting someone. Until the very end of a story, you never knew if what he was telling you was the truth or a lie. He was an honest man and could be trusted one hundred percent, but he got great satisfaction out of bullshitting people just to get a reaction out of them. As soon as he spoke,
I
knew he was joking, but I waited anxiously to see how Sydney responded. Keeping an expressionless face was difficult, but I didn’t have to do it for long before she reacted.

“Definitely fuck me first. Hell, maybe gang bang me right here in the driveway before you cut my throat, huh? And just to forewarn you, you may want to get a warm washcloth and a little soap, I haven’t cleaned my twat in a few weeks,” she responded in a serious tone.

Damn, she’s got a little guts.

Although Biscuit tried, he couldn’t keep himself from laughing for long. Within a few seconds of silence from Otis and me, he erupted in laughter.

“There’s no bullshittin’ you, is there?” he chuckled.

She shook her head from side-to-side as she rolled her eyes, “You’ve got no reason to kill me, I don’t put your club at risk. If anything, I provide corroboration to Toad’s story.”

Otis glanced in my direction and raised his eyebrows comically. Biscuit uncrossed his arms and hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. 

“Keep using words like that and I just
might
cut your throat. You sound like a fucking cop, sayin’ shit like
corroboration
. You a cop, little girl?” Biscuit grunted.

“Far from it. Right now I’m a jobless, homeless, hopeless, penniless bitch that needs a ride to my car. And this isn’t my first time around 1%ers. My brother’s in an outlaw club,
Hell’s Fury
. Is, was, whatever. He’s doing life in Big Sandy now,” she snapped.

Damn, no wonder she kept her mouth shut.

Biscuit widened his eyes, crossed his arms, and took one step back as he studied Sydney, “Hell’s Fury, huh? Don’t think I won’t check him out. I know a few of those fellas in the Fury’s Colorado Springs Chapter. What’s his name?”

“Jackson Shephard, same last name as mine. Road name was
Killer
. Just Google him. If you all remember the ATF infiltration of the Fury and the conspiracy to commit murder charges, well that was him. And if you want to read the piece of shit, they wrote a book about it,” she explained.

“I remember it. Fuck,
everyone
remembers it. Chicken-shit undercover ATF agent rode with ‘em for a few years, got patched in and everything, and then tried to set the club up on murder charges. When they couldn’t get ‘em to kill anyone, they made up some bullshit about a contract killing for another 1%er club and railroaded a few guys. And fuck, Big Sandy’s no joke. That’s a shit-hole penitentiary, even for the Fed’s. Tough time to do, right there,” Otis nodded.

“You got it. Undercover ATF agent fucked them over big time. Set my brother up like a bowling pin. Since they shipped him to Big Sandy, he won’t even let me visit, but that’s a whole different story,” she sighed.

Biscuit took one more step rearward and narrowed his eyes. After a long pause, he began to speak, “So, lemme ask you a question. If you’re homeless, jobless, penniless, and what else did you say?
Hopeless
? If you’re all that, what the fuck were you doing in a fucking bank of all places?”

“I was going to rob it, but the other fucker beat me to it,” she responded without expression.

Biscuit glanced in my direction.

I shrugged my shoulders and grinned.

“You truly homeless?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes and nodded her head, “Somewhat ashamed of it, but yes I am.”

After her confirmation, it appeared no one really knew how to respond to her. As the three of us stood and stared, she broke the long silence, “See this top? Doesn’t it look like I dug it out of the dirty clothes? Know why? Because everything I own is in the back seat or trunk of my car. I live out of it; have been for about a month. Now I’m down to no money and only a little bit of gas. Hopefully I’ll find a job in the next week or so.”

As I considered what to say, Otis and Biscuit both reached for their wallets at the same time. She turned her hand up and shook her head.

“Sorry, fellas. I don’t take handouts. Call me whatever you want including stupid, but I can’t do it. I’ll die first. I work for my money. I just need to find a job,” she said in a voice full of emotion.

“Do you use dope?” I asked.

She shook her head, “Never have.”

“Liar, thief, cheat, or anything of the like?”

“Nope, I’ve never stolen anything in my life. And I don’t lie
or
cheat. I’m actually a great person who was dealt a shit card in life,” she responded.

I crossed my arms and examined her. Other than the fact her top was covered in too many wrinkles to count, nothing about her really bothered me. She certainly didn’t
appear
homeless. In fact, she was a very well put together woman. The blonde hair hanging well past her shoulders was beautiful and full of body, and although she wore minimal makeup, her skin appeared to be blemish free and healthy.

“Can you wait tables?” I asked.

“Never tried, but I’d be willing to give it a go,” she said.

I lowered my chin slightly and uncrossed my arms. As I raised my hand to my chin I grinned slightly, “I tell you what. I can give you a job at my restaurant in Winfield. It’s thirty miles from here, but you can start tomorrow if you want. I pay minimum wage plus tips, which is more than most restaurants. Tips aren’t much, but with your looks and attitude, you’ll probably do well. It’s the least I can do for a 1%er who’s locked down; or I guess for his sister. Maybe you can put some money on his books; get him some zoo zoos and wham whams.”

“I can’t make it that far on the gas I’ve got in the car. If you want to give me a ride by my car and let me grab a few things, and then if you could maybe give me a ride to Winfield, I’ll sure start tomorrow,” she smiled.

It dawned on me as she spoke that she was actually
homeless
. Not homeless in a broad meaningless sense, but truly without a place to stay. Her car full of personal belongings was all she had. She had no money, no means, and certainly had no possibility of even doing something as simple as bathing. Seeing someone like her in the condition she was in made me angry with society. I wanted to know what happened to cause her to be destitute. Before I had a chance to water down a question and make it seem less invasive, Biscuit beat me to the punch.

Still standing with his wallet in his hand, Biscuit cleared his throat, “So, if I can ask, what happened?”

“You sure can, and I’ll tell you. The aircraft plant laid me off. I had a high school education and ten years of experience when they did. I went quite a while looking for another job and couldn’t find one because I was pushing 30 years old, and had no experience other than pounding rivets. I couldn’t pay my rent, and eventually got evicted. I lived in and out of cheap hotels for almost a year delivering flowers part time, but lost that job when they found out I didn’t have a license to drive.”

“Son-of-a-bitch, you can’t catch a fuckin’ break, can ya? What happened there?” Biscuit chuckled.

“I got three parking tickets for leaving my car sitting in one spot too long. Working part time, it got down to either eat or pay my tickets. I chose food.” she shrugged.

Everyone on this earth requires money to survive. Unless a person is born into wealth, they must work to obtain the money. Realistically, we all must drive to our place of work. Society dictates we need a license to legally drive a car. At some point, we must park that car. To think Sydney was given a ticket or multiple tickets for parking a car she wasn’t able to drive because she couldn’t afford to do so, and was then relieved of her license for failure to pay the tickets angered me to no end. Thinking of the rules, regulations, and requirements of society often angered me to a point of being furious. I stared down at my boots for a long second and attempted to collect my thoughts.