Vulnerable (Barons of Sodom) (14 page)

DET. RAMIREZ:
So why did you—ahem—have relations with
LaRouche? Right then, I mean?

BRIDIE:
Oh give me a break, detective. I think I've
more than answered that question. Your inner lech is showing.

DET. RAMIREZ:
Okay, I’ll rephrase. You mentioned
Stockholm Syndrome earlier. Do you think this union was a symptom of that?

BRIDIE:
Oh, I don't know—do Stockholmers feel guilty?
I'd just betrayed the only friend I'd ever had. Seeing Athena's face, from her
own bed... that's a big no-no in Girl Code. Wherever Sark is, I hope she's been
able to forgive me for that night.

DET. RAMIREZ:
...but the sex was consensual. You
wanted to. And you and Tuck had already established a...bond.

BRIDIE:
I think I know what you're getting at,
detective. The truth is, I wasn't trying to save myself. I had no ulterior
motive. I hadn't allied myself with any party lines. Women, sometimes all we
have is our desire—and, of course, our reputations. I was just following
feelings. Ha—sometimes I wish I could still afford to live that way, you know?
Do
whatever tonight, damn tomorrow?
I suppose that's ironic.

You want the truth?

I fell in love with him, Ramirez. I think of his face on top
of me, now—the look in his eyes as he asked me, again and again, if I
wanted
it. He really cared about me, the way no man ever had before. I was falling
in love with him. I fell in love with him. But I didn't call it that then. Not
yet. Even though I
am
so much in love with him, still.

(Long pause)

DET. RAMIREZ:
But you pushed Tuck away, all the same.
I guess I'm just trying to figure out what you were thinking throughout your captivity
at the Barons. How much…control you felt over the situation.

BRIDIE:
None, is your answer. I felt powerless.

As soon as Tuck wandered away from my bed that night, I
suppose I did make a decision. I felt as if I'd learned that I, like my aunt,
had a darkness in me. I was capable of hurting people. I felt as if I had to
atone for that.

And I wanted all the big, tough Barons to believe I could be
bad, too. That almost felt like a way to protect myself. So they thought I was
a slut? I'd show them. I'd be their
slut.

Such a nasty word.

DET. RAMIREZ:
So that's why you didn't run.

BRIDIE:
That's exactly why I didn't run. Well that
and the fact of...well, you've seen him. Pecs for days! Sometimes a girl's
gotta fight!

By morning, the Barons' camp was filled with an energy Tuck
hadn't seen since New Orleans. No one was playing fixed card games on logs.
Instead, thirty-plus bikers were revving their engines, wiping down their seats
and hubcaps like this was all a big tailgating party. The news of the race for
Bridie's custody had spread like wildfire. The promise of a good fuck was
something to get excited about after so much boredom.

The prize herself had even ventured down into the fray.
Dressed in the same borrowed dress she'd been wearing two nights before, at
Penny's—though this seemed like a lifetime ago—Bridie washed up by the
wellspring, ignoring the chorus of ugly comments that went volleying over her
head as she splashed in the shallow pool.

Athena was nowhere to be found. Ditto, the man upstairs.
Miserable Spivey seemed to have taken the reigns of the day's festivities. He
was wandering from man to man, explaining the route of the race.

After taking in the scene, Tuck made for his bike. He took
nervous stock of its body—though the piece had never failed him before, it had
been quite a while since he'd ridden at racing speed. After his inspection
determined there was nothing wrong with the exterior, he started up the engine.
The powerful machine thrummed to life beneath him.

The night prior—in yet another distracting, immersive dream—Tuck
had relived his earlier exploits with Bridie. Only instead of their union
ending with Athena's interruption, things had...continued. In his mind's eye,
Athena had approached the little cot where the lovers were spent and then
started to shrug away her worker's overalls. She'd unbuttoned her dull little
blouse. At various points in his imagination's reverie, Bridie and his best
friend had been locked in a long kiss, their massive breasts pressed tight
against one another. In a different figuration, Athena had watched—as if
granting her blessing, really—as Tuck moved in and out of the raven-haired
beauty.

The whole thing had only heightened his confusion. He'd
never had sexy thoughts about his best friend before—not once in their long,
long friendship. Was it possible to be in love with two women at once? But wait—when
had 'love' come into it? Tuck shook away the word, the memory, all the
memories...just as a firm hand clapped him on the back.

“Oh, hey there sailor!” Spivey trilled. His hot breath
smelled of whiskey, despite the early hour. “Just saw your little girlfriend
greeting the day. She's up late. Still sore from last night's pounding?”

Though Bridie had ignored his 'good morning' at the
wellspring, Tuck had been surprised to see her out and about, all the same.

“I don't know what you're talking about, jackass.”

“Don't be so coy, lieutenant. Officer Cannon saw you two
making sweet love in the early morning. He gave us all the skinny after you
left last night.”

Aha—so he was the figure in the window. The brief flicker of
a light extinguished. It had been Cannon all along. That shitheel of a police
officer! He should have known.

“I think a healthy diet depends on variety, don't you?”

“I think you'd have a hard time racing with your kneecaps
busted. Get the fuck out of my face.”

Spivey eased back a few paces, but his eyes didn't stop
laughing.

“I think it'd be much harder to drive with the brake lines
cut in your ride. But what do I know? I'm just a tub-o-lard, ain't that right?”
Before Tuck could articulate a comeback, Spivey had waddled away down the path.
He giggled like a schoolgirl.

Tuck, determined to look fearless, waited until the fat man
had oozed all the way out of sight. Then, he bent low to examine the underbelly
of his engine. Sure enough...

“Gentlemen!” A voice sliced through the camp:
the man
upstairs
. “I'm so thrilled that the word has spread about our friendly
little competition. What a great turn-out.” God stood in the center of the
clearing, looking especially wizened in his original leather vest and tight
pants. His Barons insignia caught the morning light and seemed to sparkle.
“Brother Spivey is circling with information about the race course. I got up
early this morning and personally saw to it that we've got a nice bit of
track.”

The men raised their fists, hollering barbarian cries of
assent. The lieutenant looked around at his former colleagues. These were the
men he'd thought of as brothers. The very first family he'd known. In two days,
they'd all become enemies—people determined to deprive him of that which he
wanted most. Then the Tuck cast around for Bridie. Where was she? Why had she
pushed him away last night? And how the fuck was he going to win a bike race
with no brakes?

“But I do have something to tell you all before we get
started. Let's all take off our helmets out of respect for the newest member of
the Barons of Sodom MC:
Gil Cannon.
”

There was a smattering of very tepid applause. Most of the Barons
exchanged confused glances. In the hubbub, Gil Cannon seemed to appear from
behind a tree. He was wearing his full policeman's uniform (baby blues and
all), but over top—a leather vest inscribed with the club's insignia.

What. The.
Fuck.

“Okay, fellas. I know this might come as a shock,” Cannon
started. The sight of his po-po regalia had gotten quite a few boos. “But what
I have to tell you is quite interesting, I think. First off: I'm police, but
I'm not so straight and narrow as the coppers you're used to. None of us are,
here in Waco.”

The crowd stayed silent.

“I've been discussing a business opportunity with your
leader here, who's very keen on keeping you boys active and interested. I
understand that since moving to our fair city, some of you in the club have
been a bit—dissatisfied. There haven't been many assignments, I gather. Now,
from my vantage, that sounds like no state for a
Rider
to be in.”

A few men grumbled assent. Spivey, from the back of the
crowd, shouted out a hearty
'HUZZAH!'

“So we're going into business. The police and the club. The
business is drugs, which I'm sure you're all familiar with. The Waco PD need
some good men, some strong men, to work their corners and parks. We're
supplying the product. All you have to do is push it. And we'll split the
profits, straight down the middle.” Cannon smirked at God, who waited, silent,
in the wings.

Surprisingly, Yak piped up: “This has to be some sort of
twisted joke! Say it ain't so, Big Man!”

God didn't say anything. He merely looked stony. Cannon
smirked, then continued.

“It
is
so, you piece of shit. This is the future. And
if you're not riding
with
the club, you're no longer a part of the club.
Period.”

For a breathless few seconds, Tuck imagined a revolt. He
would lead the men straight at these asswipes. Then he, personally, would drag
them both, screaming, to the ground. He could lead these louts, couldn't he? He
easily knew as much about the club's inner-workings as the man upstairs. He and
Bridie would live in the Big House—or, no, they'd mosey back to New Orleans.
Athena wouldn't be angry. She'd let them both live on in peace. She'd visit,
sometimes...

God stood, slowly. It seemed as if he was finally going to
speak. “This begins a new era for the Barons of Sodom,” their leader
pronounced. His voice crackled with age. “Lord knows I won't be around much
longer. But I want you fellas to rely on Cannon. He's talking about a steady
income. We founded the club to preserve just that:
the outlaw lifestyle
.”

“Ain't exactly outside the law anymore, though,” Yak
continued. His mutterings carried through the crowd. This insurrection was
atypical—no one interrupted the man upstairs. The other Barons all grew silent,
waiting to see what would happen.

But Tuck was still lost in visions of what could be. If they
were all to rebel, here and now, the Barons could ride the way that they were
meant to, as free men with no leader, no God but open sky. They'd move across
the badlands, or tool around the desert plains...they'd do whatever they
fucking felt like. They sure as hell wouldn't spend their days pushing drugs in
Texas' least favorite city, like two-bit criminals.

A space had opened up around Yak in the crowd. God was
shielding his eyes against the rising sun, seeking eye contact with his
dissenter. His gaze was penetrating.

“Ahh, Mr. Yak. I should have expected.”

“I just think we can do better than all this. We're Barons
of Sodom, ain't we? We serve no master, least of all the
law
!” A
hesitant assent rippled through the crowd. Yak spat on the ground, for
emphasis. And suddenly men were nodding, rubbing their moustaches in thought.
Maybe it was happening! Maybe they were all strong enough, as a unit, to lead
themselves. Tuck raised a fist in solidarity. He opened his mouth, to begin a
chant.

But just then—and so swiftly, it was hard to track where the
sound came from—a pistol's discharge echoed through the space. All the men
ducked. Some of them screeched like little girls. When Tuck looked up through
the hubbub, he assessed the damage: Yak had collapsed to the ground. A pool of blood
was blooming around the Rider's greasy forehead. He was dead.

“Anyone else have an opinion to voice?” Cannon drawled. He'd
slid his aviator shades down the elegant swoop of his nose and looked calm as a
summer sea even as his murder weapon still exuded a trail of smoke. “Or should
we go on and bring out the little sweet ass I know you fellas are dying to
nail?”

Tuck's heart was beating fast. All the men were demonstrably
frightened. There was the sound of shifting leather, as everyone seemed to quake
in their motorcycle gear. No one had ever slain another Rider before. Sure,
there had been brawls. There had been
bloody
duels and races. But no
member of the club had ever drawn a weapon on an unarmed comrade; no member of
the club had fired for someone's head in a crowd. The Barons looked to their
leader for affirmation, denial, anything—but God's face had turned to stone. He
was in silent agreement with Cannon. So this was what a reign of terror felt
like. This was the changing of the guard.

“Bring her out, Bo,” Cannon said. On his command, Bo—the
dullest crayon in the proverbial box—emerged from behind a tree, clinging tightly
to Bridie. Her mouth was gagged with a soggy red handkerchief. There were fresh
scratches on her beautiful face, new since the morning. Her hands were tied
with a grubby length of rope.

“NOOOOOOOOO!” Tuck cried, without thinking. Bridie began to
fight against her captor when she heard his call. She thrashed to and fro,
scanning the crowd for the source of his voice.

“Don't touch her! You let her go!”

“Please, let's be civil,” Cannon said, casting a withering
glance Tuck's way. The officer nodded to Bo, who took a ham-sized fist and
cuffed Bridie sharply on the jaw. The sound of two bones colliding rang through
the camp like a tuning fork, and Bridie's lovely head went limp on her neck.
She looked like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Now if Miss
LaRouche
could restrain herself, we'd be
able to proceed like gentlemen,” God called. For the first time that day, a few
other Barons echoed their leader with a series of snorts and guffaws. They were
turning, all right. The men of the brave new club had no need for a candy-ass, love-struck
lieutenant. Never mind that they'd all been afraid of him yesterday. Never mind
that he'd killed enemies of the club before with his bare hands.

“The race has already been marked off, and the prize is easy—well,
you already knew that.”

More laughter.

“The winner will get full and total control of our newest
ward. Consider the little slut a kind of consolation prize, from us boys on the
force to you fellas out in the fray. And if our little transaction goes well, there's
plenty more pussy for all of you. Plenty more.”

More cheers!

“Now. Let's all follow Brother Spivey to the racecourse.
We'll have us a pleasant Sunday morning, and then tomorrow, the work on the
corners begins. Gentlemen:
start your engines
.”

His heart still racing, Tuck scanned the crowd for relief—familiar
faces, gestures of solidarity, anything—but he turned up nothing. Instead, the
lieutenant watched each of his former comrades step neatly over Yak's corpse as
they turned toward the open road. Not a one of them looked down.