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1. CRASH AND BURN

SAMMY

I knew the minute the eighteen-wheeler flew around me on US-60 that my night was about to take a turn for the worse.

We just rolled over the state line coming from Arizona into New Mexico when the asshole thought it would be fun to try to pass. Either he didn’t realize there was a man on a Harley in front of me or he didn’t care.

“Fuck!” I yelled into the empty cab of my truck as he blew by. The wind gust he kicked up rocked the hell out of my little Toyota Tacoma and made me wonder how that would feel to the Harley he was about to breeze by in the same way. I didn’t have a moment to think about it. As he passed the motorcycle, one of his tires blew and the debris flew right into the biker.

I stepped on my brake and swerved off to the side of the road, thanking every deity known to man that there wasn’t anyone else on the road at the time. I also thanked my “adopt a biker” mentality. The cushion of distance I kept between us was the only reason I didn’t roll right over him.

The motorcycle took a direct hit from the debris, but I thought the rider may have taken a large chunk to his side, as well. He flew off the bike and flipped in the air, which might have been a good thing, considering the way the motorcycle bucked up and came off the ground before it finally landed and slid over into the into some scrub brush at the side of the road.

The biker had been thrown backward as he was launched off the bike and slid to stop just in front of my truck when all was finally said and done. I couldn’t even imagine what the impact had done to him, especially after taking a hit from the truck debris.

I was so thankful that I had eased off the gas when the truck tried to pass me. Had I not, the biker would have ended up in my windshield or under my tires. Neither of those options were good for me. The trucker kept on trucking like his tire never blew out, like he hadn’t just taken out a motorcyclist.

My irrational anger almost got the best of me. Instead, I threw my hazard lights on, grabbed my phone, and jumped out of my truck to go check on the biker before calling 9-1-1, so I could let them know whether to send an ambulance or a clean-up crew with the police. When I reached the man, he groaned and tried to sit up, but I stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Please, don’t try to move. You don’t know what could be injured and you might make everything worse,” I explained. He moaned but laid back down as I asked questions. “I’m going to grab my first aid kit and call for an ambulance. Can you tell me what hurts?”

He shook his head once before groaning again. “Call my club.”

“Your what?” It was then I noticed the leather vest he wore and the tell-tale one percent patch on the front of it. “You want me to call your club?” I asked as I pointed at the patch.

“They won’t harm you. Need them to get my bike.” His voice was trailing off.

“I don’t know how to call them.”

He quickly rattled off a number that I put in my phone on instinct. My fingers pushed to dial before I realized what I was doing. “Shit, I really need to call for help.”

“Club first.”

I rolled my eyes just as someone picked up. “Baffle,” the gravelly voice spat out.

“A man just crashed in front of me on US-60 headed into New Mexico from Arizona. He’s one of yours.” As I rattled off the information something glinted from across the street. My eyes tracked the source. There was a man crouched down behind some scrub on the other side of the road. If he’d been there the whole time, it was a small miracle the accident hadn’t been worse.

He wasn’t watching me. The man’s eyes were trained on the fallen biker. It only took another second for me to process the fact that the glint I’d seen a moment ago was from the rifle in his hands. My headlights created enough light that his scope picked it up and reflected it back.

Without another thought, I dropped my cell phone and snatched my sidearm out of my holster, aimed, released my breath, and pulled the trigger. I wasn’t stupid. If he planned to shoot the biker on the side of the road, there was no way he would leave me behind as a witness to what happened.

I heard a harsh voice yelling in the background and realized the noise came from the cell I dropped.

“Who the fuck is this and what is going on?” I could hear him giving orders to someone in the background as I glanced down and snatched the phone back up while keeping my Springfield 10 mil trained on the man who I’d just shot.

“Your man, I think he’s passed out now,” I called into the phone as I took a quick glance down at the biker again. “His vest thing says ‘President’ on it. Wait…” I glanced around and realized the tape under it probably showed his name. After I dusted it off, I called out his road name. “Bigfoot.”

“Prez is down. We gotta go!” the man yelled into the phone before he started to speak to me again. “How bad is it?”

“He was more worried about his motorcycle getting picked up, it’s a few feet away from where he landed. We have a bigger problem, though.”

“Does that bigger problem have to do with the gunshot I just heard?”

“There was a man on the other side of the road. He was just about to take a shot at your president when I took him out. Your brother needs an ambulance in a bad way, but there’s a body here that I’m responsible for now as well.”

“You shot the man? Are you sure he’s dead?”

“Well, I’m no expert, but I am a good shot, and he hasn’t moved since.”

“Listen, darlin’, we’re bringing a doc with us. Do not call anyone.”

“I can’t make any guarantees that someone else won’t call or that the truck driver whose blown tire took out your president won’t make his way back.” A thought occurred to me then. “Shit! What if the guy I shot was working with the truck driver? He seemed pretty hell-bent on passing me and the motorcycle.” I hoped like hell that wasn’t the case and continued to ramble my fears away.

“If it was a civilian, they might have called the cops about getting their tire shot out, if they realized that was what happened. Then again, why wouldn’t a trucker pull over to fix his tire, even if he didn’t realize he took a man out with the one that blew?” I was rambling, but my brain wouldn’t stop turning over as the possibilities came crashing down around me.

“Fuck, lady. Shut up! We have a guy that is two minutes out from you. Name’s Jester and he’s in a white work van with ladders on top.”

“You’re sending a murder van, and you want me to be okay with it?”

“A what?” the man on the other end of the line asked. “Never mind. Look, stay put and do what you can for Bigfoot.”

I hung up the cell and stuffed it back in my pocket. Bigfoot was awake again when I glanced down to check on him. “I have to make sure the asshole across the street is dead,” I explained. He seemed to understand and attempted a nod. It was such a subtle movement that I couldn’t be sure. I ran across the road and checked on the asshole who had the rifle trained on the crashed biker. There was no need to check for a pulse when I got there. It was obvious he was dead since half his head was blown off. I had aimed for center mass, as I’d always been taught, but since he was crouched down, that was about as central as I could get. His head was in pieces on the ground around him.

There was no point in lingering around a corpse. I snatched his rifle up and then ran back across the highway as I sent up a silent prayer and thanked my lucky stars that no one else seemed to be traveling this late – or early, I supposed. Once I got back to Bigfoot, I crouched down and checked on him again. He was still breathing and didn’t appear to be bleeding profusely. That didn’t mean much, since it was the internal bleeding that would probably kill him after taking that kind of impact and rolling the way he did.

“I would take your helmet off, but I’m honestly afraid that it would do more harm than good.” I kept any signs of panic out of my voice as I assessed the man. I was halfway down his body, palpating for possible damage when a dingy, white work van with ladders on top pulled off near where Bigfoot’s motorcycle came to rest.

“What’s going on, Bigfoot? Are you taking a nap on the side of the road?” the man joked, but I could tell by the way his eyes tracked every inch of his friend that he was just trying to put the man at ease. The newcomer was worried, and that quickly turned to fear when he realized his buddy didn’t answer back.

“He’s been fading in and out, but there isn’t a lot of blood.” Bigfoot groaned as though he were in a lot of pain. “On the outside, anyway,” I tacked on. “There is a body over there, and I would appreciate it if you could hide that fact before the law rolls up here and wants to know why I shot him.”

The newcomer, Jester, nodded his head, hopped into his van, and positioned it across the street where he could easily load the body into the back. He took a jug of something out of his van and doused the area with it after he moved the body. When he was done with that, he pulled back over and started to load up the motorcycle. All the while, I noticed he was having a conversation via whatever hands-free device he had clamped to his ear.

“VP wants to know how bad he is,” Jester called out to me.

“Well, an eighteen-wheeler was in the middle of passing us on the left when his tire blew, and a huge chunk flew into your buddy. He took the hit directly to his left side, maybe a bit of his chest too. That sent him flying over to the right side of the road while his bike took off without him and crashed where you just picked it up. He was talking to me at first and told me to call you guys before he passed out. Seemed to have a great deal of pain while trying to shake his head, so either the tire hit his neck too or the fall did enough damage that it hurt like hell. He’s still breathing. I think his arm is broken. Honestly, I’m more concerned about possible internal bleeding or the damage he might have done to his head and neck. Thank fuck he wore a helmet, but I don’t want to be the one to remove it.”

“It’s okay. Can you stick with him while I finish up here?”

“Of course.”

“Did the trucker stop at all?”

“No, but I have a dash cam in my car, and it has been running the whole time.”

“Do not tell the cops. If anyone happens to show up before my club, keep quiet. My VP will want that footage.”

“I have reason to not want that video going to the cops, too.”

“You on the lamb or something?” the man joked.

“No, I’m not on the lamb.” I rolled my eyes, then rethought that. “I might be if they look at the video and see that I shot someone.”

“Wait, you’re the one that shot that fucker?”

“That’s what I said before. He was about to kill your friend, and it didn’t take a genius to determine I’d be next.”

I had a healthier fear of a one percent motorcycle club than the cops, so his wish was my command at that point. It took another minute before I realized Jester was no longer focused on me. He was back across the street policing brass. He picked up one bullet casing and pocketed it. I guessed that meant he had most likely shot the truck’s tire after all.

I glanced down and groaned. Hopefully, they really did have a doctor on the way, because Bigfoot didn’t look too good.

I sat with the man, who was objectively very good looking, despite the bruises and swelling that started to bloom all over his face. His leathers were toast, and his helmet was scuffed and dented in spots. It appeared it might also be cracked on the side, but I didn’t want to speculate what that might mean for his head.

“Do I take your helmet off or leave it?” I wondered out loud. “What if your head swells and…”

“Off,” the man groaned.

I jumped. “Oh shit, I thought you were still passed out.”

He huffed at me as if to say he was until I bothered him with my inane questions. I carefully reached up and unlatched his chin strap and then put one hand under the base of his neck and head to support it while I gently removed his helmet.

“Okay, Bigfoot, I’m just going to put my sweater underneath your head, so it isn’t resting on the ground.” The sweater had been tied around my waist because it was too hot to wear earlier when I was in a crowd of people. Then I got chilly after getting into my truck. The heater took forever to kick in and push out anything but cold air. Since I had been sitting on my sweater at that point, I put on my emergency jacket I always kept in my truck – for when the stupid, temperamental heater refused to blow hot.

“Mmm,” The sound – something between an appreciative moan and a painful groan – was all he managed. It was then that my eyes drifted down his body, assessing for further damage again.

“Yep, you definitely broke that arm,” I said aloud, even though it appeared he had passed out again. I saw blood near the waistband of his jeans and gently pulled his shirt up to have a look. It didn’t appear as though there were any deep gouges or anything. It was more like he had really bad road rash. His jeans on his left side were worn down in spots and there was a bit of blood seeping through there as well. Thankfully, nothing I could see looked life-threatening. If the man didn’t have internal bleeding and his head didn’t swell up and pop off, then he might be okay after all. His left arm drooped at a weird angle making me think it had either been dislocated or something worse. Considering there wasn’t any blood coming from up there, I hoped it meant everything was still attached.

“I guess this would be a good time for me to be a nurse or a doctor or know more than basic first aid,” I murmured to myself and was surprised when the man attempted to chuckle. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you laugh.”

“No apologies,” he insisted in a garbled way that was barely understandable.

“Your men are on the way.” It was the only reassurance I could give him as we waited in the dark along the lonely stretch of highway in the middle of the night. I shivered and realized the temperatures had dropped again. I took my jacket off and draped it across his torso. There was a chance he couldn’t even feel the difference, but it was the only thing I knew to do that might not harm him more.

We sat on the roadside for another ten minutes as Jester did his thing cleaning up the mess on the other side of the road. It looked as though he was policing for more brass over there and combing through the brush. It made sense. Beyond the tire being blown out, it might tell us something more if he were to find other casings, or perhaps evidence that the man had been lying in wait for a long time. I didn’t believe in coincidences, so the probability of a man lying in wait with a rifle at the exact place an eighteen-wheeler’s tire blew to take out a motorcycle, felt a little too convenient to be anything else but an ambush.

I heard the distant roar of motorcycles. “Doc is coming with the men; he’ll be able to assess things. If we need to run him to the hospital, we’ll take him ourselves.” I glanced up to see Jester was back, and he stared down at me with a strange look in his eyes.

“Not sure that’s smart. What if moving him makes things worse or delaying treatment gets him dead?” I asked

“M’k,” Bigfoot huffed. I was fairly certain it was his way of saying he was okay enough to wait, but I didn’t believe him for a minute, especially since he passed out again after mumbling almost incoherently.

“Jester!”

“Yeah?”

“If he dies on me, I’m going to kill the person who made him wait for treatment.”

The man chuckled and came to stand beside me. “Bigfoot’s a tough bastard. He’ll pull through.”

“Says you.”

“Yep, I’ve seen enough riders go down in my time that I can tell you with certainty that he’ll have one hell of a recovery, but he’ll live.”

“I hope so.”

“Also, it ain’t wise to threaten to off our VP, since he’s the one who gave the order.”

“Whatever, I’m not scared of him.”

“I guess you wouldn’t be, considering I just cleaned up the last body you dropped.”

“That was also the first,” I admitted.

“Well, you did a good job of it, lady.” He glanced across the road and then back at me. “You were standing over here?”

“Yeah?”

“You used that?” He pointed at the 10 mil that was secured into my holster. I nodded. “Big sidearm for a little lady.”

“Not really. They fire smoothly, barely any kickback.”

Jester nodded his head. “Fifty feet give or take to where the fucker was lying in wait.” When I didn’t say anything, he tacked on, “In the dark and high on adrenaline.” He was assessing my skill level, I realized. “You a cop?”

I laughed at his question. “Not by a long shot.”

“Former military?”

I gave a quick nod. “No combat duty, but served honorably, nonetheless. The military doesn’t account for my shooting skills, though. That would be my Uncle Brady’s doin’.”

“Why did good ol’ Uncle Brady decide to teach his precious niece how to shoot so well?”

“Because he wanted me to be able to defend myself if it was ever necessary.”

I glanced down to see that Bigfoot’s eyes were open again. “Took a little nap again, huh?” I asked as the distant rumble of motorcycle engines grew heavier in the air. The ground seemed to vibrate as they moved closer, too. “Your friends are almost here.”

I felt a squeeze on my hand and glanced down to see that Bigfoot managed to get his good hand over to mine. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Saved me from a boring night of going home to wash my hair.”

“What the fuck?” Jester asked as he laughed and looked down at his phone – presumably to see the time.

I shrugged my shoulders. “That was my excuse when I left the double date from hell. My coworker Jake convinced me to go to this concert over in Arizona with his girlfriend and another guy. Basically, he set me up to be the fourth wheel to a threesome he didn’t know he was involved in.”

“Let me guess, the set-up date was more interested in you than your buddy’s girl and it pissed her off?”

I nodded my agreement. “Exactly that. When Matt seemed too interested, Sandra lost it and started screaming at him that the date wasn’t meant to be real.” I started to mimic her tone. “How dare you act like you’re interested in someone else – in front of me!” I shook my head and remembered Jake had seemed upset by the revelation, but not entirely shocked. It made me wonder if he had asked me so that he could get exactly that response from his girlfriend. I don’t like to feel used by people. Jake and I would have it out about that shit later. He should have found a better way to bust his cheating girlfriend, like hire a PI or something. That’s what normal people did.

Jester laughed and Bigfoot squeezed my hand again. I could have sworn he smiled, but then again, most of his face was a swollen mess already, so it could have been a twitch of pain.

“Sorry,” I apologized on a whisper. “I forgot I’m not supposed to make you laugh. You probably have a broken rib or three. Know for a fact that stuff hurts.” I glanced back up at Jester to finish my story. “So, when the crap hit the fan, I said I had to go home and wash my hair.”

“Left your boy there to deal with the fallout of a cheating girlfriend?”

I groaned. “He put me in that situation knowing full well I’ve always thought she was a giant freaking diseased twat.”

“You don’t have a filter, do you?” the man inquired.

“Nah. I don’t really see the point. If people don’t like what I have to say, they can pretty much fuck off.”

“If he don’t claim you after he wakes the fuck up, I’m next in line,” Jester said and then jogged back to his van as the first motorcycle rolled up.

I tilted my head to the side and chuckled. “What do ya know? It really is a murder van.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bigfoot mumbled as his chest shook.

“Sorry,” I whispered again.