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Chapter Fourteen

Trailer Park Blowie

F itz had survival skills. Plus, the weather wasn’t all that bad at night.

He broke into some shitty convenient store that didn’t even bother to have an alarm. The security camera that sat against the wall had the wires dangling from it. He took two hot dogs that looked like they’d been sitting there from the days when Johnny Cutter formed SOFRAW. He grabbed two bottles of water, two cans of some off-brand energy drink, and behind the counter he found a half empty bottle of vodka.

No reason to fuck with the cash register. Fitz had cash on him. Plenty of cash for now. He needed some kind of an escape plan. He needed protection. He needed…

As Fitz walked out of the shitty convenient store, he shut the door behind him, and suddenly thought about his wife. Fucking Mara. He wondered where she was right now.

She knew better than to run right to the club for any kind of help. They would kill her in a second. She knew nothing of Fitz and his personal dealings. In fact, that was part of the plan. Leave Mara hanging to hold the rope. He planned on doing what needed to be done, letting the club take whatever heat came their way. He was going to slip away, plenty of cash and opportunity, and leave that bitch Mara behind.

Why did he ink her? Why did he marry her? It was just something to do. Someone to fuck. A cunt to come home to. Hell, most of the time he’d just mount her from behind and fuck her for a minute or two just to get it out of his system. Drain his balls. Let his cock have some fun at home every once in a while.

Or if he couldn’t get to sleep, all he had to do was pull at the bitch’s hair and force her under the covers and down between his legs. She’d suck his cock bone-dry and he’d sleep peacefully.

That was the one part though he missed. His wife knew how to suck a cock, that was for sure. Even some of the craziest deecees in the clubhouse couldn’t match Mara. And there were deecees who’d take it all down their throat, and even add the balls, which was an insane feat of oral amazement.

“Fuck,” Fitz said out loud as he realized his cock was starting to get a little stiff.

He ate the two hotdogs and threw them up a few minutes after. He switched to the energy drink, finishing one can, and then chugging vodka like water.

He put on a black hoodie with the hood up and wandered into a real shitty part of the town that touched Cielo. The northern tip of Brackwood was filled with junkies and whores.

Fitz waved around a fresh, crisp one hundred dollar bill and took two raggedly looking women behind an abandoned van on cinder blocks. He leaned against the van and watched the two whores fight for his cock. When he finished, he did so on their faces, just for fun. He dropped the hundred dollar bill on the ground, tucked his cock away and got the fuck out of there.

Five minutes later he felt himself getting itchy down there. Fitz told himself it was just all in his mind. And, hell, worst case, he could go see a doctor and get some antibiotics.

Fitz slept good and woke with the sunrise. There were no signs of SOFRAW anywhere as he looked around the trees. He quickly unzipped his jeans and took his cock out to have a morning piss. Luckily everything looked good down there. He seemed to have dodged a bullet with the two whores and their sloppy blow job.

Fitz craved a damn cup of coffee. And a hot breakfast. He walked to a small neighborhood and hot-wired a piece of shit car and decided to bolt out of Cielo for a bit. Maybe it was time to leave for good.

The club would forever look for him. Maybe it was time to make a change. Fitz pictured himself living somewhere icy and cold, at the northern tip of Alaska. He wondered if Cyrus would send a charter to find him there.

Once on the road, Fitz felt a small sense of freedom. That lasted all of a mile before a police car pulled out of nowhere and rode right up on his ass. Fitz knew how to play it cool. Then again, he was in a stolen car.

Not even a mile later, another police car appeared, this one coming from the opposite direction. As soon as the car passed by Fitz and the first police car, it made a turn. Now Fitz had two police cars on his ass.

He began to press the accelerator, picking up speed. Five, ten, fifteen… twenty miles over the speed limit. Once he made it to thirty over the speed limit, he cut the wheel to the left. The tires screeched as the car turned. For a split second he thought he was going to lose it and crash and roll the car.

The car straightened out and Fitz pulled off the road, parked the car, and climbed across the front seat, then bolted out of the passenger side door. In a matter of minutes, he found himself right back where he had started. Back in the woods again. Still in Cielo. Still craving coffee and something to eat.

“Fuck,” Fitz said out loud.

He wasn’t sure if the two police cars were actually after him or not. Being on the run provided an intense sense of paranoia.

Fitz found a house that was unoccupied. Whoever lived there must have been at work. He made coffee, took a hot shower, found some Xanax in the bathroom medicine cabinet. He popped two of those babies and left the house, caffeinated, showered, and stoned.

Fitz needed protection. Fitz needed to start a war with SOFRAW. Let those fucking outlaws burn in hell…

… so he could rise from their ashes.