Phoenix Fatale

5. Unjust

5

Unjust

Whiskey Rock Bar, Hollister, California.

The pool stick drove the cue ball into the rack so hard that pool balls shot in all directions and bounced off the bumpers, several dropping into holes. Gang member Paul Pliskin had been called 'Gears' for so long that none of the members of the Lincoln Killers actually remembered his first name anymore. Gears held a prestigious position in the gang, an elected position known as "Enforcer."

In a biker gang, enforcers are thought of as policemen, although that term is never used. It's the job of the enforcer to ensure order at regular club meetings, which are euphemistically referred to as “holding church." The enforcer is also in charge of security at gang events. But in the case of the Lincoln Killers, Gears Pliskin had another role, one not so commonly known. It was his job to do the bidding of the president, Michael John Brewer.

Brewer had been the president for three years running, and his power base continued to grow month after month. Like most members of the gang, Brewer was never referred to using his real name. He was known simply as "Grinder," a nickname he had earned in the early days. Back then, it was rumored that, in order to collect on a debt, he had shoved a man's hand into an industrial coffee grinder. After that, collecting past-due notes became easy. Grinder's reputation as a ruthless outlaw grew, and so did his popularity with fellow gang members. He challenged the then-president to a bare-knuckle fight -- and won. The Lincoln Killers had a new, de facto, president, and under his rule, the nationally organized gang flourished.

"Damn, Gears," Grinder said, "leave a man a few balls on the table next time."

A few other gang members, known as "patches," stepped back or to the side. They wanted to observe Grinder in action but understood to keep their distance.

Gears looked up but knew better than to challenge the boss. He leaned across the table and took his next shot. When it missed, Grinder sneered.

Grinder turned the Budweiser Tall Boy up and drained its contents. When the bottle was empty, he flung it across the bar, and it smashed into the cinder block wall at the back. The place was crowded at that time, but the occurrence of a flying beer bottle was so common few people looked up.

Grinder lined up his pool cue and began to drop one pool ball after another into the pockets. As he lined up his last shot, he said, "So you're telling me we've got trouble?"

"That's right, boss," Gears replied.

Grinder dropped the eight-ball into a pocket, then stood tall. "And some sonofabitch killed three of our boys?"

"Not three," Gears said. "Seven."

Several patches, regular members of the club, and one other, known as a hang around, a prospective gang member still working off his initiation period, looked up.

"Seven?" Grinder said. "What the f**k do you mean, seven?"

"It's like this, boss. They were having a little fun with some w***e at a bar at a place called Pearland, Texas. Then some big dude started a brawl with them. Four of our guys died right there. Four others made it to the hospital, but three went t**s up as well."

Grinder raised the pool cue over his head and smashed it into the table. It snapped in half and splinters of wood flew in all directions. "Goddamnit! You mean to tell me one man killed seven of our brothers?"

Gears held still. It was his direct experience that when the boss got like this, a person could end up knocked unconscious, or worse. He nodded. "It looks that way."

Grinder walked away from the others. Gears set down his pool cue and followed. When the two of them were in a dark corner of the biker bar, Grinder grabbed the edge of a small wooden table and tipped it upright until the glasses and bottles on it dumped onto the ground. He and Gears sat. "So, let me see if I've got this straight. Eight of our boys get onto this slut, and some guy takes them on, and now seven of them are dead? One guy, one w***e, and what, one surviving patch?"

"That about sums it up, boss," Gears said.

Grinder slammed his fist onto the table. "And who is this dead man that dared challenge the Lincoln Killers?"

"No one knows. The whole thing was caught on surveillance tape though. Cops are looking for him too."

"And the b***h?"

"Still alive. Though not by much."

Grinder leaned forward and spoke through gritted teeth. "Those dumbasses left a f*****g w***e to testify? What the hell is wrong with our chapter in Pearland, Texas?" He stood and began to storm off but stopped. "Send out a few scouts to Pearland. I have a feeling we're going to have to make a road trip."