Saving Della Ray

Tyler stepped forward, a baton in hand, and the three guys looked like they were about to shit their pants. Pole was first. The other men leaned forward eagerly, their expressions glittering with vicious anticipation. They would have enjoyed the Christians being torn by lions too. Before Pole could land on the floor with a cracked skull, I was already out in the fresh air.

I stepped outside where the prospects and hangers not allowed to be aware of ? or involved in the inner workings of the club’s business ? were milling around. This was an efficient way to weed out undercover cops and keep them from infiltrating the inner circle. Until they proved themselves to be worthy, they just played at being bikers.

Junho, a young Korean hanger immediately ran up to me.

There was light in his eyes, and every time I saw him, it made me stop. I wondered if there was a time that I looked that way and it made me angry that he was looking to become involved with this crowd. He’d taken a particular liking to me and I suspected he had a good temperament so I allowed a level of familiarity.

“I was away this week, Sir,” he said enthusiastically even though I didn’t ask. “My grandma broke her foot so I was on cater-for-the-old-hag duty.”

He thought it would impress me and make him appear hard, but I just wanted to smack him across the head for being such an idiot. He expected it so when I swung out my hand he managed to dodge the attack. His carefree laughter rang into the graveyard air.

I pulled out a cigarette from the pack and put it to my mouth and he had a lighter waiting. I accepted it, then tossed it back to him. I took a good long draw, and felt some semblance of calmness settle over my nerves.

“Why don’t you ever carry a lighter?” he asked.

I looked out to the old, broken tombstones and thought of the dead who lay beneath. It brought to mind quite vividly the dead that lay in my heart. “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked.

“Because there is always someone else around to do it for you?” he said after genuinely pondering on the response.

I sighed. “If I don’t have it on me, then I can’t use it.”

He seemed to grow even more confused. “If you don’t want to use it then why do you carry a pack of cigarettes?”

“Sometimes you need certain things to pull through.” I looked away to take another draw and that was when I noticed the vehicle.

It was cruising past the gates, a white washed up van with a faded painting of Winnie the Pooh on the side. That was my daughter’s favorite character and the vivid memory of her kissing baby Winnie goodnight filled my head. Everything seemed to slow down in that moment as my memories transported me to another place and time. The silky feel of her hair under my lips, the tinkling sound of her wind-up toy, the sweet perfume of baby powder.

I stared blankly at the vehicle as hot tears welled up in my eyes at the memory. I was lost in the past as I watched it roll slowly. It was as if I was watching a movie. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t think. My brain kicked into gear when I finally realized what I was looking at. I reached out to grab Junho, but it was already too late.

The windows had already rolled down and the doors to the van jacked open. Barrels were pointed at us. Shouts erupted all around us. It occurred in a split second, but to me it felt like it was happening in slow motion. I could feel the friction of the air against my skin and clothes as if I was underwater. Holding on to Junho, I dove for cover, the shots ringing out like explosions all around us.

I pulled out my gun, but backup had already arrived. I heard the bloody exchange from somewhere above my head and knew the club members were handling the attack. Next to me, the young boy was lying unconscious on the ground. At first, relief poured into me, that there were no wounds on his head or chest so nothing vital had been destroyed, but his blood was quickly beginning to seep out from under him. When I gently turned him on his side, I saw that the bullet had burst through his spine.

“Fuck!” I cursed. I could hear the van screeching away. I gazed down at the whimpering boy as I slowly rolled him on his back and it felt as if my chest was suffocating with mixture of bitter regret and fury. Why was life so cruel to the best of its kind? Why did RJ escape every encounter and this boy had fallen on the first misadventure? I knew this was it for him. Life as he knew it was over.