Hard Rider

The movement was crisp, fast, and absolutely useless… unless you wanted to look hardcore. It did the trick. His eyes bugged and he backed the fuck off a step.

“You think you’re tough shit.”

I matched his step, putting barely less than a few inches between our faces – or, better put, between his face and my chest.

“I know I’m tough shit.”

Placing the gun on the filthy countertop at my side, I cast him a towering smirk before turning my attention away. I could practically hear this asshole shitting himself as I left the room.

The boss wasn’t far, just up a flight of stairs and in a small, shitty office. The entire organization was run from an abandoned shop in an alley, the rooms all barely converted for “business.”

Our leader, Clemens, had a room up the flight of stairs where shop owners tended to live in cities. I figured he probably slept here.

“Come in,” he grunted from behind the closed door when I tapped.

I did as I was told.

“You’ve been doing good work, Grizz,” he smiled as I closed the door behind myself. The stench of ancient cigarettes slapped me in the face, but I didn’t say a word. “Damn good work, yessir.”

“Happy to hear that, boss,” I politely responded as he waved for me to take a seat.

Clemens was small-time.

He knew it. I knew it.

Pretty much the only people who didn’t were the peons that he had running the joint for him on the streets, which was exactly how it should be.

Part of a leader’s job was to keep the illusion that you were a part of something bigger than you really were. Like your bullshit six-hour shift in the alleyway actually meant a damn thing.

In that way, Clemens was admirable.

“It’s high time we had a little chat about your future with us,” he grunted, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. He had a gruff grimace plastered across that ugly mug of his.

“My future?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyes trained on me. The guy looked more like someone’s old, raggedy, conspiracy theorist uncle than a small-bit crime lord. “Namely, that you ain’t got one anymore.”

This was taking a turn I didn’t like.

“Not quite sure I follow you.”

He rose from his chair, flattening his palms against the countertop of his shitty little Craigslist desk. A wave of menace poured off of him as he gazed down at me.

“I know what’s really going on here, Grizz. What you’ve been up to. I’ve known all along. Your time with us ends tonight…”

Instinctively, my hand slipped out of sight. It reached for the pistol in my pocket, ready to pull it and blow this asshole away if he meant what I thought he did.

That didn’t mean that I was ready to fight my way straight through half a dozen thugs in the building, but if those were the odds I had to face…

“It’s a damn shame, is what it is. I’m gonna miss you,” he chuckled, his gaze growing eviler by the second. “Lots of us here are. Such a shame…”

“I agree,” I replied coolly. I could feel my thumb on the safety catch, fingers wrapped around my gun enough to arm myself in an instant.

The air was thick with choking tension…

“But this is always how these things go, isn’t it?” He mirthlessly glowered. “I hate losing such a good man. But the ruling came down tonight, and it’s out of my hands.”

I hesitated.

“Ruling?”

“You’ve proven yourself,” Clemens remarked, settling back down in his chair. “You’ve got a seat at the table now.”

The crackling thickness in the air was swept from the room in an instant. I bitterly chided myself for completely misreading him as I slipped my hand from my gun.

“You’re upset that I can’t stay.”

“Damn right I am,” he snapped. After a moment, he palmed his forehead and sighed. “Sorry, Grizz. Emotion got the better of me. You’re a shining example of what I expect from my crew, and now I’m being told to hand over my ace in the hole.”

“I understand.”

He smiled mischievously, lowering his hand from his eyes again. “If you stay, I’ll make you partner. We’ll take this city by storm, yeah? Give me a couple of years, and we’ll be callin’ all the shots!”

It was sad to see him desperately try to play that card. Worse was how poorly he did it. I chalked that up to inexperience. This was probably the first time he’d ever been in this position, losing a hired gun clearly outside his league.

“You just need your lucky break,” I reassured him awkwardly. “Clemens, you’ll get there. Just give it time.”

“Yeah,” he bitterly scoffed. “Time.”

We sat in silence for a moment.

Just after the passing time started getting weird, he scraped a drawer open and pulled out a bottle of bourbon with a pair of glass tumblers. He rose from his chair and poured us both a congratulatory drink.

“Here,” he gruffly commented, pushing my glass a few inches forward with a finger.

I matched his stance, rising from my chair and clinking glasses with him. “What do we toast?”

Clemens thought for a moment.

“The future,” he grinned widely. “May it always turn in our favor through lesser times, for the both of us.”

I was almost touched.

We both downed our drinks together before taking our seats again, and he poured us another pair to sip as we continued.

“So, what happens now?” I asked.

“The others are willing to hear your case.”

“My case,” I repeated.

Another roadblock.

“That’s right,” Clemens nodded as he sipped his drink. He waved with his hand for me to do the same. “They are willing to hear you out on your… proposition.”

“Bringing the Devil’s Dragons club to New Orleans.”

“Without bloodshed.”

We wrapped up our conversation, and Clemens filled me in on how to contact the rest of the group. Once we were do

ne, he and I rose to shake hands.

“If you ever change your mind…”

“I’ll know where to find you,” I noted.

Satisfied, we parted ways. My last walk down the staircase left me both pleased and disappointed.

It felt like I was spinning my fucking tires in the mud. Every time I thought I was getting ahead here, there was something else to push me back down.

Maybe I could convince Julian’s partners in the local underworld that the Dragons brought something irreplaceable to the table.

Last face I saw before ditching Clemens’ kiddie pool operation was the rat bastard from before. Standing by the wall and looking pleased with himself, he was sniffing the air as I walked past.

“Heard you got tossed.”

I shouldn’t have bitten, but I was in a bad mood. A second later, I had a palm slammed against the wall above him, and my hand wrapped around his throat.

“What… are you… doing…”

“I have turned away from putting down people who have given me less shit than you have these last few weeks,” I snapped. “I’ve been patient, ass-face, but let’s get something clear between you and me – you’re one snide fucking word away from being a smear on the pavement outside.”

The fucker quivered, his eyes wide with panic. Just like all the other yappy assholes I’d dealt with on this side of the law, he was all bark and no bite.

And the bark was pathetic to begin with. Just like a tiny, snappy dog that felt it has something to prove, he lacked intimidation but knew how to grate on a goddamn nerve.

“You understand?” I demanded.

He weakly nodded, and I let go of his throat. It was only then that I realized I had been holding him a foot up off the ground.

Enough to put the fear of God in him.

“You’re an animal,” he sputtered as I turned away to leave.

“I am only an animal when I’m made into an animal,” I replied coolly. “When left in peace, I am but a slumbering bear. Wake the bear, and you wake the beast.”

He stayed quiet, rubbing his throat and bent over against the wall. I took that as all the reply I needed, and left the building.