BREAKING THE RULES: Forsaken 99 MC Page 2

  Jules slid off the stool to intervene, but he wasn’t fast enough. When Bell started pushing the kid backwards with the cue to get some space between him and Fish, the kid threw a punch that connected solidly with Bell’s face, causing Bell to stagger back. Before Bell could recover, Fish’s pool cue came around in a swishing arc that caught the kid across the back, sending him to the floor with his back arched in pain.

  The rest of Forsaken 99 rose from their places to square off on the downed guy’s friends, but before the fight could proceed further, the sound of a shotgun being pumped stilled the entire room.

  “Alex!” Rachel shouted, calling the one person she recognized by name. “Y’all stop this shit right now before I fill you full of birdshot!” When nobody moved, Rachel continued in a calmer voice. “Pick him up and take him home before I call Chief Council and tell him you boys are in here starting fights. Now get!”

  As the three pick up their downed man and help him out, Jules moved to Bell. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’ve had women slap me harder than that. He just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “From the look of that eye, you must have been slapped by a hell of a woman, then,” Fish teased.

  “You okay?” Rachel asked as she walked up, the shotgun still in her hand.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry about that. I didn’t intend to start a fight.”

  “Not your fault. At least you didn’t break the furniture this time. Let me buy you a beer?”

  Bell chuckled. “Sure. Thanks.”

  Fish slapped Bell on the back. “If I let Jules punch me in the face, do I get a free beer too?” Fish asked Rachel with a grin.

  Rachel grinned. “No, sorry. I don’t want to be responsible for Jules breaking his hand on your hard head.”

  Jules snickered as the rest of the Forsaken 99 crew roared their approval over Rachel’s remark. As Rachel escorted Bell to the bar for his free beer, Jules leaned in close to Fish. “Thanks for holding back on that kid and not breaking the cue over his head.”

  Fish grinned. “I’ve had enough of that for one day. Besides, he was just in here trying to prove how big his dick is.”

  “I guess he found out, didn’t he?”

  Fish spun the cue like a staff and laid it on the table. “Yeah, I guess he did.”

  “Do you know this Vicky?”

  “Fuck no! I don’t know what the kid was talking about.” Fish paused before he gave Jules a sly smile. “But you know me. I have so many women throwing themselves at me all the time, who can keep them all straight.”

  Jules snickered again and steered Fish toward the bar by the shoulder. “Because I don’t feel like dressing up for your funeral, I won’t tell Kristen you said that.”

  “You doing okay?” Fish asked as he sat down next to Jules later that evening.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Because you look like you could use a friend. I just wanted to make sure you are okay before I leave. Mags is at home... and I’m in the mood for some comforting of the female persuasion.”

  Jules chuckled. If he had Kristen waiting for him at home, he would be in the mood for some comforting, as well.

  “Go. I’m good. I’m going to finish this beer and head out myself.”

  Fish looked at Jules a moment and then stood up. “All right, brother. But if you need anything tonight, you call.”

  “Thanks, Fish. But I’m fine. It just bums me out to see people treated like…animals.”

  “Is that all it is?”

  “That’s it, man. I’m good. Really.”

  “Alright, then. You take care tonight.”

  “Thanks, bro. I will.”

  ***

  Bell was the only Forsaken 99 left in HNH, besides himself, when Jules finished his beer. Bell was busy talking up a sweet thing and looked like he would be a while.

  “Thanks, Rachel,” Jules said as he rose and tossed a pair of twenties on the bar. The two bills were far more than required to cover his tab.

  Rachel nodded at his generosity while she prepared another order. “Thanks, Jules.”

  Jules gave her a wave and a wan smile as he walked toward the door. Outside he breathed deep, taking in the cooling night air. He debated going for a ride to clear his head, but decided that with four beers in him, it would be best to just go home. No point looking for trouble. He mounted up and thumbed his Fat Boy to life. Pulling out of the parking lot of He’s Not Here, Jules dropped the hammer on the bike and bellowed away into the night.

  ***

  “All done!” Angie crowed hours later, sticking her head into the kitchen.

  “Thanks, Angie… you can go ahead and leave if you want,” Rachel said as she loaded the glassware into the giant washer.

  “Thanks, Rachel. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

  Rachel nodded as Angie whipped off her money pouch and picked up her things. The kitchen closed two hours before the bar so the kitchen staff had time to clean up and get out at a reasonable hour. With Angie cleaning tables and sweeping up, and Rachel wiping down and oiling the bar, unloading the dishes and reloading the washer with the remaining glasses, it only took thirty or forty minutes to whip HNH into shape for the next day.

  Rachel slid the trays into the washer and pressed the start button. She gave the machine a pat when it clicked and hissed as the scalding hot water poured into it. Her dad, when he ran the place, had the staff wash all the dishes by hand. Having done her share of washing herself, the first thing she did when she took over the bar was to buy the commercial dishwasher.

  While the machine sanitized the glassware, Rachel counted out the register drawer in her office. Deposit made up, she returned to the kitchen and began to empty the dishwasher. Even through her gloves, the dishes were still almost too hot to handle.

  As she quickly stacked the glasses, she let her mind wander and she wondered what was eating Jules tonight. He was always a little moody after he had been out on an intercept, but he had seemed almost depressed tonight. He would brighten briefly when someone spoke to him, but then return to staring into his beer. She could understand that. No matter how richly deserved, killing a man had to be hard. And Jules seemed to go out on more intercepts than anyone else.

  What he needed was a break. He needed to get away from the stress of the intercepts and the resulting death for a while – go into the rotation with the rest of the guys so he wasn’t always on the line and avoid burning out.

  Finished unloading the glasses, Rachel surveyed the kitchen to make sure everything was clean and ready for Tuesday. It was. She didn’t even know why she bothered to check anymore. Ever since Tim had taken over the kitchen, the place positively gleamed. Between Tim, Angie, Rachel, and herself, they had a smoothly working team.

  Satisfied that all was right and the bar was ready to open again Tuesday afternoon, Rachel returned to her office and picked up her purse, the deposit, and the keys to her truck. Flipping off lights on the way out, Rachel locked up and climbed into the bright red 1950 Chevy pickup with the He’s Not Here logo, the bar’s name in an art deco script inside a decorative border, painted on the doors.

  As she turned the truck out of the parking lot on her way to make her deposit, Rachel decided she would have to talk to Jules about working too hard. HNH is a happy bar, full of fun and laughter. If he is going to sulk, he needed to go to Shots. But she liked Jules too much for him to leave, so she was just going to have to convince him he had to straighten up and learn to relax.

  Chapter Two

  Jules backed his bike into the garage next to his white Chevrolet Tahoe. He killed the engine but didn’t dismount from the bike. He didn’t want to go into the house…demons waited for him there. After a moment, he sighed, parked his helmet on the mirror, then leaned the bike over onto the stand and swung his leg over the machine.

  Slapping the door control as he entered the house, he stopped at the fridge and pulled out another beer and sandwich makings. He wasn’t hungry, but he hadn’t eaten si
nce lunch and he knew his lack of appetite was just his depression talking.

  Throwing together a sandwich without any care to what it was made of, he took his plate and beer into the living room and dropped into his recliner. Setting aside his beer, he turned on the television, the screen coming to life on The Weather Channel. Good enough.

  He consumed his dinner without enthusiasm, staring at the television without noticing what he was watching. Sandwich eaten and beer drank, he rose from his chair and took his plate and bottle to the kitchen. He placed the plate in the washer then rinsed the bottle and chucked it into the recycle bin in the garage. As he shut the door he stared at a cabinet door a moment before opening it and removing the half full bottle of Jack Daniels Black Label and a shot glass.

  He returned to the living room and sat the bottle and glass on the table, pouring a shot and downing the amber liquid in a single toss. His face twisted as he battled the burn and then opened the binder that held his memories in 4”x6” splashes of color. He flipped to near the end, his fingers finding the proper page through long practice.

  He poured himself another and tossed it back to join its mate before setting the glass back on the table. As his eyesight cleared, he looked at the pictures and his lips crooked into a sad smile. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stared at the photos of men and women in uniform, grinning at the camera with the Iraqi desert in the background. As he stared at the first two pages of photos displayed before him, Jules distractedly poured another shot. With a small toast to the photos, he threw it back with a silent snarl. He flipped the page and smiled as he saw the picture of himself on his hands and knees in the sand, part of the bottom layer of the four-high pyramid of troops. These were his brothers in arms, his friends and platoon mates. And they were dead. Every last fucking one of them. Dead over five years...as he should have been.

  He turned the page again. More pictures. More smiling faces. Another page turn, then another. He reached for the bottle again and began to pour, then stopped, before taking the lid and screwing it back on. He closed the binder and leaned his head back against the chair, his eyes closed as the Jack warmed him.

  Every person in the photos was dead; his platoon wiped out to the last man…with the exception of himself. He had received a miracle…and was blessed with a curse.

  When he returned to Grass Range, Montana, he had been treated to a hero’s welcome. His parents were both bursting with pride at his return, breathlessly telling anyone that would listen how he had won a Bronze Star for his actions. He hardly recognized himself in the stories. He was no hero, just lucky, and he should have died with all the rest of his brothers in arms.

  The small town hero gig got old, fast, and as soon as the snow melted he bought a Harley and hit the road. Leaving his crying mother in Grass Range with a promise to return, he rode where the notion took him. As summer bled into fall, he kept heading farther south, unable to yet face the familiar faces…and the memories they brought.

  As Christmas approached, he had been hanging out in Del Rio, Texas, enjoying the warm weather, before moving on. He had been putting the moves on a Latina beauty when a half-dozen bikers rolled into the bar. He had recognized them immediately as military. Well, ex-military. You can grow out your hair and beard, but it’s much harder to hide the way you stand and move.

  He had just about talked Elena into a ride, first on his hog, then on himself, when some guy had walked in and claimed her as his own. Not wanting to get into a fight, Jules had backed off…until the greaser slapped her. That hadn’t set too well with him and before anyone could intervene, he had laid the greaser out cold. And worse, after kicking the shit out of her man, Elena wouldn’t have anything to do with him either. He was just sitting down again, sucking on a bleeding knuckle, when one of the bikers had approached him.

  Forsaken 99 was his family now, like Second Platoon was then. They had recruited him in Del Rio, and he had followed them to Vallecito de Grande to meet Todd Webber, President of the Forsaken 99 Motorcycle Club. Todd was older, in his late fifties, but he still carried himself with the same military bearing that all of Forsaken 99 did. Todd had offered him the hospitality of their clubhouse for as long as he needed it.

  After looking around the town, and talking with the other members, Jules had pulled Todd aside and asked if they needed another member. Forsaken 99 had called a vote the next day, and he was given his prospect patch. From that moment on, he had worked tirelessly to promote the club, and recruit other members, to offer them a home, as Bell and Fish had done for him.

  Jules looked at the time and was surprised at the lateness of the hour. The Jack had relaxed him and the time had gotten away from him. He carefully returned the binder to the shelf and took the bottle and glass to the kitchen.

  After a quick brush of his teeth, he tumbled into bed wearing nothing at all to help combat the heat and the night sweats. He lay on his side, staring at the clock as its glowing red numerals announced the new day.

  ***

  “Hey… if it isn’t Li’l Jules! You going to join us, Sarge?” Corporal Haynes called, scooting over to make room.

  Jules grinned and sat his tray down beside Haynes. “You ready for the milk run up to Kirkuk tomorrow?”

  “Yes, sir! The heat in Baghdad is killing me. See the world, they said. I tell you, Sarge, Iraq is about as far from Iowa as you can get and still be on planet earth.”

  Jules laughed. Haynes wasn’t much on formality, but he knew his shit and was always good for a laugh. “I feel your pain, Corporal; I feel your pain.”

  “Yeah. I bet you do. It’s hot as fucking Texas here, especially if you’re trapped in the back of a delivery truck.”

  “What?” Jules asked, confused by Haynes’s change of subject.

  “The Mexicans, Sarge, the Mexicans. That was a nice thing you did, giving them water like that. That little girl looked like she was about to drop. You might have saved her life.”

  “I—” Jules began, but Haynes cut him off.

  “Come on! You’re too modest. Like when you tried to save me, Cummings, Fox, and Jenkins.”

  “Save you? Save you from what?”

  “From being killed tomorrow.”

  Jules felt his blood run cold. “You know you are going to die tomorrow?”

  “We all are. Well, all but you; you lucky bastard.”

  Jules sat at a complete loss of words. “How do you know this?”

  “Because it already happened. What’s the matter, Sarge? Can’t you remember?”

  “I remember…” Jules whispered.

  “Yeah. It was fucking awful. I remember giving you my gun after you ran dry. You sure gave ‘em hell, didn’t you?”

  “But I couldn’t save anyone.”

  “You saved yourself. You lived and were able to tell our story. I’m glad. I wouldn’t have wanted First Platoon to think we died like a bunch of pussies.”

  “I shouldn’t have lived. I should have died with you,” Jules said softly.

  They were no longer at the mess table, but walking through the wreckage of their convoy.

  “Oh, horseshit, Sargent.”

  Jules looked into Haynes’s face and he could feel the tears forming. “I tried, Haynes. I really did. If I could have saved you – if I could have saved just one person...”

  Haynes took Jules by the shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I know you did. You did more than anyone could expect. You tried to pull our asses out of the fire. And you won a Bronze Star for it, too. Nobody blames you, Sarge. We took on a fucking company and stood them off until help could arrive. I’d like to see First Platoon do that!”

  “But what do I do now?”

  “You go on with your life. You’re still in the fight, Sarge. You’re doing good work. Just make sure you don’t let the monster get you.”

  “Monster?”

  “The darkness. Evil. Call it what you will. Don’t disgrace our memory by going to the dark side,” Haynes said then made brea
thing noises like Darth Vader.

  Jules shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Haynes looked at Jules until he met his eyes. “Of course you do. Some of the guys… they seem to enjoy the killing just a little too much, don’t you think? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. You wouldn’t lie to your pal Haynes, would you?”

  “Those fucking bastards deserve to die!”

  “I didn’t say they don’t. But you don’t have to enjoy the work. That’s all I’m saying. Look at Fish. He could have broken that kid’s back tonight, but he didn’t. He pulled back and only used as much force as necessary. Can you say that about Dwayne? Or Gigolo?”