talking shit with you, LeDoux. Let’s take it back to the goddamn cowboy days.”
Big Doug stepped up between the men and pushed the Outlaw guy square in the chest, knocking him back a few feet, and then every single goddamn Outlaw looked for a Born Loser skull to crack. There just wasn’t any time for Jason to explain he had never really formally joined a damn thing, had just decided to ride along as a gag, on a dare. But a fight is a fight, and there had always been something in Jason Colson that made him love fighting in a realand authentic way. He grabbed the first son of a bitch he saw and punched him hard in the mouth, feeling good to really connect to some teeth, none of this fake throwing shit anymore, knocking the dude on the ground and looking for more. There were grunts, blows, kicking, and yelling and swearing, and then some blood spilled on the pavement at the barbecue joint. Somewhere, a dog on a chain was going crazy, wanting to get into the mess, and the hot summer wind had changed, blowing woodsmoke down through the brawl, making eyes water and the whole wild scene seem like something out of a crazy dream. It was
Brutal Violence Turned On by Hot Chicks and Burning Rubber
, only there weren’t any hot chicks besides the two big-bottomed waitresses in red short shorts and tight ringer tees, screaming at them to either stop or beat some more ass.
Some Outlaw bastard had a big handful of Jason’s hair and was trying to run his ass straight into a long line of Born Losers’ bikes, but Jason rolled away from him, sweeping his legs out and then getting on top of the ugly man, punching him right in the ugly face, busting the man’s lip and nose and reaching for his long greasy hair to slam his head on the pavement.
Somebody reached for him, Jason realizing it was two more Outlaws, one of them with a long metal chain that he fitted around Jason’s neck and pulled, dragging him away from the bleeding man. Somewhere, someone fired a pistol. Someone yelled.
Jason could not breathe, thinking, God damn, this is how it all ends. You jump out of a helicopter, free-fall from a skyscraper, and plan to jump a car over a river, only to get your ass taken out by some redneck mad you ate his barbecue.
Jason was on his knees, trying for air and not succeeding a bit with the chain on his throat, when he heard a thwack and plunk and the pressure was gone, Jason rolling to his back, choking in long swallows of air. Big Doug appeared over him with the pipe, dripping with blood, and offered him a big meaty paw to get back to his feet and get on with it.
There was another shot, another cracking pistol. The women screamed,and the barbecue joint owner was in the middle of them all, blasting off his shotgun, but not a damn thing stopped until they all heard those sirens coming off Highway 78, the men backing away, the kicking and punching slowing down, until they were still, Outlaw and Born Loser alike crawling back on their choppers, giving one another the bird and tailing on out of the parking lot. Jason’s heart was jumping so bad in his chest, after not feeling that kind of worry for a good long while, that he nearly missed the fella laid out cold in the parking lot, a halo of blood spreading around the body and head.
One of the big-bottomed waitresses was screaming like hell, holding the Outlaw’s head in her lap, waiting for the law and medical help, and for the chaos to ride on down the road.
It wasn’t a mile away that the fists of the bikers raised in the sky, high off handlebars, bikes crisscrossing and bikers high-fiving, on the back highways to Jericho.
Y ou notice anything strange about that report in your hand, Sheriff?” Lillie said.
“The paper feels strange,” Quinn said, looking up from the stack of files on the desk. “Onionskin. Pretty damn thin.”
“And the report itself?”
“Real thin.”
Lillie nodded. She sat down with Quinn in the SO conference room, not much to the room but a long row
Big Doug stepped up between the men and pushed the Outlaw guy square in the chest, knocking him back a few feet, and then every single goddamn Outlaw looked for a Born Loser skull to crack. There just wasn’t any time for Jason to explain he had never really formally joined a damn thing, had just decided to ride along as a gag, on a dare. But a fight is a fight, and there had always been something in Jason Colson that made him love fighting in a realand authentic way. He grabbed the first son of a bitch he saw and punched him hard in the mouth, feeling good to really connect to some teeth, none of this fake throwing shit anymore, knocking the dude on the ground and looking for more. There were grunts, blows, kicking, and yelling and swearing, and then some blood spilled on the pavement at the barbecue joint. Somewhere, a dog on a chain was going crazy, wanting to get into the mess, and the hot summer wind had changed, blowing woodsmoke down through the brawl, making eyes water and the whole wild scene seem like something out of a crazy dream. It was
Brutal Violence Turned On by Hot Chicks and Burning Rubber
, only there weren’t any hot chicks besides the two big-bottomed waitresses in red short shorts and tight ringer tees, screaming at them to either stop or beat some more ass.
Some Outlaw bastard had a big handful of Jason’s hair and was trying to run his ass straight into a long line of Born Losers’ bikes, but Jason rolled away from him, sweeping his legs out and then getting on top of the ugly man, punching him right in the ugly face, busting the man’s lip and nose and reaching for his long greasy hair to slam his head on the pavement.
Somebody reached for him, Jason realizing it was two more Outlaws, one of them with a long metal chain that he fitted around Jason’s neck and pulled, dragging him away from the bleeding man. Somewhere, someone fired a pistol. Someone yelled.
Jason could not breathe, thinking, God damn, this is how it all ends. You jump out of a helicopter, free-fall from a skyscraper, and plan to jump a car over a river, only to get your ass taken out by some redneck mad you ate his barbecue.
Jason was on his knees, trying for air and not succeeding a bit with the chain on his throat, when he heard a thwack and plunk and the pressure was gone, Jason rolling to his back, choking in long swallows of air. Big Doug appeared over him with the pipe, dripping with blood, and offered him a big meaty paw to get back to his feet and get on with it.
There was another shot, another cracking pistol. The women screamed,and the barbecue joint owner was in the middle of them all, blasting off his shotgun, but not a damn thing stopped until they all heard those sirens coming off Highway 78, the men backing away, the kicking and punching slowing down, until they were still, Outlaw and Born Loser alike crawling back on their choppers, giving one another the bird and tailing on out of the parking lot. Jason’s heart was jumping so bad in his chest, after not feeling that kind of worry for a good long while, that he nearly missed the fella laid out cold in the parking lot, a halo of blood spreading around the body and head.
One of the big-bottomed waitresses was screaming like hell, holding the Outlaw’s head in her lap, waiting for the law and medical help, and for the chaos to ride on down the road.
It wasn’t a mile away that the fists of the bikers raised in the sky, high off handlebars, bikes crisscrossing and bikers high-fiving, on the back highways to Jericho.
Y ou notice anything strange about that report in your hand, Sheriff?” Lillie said.
“The paper feels strange,” Quinn said, looking up from the stack of files on the desk. “Onionskin. Pretty damn thin.”
“And the report itself?”
“Real thin.”
Lillie nodded. She sat down with Quinn in the SO conference room, not much to the room but a long row
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