Marko rubbed his eyes. It was almost 3:00 a.m., a bastard of a time to be awake. He turned to the phone base system and pressed the button for messages. He recognized Dr. Feng’s number and called him back.
“Come in, over?” Dr. Feng said.
“You called the Cantina about a girl?” Marko asked.
“Yes, Olivia,” Dr. Feng said. “You know her?”
“Everyone knows her,” Marko said. “She’s bad to the core. What the hell are you doing with her?”
“Nothing, right now,” Dr. Feng, the constant romantic, said in a longing voice. He was trying to be tough, but it wasn’t working.
“She’s a psycho,” Marko said. “She’s the worst of the worst. As Bandit’s pappy would say, ‘She’s not worth the powder to blow her to hell.’”
“Maybe, and she was playing her games last night and ditched me for some young thugs,” Dr. Feng said, trying to sort through his thoughts. She was hot to look at and under the sheets. But Marko was right on, she contained an evil streak. “I was just checking.”
Marko ran the night back in his mind. He remembered the guys who came in with the tall blonde. “You traded for the tall blonde?”
“Yep,” Dr. Feng said.
“You wouldn’t be calling if the blonde worked out,” Marko said.
“You’re probably right,” Dr. Feng said.
“Let me see what I can do,” Marko said and hung up. It was all nuts. Women. It was a confusing game. Too bad guys couldn’t rent beautiful bodies, make love and turn them in. Behind the super structure of over-made-up silky flesh, luscious lips, soft as heaven boobs and butts curved as perfect as a peach, is a human being—good and bad.
The human aspect could be using the exterior for all its worth, like a financial lure, a baby trap or worse. On the other hand, the most beautiful babe could have no mental connection between her ultra-soft exterior and her psyche. She could be just a straight-up good person in a Ferrari body.
Some broads deserved whatever came their way. They didn’t use their brains for anything but to enhance the sexual hook. Once they lost their looks, they contained nothing, no education, no integrity, heart, or work ethic. They were like a blossoming flower, about to reach a visual crest, but when the flower faded, they lost their superficial luster.
Marko was perplexed. He knew Olivia and how she worked men over, took their shit, destroyed their hearts and moved on. She truly wasn’t worth the powder to blow her to hell, but he had another issue.
Another girl recently disappeared in the harbor. And these three brothers were building the wrong reputation. He wondered if there was a connection.
Olivia lost her connection with reality.
Drugs used in date rapes include flunitrazepam (Rohypnol) and gamma-hydroxybutyrate (GHB). These drugs inhibit a person’s ability to resist sexual assault.
Gamma-hydroxybutyrate (GHB) is a central nervous system depressant. GHB is a clear, odorless liquid that looks like water and so can be added to a beverage without the person knowing it. It may also be used in the form of a white powder. GHB is also known as liquid ecstasy, G, or soap.
At low doses, the drug relaxes the person. The person feels intoxicated, has more energy, feels happy, and is talkative. Other effects include: Feeling affectionate and playful, mild loss of inhibition, increased sensuality, enhanced sexual feelings.
GHB can cause unwanted side effects, such as headache, drowsiness, dizziness, and vomiting. It can lead to difficulty breathing, being conscious but unable to move, and loss of consciousness-especially when it is combined with alcohol or other drugs. GHB has been involved in overdoses, date rapes, and death.
This drug does not stay in a person’s system very long and is not easily detected with drug screening tests (toxicology tests).
In Olivia’s case, Rick, the drug addict, freak with bright blue eyes, mixed the GHB with meth, horse tranquilizer, a touch of cocaine and shots of Jack Daniels. She was a turning point for the brothers who were high as kites, and each one contained a different mantra enhanced by all the booze and drugs.
Craig could care less. He didn’t have a whole lot of respect for women. His mom was an enabling tart. He saw nothing good in the fairer sex. The middle brother just wanted acceptance from his older, more violent brother. The last brother, Rick, was gone. He was nothing more than a drug addict blasting from one high to the next. He was totally immoral and completely weak to substance abuse.
They each took their turn with Olivia as she drifted from one drug impact to the next. Her nervous system was in shambles, as she swung chained down from one dick to the next.
Unfortunately for her, as the brothers’ highs peaked and their bodies were spent their erections faded and they pondered the tall brunette’s fate. “We’ve got to do something with her.”
“Yeah, I know exactly what,” Craig said snickering. “What else can we do?”
“She offered herself for some cash,” said Carl and played with her supple tits. “Let’s give her some cash and cut her lose.”
“I’d rather slit her throat than give this slut a dime,” Craig said. “I want to butt fuck her again.”
The one brother who was trying to pull something together in his life reeled from the cocaine, meth and whiskey, but something clicked in his scrambled brain. The electronic impulses, hundreds of thousands of them spelled different scenarios. He had fond memories of working hard and caring for some of the women in his life.
He experienced many of the same negative parental circumstances as his brother, but he wasn’t on the front line. He had a girl and wanted to build something, but he knew the chances were she would betray him, get pregnant without his consent, or run off. It generally wasn’t a pretty picture, and neither was his mom.
Something more crept across the myriad of teaming nerve center areas in his brain. He had an uncle who was a straight shooter to the bone. He worked hard and was always a mentor, a guiding light to the right side of the tracks. But even his uncle was somewhat of an outlaw. He had no religious upbringing, no commandments, or even a disciplinary code.
“But our shit could be toast,” Carl said, “If we hurt her.”
.jpg)
Bandit had a code when it came to women, a hard and fast rule, and Marko always followed it. Marko picked up the Cantina security home line phone and turned it over. On the bottom was a small red button. He pushed it.
Within 30 seconds the phone rang. “What’s the deal?” Bandit asked.
“A broad may have been abducted,” Marko reported. “That would be the second one in a month and I have local suspicions.”
“The three brothers here in the port?” Bandit asked.
How the fuck did he know, Marko thought. “Yes, I believe so.”
“We better reach the brothers and cover the port loud like,” Bandit said. “Let’s blanket the port as fast as we can on bikes.”
They had an emergency system with riders all over San Pedro, Wilmington and Long Beach. Marko immediately turned to his computer and sent a mass e-mail. “Hey, this is a code red. We need to have bikes on all the docks immediately—loud and fast. A second girl has been abducted. We’re looking for three brothers and a warehouse here in the Ports of LA or Long Beach.”
He pressed send, and the e-mail blasted to 8 strong brothers in the area. Within 15 minutes, riders pulled out of garages, shops, and apartments on their bikes and rolled toward the port. Each one had a designated portion of the port to scour.
Bandit rolled his new Indian outside of the shop along with Marko and his FXR. Bandit knew the severity of this move. If these wicked brothers had any sense, they would have played it low key forever.
“Let’s roll,” Bandit said and fired his 2014 Chief to life.
The brothers were spent, each two or three times, and the night’s dynamic was about to change. Olivia’s voluptuous body, covered in cum and stale whiskey, lay chained in place limp.
No fight in her form remained, but something else. Here hair matted, her body dirty and slippery lost its sensual lure. She turned from a driving sexual force to a slimy manikin.
Rick lay sprawled on a leather couch nearly passed out. “Wake up,” Craig snapped pulling on his shorts and denims and buckling his leather belt.
Carl was already dressed. “I’ve got to go. I need to go to work in a couple of hours.”
“Bullshit,” Craig snapped. “I want to crash too, but we need to deal with this bag of bones. Grab her shit.”
Carl splashed water in his face. Still high on meth, it over compensated for the whiskey intake and he was alert and physically in control. He washed his hands and face, while grinding his teeth then searched their warehouse for any signs of Olivia, her purse, jewelry and clothes.
Craig looked around the room for evidence. Somewhere in the back of his brain he needed to find a survival direction. His dad was a mean and nasty biker. He never ran with a club, because no one would have him. He was violent without direction. He would hit anyone at any time. It got him shot a couple of times. He just didn’t give a shit about anything, his family, incarceration, nothing.
If he thought he was right, it didn’t matter if he was or not; he would attack. It often leads to very bad circumstances. His use of drugs lost his family home, his wife and kids, and ultimately his freedom. Craig contained a similar streak, but somewhere in his fired-up brain cells there was a moral code hanging on for dear life.
In this case, the code didn’t do him any good except to allow reality to surface slightly. They had no choice, but to kill the girl and make the body disappear. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about the girl, but he did have an inkling of concern for his brothers. He started to consider the exit strategy.
“Throw some water on Rick,” Craig ordered. “We need to get him up and get him dressed.”
Bandit’s squadron of riders rolled into the harbor areas. With the terrorism excuse, harbors were less accessible, but there were still industrial components, buildings, warehouses, and truck lots surrounding the areas. The truck parking lots often became communities with mobile eateries, drug dealers, whores, you name it.
The cadre of riders swept the areas around the ports looking for anything suspicious. Ryan from Long Beach searched the west end of Long Beach on his long chopper with upsweeps slapping the sides of building with their harsh exhaust notes.
It was fortunate to be 4:30 under the sliver of a moon, so Ryan could see any lights in the interior of a galvanized steel buildings, even without windows and most didn’t have many. He watched for skylights, or any signs of life, like extra vehicles parked out front.
The streets on the west side of long beach were non-descript. Over the years, rules and regs changed. In some cases, a street was scattered with an odd array of buildings from tin sheds, to old stucco homes, cinderblock building and concrete tilt-ups.
Ryan, a young short stubby rider and bike builder, knew these streets like the back of his hand. He grew up on the edge of Signal Hill under the guardianship of a single mom. He roamed the streets as a youngster and found himself on the wrong side of the law often. In fact, if it hadn’t been for his capture, he wouldn’t have been forced into a trade school, where he learned welding and bodywork.
His loud pipes jarred the criminal attention of active thieves in the area as he rapped through the neighborhood cracking his throttle and watching for any movement. At one point, he came across an open yard containing a half-dozen small foreign make cars scattered around, and a small 2000 square-foot old stucco building in the back of the gravel yard. Lights were on as he pulled into the yard and slid to a stop.
He walked briskly up to the sliding shop door and peered inside. A young crew of multi-cultural street racers prepared another turbo-charged street racer over a dyno for tuning and testing. The roar of the high performance engine as it shifted through the gears even muffled the sound of his fishtips. They never heard him coming.
He returned to his bike and kept searching his neighborhood.
Across town is San Pedro, Jeremiah searched some of the oldest areas of the Port of Los Angeles on his performance Dyna. Most of this area was being gentrified as the community complained about port activities in their area. They wanted to push every port operation into Wilmington, and for the most part, they were successful.
Marko bounced over the Henry Ford Bridge, which was mechanical and lifted for ships, but it was soon to be replaced. Times were changing fast, and not altogether for the better. Marko slithered through some odd new street to reach a bank of old abandoned warehouses often used for movies. He blasted alongside some of the oldest buildings still accessible to the public or truckers. Rapidly port facilities were sequestered behind gates with security guard shacks.
That’s where he spotted a lit tin building with one late-model black Mustang parked out front. It was Craig’s and he knew it from the metallic marijuana sticker on the bumper. Slivers of light crept around the door. Marko rapped his pipes and rode as close to the building as possible, then peeled to the end of the street. Where he turned to the right and rode around the building fast on his stretched FXR performing the same maneuver.
Inside the tin building the brothers panicked except for Craig. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here,” Carl almost cried. The drugs, the pot, the booze collided into a heightened sense of paranoia. Suddenly petrified, he grabbed at the shackles holding Olivia in place and started to undo the restraints.
Rick tried to make some sense of the situation and still maintain his high. He finished dressing and tried to make his way to the bar to snort one final line. Craig caught him and pushed him toward the door. “Get in the car, asshole,” Craig said. “We need to move.”
Craig helped Carl free the limp body and carry her to the leather couch. They laid her down, wiped her down, like you would a damp car covered in dew for the early morning drive to work. They covered her with a blanket and headed for the door.
She wasn’t cold, so she wasn’t dead and Craig was disappointed. He wanted to get rid of the body, but there was no time. In the back of his mind he resolved himself to going down, but it bothered him that his brothers would also be implicated. “Let’s go,” Craig ordered and the brothers scrambled out the door and jumped in the hot rod Mustang.
Craig fired it to life and peeled away from the docks. He wasn’t sure what the hell he was going to do or if he should run, maybe to Arizona or Mexico.
As Marko rounded the corner, the Mustang was gone. He thought he heard something like screeching tires. He slid up to the warehouse and kicked out his side stand. As he jumped off the bike he snapped open his cell phone and pinged Bandit.
In five minutes, the big 2014 Indian Chief arrived and Bandit and Marko opened the large galvanized sliding door to the man- cave on the harbor. It smelled of sweat and drugs.
Olivia lay passed out on the couch covered in enough DNA to bury the brothers. She smelled of whiskey, drugs, and sweat, but she was breathing. In a matter of minutes Kate, a detective from the San Pedro PD arrived and an EMT ambulance. The warehouse was full of fingerprints and traces of drugs, but there was no stash found.
Olivia was carefully wrapped in a hospital gown and placed on a gurney after she was swabbed for evidence. ?
“She will need to file charges,” Detective Kate said as she looked to Bandit as if for guidance.
“Let us know,” Bandit said and nodded at Marko. The officer shook Bandit’s hand, but there was something more. She returned to the crime scene as Bandit and Marko returned to their bikes.
“What’s the deal with her?” Marko said.
“We have history, brother,” Bandit said and straddled his Indian.
Marko scratched his chin and threw a leg over his stretched FXR. If Olivia filed, the brothers were toast, but would the psycho charge them? Would she implicate them in the other murder? Would she want to be involved? Time would tell and shit would smell.
