Lefty felt the vibration of his old Pan's engine tingling in the small of his back. “Man I'm getting old,” he thought to himself heading out on a lonely desert highway. “The bike's running good,” again thinking to himself. He had experienced some electrical problems recently. The electrical system was almost fifty years old. He replaced the wiring harness once already. He was contemplating “biting the bullet”and springing for all new 12-volt components to replace the original 6-volt system still in place on his vintage Harley-Davidson FL Model. His bike continually turned heads wherever he rode it, and he damn sure rode it.
Lefty, the ultimate drifter, didn't hang his hat on the same hook for long. He had to see what was over that next horizon.
He started out from his hometown in New England, headed south and never looked back. Most of his family was either dead or in unknown places .
Lefty traveled light. All his earthly possessions were loaded in a worn Army duffel bag strapped to the luggage rails over his rear fender. Other necessary items were carried in faded leather saddlebags he installed many years ago. He recently finished a stint as a bricklayer at his last stopover. Flush with cash, he was ready for yet another grand adventure.
The sun beat down on him, as he headed west on a two-lane desert highway. The last vestiges of summer were slowly giving way to the desert autumn. He wasn't in any hurry.
His reflective mood was suddenly interrupted by a sputtering sound in his engine. He knew what would happen next. His electrical system had a tendency to “munch” voltage regulators. He normally carried a spare in his saddlebag. He learned that a 6-volt VW regulator worked just as well as a Harley replacement, at about a third of the cost, that is, if he could find one. He didn't have a spare as the Pan sputtered and coughed.
As he drifted to a stop, his thoughts were anything but pleasant. “Shit, right in the middle of Bumfuck, Egypt,” he lamented to himself. “I'm definitely buying all that 12- volt shit now,” further expressing his frustration out loud.
There wasn't a lot he could do. He had no cell phone. He was in a strange state, where he didn't know a solitary soul.
Several vehicles whistled along, but sped up when they saw him waving his arms. “Bunch of paranoid assholes,” he said to himself. Prospects weren't promising as the sun set. “Looks like an all nighter,” he commented out loud.
He could lay his sleeping bag down, but he was concerned about rattlers and other varmints way out in the middle of nowhere. Just then he saw the lights of an approaching vehicle in the distance. As it got closer, he could see it was a pickup truck. The cloudy skies all but blocked the light from the quarter moon flickering in the star filled sky.
As the vehicle came closer, he made out the lines of the pickup's cab and grill. He waved his arms and the truck sped past. “Shit,” he exclaimed in frustration. He began sit back down on his helmet when he saw the brake lights of the truck flash on.
It slowed and pulled a U-turn. He slipped one hand near his lower back so that he could reach the small .38 caliber Colt Detective Special revolver under his waistband.
The pickup pulled up beside him and the tinted, power-window began to drop. Behind the wheel of this shiny new, fully loaded, dually was the most drop dead gorgeous blonde bimbo he had ever seen.
He paused for a moment before replying. Quickly he regained his composure and replied, “Not anymore, darlin'!” he returned with his finest smile.
“Is there any way I can help you out?” she said with a lusty accent on “any way”. Lefty smiled profusely as he considered several ways this fox could be of “assistance”.
“I could think of a few dozen,” he replied coyly.
“How about I back into that gully and you roll your scooter up into the truck bed?”
“Scooter,” Lefty thought to himself. “This is even better, she's a Biker chick.” he felt encouraged more and more as their conversation progressed.
After a bit more flirtatious exchange of pleasantries, it was agreed that the chick, named Crystal, Lefty learned, would pull into the ditch and he would load the bike into the truck. Crystal whipped the truck around as though she parked cars for a living and backed into the ditch that made it relatively easy for Lefty to push his scoot into the bed. The sweat was well worth the rescue, especially considering the blonde lifeguard.
Crystal stepped out of the truck to watch Lefty complete his task. Lefty looked and saw that his initial assessment of her feminine pulchritude was, if anything, an under-estimate. She wore short-shorts, a thin tube top, with no bra, and a pair of knock-me-down-and-fuck-me platform shoes. He found it hard to concentrate on the bike. She even had some ratchet tie downs with “D” rings set in the truck bed liner. “Couldn't be more perfect,” Lefty thought.
Lefty jumped down out of the truckbed and closed the tailgate.
Crystal complemented him on his bike briefly, then said, “I'll just pull up to the side of the road and you can check the straps.”
She could've told Lefty that the moon was made of green cheese and he would have given her that same stupid smile as he replied, “OK, with me darlin'.” She strutted back to the cab of the truck with a walk that could stop a bull rhino in full charge and, ever so sweetly, climbed up onto the seat.
Lefty watched the bike as she pulled up out of the ditch. It looked as though it was secure.
Crystal hit the gas and sprayed Lefty with dust and gravel as she sped off down the highway with his beloved Pan in the back of the truck.
Lefty yelled out, “Hey Bitch! What do you think you're doing?” He watched as Crystal slammed on the brakes, bringing the truck to an abrupt stop, fifty yards away.
Momentarily relieved, he saw her step out of the truck. She then pulled up the thin tube top she was wearing and gave Lefty an eyeful of those bodacious melons which she gleefully shook for him. She quickly turned around and pulled the skimpy shorts down and mooned him just for good measure. Lefty couldn't help but admire her feminine attributes despite the fact that he was being ripped off of the only thing in the whole wide world that he gave a damn about. He ran after the truck as she quickly jumped back in the cab and sped off.
“You fucking whore!” Lefty screamed at the increasingly diminutive silhouette of the truck. He stood in the road, dumbfounded. Not only had he just lost his most prized possession, but also his gear. He never felt so violated in his entire life, as he did at this moment.
“Somehow, someway, I'll find that Bitch! When I do…..”, he let his spoken oath trail off.
He still had five grand in cold hard cash on his person. He had a good portion of that safely tucked into a velcro-fastened money belt under his faded blue jeans. He had his gun. He still had his ID, etc. The clothes and various other personal items were easy enough to replace. The bike was his wife and his life, his hope and his dope!
Lefty wasn't sure how far it was to the next town. All he could do was walk and hope for the best. He began hitchhiking, but, like before, the cars sped past without giving him a second look. An hour-and-a-half later, he flagged down a guy in an old beat up Chevy truck. When he opened the passenger door he saw that the driver was an old scooter tramp like himself.
“Hey Bro' what the hell you doing way out here?” he driver inquired of him.
“You won't believe when I tell you,” Lefty replied as he climbed into the cab. Lefty proceeded to relate the story of his encounter with the blonde, although reluctant to reveal all the details.
“Look Bro', my name is Lloyd. My friends call me LuckyDog. I'm with the Mongrels M/C out of the next town,” the driver informed Lefty. “I'll help you out anyway I can, short of wasting somebody.”
“Appreciate that,” Lefty said in gratitude. “Right now I gotta get me some wheels and a place to stay.”
LuckyDog was once again able to offer assistance. “Tell you what, I got a spare room. The old lady's visiting her mother till next week,” Lucky dog said. “I'll help you find some wheels!”
Lefty couldn't believe his good fortune, although he damn sure figured he was due some. “I'll buy the beer and food and get out of your hair as soon as possible,” Lefty said.
“No sweat, but let's get a beer,” Lucky said pulling into the dusty BOOBY HATCH parking lot. They walked in and took a seat at a table. The waitress jiggled over and gave LuckyDog a big hug and a kiss. She set a bottle of Bud down in front of both of them. “Lefty, this is my favorite waitress in the whole world, Angel,” LuckyDog said in way of introduction.
“Pleased to meet you darlin',” Lefty told the girl.
He found himself, reluctantly, comparing her to the blonde. He realized that there was no comparison. Lefty was watching the dancers when a thought hit him like a ton of bricks. “Dancer! I'll bet that bitch is a fuckin' dancer!” He turned to Lucky, “You know of a dancer named Crystal. A blonde bombshell?”
LuckyDog thought for a few moments, “Doesn't sound like any of the dancers in this place. Most of these aren't that good looking,” he said.
“Yea, I noticed,” Lefty replied, chuckling.
“She may be one of the Dancers at the PLATINUM PALACE over in Sagebrush,” LuckyDog suggested. “It's a real upscale club with the best looking bitches in the county.”
“That sounds like the kind of outfit that this broad would work at,” Lefty muttered.
LuckyDog had another thought, “Let me call my boss. He lives over that way and goes to that club on a regular basis. He can afford that place, I sure in the hell can't.”
He was back from the payphone in a flash. “You're in luck!. Boss says Crystal works the day shift. Sounds like the bitch you're looking for,” LuckyDog said with a growing excitement.
Lefty could barely contain himself. He formulated a plan for checking her out as soon as possible. LuckyDog broke his concentration, “Let's get out of here, jam to my place and figure out a plan of action!”
The ride to LuckyDog's pad was relatively short. Lefty asked him a variety of questions about the area as he considered his next move. He mentally made a list. First and foremost was a vehicle.
LuckyDog thought for a moment, “How much do you want to spend?”
Lefty quickly replied, “Not more than a grand.”
LuckyDog inquired, “You got the cash?”
Lefty hesitated a moment. He had already been ripped off. “I can get my hands on it,” he informed his host guardedly.
Lefty watched as LuckyDog sprang out of his chair, snatched the phone and made a call. Lefty listened as he said, “Hey Bongo. You still got that old pickup you were selling?” The conversation ended with LuckyDog smiling and giving Lefty the thumbs up sign before hanging up.
Lefty acquired info pertaining to his list. He dropped down on the twin bed in the back bedroom of the doublewide trailer that LuckyDog called home and fell asleep within minutes. His dreams led him on a tour of “Vengeance City” as he fitfully tossed and turned through the night.
Lefty was up and about before sunrise. He checked the pre-fab kitchen and found the coffeemaker and all the essential components for making a pot of fresh coffee. He was sitting at the dining room table going over his list and making additional notes when Lucky stumbled out of his room an hour later. They sat over steaming coffee and discussed the day's itinerary.
First stop was Bongo's to look at the truck. A quick $800.00 was just what Bongo needed to revive his Shovelhead. With the truck they found a second-hand clothing store in town. Lefty found a cheap suit, dress shirt and clip-on tie. “Been a long time since I had one of these on,” he jokingly told his companion.
Next stop was the barbershop. LuckyDog sat and watched as Floyd (who caught all kinds of hell for being named after Floyd the barber on the old Andy Griffith show) shaved Lefty clean and cut his long hair into a conservative straight guy's style.
Another call and the connection was made for a used well-worn double-barrel 12-gauge shotgun, that Lefty had purchased from another one of LuckyDog's Club Brothers. One by one Lefty's list was handled.
They were burnin' daylight as they pulled up to the crib. They got a chuckle over the straight suit on Lefty. LuckyDog pulled out a local road map and showed Lefty the roads he would use around the titty bar. Lefty made some quick notes on the map and prepared to leave.
He had about a forty-mile drive ahead of him. He tried to tune the AM radio in the old pickup on to any station but the radio wasn't working.
He passed billboards advertising the PLATINUM PALACE and other various businesses in the upscale suburb of Sagebrush.
He pulled around to the back past several rows of high-dollar vehicles parked in the front. Pulling passed corner of the building he saw a sight that made his heart leap. Parked in the rear was a new tandem-wheeled crew-cab custom truck that had been the escape vehicle for his lovely antagonist the other night. He parked a few spaces down and walked over to look at the truck once again. The sight of that truck made him relive the events that had turned his life upside-down.
His first reaction was to rush into the bar and snatch the whore up and tear her fuckin' head off. He regained his composure, however, and proceeded to implement the first part of his multi-faceted plan. He walked behind her truck, looked around, as nonchalantly as possible, before retrieving a small hammer from his pocket. He smashed the passenger side taillight lense and quickly walked away around the corner of the building towards the front entrance. It would help him track his quarry, if traffic became heavy during his pursuit.
He straightened his suit and entered the strip joint. The thump!, thump!, thump! of the music greeted him as he stood in the anteroom and paid the cover charge. He glanced at the doorman/bouncer sitting on the stool by the door to the inner portion of the club. The guy looked like Mr. Universe. He didn't look like the kind of fellow you'd like to meet in a dark alley. The girl behind the counter said, “Hello handsome, how are you today?”
He found himself in a large room with multiple colored neon lights, rotating and flashing spotlights, and chrome plated rails and furniture. The music was loud and fast paced. There was a beautiful nude brunette, with legs a mile long, strutting her stuff on one of the three runways that led off from the center stage.
The club was dark other than the neon and spotlights that followed the girl's every sulty move. He sat in a dark corner and ordered a beer.
After the brunette was done with her routine, the announcer spoke up and informed everyone that the PLATINUM PALACE was open 24 hours, 7 days a week, etc. Lefty's heartbeat began to quicken as he heard the announcer's next spiel. “GENTLEMEN, LET'S GIVE A BIG PLATINUM PALACE WELCOME TO OUR WORLD FAMOUS HEADLINER, THE ONE AND ONLY…..CAHHHRYSTAAAAL!!!!!! ” The lights dimmed and the music began to boom. The spotlights swirled around momentarily and then focused on the stage entrance where “The Blonde” made her grand entrance.
She came out in a sequined top hat and tails outfit that made her look like a new age Marlena Dietrich. It wasn't long before the outfit was gone and she was putting on a show that had Lefty totally enthralled despite the fact that he wanted to kill the slut. He was impressed with her athletic ability as she flipped and spun and slid up and down various chrome poles and other props. When she began to pleasure herself with a chrome-plated dildo, Lefty understood why this place was capable of charging the prices that they did.
Crystal gyrated through a fifteen-minute routine remaining on the center stage.When the music changed, she worked the runways taking tips in her garter belt. That elastic band and her platform shoes with lighted heels were the only clothing she wore. Lefty noticed the small tattoo on her right breast that he was barely able to discern the night she displayed herself to him in an insulting manner.
He watched her accepting what appeared to be a large denomination bill from an old timer in a Western cut suit with boots and an expensive-looking Stetson hat. She bent over and whispered something in his ear that made him smile like the cat that ate the canary. She came down the runway closest to Lefty. She looked right at him and looked right through him at the same time. He was just another face in the crowd as far as she was concerned. He was satisfied with her response.
Crystal's stint ended and she disappeared back behind the stage entrance. She soon emerged, as another girl took the stage, and sat with the old cowboy who had been tipped her so well. Lefty watched her fleece the old buckaroo out of what appeared to be several hundred dollars as he fawned over her and bought her drinks.
It was rolling into late afternoon. Crystal got up from the cowboy's table. Lefty watched as the old boy grabbed her arm and tried to talk her into staying. She smiled at him and tried to extricate herself from his grasp. One thing led to another and the bouncer came and subdued the old boy as Crystal tactfully slipped away from the confrontation.
Lefty ordered another beer as he waited for Crystal to emerge from the backstage area once again. Suddenly Lefty realized that he was missing a shift change. He walked quickly out the front door. He saw Crystal pulling out of the parking lot in her truck.
Darkness loomed as he struggled to keep her in sight on the long flat desert road without causing her any alarm. She drove for about thirty minutes before turning down another two-lane desert road. Lefty held back, he didn't want to bring any attention to himself. Fortunately, a car passed him as he sat on the side of the road and turned right on the same road that Crystal had.
The next light changed and Crystal took off straight-ahead. She pulled off onto a side road into a residential area. He drove down the road slowly maintaining his distance. The road shifted from asphalt to gravel road. He shut off his lights and drove another half mile, then he saw Crystal's truck parked in a driveway.
It was a modest looking home but he noticed that in the back was a rather large barn/garage. A jacked-up Jeep crowded the driveway and there were several vehicles parked around back. It looked like she had an old man.
The Jeep sported a Harley-Davidson license plate. He continued down the road and was pleased to see that there was a long way in between homes out here. When he came to the end, the road dead-ended into a dirt road that led to an oil rig ablaze with lights. He could make out the forms of men working on the rig.
He turned around and passed the house on his way back to the main road. He wrote down the address and name on the mailbox, TILLMAN. As he turned out of the housing track onto the highway, he ripped off his clip-on tie and tossed it out the window.
“Well, did you have any luck?” Luckydog asked inquisitively like a worried relative.
“Sure did,” Lefty replied.
“No Shit,” LuckyDog said waiting for more.
Lefty changed clothes and tossed the suit in the corner. LuckyDog didn't wait for him to come out of the bedroom. He stood outside the door and prodded Lefty into telling him the story.
“Look, I can't ask you to go any farther with me. This could get ugly, and you're the one who was born and raised here. I can always make my self scarce.”
Lefty laid in bed for another hour unable to sleep. Once again, it was a fitful night. He woke up once, with a start, thinking that he was reliving the bike theft. He went to the head and washed the cold sweat off his face. He regarded himself in the mirror. The clean-cut look was still foreign to him. He returned to bed and rested, as best he could, for the remainder of the night.
Lefty awoke from his half-sleep state to find himself alone in the trailer. LuckyDog was gone to places unknown. He took advantage of the solitude to arrange his “gear” and go over his plan once again. If all went well he didn't plan on returning to the trailer. He heard the sound of a Harley pulling into the gravel driveway. LuckyDog had returned, a bag of food from the local fast food restaurant, in his clutches.
mid-afternoon finally arrived, and he made a call. He took out the PLATINUM PALACE matchbook. He dialed the number and waited. A male voice answered “Platinum Palace”.
Lefty spoke into the receiver, “Yes, Hello, I'm bringing some friends this evening and I want to find out when Crystal will be on?”
“Her last show is at 7:30 tonight,” the man informed him.
Lucky breathed a sigh of relief.At last the time had come. He was nervous, but determined to see this thing through. He double-checked his gear. He had obtained a small rucksack to carry the few items. He hauled it and the shotgun, covered in a canvas case, to the cab of his truck. He walked back in the trailer and inspected his room one last time to make sure he wasn't leaving anything.
As the night consumed the desert he got into the pickup and pulled away. It was almost an hour drive. He had memorized the route.
He scarcely noticed the passing of time while driving. He tried to focus on every element of his plan. Would it work?Before he knew it, he rolled along the outer road leading to the road that Crystal's house was on. He made the turn and slowly headed down the road.
In a few minutes he came upon his ultimate destination. He looked to the right and saw the Jeep parked by the barn. He stopped quickly and turned his lights off. He got out and placed the covered shotgun from the truck in the drainage ditch near the house. He tied an old white sock around the barrel end so that he could find it quickly in the dark.
Lefty pulled his truck off to the side of the road a hundred yards or so from the oil rig path at the end. He could see the lights of the rig glaring off in the distance. There were no homes in this vicinity. No prying eyes to make his task any more difficult than it already was. He briefly thought about the time he worked on that rig back in Texas.
He grabbed the rucksack and walked back to the house. He wasn't sure how long it took him but he was relieved to see the lights of the barn. He located the shotgun in the ditch and retrieved it. He extracted it from the cover and then left the road, heading up the driveway. He quietly released the break down latch and felt to make sure both barrels were loaded. “This thing better fucking work,” he thought to himself.
Lefty reached in the rucksack and retrieved a small handful of items that he had prepared for this phase of the operation. He looked around and saw that the area of operation was effectively deserted. The only sign of life was the lights shining out through the side door of the barn. He began to crouch down and move slowly, quietly, towards the light. He stopped every ten yards and listen.
He reached the corner of the house when he heard a sound. He froze and waited. The sound came closer. Before it reached him, he tossed one of the pieces of raw steak he held in his right hand towards the corner of the house. He could make out the silhouette of a large dog sniffing, then gobbling down the steak he had offered. Lefty had already tossed another piece when the dog, a Rottweiler, looked over at him. He glared at Lefty unable to decide if he should bark, advance, or eat the steak. The steak won out after a pause that seemed like an eternity. Lefty continued to feed the dog steak, one piece at a time. He coaxed the dog closer and within a couple of minutes had made a life long friend. Lefty always did have a way with animals.
He petted the dog and spoke reassuringly to him in a low soft voice. The dog sniffed his rucksack expectantly. Lefty reached in and threw down a nice pile of steak chunks, making sure to spread them around a bit. He cut the chunks earlier and had inserted sleeping pills from the corner drugstore near LuckyDog's place. The dog concentrated on finding the meat chunks as Lefty continued towards the lit barn.
He was close enough to hear activity inside the open side door. The main doors were closed up tight. He slowly, using all the stealth that he could muster, made his way to the barn wall just prior to the edge of the door. He stood there for a minute and listened. He could hear a deep male voice inside engaged in what appeared to be a one-sided conversation. He realized that whoever was in there, probably Crystal's old man, was talking on the telephone. It must have been a portable phone because he suddenly could hear the man plainly as he walked closer to the door.
“Yea Man, this Pan is really cherry,” he said. “I had to replace the voltage regulator but it's running like a top! If you or your partner are interested you better get over here tomorrow! If you don't bring the cash, I'm going to part it out.”
Lefty suddenly realized that the monsterous Rot was next to him, sniffing his rucksack again. Sweat beaded on Lefty's brow. He couldn't risk making any noise, reaching for more steak chunks.
“OK man, I'll talk to you later,” the phone called ended, and the sound of the phone being replaced in its cradle followed. The dog whinned, trying to beg more meat. He watched the dog reach up with his paw and brush his eye area. It reminded him of the way a child rubbed his eyes when getting tired. He ate enough sleeping pills to knock out a horse.
The dog continued to whine. Suddenly, Lefty heard the man in the barn say, “What the Hell are your crying about, Zeus you dumbass?”
He heard the sound of footsteps heading in the direction of the door. Lefty pressed his back against the wall and prepared himself. His heart was beating so loud he could hear it in his eardrums. As the man stepped outside the door, Lefty swung the shotgun, in an upward buttstroke, and caught the man across his right temple.
There was a vicious “Crack” that startled both Lefty and the dog. Lefty hadn't realized it, but his nervousness and his anger had given him the strength to knock this clown out with one shotgun's butt strike.
Lefty cocked the weapon towards the dog. The Rot let out a slight groaning sound, as if confused, and went over and sniffed his master who was sprawled out at an odd angle by the door. Lefty quickly pulled out more meat and tossed it past the dog. The dog looked at Lefty, his master, and then the meat. He decided that the meat was of more importance than nursing his master back to health and proceeded to scarf the remaining morsels off the ground.
Lefty then swung the shotgun through the door and checked the interior of the barn. He saw exactly what he had been dying to see for the last few days, his Panhead. He continued to sweep the interior of the barn until he was sure it was clear. He stepped back outside and watched the dog continuing to devour the meat. He reached down and grabbed man's boots. He pulled with all his strength and drug the man back into the interior.
He dumped the contents of his rucksack on the bench. The man was wearing bib overalls, a black T-shirt and the engineer boots. He must have been about six foot four or five. Lefty estimated his bodyweight at about two hundred seventy-five of better.
Lefty rolled him over with some effort, and crossed his wrists over one another. He secured his arms together with two large industrial strength wire ties, one crossways and one vertically. He yanked them tight. He then took a roll of duct-tape and mummy-wrapped the man from head to toe until the tape was gone. He then grabbed a bandana and fashioned it into a gag, tying it over the mouth of the man. He dragged him to the rear of the garage, past boxes of motorcycle and car parts.
He found a loaded .45 Colt government model automatic on the workbench under a rag. He stuck it securely in his belt. He glanced at his watch. He walked and jogged down to his truck.
He drove it back to the house and backed it in to the driveway. Within minutes, after finding a loading ramp next to the front doors, he had his Panhead loaded and secured in the truck. He threw the tarp, he found in the barn, over the bike and lashed it to the truck. He left the keys on the floor of the truck under the front seat just in case.
He heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into the gravel driveway. He listened intently, and heard the unmistakable rattling of a diesel engine. He remembered that the truck Crystal was driving had been a diesel. Crystal, he surmised, was home!
“Ross, you in there Baby?” she asked cheerfully. She received no reply, “Ross.” Crystal walked through the door and instinctively looked to the left toward his workbench. Her eyes scanned the interior until she found the concrete where Ross was lying, all trussed up like the Christmas turkey.
“Oh my God, Ross, are you OK, Ross?” Crystal freaked out as she hurried to his side. She looked up as Lefty shut the barn's side door.
“Oh shit!, who the FUCK are you?” Crystal blurted out in fear?
“Don't you remember me, darlin'?” Lefty said to her in a dry sarcastic tone. “I came back to get that little item you 'borrowed' from me the other night.”
“YOU!”, Crystal cried out realizing now whom she was dealing with. “Oh please don't hurt me, I didn't want to do that. He makes me do those kind of things,” she pleaded. “I would have helped you but I have to play the sucker game or else he beats the shit out of me. You just don't know!”, the tears were making her eye makeup run.
Lefty was unimpressed with her performance. “You look REAL abused,” he retorted. He swung the shotgun down and pointed it right at Crystal's deliciously ample breasts.
“Oh God NO!!!, Please don't kill me!”, Crystal screamed. He duck-taped her to the bars of Ross's dresser and yanked off the short shorts. Lefty's thick leather belt rained down a severe justice on Crystal's lovely heart-shaped bare ass. She cried out, repeatedly, as Lefty extracted his revenge. Crystal continued to scream, cry, and beg Lefty to stop.
Crystal squirmed, sobbing uncontrollably, “Please no more, please! Fuck me or whatever you want but please don't beat me anymore!”
She looked like a “TORTURE-ME Barbie Doll”.
He ignore her and discovered a gas can near the rear of the barn. He began pouring gas all around the barn while she sobbed and pleaded. He lite a match and held it under her quivering nose. She pissed herself and passed out. Lefty stood back and blew out the flame. His job was done. He'd give LuckyDog the address on his way out of town.
As he pulled up to the club member's double-wide, he suddenly found himself surrounded by a pack of club riders wearing Mongrels M/C patches. LuckyDog, smiling and waving, was at the front of the pack. Lefty pulled over and got out.
“I figured you'd get it back,” he said beaming a big smile at his friend.
As Lefty stood there talking, for the first time he took a good look at the patches on the front of LuckyDog's colors. He was surprised that he hadn't noticed the PRESIDENT patch just below the American flag patch.
“Damn, all this time I've been staying with royalty,” he joked pointing to the badge of rank.
“Yea Bro', can you believe this bunch of morons elected me as the boss almost three years ago,” LuckyDog offered in way of explanation. “That brings me to an official duty I have to perform,” LuckyDog went to his saddlebags.
He reached in and pulled out a leather article. He handed it to him. Lefty held it up and looked at it.
“What's this?” he asked. When he turned it around he saw the patch. It read: MONGRELS PROBATIONARY. Lefty was touched. He had always been an independent. He had never been offered the opportunity to join a club, mostly because he didn't stay in one place too long. He had to turn down the offer and LuckyDog understood, “They'll always be here for you.”
Lefty unloaded the truck, returned the keys to the president and readied his ride. As the party subsided, he rolled out of town.
–BULLDOG
