Here is a story about the havoc Toric brings upon the Club, about Tig's guilt for Dawn's death and about Jax's struggles to keep the raft afloat, while Tara is facing serious time behind bars and Pope's replacement is still looking for answers. Comments highly appreciated.
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Mr Doomsday
A story by Dianne Winter
Chapter 1
TIG GETS HIS beer from Rosa, eyes narrowed lazy on her big breasts then he pushes a gun in her face just for fun, because he likes to hear her squeal with a full mouth. And to this, Chibs shakes his gray head saying:
"Yer a sick fuck, Tiggy!"
The man shrugs taking a gulp. A bit of liquid drips down the corners of his lips stretched into a smirk, tongue running in cheek.
"Yeah."
For as long as Tig knows Rosa, she's been banging everybody. Nowadays she keeps her pants on around Mr Apocalypse, Mr Big Trouble, Mr Hare Genocide, her neighbor, but she keeps them on not because she wants to, but because the man is too crazed to show interest. This renders Rosa quite useless apart from pranks, gang bang sex, cool beer and a house bordering Mr Doomsday's perimeter. Here is the catch.
Tig likes the style and thinks he might have made friends with the dude over a cool beer, had it not been for the current circumstances. Or not, because Tig doesn't make friends with former cops, law enforcers, prison guards and any other authority present or retired. And now there are also the circumstances.
He giggles silly staring into Rosa's dark eyes getting darker as her pupils dilate then he puts the gun on the cupboard.
Chibs is still shaking his head, but Tig puffs amused because the safety was on and she didn't even notice. She gets scared quickly and deeply, just the way she cums. Now that's a gift, the man ponders.
"Ya, dumb thang!"
Rosa, yeah, she might be downright stupid sometimes, but having lived up to this age of forty two at least she acquired some wisdom. This in turn, tells her to keep it very shallow with Tig and never remain alone in the house when he is around, because there are dark thoughts going on in his mind. As wretched and empty as she may be, Rosa has more reasons to stay alive than he does and this puts her in survivor mode.
So perhaps her calling the Sons to her aid wasn't that bad of an idea throughout.
What Rosa doesn't know is that to Tig she has become as close as it gets to a wife and sometimes a mother, what men often call a woman. Herhanging, meaty tits, her round hips, her swaying stride provided the visual. Her cooking, her cleaning and her kind concerns, the mental. Her creepy son, the mercy. Tig was entranced each time the boy walked in, twisting his head from side to side, sweeping the area with his remaining eye, burn scar running from the neck, to his foot, but the biker had no idea just how far that reached and he didn't care to learn either. Each time the kid walked in, Tig's eyebrows were twisting upwards just where they came close to his nose, making him look a bit like a witness to a car crash.
"Damned creepy one eyed kid with a fire scar down one shoulder, man," he was mumbling squeezing his mustache between two fingers. "Fuck!"
"Vamonos?"
Tig throbs staring at the gun.
"What?"
"This is what you want, desperado," Rosa points out calmly, hand in the side, chest forward.
Tig scratches his forehead and it hurts from the bruise he got fighting a bloke in a strip bar over booze and a pile of cash. The pain shoots across and into one eye: a hot poke thrust in there from within.
"Yeah, yeah," he grinds his teeth, gripping her massive buttocks.
This is the night of the stake out and there's nothing better to do while you wait anyway.
Chibs nods disgusted, although he is not declining his turn with Rosa just a little later. Chibs needs to look disgusted to Tig, because this keeps his mateon a leash. It doesn't mean Tig will spare Rosa from what's called "hard-core" as with him the definition of hardcore finds new expressions and proportions and he always takes "hard" but at least he might get that sinking feeling in shame right after spewing his spunk. That's a feeling all men have, Chibs included. Yet Rosa is a big girl and she can take insane sex maniacs like Tig. But him, the new VP, good old Chibs needs to take last. This is more about her safety than it is about sperm, procreation and any other evolutionary theory you may have come across. If Chibs takes last, it means the woman is alive when he's going for her, since, unlike Tig, Chibs doesn't do dead. What he doesn't know is how much his mate treasures the broad. What he does know is she has become a sort of surrogate of a domestic family life, just as he often imagines life with his Irish woman, always far away, yet never forgotten. So when Rosa brings him a bottle of tequila and steaming cheese nachos and this, right after having him unload his seed in her mouth, Chibs blesses her, kissing the back of her hand.
It's just another night of stake out and there's nothing better to do but smoke and drink and listen to Tig doing things with her behind the thin wall.
To this, Mr Doomsday would say: biker scum. To this, Mr Apocalypse would say his revenge was even more justified. This is not the first night he fixes himself in the bathroom mirror, with the barrel of his gun pressing on the side of his head.
"You won't really die, my friend."
People will ask if anyone knew about Lee Toric.
Now under the chin takes the cool of that metal cylinder pressing against the skin and it's about to get hot, very hot as the bullet shoots out stabbing through the tongue and into the brain. If you're lucky you can't even hear the bam. That's anyway just compressed gases shooting out the pipe. A bullet travels faster than the speed of sound which means this is going to end quicker than you say...
Shit!
Mr Doomsday, Mr Superior Moral, Mr Vengeance Incarnated he can't go ahead. Few people would understand. This is not even about bringing justice to his little sister. This is about that moment between the click and the bam. That's where this takes place. That, between the click and the bam isthe twilight zone.
Coward!
"Trust me, this is not death. This is legend."
Lee Toric runs a sweaty hand through his long hair and he gazes upon himself in the mirror. For the first time in very long he is pleased. The man in the mirror has a purpose.
You take a Remington shotgun. You tie a string to the trigger and to the hook in the ceiling and to the door's handle. You set the weapon in a custom hold pointing at the door. Whoever enters is toast.
Next thing you have is booby traps. You dig holes, you bury sharpened bamboo sticks, you cover them with leaves, whoever steps in there, long agony.
Next thing you have is explosives. It's not hard to make bombs. You can even use soap. You need to stay prepared, use anything you can get.
You take sulphuric acid and you add it to 98 per cent concentration fuming nitric acid. You take glycerine and you put itin with an eye-dropper. You do it in an ice bath to prevent the temperature of the reaction going thunderbolt and blowing you to atoms. This is nitro-glycerine.
Lee Toric would like to see that skank hole of a Club blown to atoms.
You take nitro-glycerine and you mix it with paraffin and you have plastic. Some use sawdust instead of paraffin.
Lee Toric has a few places around his rental wooden shack where an unsuspecting biker came to check him out would trigger an explosion so great, Charming will forever remember.
But what Mr Doomsday does next is what he does every night, is what scares the living soul out of Rosa and her tenants, is what draws the bikers in to gaze from across the fence.
Assess your perimeter for weaknesses.
Improve your position.
If you're prepared you live without fear.
Shoot at anything that moves.
Watching a man walking about armed to the teeth with a light strapped to his forehead would make anybody shake, admit it!
This is your perimeter. Your yard. You guard it well against all intruders.
Racoons.
Hares.
Cats.
Dogs.
Bikers.
Broad neighbors and their crippled kids.
Improve your position.
Check your six every three steps.
This is the revenge of the red neck. This is the red neck fighting the zombies. This is the end of the goddamned world.
Lee Toric has a purpose.
Check your six!
Shoot!
Aha! Another hare.
"I can see you! I know you're there. And I'm gonna get you. One by one!"
This is when Chibs steps outside alarmed by the screams.
At that exact time, Tig cups Rosa's cheeks murmuring because he doesn't want to roar.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry."
There's nothing scarier for Rosa than Tig's kindness. With tears comes anger, with anger comes blow after blow and a kick in the teeth to quench the thirst. But Tig is mellow and soft like a cotton bandage and he's about to confess something twisted and sad, something she would not understand.
And there's a gunshot shattering the calm of that large Californian sky and the dog's sleep.
"What are ya doing?"
And another gunshot, but this one sounds closer, sending Tig's bitch into barking frenzy.
"Bonnie! Bonnie, come here!"
And another one shattering the windows to the living room.
"Tig! Tig, hunker down, brother!"
Now is Tig laying a heavy hand over Rosa's lips as he drags her on the floor next to him and she's already biting her lip, praying for her son.
Soon there will be the sirens, there will be lights, there will be chatter, there will be testimonies, there will be bitter faces and Jax.
Tig smiles holding Rosa and he says:
"Shush. I'm gonna get him."
Although the mechanic is heroic now, moving in four towards the kid's bedroom, Toric had made his point and is resting with an AK 47 in his lap and a 45 ACP in his hand. He's so calm he can afford to whistle watching Rosa's tenant running out, asking each other what, the red-white-blue lights of the Police cars approaching from the distance and Chibs trying to calm everybody.
In all this mess, in the entire waiting and stating and looking around frowning, Tig decides to take his baby out for fresh air, because the sight of his own cock among the greenery is the only amusing story that night. Behind the house, where no-one can see him, where past renovations rubbish sits uncollected for decades, there, he can let go and sob in peace. And when you pee and sob, one hand wiping the eyes clean and the other holding the dick, it makes you look funny and funny things are good for a man's morale.
Tig takes a deep breath grinning, head leaning back, eyes into the dark horizon dotted with trembling stars.
A twig snaps under someone's foot.
"What?" Tig shouts startled.
The woman doesn't answer. She seems just as surprised, running her fingers swiftly behind one ear. The man's face twists in an ugly grimace which makes him the Joker and he goes:
"Ya want some, baby?"
But Rosa's tenant, Marla, just stands there ogling his pecker with a cigarette in one skinny hand, rolling her big brown eyes into his chicory gazes.
"Good night, Mr Trager."
When there's your dick in one hand and a beautiful woman in front of you, all you can think of is porn. But Tig sees the Grand Canyon, spreading in front of him and a dry riverbed at the bottom. Tig is an eagle.
"'Night, love," he murmurs shooting his eyes down her tight jeans, down to her sneakers and his glance trickles over the debris towards the disappearing pool at his feet.
"Fuuuuuuck!"
Tig's roaris a stab wound.
"Fuck!"
It bring Chibs running.
"What's going on now?" the Scottish grumbles trotting towards him.
"'Think I pee on a garden midget, man. Ya know, one of those clay figurines people put in their yards?"
The VP nods noticing the midget's face shining washed off for the first time in years.
"Chibs, that's giving me the shivers. Look at him smiling!" Tig points, stepping backwards.
"Tiggy! It's fine. Tiggy!"
But Tig feels everything is going to hell. It's been going this way for quite a while.
He can barely breathe, but he's changing the subject before his buddy can get a chance to stop him again:
"Have ya ever seen a midget orgy?"
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Find my latest biker story "Bikes, Havoc and Lolita" free for download at Smashwords this month.