A New Ally

It took us a few days to get enough info to find the actual bikers, but we were now on our way to their hang out spot. We had just arrived at the bikers' hideout when night fell. I entered the biker bar, followed by three of my men.

The bikers were all chatting and having a good time, until they saw us. We looked out of place in the bar. One burly biker got up and walked over to us. I swear to this day that the fucking ground shook when he walked.

"What you doin' here, boy?", he pronounced his 'boy' like 'bwah'.

I stared at him, looking into his eyes. I swear I saw the devil running around in there, laughing at me.

"We're here, to speak to the boss of 'The Devil's Deciples'.", I managed to choke out as he stood oh-so-closely to me. Another burly biker stood up in the corner and came walking towards us. Both of these fucking lumberjacks could've measured seven foot easy. I felt like the world's smallest man compared to them.

"What do you want with him?", this biker actually spoke better english.

I sighed, and said,"We need help to take out the Saint-Cross mafia family. They've been moving on our fronts and attacking our men, but we aren't able to take them by ourselves."

Three bikers at a table laughed, all the others joining in. A third biker then got up and joined the other two surrounding me. I swallowed hard, getting the feeling I was about to take a major ass beating.

"Go sit down, Mike, Jim.", the biker called the other two off.

Mike, Jim? Those were about the pussiest biker names I ever heard. I damn near burst out laughing.

"Now, I'm the leader. Why the Hell should we help you?"

I cleared my throat and croaked,"It'd be awfully nice?", I cracked a smile after the sentence choked out.

All the bikers erupted with laughter and pointed to us, laughing even harder. The leader was still silent, though.

"You know what? You look like a little bitch, how about we go outside and fight in the parking lot? We'll see if you can beat me."

"So, if I win, and that's a big if, you'll help us? And if I lose...?", I started.

"You get put six feet under."

That was good enough to encourage me! I hardly took a breath as we were walking outside, my men following me, with the bikers closely behind. The leader and I got inside a crudely made circle of men, the leader taking off his leather jacket.

I took my white button up shirt and my black formal jacket off, now a tank top was exposed. He put up his fists, as did I.

He swung first, landing what he would later call a 'soft' hit. It felt like a fucking brick hit me in the chest after a baseball player threw it from point blank range. I heaved greatly and took in a deep gasp off air. He smirked and tried to swing again. I ducked under his punch and landed a solid right hook to his ribs.

He didn't even flinch. I swung three more times, throwing haymakers. Two landed on his jaw, the third on his ribs where I had just delivered a hook to. The haymakers barely made him twitch! I sighed deeply and received a blow to the face, almost breaking my jaw. I now had a black eye and a busted upper lip.

I swung three more times, all haymakers and they all landed on his left and right jaws. This time, he grabbed his face in pain. I took the advantage given and delivered a huge spinning back kick to the back of his knee, making him slump over on his left knee. I then did an axe kick, nailing solidly on his cranium. Now he was on the ground, bleeding from his mouth.

He started to get up, so I axe kicked his back, almost breaking it. I had a lot more power in my legs then I did in my arms, apparently. He now lay on the ground, bleeding from his mouth more. I kicked him in the face, busting his nose. There was a puddle of blood surrounding his face. A minute later and he was back up like he hadn't even been hit at all.

He admitted defeat and shook my hand, it felt like a vice grip from a giant lobster.

"Nice fightin', took me out pretty good.", he said jokingly as he reset his nose. It had broken to the left.

"You didn't pull too many punches yourself.", I felt my jaw, which now had a huge purple lump growing from it.

"By the way, I didn't catch your name.", he said gruffly.

"Gregory, Gregory Jones. But just call me Greg, or not, if you don't want to.", I choked the sentence out and put up my hands defensively.

He chuckled at me and then spoke,"Well, my name's Spike Wallis."

Spike? Are you serious? Jesus, this author needs a better imagination...

He agreed to help us for awhile with our problem. We had a new ally, and now we needed another. We were going to visit a mafia family next.

The Brutonie family.

I left the biker bar, after getting patched up and making sure I didn't need a hospital right away. The mafia family wouldn't be as helpful as the bikers were, Hell, I didn't expect the bikers themselves to be so helpful.

We arrived at their compound a few hours later, approaching the front doors. As I entered, I received startled emotions and a few men stood up, reaching for something inside their jackets.

"Put the guns down, let him speak.", a seasoned man in a leather chair said as he stare at me.

"I know this is....quite unexpected of me, Mr. Brutonie, but, you see, I need some help. With the Saint-Cross. They've been making moves and killing us off, and we would like to enlist the help of you and your loyal family to help us rid the city of this scum.", I spoke slowly.

He looked over to one of his enforcers, Bruno. He stare at him a few seconds, nodding at him.

"Well, I would accept, but the Saint-Cross have already enlisted us. I would like to help you with your little problem, but I can't. Now, be gone before he might see something and have us both executed.", he told me with a slight chuckle.

"Before who sees something?"

"The boss of the Saint-Cross of course."

I swallowed hard and stalked out the front door, going straight for my car and taking off. We arrived at my house an hour later, I went inside, and the men drove off for the warehouse.

A few hours after I had gotten back home, I was sleeping, sweating profusely, having a nightmare. I dreamed I was this little kid, witnessing his mother being abused by her boyfriend. I picked up a pipe and cracked his head open with it. He was still alive, though. My mother began yelling at me, then stormed off to her room to take a puff from her crack pipe.

It was all so very strange. What did it mean? My child hood wasn't like this.. The guy tried to stand up, so I wrapped him in Christmas lights and plugged them in, I then filled the bathtub with water and shoved him in. After he had gotten electrocuted and all the power drawn from the Christmas lights, I unplugged them and took the lights off of him. I found the biggest, sharpest knife I could and started to butcher him, blood going everywhere.

After about an hour, the bath water wasn't water any longer, but blood. There was blood on the wall, and my shirt.

Suddenly, I woke up in my bed, soaked to the bone with sweat. What the Hell kind of dream was that? I tried to shake the images from my head, but it was no use. I couldn't sleep at first, the images of the severed limbs and bloody bath tub kept appearing on the inside of my eye lids.

I had lain in my bed, pondering the meaning of the dream, and must have drifted off to sleep, for the next time I awoke it was after six. I sat up on the edge of my bed, noticing my vision was blurry. I couldn't see my hand in front of myself without it looking like it was way off in the distance. I tried standing, but I just fell back down to my bed. So, instead of getting up, laying in my bed for a few more hours would satisfy me.

After eight, I finally woke up again and tried standing, this time my vision was clearer and I could manage to stand. I hobbled to my living room, in my boxers and tank top, and just sat on the couch, clicking the television set on across the room.

I was shivering down to the bones, for some apparent reason. Apart from me having a psychotic dream, of course. I coughed and laid back on the couch, propping my head up on a crimson throw pillow. There was some idiotic show with people acting like jackasses. The coincidental thing was the show was called 'Jackass'. I chuckled a couple times, but apart from that, the show barely drew my attention.

I found myself asleep about thirty minutes later, having another terrifying dream. I dreamed that I had killed my mother after I chopped her boyfriend up and now I was burying her in the middle of a storm.

"I said I'm sorry, momma..", I chanted, sobbing to myself.

These dreams stumped the fuck out of me, I didn't know what either of them meant. I then visioned myself opening my closet door, ten dead bodies falling out as I did. I was terrified with my recent dreams. They all seemed so spontaneous.

A few moments later, I was suddenly sitting on the edge of a floating island, playing a ukulele, or maybe a small guitar, it was fuzzy to me. Everything seemed to be drawn out, like in a anime. I sprang up on the couch, cold sweat dripping from my nose onto my tank top.

"I have to lay off that damn beer..or maybe it's the weed.", I whispered to myself as I straightened up to watch more t.v.

It was a day for me to relax, because Michael came back the day before, without me even knowing it. It was probably because I was getting my ass kicked across town by bikers.

Now, I lay on the couch pondering deeply as to what to do until Michael instructed me further, he took up leadership as soon as he arrived. You could say, I was in a form of being 'unemployed' at the moment.

I got tired of the program I was watching, and decided to take a shower. I went into the restroom, stripping down bare. I noticed that my 'SJ' tattoo had a slight cut in the upper curve of the 'S', but I just ignored it for the time being. I climbed into the shower, turning the knob, which unleashed a steady spray of cold water which warmed up after a moment.

After I got out, I put on a pair of khaki pant shorts and a black tank top, and a black short sleeve button up shirt that was left unbuttoned. I walked out of the restroom and towards my couch, sitting down once I made it. There was another program, a concert, on now. It was a concert of the rapper, 'Eminem'. I payed little attention to the visuals, but listened deeply to the lyrics.

He was performing 'The Way I Am', a fairly old song of his. Sleep welcomed me into its embrace once again, as I drifted off. Now I dreamed that I was falling from a sky scraper, facing the ground. I tried to scream out but my voice was blocked by a lump in my throat. Just as I was about to hit the ground, the ground turned to a field of pillows, making me immediately jerk up on the couch again.

"I have seriously got to stop going to sleep..", I cursed to myself and sat up straight, so that it would be harder to fall asleep.

Then, I heard a noise in my kitchen. I got up and walked lightly over to my kitchen door way. As I came side to side with the door frame, I was welcomed with a metal bat to the head, knocking me out instantly.

A few hours later, I woke up in the same spot and stood up. Feeling a lump emerging on my head, I grasped at it and walked into my kitchen, wobbly and dazed. I saw a note on the table. I picked it up, nearly dropping it and began to read it.

"Sorry for the bat to the head, was hungry and needed a sandwich. Signed, someone you don't know."

I cursed loudly and threw the note to the ground, throwing myself off balance. Luckily, I landed in the seat of a chair. I laid my head on the table and slipped into a slumber.

This time, however, there was no dream. I didn't see anything. Just pitch black. Maybe this was the dream. I awoke two hours later, feeling much better, and picked the note back up and made sure I had read it right. Yes, I read it right. It was funny what people do nowadays.

I staggered back to the couch, to find one of the gang's soldiers sitting on my couch, eating a sub and a bag of chips. I wanted to smack the back of his head so badly, it nearly pained me. I plopped down beside him and stared at him, he froze mid bite.

"Hey, Jeff.", I said coyly to him.

He turned to me and cracked a playful smile, trying to force a laugh.

"You didn't happen to catch some hobo running out of here with a metal bat, did you?"

He shook his head and resumed eating. I just chuckled to myself and turned to watch the program that was currently on.

After he had finished his meal, Jeff briefed me on our next project.

"The boss sent me to tell you to be present at 'Ying's Corner Grocery' at about seven PM."

A smirked spread across my face. I knew he was doing this to test me. Apparently, I was going to be promoted in the near future.

"He also said you were going through this one on your own. Good luck with Ying's new insurance policy. He has two burly black guys at the door at all hours, so yeah, better wear a helmet."

I froze, I was going to do the job, with two big gorillas on duty, by myself? I laughed at the idea and dismissed the soldier. I then went to my wardrobe and took off my button up shirt, slipping a bulletproof vest over my tank top. I then slipped a basketball jersey over it. The letters 'SJ', one in black, the other in blue, present on the jersey. I took off my pants and put a pair of black 'Dickeys' pants on. Then I slipped my black pair of Nikes on and went outside, after locking my house up.

At the corner store, it was six fifty eight, two minutes before my time appointed to strike the establishment. I put a ski mask on over my face, I then felt around the back seat to find my black hooded jacket, and slipped it on. I brought my glock and a 9mm with me. I was going to have one in either hand. I got out of my car, and ran up to the store, firing at the gorillas guarding the entrance.

I then ran in and shot the cashier, not Mr. Ying, of course. He gave himself a lot of off days. It was some teenage boy with long fair hair and a green and black uniform on. I jumped behind the cash register and took the money, then hopped back over the counter. Out the door, into the car, then down the road I went.