Page 16 of The Sins Of The Biker

“There are twenty-five in each box,” Mustache says. “You want to count?”

Turning to Snake I say, “Count the guns.”

Snake steps forward and kneels down counting them as I continue to check that no one has eyes on us.

Snake stands. “We’re good, brother.”

“We’re all good,” I say to Mustache.

“Okay, need help to put them in the van?”

“No, we got it. Here,” I say, throwing the bag of money to him. He opens it and moves some money around. “Looks like it’s all here.”

Not replying, I yell, “Curly, Snake, help with the boxes.”

They placed guns under the van in case we ran into trouble, so they have been standing by the van the whole time. “Well, looks like we’re done,amigo.”

“Yup, we are. Great doing business with you.”

He extends his hand, I take it, and give him a shake.

“So, your father sent his son?”

“He did.”

“He must trust you.”

“That he does.” Then, without another word, I bend to lift one box while Snake and Curly carry the other after they’ve helped me.

Closing the back of the van, I head over to my bike and straddle it while Curly takes the driver’s seat in the van.

Snake gets on his bike, and we drive toward a motel for the night.

I want to head back home, but to be honest, I’m done for the night.

Making sure the van is locked and secured, we get a room.

Curly sleeps on the floor, Snake takes the couch, and I have the bed. Before I get settled, I head into the bathroom to take a shower while the boys grab a beer from the six-pack we bought and turn on the television.

I can’t help but think,the trade went well.

Opening the bathroom door, I turn on the water in the shower and begin undressing. I place my cut on the hook on the back of the bathroom door, remove my shirt, and throw it on the floor.

Loud screeching sounds from outside that remind me of tires coming to a halt, and then the sound of gunshots echoes all around.

Immediately, I fall to the floor, my hands on my head as I lay bare-chested on the cold tiles. Panic hits me. I want to check on my brothers, but there are so many bullets pinging around that I know if I get up, I’ll catch one.

Someone cries in pain, and I realize one of them has been shot. Crawling on the bathroom floor to the door, I reach up with one hand and turn the handle. The door opens, and with my finger, I push it wider. Bullets are still being fired, and I catch Snake flat on his back, his beer bottle shattered, and blood oozing from his right shoulder. He’s alive, thank goodness because he’s crying out in pain.

Curly is on his hands and knees behind the bed, and I yell, “Curly… you okay?” My question only just reaches his ears. He turns to me with his hands on his head as he tries to conceal himself. He nods quickly, and I nod back.

Crawling toward Snake while trying to avoid bullets, I yell, “Snake, are you okay?”

He doesn’t reply but does moan. His body rises with each breath as he inhales, and I put my hands under his armpits and drag him behind the bed where Curly is located.

Covering Snake’s body with mine, we lay there hunched over until finally the shots ease, and the sound of tires screech as whoever the fuck that was drives away.

Slowly, I get up from the floor and take a few steps to the window. Moving aside the curtain, I look outside to find people walking out of their rooms, taking in the mess the shooters made. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of the men responsible, so I turn back, run to the bathroom, grab a towel, rush back to Snake, and put pressure on his wound.

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