Page 17 of The Sins Of The Biker

“You gotta get him to a hospital, Harley,” Curly states, peering down at Snake and then back at me.

“Are you for real? We can’t take him to the hospital. How will we explain the gunshot wound on his shoulder? What if they question us and the police get involved? Then what?” I scrub my hand through my hair before continuing, “I’ll tell you what! Then they’ll search us and our van, and guess what they’ll find?” Curly shakes his head.

“Fuck!”

“That’s right. Then we’re all fucked. A thought comes to my mind. My father always said if we ever got into a jam and needed somewhere to hang low for a while to use the safehouse in New York. He said that a spare key is hidden in the bushes under a fake rock out the back.

“Curly, help me get him in the van. We’re going to the safehouse.”

“The safehouse?” Curly asks, confused.

“Don’t ask any questions. Just help me.”

We both take either side of Snake’s body and carry him to the van. Curly places his feet on the ground until he unlocks it, and then we slide him in the back of the van with the towel covering his wound. People are gathering out the front to watch the spectacle taking place in front of them.

I yell out to Curly, “Go talk to the fucker behind the desk. Make sure he doesn’t say anything about us being here. Make it worth his while.”

He nods and quickly makes his way to the front of the hotel. I rush back into the room, collecting all our shit and throwing it in the back of the van.

Curly returns saying, “All good, brother. He’s not gonna say a word.” He smirks, and I don’t ask him what that’s all about because right now, we need to get the fuck out of here and get some help.

Curly and I grab his motorcycle and quickly place it in the back of the van with Snake, ensuring it’s secured.

“Curly, you follow me to the safehouse. I know exactly where it is.”

“Sure, brother,” he says and then hops into the van’s driver’s seat.

I lift my leg and straddle my bike quickly while typing out a text to Wave, knowing he will know how we can get Snake some medical help. I explain briefly what happened and that I’ll call him shortly and need a doctor to meet us at the safehouse as soon as possible.

Immediately Wave replies, saying, “I got you. Dr. Ken Roy will meet you there.” Sighing, I punch in the address of the safehouse and start my bike taking off at a crazy speed.

Twenty minutes later and we are parking out the front of the safehouse.

Jumping off my bike, I quickly locate the key. “Got it,” I say, lifting the key up in front of Curly’s eyes.

Making my way to the front porch, I unlock the door and switch the lights on in the house, not taking a minute to look around at my surroundings.

Heading back to the van, I unlock the back door and help Curly lift Snake and carry him inside the house, laying him on the couch and noticing that his eyes are now closed.

“Snake, you with me?” I ask, tapping his face.

Snake’s eyes flutter open, and he says, “It hurts, man. So bad.”

“I know, brother. Don’t worry. Help is coming. Curly, make sure the van is locked. We need to make sure the ammo is safe.”

“Sure thing, brother.” Curly heads out front, and it’s not long before he’s back kneeling on the floor by the couch checking in on Snake.”

“I need to call, Prez… give him the run down.” Curly nods. “I’ll get Snake some water.”

He heads into the kitchen, and I dial my old man’s number, still not believing the shit that’s gone down, and I realize I’m bare-chested with streaks of blood. Just as I go to dial my old man’s number, my phone rings. Looking down at the screen, it shows Wave is calling.

“Wave, we’re here, just waiting on the doc. Wave… you there, man?”

When I lift my phone to glance at the screen, I notice it’s still connected. “Wave… answer me.”

And then I hear it—cries of a grown-ass biker. My heart sinks and then thumps loud. “Wave, what’s happening?” I ask, swallowing hard.

“It’s Prez,” he says between breaths, and I can tell he’s trying hard to control his tears.

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