Page 36 of Thunder Road

“Now, why in the Sam Hill does anyone care about those old fights?” Henshaw demanded after he had taken a swig of water.

Vic and Ross shared a glance. He didn’t want to blurt out that they thought a supernatural creature was up to no good, but Vic hadn’t come up with a plausible cover story.

“We think that there are certain…interests…who might benefit from the unrest,” Vic said, trying to stick as close to the truth as possible. “Play both sides against the middle.”

“Ain’t there always?” Henshaw said with a sigh. “God, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I thought those cycle gangs got tamed down to be fan clubs where a bunch of desk jockeys dress up and play tough guy.”

Vic tried not to snicker since Henshaw’s characterization rang true. “I guess that’s better for everyone than the alternative. From what I’ve heard, Myrtle Beach got more family-oriented too, over the years.”

“Oh, it’s less exciting than it used to be, that’s for sure. Can’t say that’s a bad thing. You boys ever go up to Virginia Beach in your wild days?” Henshaw asked.

Ross raised an eyebrow. “I think I know what you mean. Not exactly the same atmosphere.”

Virginia Beach’s proximity to several military bases led to a tension between family-friendly entertainment and meeting the interests of horny young men looking for a good time between deployments. While the area had made strides in expanding its appeal to a more general audience, there were still plenty of bars and strip clubs to cater to off-duty interests.

“I’ve heard,” Vic replied. The town of Virginia Beach did its best to be gay friendly, but Vic didn’t go looking for trouble, and military bars were trouble with a capital T.

“Myrtle was rough and ready back in the day until the town council teamed up with some bigwig real estate developers to create what’s here now,” Henshaw said. “Fancy hotels, entertainment venues, concert pavilions, and Ocean Boulevard. It’s definitely an improvement over the Wild West.”

“So you were on the force during the gang wars?” Ross asked.

“Yep. A whole lot younger than I am today. Bunch of the cycle clubs would get liquored up and pick fights, and then their friends would join in. Next thing you knew, a bunch of them were brawling. Mostly fists, but now and again there would be pipes, chains, brass knuckles, and shots fired. People ended up hurt. There were always several deaths—and more than a few people went missing when the fights were over.”

“How do you mean, missing?” Vic asked.

“Just up and disappeared,” Henshaw said. “Maybe it’s not odd that folks with a drifter lifestyle pick up and leave, but people who earned a place in a club usually stuck around, and in their own rough and tumble way, the members looked out for each other.”

“Who reported the missing members?” Ross asked.

“See, that’s what always struck me funny because it was someone high up in the clubs that would do it. They’d walk in with a couple of their lieutenants and belly up to the desk and file a missing person report—or three. The day before they’d been swinging punches at each other, and then everything was back to normal.”

“Did the cops take the reports seriously?”

Henshaw see-sawed his hand. “Kinda. We didn’t think they were pulling our leg, but we weren’t inclined to do extra favors, if you know what I mean.”

“What made the club bosses think someone had gone missing as opposed to just taking off on their own?” Ross leaned forward, intrigued.

“Because the bosses were worried. These clubs, they were families. Fucked up, dysfunctional-as-all-hell families, but maybe the best any of their people ever had. They took care of each other, even if they threw punches. And when those bosses came in to file a report, asking us for help when they’d rather gnaw off an arm, I figured they were really worried.”

“Did the cops ever find the missing people?” Vic asked.

“Not that I heard.”

“Was there anything the missing people had in common?” Ross probed. “Besides being members of the bike clubs?”

Henshaw thought for a moment. “I got the feeling, at the time, that the missing guys were at the bottom of the club’s pecking order. They were members, but sort of like the little brother the big kids let hang around. They weren’t the muscle guys or the lieutenants or the organizers. They were foot soldiers, glad to have a place to belong.

“Sometimes they were younger, or maybe not as bright, or just clueless. The rest of the club kept an eye on them. So theywere upset when the guys went missing, and I think if they ever caught who took them heads would have rolled,” Henshaw said.

“There were accusations made, but nothing ever got proved,” he continued. “Didn’t look like a robbery—the people left all their things behind—including their bikes. Certainly wasn’t for ransom. No one said that there were drugs or theft involved. Somebody just turned around and said, ‘Where’s Fred?’ and no one knew.”

“People talk,” Vic replied. “There are always theories. Did you hear any of the rumors?”

Henshaw shrugged. “This was the eighties. People had theories about everything. UFOs. Bigfoot. The CIA. Some of them were smoking crazy stuff.”

“We’re pretty open-minded,” Ross said. “What did they say about the missing motorcyclists?”

“Well, see, it wasn’t just the bikers,” Henshaw said. “Back then, Myrtle Beach had a pretty high missing person count. Some got found, others didn’t. From what got reported—and that’s not going to be everyone who goes missing—I’d have said about eighty to ninety percent eventually got accounted for.”

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