“Listen, darlin’, we’re bringing a doc with us. Do not call anyone.”
“I can’t make any guarantees that someone else won’t call or that the truck driver whose blown tire took out your president won’t make his way back.” A thought occurred to me then. “Shit! What if the guy I shot was working with the truck driver? He seemed pretty hell-bent on passing me and the motorcycle.” I hoped like hell that wasn’t the case and continued to ramble my fears away.
“If it was a civilian, they might have called the cops about getting their tire shot out, if they realized that was what happened. Then again, why wouldn’t a trucker pull over to fix his tire, even if he didn’t realize he took a man out with the one that blew?” I was rambling, but my brain wouldn’t stop turning over as the possibilities came crashing down around me.
“Fuck, lady. Shut up! We have a guy that is two minutes out from you. Name’s Jester and he’s in a white work van with ladders on top.”
“You’re sending a murder van, and you want me to be okay with it?”
“A what?” the man on the other end of the line asked. “Never mind. Look, stay put and do what you can for Bigfoot.”
I hung up the cell and stuffed it back in my pocket. Bigfoot was awake again when I glanced down to check on him. “I have to make sure the asshole across the street is dead,” I explained. He seemed to understand and attempted a nod. It was such a subtle movement that I couldn’t be sure. I ran across the road and checked on the asshole who had the rifle trained on the crashed biker. There was no need to check for a pulse when I got there. It was obvious he was dead since half his head was blown off. I had aimed for center mass, as I’d always been taught, but since he was crouched down, that was about as central as I could get. His head was in pieces on the ground around him.
There was no point in lingering around a corpse. I snatched his rifle up and then ran back across the highway as I sent up a silent prayer and thanked my lucky stars that no one else seemed to be traveling this late – or early, I supposed. Once I got back to Bigfoot, I crouched down and checked on him again. He was still breathing and didn’t appear to be bleeding profusely. That didn’t mean much, since it was the internal bleeding that would probably kill him after taking that kind of impact and rolling the way he did.
“I would take your helmet off, but I’m honestly afraid that it would do more harm than good.” I kept any signs of panic out of my voice as I assessed the man. I was halfway down his body, palpating for possible damage when a dingy, white work van with ladders on top pulled off near where Bigfoot’s motorcycle came to rest.
“What’s going on, Bigfoot? Are you taking a nap on the side of the road?” the man joked, but I could tell by the way his eyes tracked every inch of his friend that he was just trying to put the man at ease. The newcomer was worried, and that quickly turned to fear when he realized his buddy didn’t answer back.
“He’s been fading in and out, but there isn’t a lot of blood.” Bigfoot groaned as though he were in a lot of pain. “On the outside, anyway,” I tacked on. “There is a body over there, and I would appreciate it if you could hide that fact before the law rolls up here and wants to know why I shot him.”
The newcomer, Jester, nodded his head, hopped into his van, and positioned it across the street where he could easily load the body into the back. He took a jug of something out of his van and doused the area with it after he moved the body. When he was done with that, he pulled back over and started to load up the motorcycle. All the while, I noticed he was having a conversation via whatever hands-free device he had clamped to his ear.
“VP wants to know how bad he is,” Jester called out to me.
“Well, an eighteen-wheeler was in the middle of passing us on the left when his tire blew, and a huge chunk flew into your buddy. He took the hit directly to his left side, maybe a bit of his chest too. That sent him flying over to the right side of the road while his bike took off without him and crashed where you just picked it up. He was talking to me at first and told me to call you guys before he passed out. Seemed to have a great deal of pain while trying to shake his head, so either the tire hit his neck too or the fall did enough damage that it hurt like hell. He’s still breathing. I think his arm is broken. Honestly, I’m more concerned about possible internal bleeding or the damage he might have done to his head and neck. Thank fuck he wore a helmet, but I don’t want to be the one to remove it.”
“It’s okay. Can you stick with him while I finish up here?”
“Of course.”
“Did the trucker stop at all?”
“No, but I have a dash cam in my car, and it has been running the whole time.”
“Do not tell the cops. If anyone happens to show up before my club, keep quiet. My VP will want that footage.”
“I have reason to not want that video going to the cops, too.”
“You on the lamb or something?” the man joked.
“No, I’m not on the lamb.” I rolled my eyes, then rethought that. “I might be if they look at the video and see that I shot someone.”
“Wait, you’re the one that shot that fucker?”
“That’s what I said before. He was about to kill your friend, and it didn’t take a genius to determine I’d be next.”
I had a healthier fear of a one percent motorcycle club than the cops, so his wish was my command at that point. It took another minute before I realized Jester was no longer focused on me. He was back across the street policing brass. He picked up one bullet casing and pocketed it. I guessed that meant he had most likely shot the truck’s tire after all.
I glanced down and groaned. Hopefully, they really did have a doctor on the way, because Bigfoot didn’t look too good.
I sat with the man, who was objectively very good looking, despite the bruises and swelling that started to bloom all over his face. His leathers were toast, and his helmet was scuffed and dented in spots. It appeared it might also be cracked on the side, but I didn’t want to speculate what that might mean for his head.
“Do I take your helmet off or leave it?” I wondered out loud. “What if your head swells and…”
“Off,” the man groaned.
I jumped. “Oh shit, I thought you were still passed out.”
