Protect & Serve(200)

“And how about you tell me something I give a shit about?” The elderly biker called out suddenly, his previous mirth stricken from his stony gaze. “What about the money?”

“They’ll be plenty of money. These assholes are stacking it to the ceiling and we’re gonna hit them right where it hurts. I want the girls, you can split the money.”

To this, engines revved all around, the deafening roar filling the air.

“Juarez lays just south of El Paso, our sister in the South. The cartel is taking the girls to a new safe house ten miles west of the city limits. We take that building and you get to pin a goddamned good samaritan badge on your cut while you stuff your saddle bags with cash… And that’s money nobody on either side of the border is going to be looking for. We’re talking forty million if my source is reliable…”

The elderly president spoke up again. “What is your plan… and what would you have us do?”

Hunter glanced around the assembled bikers again, surveying his manpower resources. After a moment, he turned back towards us again with eyes full of burning conviction.

Several of the men nodded, and I merely crossed my arms and flashed him a smile.

You’ve got this, I thought aloud to him.

Hunter turned back to the assembled biker clubs. “We mobilize as a convoy, cross the border, and take the fight to them again. They won’t expect a counterstrike, and particularly not one so quickly… we’ll hit them hard and definitively, save the girls who were taken last night, and show them that we will defend our young and vulnerable.”

“For that kind of money, I’ll defend your angry goddamned grandmother… but what makes you think this is going to make one fucking lick of difference?” the elderly biker replied. “You hit them before,” he said, stroking the long, wispy scruff of goatee beneath his chin. “And that only drove them away for a few years… what makes you think that this will be any different?”

“There’s a reason we’re talking about so much money here. The cartel is moving further north to centralize themselves closer to the border,” Hunter replied. “This new safe house is being fleshed out into a base of operations. If we can crush them here, tonight, we will sever the viper’s head and scatter its men. One hit, and we take out their finances, their men, and their will to fight.”

“And you think that they will be unprepared?” He scoffed in response. “You’ve attacked them before below the border and they recouped from that. They probably learned their lesson, too. What are your expectations there?”

Hunter reflected on these words, choosing to not answer immediately. The others watched him, prepared to judge him upon his following response…

“I expect them to put up one hell of a fight. This is why I choose to unite us now, calling upon all of you to ride into battle with me… We will sweep through them like an army, and we will show them no mercy for what they have done. You ask me for my expectations? My answer is simple: I expect us to strike Víboras Verde and crush them into the blood-stained dust.”

Even without seeing his face, I could hear the menace in his conviction. He was showing them the extent of how far he was willing to go to snuff out every last trace of these monsters.

“You believe that,” the elderly biker replied, scratching his chin again thoughtfully. “You believe that with every last drop of blood in your body, don’t you?”

Hunter replied: “With every goddamned drop.”

“And you would be willing to lead this charge yourself?”

“I will not allow another to die in my place,” he insisted gravely. “I am asking you – all of you – to ride alongside into battle. But I will never ask you to take a bullet for me.

“I’ll descend into Hell to fight these fuckers and save every last soul that is left… and I will do so at the frontlines.”

The elderly biker descended from his motorcycle and strolled over towards him. While he had been hunched on his bike, the biker uncoiled into a tall, limber creature as he stalked forward.

Gazing down upon Hunter, he smiled.

“I know why you called upon me, Hunter,” he murmured. “Because of the sway I hold. You know that these men respect you, but my opinion is still a factor…

“Regardless, I have listened; you have me convinced. As club president, the Severed Sixteen MC pledges their guns to your cause,” he declared.

Briefly, the rest of the crowd murmured. One by one, the engines of their metal steeds shut down until a cold silence filled the space.

Five other bikers descended from their motorcycles to pledge their clubs. The others were mere representatives of their prospective clubs, acting in the stead of their associated presidents – who deemed themselves too important to join the fight, but were willing to send possibly proxies.