Werewolf Biker

Chapter Two: Five Days

Detective Mark Roberts and Detective Roma Duffin were just finishing the initial investigation of a murder on Madison St. A young teenager, probably a runaway. They noticed the needle marks on
her arm. According to the Coroner, Jim Connor, she had been dead two and a half days, give or take an hour. The smell of decay was already overpowering, but the detectives didn't seem to notice. The patrolmen who had arrived first, and secured the scene were more than happy to turn the hellish mess over to the Detectives, and get back on patrol.
"Did you find anything that would I.D. Her?" Roma asked. Although she didn't smoke on a
regular basis, Roma Duffin lit a cigarette, and took a long drag. She always did that when the smell of
decay was strong at a crime scene. Actually it worked pretty good to cover the stink. Roma was thirty
two years old, five foot four inches, and 125lbs. She had been a cop since she graduated the Academy
at twenty one. She was smart,dedicated, and single. Two busy to deal with relationship drama. She
was strikingly beautiful, so she covered it up with little to no makeup, and a short practical haircut. It
didn't work,. but she learned to ignore the looks from her male counterparts. She worked out, and was
in great shape, but her attitude was purely professional. She had worked hard to make it into
Detectives, and she earned the respect that the other officers gave her.
Mark Roberts sighed with exasperation, "No, as usual, there never is with these girls, there was more than one person in this room though, look at all the cigarette butts. They were here for a while."
Mark wiped the sweat off his face, and sighed again. "Let's get her bagged, and get all this evidence
wrapped up, maybe we'll get a hit on her fingerprints. Mark Roberts was Roma's Partner. He was in
his late forties, prematurely gray, and slightly pudgy. Roma had been a little put off when she first met
him, but as she began to work with him on a daily basis she learned so much from him that she soon
saw him for what he really was, a tenacious, hard working, and brilliant detective, and Roma felt
privileged to work with him.
"Yeah. Damn she's so young, what did she do to deserve this?" Roma murmured.
"Who said she deserved it?" Mark grumbled. He had a daughter in collage, and young adults
dying hit too close to home.
"I... well, you know what I mean.
A young detective poked his head into the room. "Hey, you guys might want to see this." The two
looked at each other, and followed the young detective outside.
"What you got?" Roma asked.
"Look at this," he pointed to the ground just below the bedroom window.
"Footprints! Good ones too!" exclaimed Mark, he crouched down for a closer look. "Notice
the ground was wet when the prints were made. When did it rain last? Saturday, no Sunday evening."
Roma broke in, "According to the coroner, that was the night of the murder! Look at the position of the
prints, standing there, the person would have been looking directly into the window. Maybe someone
saw what happened."
Mark stood up, "Yeah, well, let's photograph and cast the footprints. Then we'll start to canvas
the neighborhood, if someone saw what happened, we need to find out who." He slapped his notebook
shut, and headed for the car.
The biker bar where the "Kings of Chaos" hung out, was a dive of a joint called the Snake Pit, at the end of lakeside Drive. Cigarette, and pot smoke rolled out of the open windows like the place
was on fire. Two guys stood outside the entrance under the veranda. Their numerous tattoos, and denim
vests with the patches of the clubs' colors on the back left no doubt they belonged here. A row of
Harley Davidson motorcycles sat in front of the bar, parked facing the road, of course. The music
pouring out of the bar was loud, and heavy.
The two men out front looked up as a bike rumbled into the parking lot. It was a stock late
model heritage softtail, yellow in color, with ape hangers, and custom pipes. Sweet paint job of a
snarling wolf on the gas tank. The rider parked near the end of the row of bikes, and strolled up to the
entrance. He was dressed in typical biker apparel, but no club colors. The two men on the porch did not
know him, so they assumed a posture that was meant to let this guy know they were intending to
question him. They stood up, and took a position on each side of the entrance, arms folded. He saw the
two men posturing, so he released the aura of the beast within him. He knew that unconsciously they
would feel the predatory essence, and images of the beast in him would fill their minds. They would
feel the same sensation if it were a lion approaching them.
They actually stood their ground pretty good he noticed, and smiled. By the time he reached the
steps to the entrance, he could smell the sweat, and the fear. The two men were experiencing blind
panic. Their heart rates raced, and they fought the urge to actually scream and run away. Visibly
shaking and by now too paralyzed with fear to either scream or run, they shrunk back to let him pass
unmolested. He paused just slightly as he passed, and looking at each one of them, he smelled them.
They weren't part of his hunt. Pushing open the door, he walked into the bar.
The biker on the right, finally took a breath, while the other one grabbed the wall to steady
himself. Barely able to speak, the two looked at each other. "What in the hell was that?" One of them
spoke, his voice breaking. The other one still supporting himself against the wall, whispered in a
hushed tone, "I think we just saw the Devil himself, Brother."
They looked into the bar, and saw that the stranger had seated himself at an empty table against the far wall. The other bikers had noticed him, but it wasn't unusual for strangers to come in here. A lot
of bikers frequented the place, and after a minute or two everyone went back to whatever they were
doing. Queenie Dixon was the barmaid, and Danny Bardo's old lady. She was in her late twenties, and
was drop dead gorgeous. She had been living this type of lifestyle since she was fourteen, and her
tattoos, and attitude showed it. As she walked over to the new arrival, she noticed his magnificent
physic, and the perfect blend of leanness and muscle. She couldn't explain why, but she was irresistibly
sexually attracted to him. After a couple of seconds to catch her breath, she asked, "What can I get
you?" she leaned over him allowing a view of her ample cleavage. "Whiskey, with a beer chaser." He
said without even looking up.
smiled.
Is that all?" He looked up at the young woman, knowing full well the effect he had on her, and
For now," he said then gave her a quick wink. She felt like her knees were going to give out, so
she just smiled, and turned to go get his order. The whole scenario did not go unnoticed by Danny
Bardo, he too had seen the stranger enter "his" domain, felt the presence of the new guy, and witnessed
the effect he had on his girlfriend. Danny Bardo was the president of the Kings of Chaos motorcycle
club. He was forty two years old, and tall, six foot four. He was tattooed on almost all of his upper
body, and both heavily muscled arms. His hair was jet black, he wore a well trimmed goatee, and his
brown eyes, were almost black. So was his soul. He was a career criminal, a bully, a braggart, and a
killer. He had started this club ten years before, and had an arraignment with the California hells
angels to run drugs and guns for them, and launder the money.
Hey Queeny!" He yelled. "We've run aground over here! Bring us another round! And hurry
up!" "Queeny" Dixon turned and gave Danny a smirk, and flipped him the bird. Danny just laughed.
"Sorry I don't speak sign language, does that mean, yes sir, right away?" He laughed again.
She laughed at that, and said, "No, actually it means f..." Instantly, she was drowned out by a
female scream, and a loud expletive. as four bikers in the back corner suddenly broke into a violent brawl. The fight was vicious and brutal, several of the neighboring tables were jostled by the
participants which was their cue to join into the fight. Danny knew that in mere seconds, knives and
guns would follow fists. That meant cops, and he did not want to deal with that. He rushed toward the
fight, just as he saw someone pull out a knife. "Dammit!" This was going to be bad.
Suddenly he saw a blur as something shot by him low, and fast. Then the sound of a raging
animal, like a huge dog or bear or something. There were bodies flying through the air, shouts of anger
turned to shouts of surprise, and fear mixed with screams of pain. It was happening so fast, people
began to run from the fight in blind panic. In a matter of seconds, it was over. People lying here and
there, nursing cracked ribs, and bloodied faces. Several were unconscious. In the middle of it all, stood
the stranger. His face distorted in fury, shirt torn, and muscles bulging. He seemed like some kind of
wild beast. Held tightly in his grip, was the wrist of the man who had the knife still in his hand. He
pulled the man close to his face, and a low growl that only an animal could make, came out of his
human throat. As the biker stared into the eyes of the stranger, he began to scream hysterically. The
stranger tightened his grip, and a sickening crack was heard as his wrist broke, and the knife fell to the
floor, then the biker dropped to his knees. It was obvious that he had pissed his pants, and he was
actually crying, more out of fear, than pain. The stranger looked menacingly at the crowd, in a low
voice said,
"This is not the place for this, if you boys want to continue this discussion outside, I'll be
waiting." Then he turned, and strode through the crowd, who parted before him like the red sea. The
music had stopped, and you could of heard a pin drop. It was obvious nobody wanted to go outside.
After a few minutes, a bike roared to life, and the stranger faded into the night.