Loose Ends

LOOSE ENDS: chapter one

chapter one

Ben Anderson paused to savour the sweet smell of alfalfa. He had no idea that his world was about to collide with a very different world. A world that would attack without provocation or warning. A world that for all eternity would feed off his soul like starving rats in a war zone. Ben was a farmer. He didn't know this other world existed.

He tossed another bale onto the hay elevator and watched as the bale slowly ground its way to the top before tumbling into the loft above.

It was early afternoon and the sun was hot. The morning shower had done little to cool the air. The sun sucked the moisture out of the ground and the added humidity caused his shirt to cling to his back and chest. The smog from Vancouver, over an hour's drive away, hung in the air. Ben chose not to notice the smog. The smell of cattle and alfalfa was much more rewarding.

He caught a glimpse of Maggie's freckled face and her red hair done up in pigtails as she scrambled to keep up with the bales falling from the elevator and bouncing down onto the loft floor. For a ten-year-old, she was a hard worker.

At two years younger, her little brother was not a lot of help. But no one ever told Ben Junior that. His hair was blonde and his face was well tanned from working on their family farm. Unlike his sister's pressed jeans, his were dirty and ragged over one knee.

Ben Junior looked serious as he swung a hay hook into another bale and dragged it with both hands across the wooden floor. The bale slid easily. The floor had become shiny and polished over the years from bales being dragged to the back of the loft.

Wizard drove the new silver Acura down the highway. He had already switched cars three times within the last two hours, but now that The Suit was with him, his paranoia intensified. He slowed down and watched his rear-view mirror. Cars passed him. A good sign.

At a glance, Wizard's clothes gave him the appearance of a businessman who had taken the day off to go golfing. It was Wizard's face that gave a clue as to what business he was in. His nose had been broken so often in his younger days that the swelling between his eyes had become permanent. Deep creases in his forehead gave the impression that he was much older than his forty-five years. His salt and pepper hair was trimmed short, and his moustache and greying goatee partially hid a scar that traversed his upper and lower lips.

It had taken him twenty years to become president of Vancouver's west-side chapter of the Satans Wrath Motorcycle Club. It had been a long road, and he wasn't finished yet. Satans Wrath had dozens of presidents in charge of chapters in eleven countries. Each country had one national president. Wizard would do whatever it took to replace Damien as the national president for Canada.

Wizard glanced at The Suit's face. The Suit was about his age, but he was skinny and weak. He hated that he needed him. It was Rolly, another member of the club, who had first told him about The Suit.

Rolly had told Wizard that The Suit was a sick bastard. Someone to be shunned. Wizard was more of a businessman. He saw opportunity. It was his idea to recruit him. Not as a club member, of course, but strictly for business. Only Rolly and Damien knew about The Suit. His identity remained top secret. His real name was never spoken, and personal meetings were handled with extreme care.

Wizard played the game well, and Damien rewarded him by assigning him to oversee their most valued business ventures: drugs and prostitution. Many in the club thought Wizard was a genius when it came to business. Some said he had a psychic ability when it came to beating the competition or the police. It was what eventually earned him his nickname. Wizard wasn't psychic. He didn't have to be. He had The Suit.

Ben shut off the machinery and for a moment enjoyed the silence. He put his hands on his hips and slowly arched his back. He was a big man and the work came easy to him, but a heart attack he had suffered two years ago told him not to exert himself.