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  VENGEANCE

  by

  Jonas Saul

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Imagine Press

  ISBN: 978-1-927404-11-9

  Vengeance

  Copyright © 2012 by Jonas Saul

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Beginning

  Vengeance

  The Numbers Game - A Preview

  About the Author

  Jonas Saul Titles

  The Sarah Roberts Series

  1. Dark Visions

  2. The Warning

  3. The Crypt

  4. The Hostage

  The Kill Series

  1. The Kill

  2. The Blade (Summer 2012)

  The Threat

  Bad Vibes

  Short Stories

  Visitations - A Book of Short Stories

  The Burning

  The Numbers Game

  Trapped

  The Witching Hour

  The Elements

  Hatred

  The Reaper

  The Ruse

  Bound

  Vengeance

  Vengeance

  I had no idea that I would die that day, along with so many other people. It’s been ten years and I still look back and wonder how that day got so fucked up.

  I had been looking forward to that holiday all summer long. Four of us had rented a cabin for Labor Day weekend, early September. It was our last party before University started for another year. We wanted to finish summer with a bang.

  Boy, did we ever. I blamed a lot of people during those ten years, but never myself. It’s so hard to own something that tragic.

  It’s all my fault. Everyone’s death, everyone’s blood is on my hands.

  I still kill to avenge their deaths.

  #

  Tabitha and I stopped at the last liquor store before the cabin to load up on alcohol. Scott and Allison pulled in behind us in their Jeep Cherokee. The sun was high, the air on fire, and we were sweating like crazy. My old Buick didn’t have air conditioning, so Tabby and I had driven for the past three hours with the windows down.

  “Scott, how about this heat?”

  He looked at me, raised his sunglasses to his forehead and winked. “It’s great. The inside of my Cherokee is like sitting in an igloo.”

  I jabbed at his arm. “And you’d know how it is to be in an igloo because you’re a hard-boiled Canadian boy.”

  We laughed, wrestled around and tried to get our girls to smirk. Tabby and Allison were both prepared for the heat. They looked great in their jean shorts and halter tops. I used to swear that these two girls called each other in the morning to coordinate their clothes for that day, making sure everything matched.

  They hung back as Scott and I stepped into the small LCBO on the side of the highway. The Liquor Control Board of Ontario usually had larger stores, but we could tell at first glance that the selection was small, the building smaller.

  I looked at Scott. “Grab what you want and I’ll meet you outside.”

  He nodded and we parted.

  When I got to the till with my loot, I looked outside at Tabitha. Three men, wearing a crazy-looking combination of leather jackets and green pants, were standing in a semi-circle around her and Allison. From where I was standing, it looked like they were blocking the girls’ way. They couldn’t move.

  “Forty-three, twenty,” the clerk said.

  I handed her a fifty dollar bill, got my change, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. It slid open and I stepped back into the sun.

  “Everything cool here?” I asked, looking at Tabby. Her facial expression told me it wasn’t.

  Two of the men turned toward me, acting tough and showing off, no doubt, for the third member of their trio, who didn’t look at me. One of them had a goatee that dangled below his chin, the hair tied in a hair elastic. The other guy had no hair on his head at all, only a tattoo of a tear drop on each cheek. Under other circumstances, I would’ve laughed at how funny it looked. But today, the tension in the air gave me a good idea that laughing wouldn’t be prudent.

  “You know who we are?” the one with the stupid goatee asked.

  I shook my head in the negative.

  “I didn’t think so,” he said, and turned around to show me the back of his leather jacket. I don’t know much about biker logos, but it looked to me like a caricature of Satan with his hands out, and the name Vago’s with an “M” and a “C” on either side.

  Goatee turned back around. “Recognize it?”

  I shook my head and bent over to set my bag of alcohol on the cement as it was getting heavy. A car pulled in and I looked over. An old man in a Chrysler parked and opened his door. If only it was a police officer.

  “We’re the Vago’s Motorcycle Club. The symbol is Loki, the Norse God of mischief.”

  “Tabby, Allison, step over here,” I said as I looked at the third member of their group. “We’ll be leaving now.”

  Tabitha went to move off the wall, but the three men inched closer together, completely blocking her path.

  “What is this?” I asked. “You’re breaking the law. That’s forcible confinement. Step away and let them go, or I’ll call the cops.”

  Goatee and Tear Drop stepped closer to me. The door to the liquor store opened and Scott walked out. In my peripheral vision, I saw the old guy from the Chrysler slow his step.

  “You’ll do what?” Tear Drop asked, his voice sounded like sandpaper grating on steel wool.

  “I’ll call the police. You can’t walk around acting like you own the world because you ride motorcycles. We have rights. Now, step back and leave us alone.”

  I didn’t think my message was getting through to them. Their smiles, and the fact that they weren’t stepping off, told me they didn’t respect the same laws I had just mentioned.

  “Do you know that the FBI, along with California’s Attorney General have all named us an outlaw motorcycle club? They say we’re involved in drugs, assault, extortion, money laundering, murder, vehicle theft, witness intimidation, and weapons violations. Can you believe that?” He stepped closer to me, our noses almost touching. I could smell his last cigarette. “What I’m trying to illustrate here, is that we’ve decided these two ladies are going to join us for the weekend and then you can have them back, unharmed. How does that sound to you?”

  “What the fuck is this?” Scott asked. He set his bag down beside mine and reached for Allison’s arm.

  The gang member closest to her shot his hand in the air. A knife appeared out of nowhere.

  “Touch her and you lose your hand.”

  Scott hesitated. He looked at me. The old man to my right, who had nothing to do with this, moved away and ran for his car. I heard the lock click inside the liquor store as they were barricading themselves inside. We were on our own and in a small town, where police response times would probably be too long to defuse our current problem.

  In all my years of studying Shotokan karate, I never thought I’d have to use it for real.

  Scott eased back further, his face a mask of fear. Tabitha was trying to stay calm, but Allison was quietly crying now.

  Tear Drop was looking away from me. Only Goatee would see me move.

  I dropped to my knees, grabbed the neck of a bottle of coconut rum, and as I stood, drove my open palm into the chin of Goatee. I heard his teeth snap together, along with his cry of pain. I only hoped I caught his tongue.

  The bottle was already in full swing, by the time Tear Drop turned to address me. It hit him in the right cheek, breaking it upon contact, blood shooting from the split skin.

  At the second he ben
t over and fell to the ground, I lunged past him and ran for the guy who was clearly the leader, as the other two acted like his muscle. He had turned toward me, his hands up, the knife shining in the sun.

  I feigned left and spun to the right. He bought it, lunging with the knife. My left hand dropped to the wrist that held the knife to control its movement, while my right hand formed a fist. I drove everything I had into that punch, hitting him squarely on the jaw, spinning his head sideways. He brought his head back and smiled at me.

  I knew it would take more to hurt this guy, and I didn’t have the time as Goatee would be attacking my rear at any second.

  I twisted his wrist as far as I could, and drove my next punch into his throat. He tried to move out of the way, but wasn’t fast enough. His Adam’s apple was my target, and I hit it hard enough to affect his trachea.

  He dropped the knife, staggered back, and fell to his knees, both hands clinging to his throat, gasping for air.

  I turned around just as Scott was kicking Goatee.

  “Scott, that’s enough.”

  I later learned that Goatee had stayed on his feet and was about to deal me a double-fisted sandwich when Scott surprised him with a kick to the stomach. I had no idea Scott was a fighter.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said, my stomach completely sick, my nerves feeling like I’d been tased.

  Tabby ran for our Buick. After scooping up our alcohol, I followed, got in, started it up, and drove to the exit with Scott and Allison close behind. As I pulled out, I looked over my shoulder and saw Tear Drop pointing his arm at me. His hand was empty, but he was holding it in a mock interpretation of a gun. He dropped his thumb and lifted his finger as if his gun had gone off.

  The message was clear: you’re dead.

  #

  I asked if we could avoid talking about it, so as not to ruin our weekend. Everyone agreed, except Scott suggested that we at least contact the local police and tell them what had happened.

  We called North Bay Police and they drove out to the cabin on our second day. After we gave them our full statement, they said they’d be on the lookout: they also said that what we did was a brave thing, but to be careful in the future. We could’ve gotten killed.

  On Sunday, our moods were lighter. Everything was back to normal and we were having a blast. The weather had been awesome and the water in the lake, warm.

  I stood on a large rock with Tabitha, and together we both stared out at the view of Lake Nippissing. It was stunning, as the sun set. A few boats raced over its surface on a journey to their docks before full dark. But it wasn’t the beauty that stopped me; it was the tragedy. The real reason we had come to spend the four days here was because of my parents.

  I felt my hands shaking as I thought of them, and how they had died one year ago today, on Lake Nippissing, in a boating accident. The autopsy confirmed death by drowning. I hadn’t been on the lake since. I used to Jet Ski all the time. The lake had been a second home for my family. I’d talked about it at length with Tabitha and I had decided that this weekend I would go out on a boat, but we hadn’t yet. It’d be hard to look into the depths and know that this water took my family from me, but it was something I had to do.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good, then you can help Scott and Allison with the rest of their bags. They’re leaving to get back, a day early.”

  I turned away and headed over to their vehicle to lend a hand. When I was close to Scott’s Jeep Cherokee I saw him scrunching up a brown paper bag that he’d taken from his new girlfriend’s hand.

  “You guys having an early evening snack?” I asked.

  Scott looked at me. “We’ve finished it, otherwise I would have offered you some.”

  His manner seemed forced, somehow acting over-nice. What the hell was that all about?

  I stepped up to him and grabbed his can of Pepsi. “The least you could do is give me a swig of your drink.”

  I only had the can on my lips long enough for one full swallow. Then Scott reached out and pushed me hard. I lost my balance, fell to the pine-needle littered dirt, and dropped the Pepsi can.

  “Don’t swallow, spit it out!” Scott shouted at me.

  I leaned on my elbow and made to stand. “What’s going on?”

  “Allison doesn’t know how severe your peanut allergy is. She had packed lunches for the road. Two peanut butter sandwiches. That’s what you saw us eating as you walked up a moment ago. I didn’t tell you because you didn’t have to worry since they were gone now and we were leaving anyway.”

  The symptoms for me can come on as quick as the speed of sound.

  “I had just taken a drink from that Pepsi,” Scott continued to explain. “When you grabbed it, I forgot, and I, oh man, this is not good.”

  I wiped the sides of my mouth and came away with a tiny brown smudge. I brought it up to my nose and smelt the distinct aroma of peanut butter. When I tried to stand, my legs went out from under me.

  “Get me to Tabitha. She knows how to use the Epi-Pen. I need a shot of epinephrine.”

  Scott leaned down and supported me until I got to my feet. With an arm wrapped around his shoulder, the two of us headed for the cabin. Halfway there, I could hear rustling in the bushes. Oh, great, a bear is coming and we’re all going to die, I thought.

  Real fear enveloped me. That was the first symptom of my anaphylactic reaction; fear, along with abdominal pain. But now it was mixed with what I just saw watching us from the bushes. Goatee’s eyes. He was smiling.

  My face felt flushed, my lips itchy. I could hear Scott shouting Tabitha’s name. My mouth grew tight. I couldn’t warn anyone. Liquid began dripping from the corner of my lips. When I tried to speak, my voice sounded different. I suddenly felt tired, even though my heart was racing. The setting sun was on my back, but I had chills. My nose fought the air that struggled to enter it.

  I was dying, and my friends would too if I couldn’t warn them.

  When I opened my eyes again I was on the cabin floor, looking at the wood that formed the ceiling. Tabitha ran by me, shouting something about the medicine bag and that it was still in my Buick. The last thing I remember was Scott shouting into his cell phone for an ambulance.

  Then a spurt of red shot out of his chest like a small fountain. Then another. I heard a cannon roar somewhere in the distance. I heard screaming. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I shut them as Scott fell beside me.

  #

  I stood up and walked to the front door. When I looked back I saw myself on the floor. Scott lay beside me.

  All three men from the liquor store were standing over the two bodies. Tear Drop leaned down, a large white bandage on his cheek. He put his gun in my face, and checked for a pulse. He looked up at Goatee and shook his head. Then he checked Scott’s pulse, and shook his head again. I was dead, and so was my friend. I felt weightless, emotionless. It was an empty feeling, but at the same time I felt like I had more life in me than at any other time.

  All three men moved away from the bodies and disappeared into separate rooms of the cabin.

  Tabitha ran back in, flipped the cap off the Epi-Pen, and prepared to inject me with it, but stopped and stared at Scott. She screamed and jumped back, her head spinning around to see if anyone else was in the room.

  I saw all three Vago’s MC members step out of their respective rooms. They all held guns, and wide smiles.

  Then Tabitha did the smartest thing she could think of at the time. She dropped to her knees and rammed the Epi-Pen into my thigh. She needed me and knew that sometimes it could work fast.

  I blinked and the cabin disappeared. Tabitha and the bikers were gone.

  I could feel pain in numerous places as I struggled to breathe, and I felt a gentle shaking. At first I thought my headache had rhythm, but then I identified the drilling sound in my ears as a siren, and the shaking as the movement of a vehicle. I was in an ambulance.

  I fought the weight of
my lids and struggled to open them. The paramedic told me that everything would be fine and that we would be at the hospital soon.

  By the time I got to North Bay’s hospital, I had enough strength back to ask what happened. The paramedic said an officer would be by later.

  As promised, one of the same cops who’d taken our statement about the bikers came to my hospital room.

  I felt in a daze. I was reeling from what had happened. I hadn’t talked to Tabby yet either. I needed to know if she was okay.