Still don’t know how the hell he could ride around bare-chested, white-as-a-cloud, on a beast that could clock 300 in the blink of an eye, but then again, Rory was always this anomaly of nature, so questioning shit like that always got futile after a point. Either way, that bike wouldn’t be serving time in ol’ Principal Godred’s Force. The bike was a real hellion, good enough for the Ambiorixians, but Rory’s minimal discipline made him more suited for my kind of work. Rory got his black beauty of a chopper up to snuff in a cinch. I waited on my crew to get their engines running good and hot. Scars on his snout, sunken-in eyes, scraggy fur coat. Like out of his head, coked-up and meth-fueled bad. “Just as I thought” were the first words out of my mouth. I got a good look at the character on my mod in the glove box. My truck, God bless her, turned over on the dime. We all dove into (and in Rory’s case, onto) our rides as we left Doc’s. If you felt like really fucking him up, you’d do both. If it’s mortal, that means you can end him with a shot or two or a swift stomp on the gas. I was sure it would, but I was never sure about the how’s. If we were good about it, the whole affair could be fixed up in the day. I tipped my hat in kind and we all locked up our gear for that evening. Now that right there, that simple little phrase…whew LORD! That was the kind of stuff that hits the spot. “Yes Nic sir” was their unanimous response. Point is, we’ve got a killer to put down. Beat him, burn him, eat him, fuck him, or if he’s feeling extra depraved, season him with a little coriander. “I’ll have him burnt to a crisp after a good tenderizing,” I shot back at the pair of them, “Madskins can do whatever he wants with him after. “I hope you realize we aren’t eating him afterwards,” Harrison quipped. “You want him done or well done,” Rory asked, twirling his sticks. “Well Metröpolis,” I says, “Ready to mince this bastard?” “Thank you Chief,” I answered, “Over and out.” I turned to my troop, adjusting my denim vest and shifting my bullet belt. If you don’t nail him on sight, take him to the Maypole to fix him. Last known photo should appear on your data module in your rides. Wanted for, among other things: theft, arson, the slaying of at least ten civilians, and two families. ![]() “ Nic, Rory, and Harrison, ” he went, “ We got a real rotter for you. Once we pulled ourselves together, I set my bass down and let the Commissioner spin us the order. Rory got a kick out of it too, and I swear that was the first time Harry must’ve laughed in millennia. I got a “Yessir” out before busting my godforsaken gut. The moment we finished the song, all we heard was the white noise of the joint and a loud, static-muffled “ HEY ASSHOLES ” shooting from my hip. It had worked well so far, so I was just praying it’d keep. I wanted to find some way of getting him out of the hardened shell he came to me in, but I was sure enough time in the band would make Harry come alive for sure. Back in those days, I was “Speedfreak,” Rory was “Madskins,” and Harry was “Richter.” What a trio we made for.īack then, Harry wasn’t bad for his young age, though I wasn’t much older. Plus, that kind of fast-and-loose playing was how we got our codenames. Doc was always a good sport about letting heavy acts like ours play there, God bless him. Rory was getting his double-kick-drum thing honed, and between my Rickenbacker and Harry’s Stratocaster, it’s a miracle we hadn’t rocked our solar joint of choice, The Spot, off its foundation. ![]() The three of us were rocking so damn loud we missed the first call-in. We were hammering out a set in the morning at Doc’s when we got a call in over the radio. I learned my limits early on, Rory ralphed his first day, but strangely enough, I think Harrison’s the first to not be phased by it at all, not by a long shot. ![]() The kind of files that come across that damned digital desk of mine are the kind of stuff that’ll make the sternest man’s stomach turn inside out. More importantly, my shit was all above board. Hell, my body count beforehand wasn’t anything to sneeze at, but at least I got some good tail in. Something that you can just get your fangs deep in and say, “goddamn does that feel good.” Suppose that’s why I joined Hell Patrol, and why I spent my younger years as a lawman. ![]() I mean really sinking your claws into it. Nothing is more thrilling to me than letting loose.
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