THE FESTIVAL OF SAMHAIN
CHAPTER 13- CLUB BUSINESS
"Trick or Treat!!!" Logan Dean shouted with a laugh, taking off his white Michael Myers mask.
"Logan?!" Sherry shouted, shoving him off the doorstep. "You're such a fucking asshole!"
Sherry yelled so loud, the nearby parents covered their kids' ears with their hands, clearly assuming more vulgarities were forthcoming.
"Dude, that was a total dick move," Brandon groaned, quietly pulling Logan aside. "Why would you even do that? ESPECIALLY to Sherry! And besides, you know it's illegal, man!"
"Woah, calm down there pumpkin king," Logan chirped back in his own defense. "It's only a joke. Can't you guys take a joke?"
"A joke, yes," Brandon stated. "But this goes way beyond that. You know what Sherry's been through."
"Oh boo hoo! Excuse me if I forgot about something that happened TEN years ago," Logan complained. "I thought you, of all people, would appreciate my effort. "I was just going to be a boring old Viking vampire like last year, but nooooo....I try something different and THIS is what I get."
"I think you better leave before someone calls the cops," Brandon informed him. "Half the neighborhood probably heard the commotion."
"Fine, fuck you, too," Logan yelled, clearly insulted, flipping them off with both of his middle fingers as he retreated back to the road. "AND FUCK ALL OF YOU, TOO!"
Then Logan, putting his mask back on, disappeared to the far end of Lampkin Lane, his middle fingers still raised high in the air for all to see.
"What an asshole," Brandon whispered, bending over to help Sherry collect her spilled candy. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Sherry replied. "He just about gave me a heart attack, though."
"Some people never grow up," Brandon commented, trying to help calm her down. "Especially when they've had too much to drink. Hey, what do you say we wrap this thing up and head to town?"
"Good idea," Sherry agreed. "I think we pretty much chased everyone away anyhow."
With that, Sherry and Brandon scurried back into her house and turned the porch light off, signaling the end of trick-or-treat, at least for them.
But it wasn't for someone else.
Nearby, in between Sherry's yard and her neighbor's, a familiar dark figure peered out from behind a tall bush.
Clad in dark grey coveralls and sporting a pale white mask, The Shape tilted his head at the girl in the doorway, then disappeared behind the bush, just as a small group of costumed children approached, comparing their bags of candy.
When they passed the bush, he was gone.
Outside the town of Haddonfield, the three members of the Paragons Of Perdition motorcycle club rode in tandem on Highway 31, their headlights lighting up the otherwise darkened pavement. The grizzled Caleb Wilkes led the way, followed immediately behind by Orrin Chambers and Brian 'Bonzo' Bonham, both well respected members of their club.
They had the throttle all the way down on their Harley-Davidson's, determined to reach their destination as quickly as possible. After Caleb took the phone call from Chambers, everything hit him like a ton of bricks. After that call, it became clearly evident that Michael Myers killed Boyd Bonham, his former VP, in cold blood. It also became painfully clear that Sheriff Barnes, who up until that point had been a friend, had lied to him and was covering it up. But why? And just what would be the right response for his club to make? Caleb knew he wasn't going to get any answers out of Barnes, particularly on a night like tonight, so he consulted with his crew and decided to have an impromptu club meeting at a vacant warehouse just off of the highway to plan their next move.
The first order of business would be to break the news of Boyd's death to his brother Brian, and then to plot their next move.
Motioning to the duo riding behind him, Caleb pulled off the road to the left, kicking up dust as he brought his hog to a slow, eventual halt. The structure, which used to serve as a munitions plant during World War II, was later converted into a car parts manufacturer before closing altogether during the big recession of 2008. After that, it was abandoned altogether.
Wilkes wasn't surprised to find the door locked, so he decided to make his own entrance. The portly gang leader promptly kicked the door in with one mighty blow of his boot. The rotting wooden door, which had seen better days, almost immediately broke off of its hinges and split in half across the middle. Caleb walked right through, and Orrin, directly behind him, pushed the rest of the door out of the way. Bonzo brought up the rear, taking off his riding gloves.
At nearly the same time that they entered, the rumble of another motorcycle was heard approaching in the distance, getting louder as it drew near. The trio inside heard the bike come to a halt, and it wasn't long before Sergeant-At-Arms Bradley Kemp appeared through the doorway, sporting his leather cut and trademark black bandanna.
"Bradley, good to see you again, brother," Caleb said, greeting him with a hug. "Like I told you on the phone, we have some serious business to take care of here."
Caleb turned to Brian before he spoke again. "Brian, I'm sorry to tell you this, but Boyd is dead."
"Wha--" was all Bonzo could get out before the look of shock overtook his face and tears of rage began to fill his eyes.
"It's true," Orrin stated, backing up the club President. "I heard the police talking about it. They said Michael Myers killed eight people, including Boyd, at the Rabbit In Red last night. I heard it with my own ears."
"I guess he picked the wrong night to get some pussy," Caleb added, hugging his loyal soldier. "But don't you worry, brother, we are going to take care of this."
"But Caleb, what about the rest of the club?" Orrin asked. "Don't we need to bring it to a vote?"
"That's why I called this meeting," Wilkes informed him. "I know it's not our usual way, but we are going to decide our next move right here and right now. That's why I asked Kemp to come back. Did you discuss this with the others at the clubhouse?"
"I did," Kemp responded. "They're in agreement. I come as a representative of the other brothers, bearing the weight of their vote and full support. They understand they had to stay behind to run the business in Pontiac, but they are only a phone call away if we need reinforcements."
At that point, the senior leadership gathered around an old, cob-webbed conveyor belt and turned it into a makeshift meeting table. Fighting back his fury, Bonzo joined them on the opposite side. All four exchanged a knowing glance as Caleb pounded his fist down onto the conveyor belt and called the meeting to order.
"I know, I know, I don't have my gavel, but this will have to do," Caleb stated. "Let's call this meeting to order."
"Alright, let's get this done quickly," Orrin began. "It's very clear why we are here. A loyal brother of ours was taken from us last night, and it is up to us to avenge his death, while maintaining our positive relationship with the Nomads in the area."
"Exactly," Kemp concurred. "Which is why I think we should leave them out of this."
"Yeah, but we are talking about a half-million dollar job here," Chambers interjected. "Those types of deals just can't be ignored. And they knew we were in the area, so there's bound to be some suspicions."
"So, what are you saying? That the Nomads killed him?" Kemp asked.
"I don't care who killed him!" Bonzo shouted, cutting them off. "I want their heads on a stick!"
"You mean HIS...his head on a stick," Chambers corrected him.
"Yeah, this fuck Michael Myers."
"He's a dead man!"
"Some people said that about him years ago, and somehow he always managed to come back and kill again," Caleb said. "Listen...we have to be smart about this. If it was Michael Myers, and the police are covering it up, then we are on our own."
"So, what should we do, Prez?" Orrin questioned.
"I agree with Kemp," Wilkes responded. "The less the Nomads know, the better. But I AM saying we have go back to Haddonfield and recover our brother's last order of business-- AND take care of Michael Myers once and for all. For Boyd. And for the club."
There was a brief moment of silence among the four bikers as the gravity of the situation set in.
"Alright, but we gotta do this right," Orrin agreed. "We are going to need some serious firepower. So many people have tried to kill him before and failed. If we do this, then we have to make sure the motherfucker is dead and buried."
"I like how you think, Orrin," Caleb complimented. "Which is exactly why I brought us here."
Leaving the others puzzled at the conveyor belt, Caleb stepped back and walked over to the far corner of the factory. There, he grabbed a rusty shovel nearby and started digging into the floor of the warehouse, peeling back a few layers of dirt. With his brethren looking on, he removed a large wooden crate and carried it back to them. He dropped it onto the rubber belt with a thud, and it was then that the bikers saw he wasn't fooling around. Inside were several grades of weaponry, including shotguns, AK-47's, and small caliber berettas. There was even an M-16 or two in there, military grade.
Caleb looked at Brian, who devilishly smiled back at him.
"All in favor of Michael Myers meeting Mr. Mayhem, say 'YEA'," Caleb called out.
Without hesitation, the vote was unanimous.
Proceed To Chapter 14
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