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Biker Author
by on January 22, 2018

Here's a little tidbit from my first novel, D-E-D, DEAD.

I wake up on the couch, feeling like someone beat me with a baseball bat. After I finished my tale, Ken­neth kept us up until almost sunrise, asking questions while we tied into the JD. The Jack and RCs, combined with the late hours and too much food, have me feeling like shit. Then I remember the events of the previous day, and I spring to my feet. Bad idea: things get kinda spinny for a minute or two. I sit back down, fighting the urge to lie back down and cover my eyes.

As soon as it feels like I should be able to stand without falling down or puking, I get up and walk out­side. Yesterday morning’s rain is just a memory, other than some puddles. I look at my watch; it’s only about seven o’clock. I figure I got about three hours or less of sleep, but there are things that need to be done and de­cisions to be made. I stand in the yard, breathing in the cool morning air, trying to get my brain working. I’ll go into the barn and start reviewing the situation while Dutton gets some sleep. By the time he wakes up, I should be able to think more clearly and we can get some semblance of a plan together.

As I approach the barn, I hear some noise coming through the cracked doors. All of the guns are inside, with everything else. I thought I’d locked the doors, but must’ve spaced it out in the excitement of the  moment. Now what?

I can go get Kenneth, and I’m sure there are some guns in the house, but I really don’t want to be respon­sible for getting him hurt—or worse. Shit! I decide to check out the situation, hopefully without being spotted. I get down on my belly, and crawl up to the doors, trying to be as quiet as I can. Suddenly I feel as sober as I’ve ever been.

I creep over and ease my head into the opening far enough to sneak a peek into the barn. The first thing I see is a size fourteen boot coming straight for my face. As I try to back up, the door slams into the side of my head, and I hear a startled, “What the fuck?”

I’m trying to get to my feet, but between the blow to the head and the whiskey last night, I’m moving as slowly as bowels at a cheese festival. I look up, expecting to catch another boot upside my noggin, but all I see is Kenneth with this surprised, silly-ass look on his face. He starts laughing, holding onto the door for balance.

“Jesus, Ricky, what the hell are you doin’ layin’ in the mud? You lose somethin’?”

Another laughing fit, this time accompanied by tears. Christ, talk about adding insult to injury . . .

“Dammit, Kenny, what the fuck did you do that for? I’m feeling bad enough, without having a barn door bounced off my melon.”

I stand up, leaning against the side of the barn for support. Puking is now a distinct possibility.

“Jeez, man, I just thought I’d do a little snoopin’ while you were passed out. If I’d known you were gonna come out here on your belly, beggin’ for breakfast, I’d have just woke you up.”

More laughing. This shit is growing tired, fast, but that’s what I get for the class of friends I have, I guess.

“Ha ha, asshole,” I growl, as I try to see if I can stand up without assistance. Maybe. I’m swaying, a little nauseous, but it seems as if I can stand without support from the barn.

“I was just headin’ for the house for some ham and eggs. Want some?” Kenneth is still grinning. Asshole.

“Sure,” I say. “Now that I’ve had my morning beat down, I actually feel hungry.”

“Good to see your sense of humor is still intact,” Dutton chortles as he watches to see if I’m up to the walk across the yard.

“Yeah, it’s just dandy,” I retort. “I heard something in the barn, and thought I’d check it out. I guess lying on the ground and peeking around the corner of the door wasn’t the best idea, huh?”

“Well, son, it might’ve worked if I hadn’t been headin’ out right then. I gave the door a shove with my foot, ’cause I had my hands full, and it smacked into something purty hard. Come to find out, it was your head!” Kenneth is laughing again.

Okay, now I get it. I just happened to be in the per­fectly wrong place at the perfectly wrong moment. My head is starting to clear up some, and I realize

Kenneth is carrying some sort of package in his arms.

I ask him, “What’s in the bag, bitch?”

Still chuckling, he turns and looks over his shoul­der at me. “Just a little something I’ve been saving for a special occasion, buddy. Hang on until after breakfast, and I’ll show you. Look where you’re going.” He nods his head toward the ground in front of me.

As I look down, I step in a puddle of frigid water about a foot deep. The sudden change in elevation con­founds my balance, and I topple over, landing with both hands in a mud hole. They can’t seem to find a purchase, and slide out to my sides, planting my face into said mud.

Coming up sputtering and cursing, I vow, “That’s fucking IT! No more partying. I’ve got the whole state of Virginia’s law-enforcement types looking for me, not to mention a bunch of pissed off bikers. There’s prob­ably a million bucks in that damned barn, some dead assholes killing themselves out back while they’re in the middle of some plan involving impersonating some other assholes, and I can’t even walk across the fucking yard without falling down. I need to get my shit together, Dutton. If I’m going to survive this shit, I need to straighten my shit out right now!”

He looks at me with his head cocked to one side, a sure sign he’s being serious. “All right, then. You’re right. We need to get our heads on straight, and figger out what to do next. No more booze or dope until this deal’s behind us. Okay?”


Learn more about my novels here: Larry Animal Garner

Topics: larry garner, dead